Moira had practically locked herself up in her room studying the religion she had spent so much of her life working on. Sherlock and Moriarty had been banned from the room, though every once in a while Moira called out with a question for consulting criminal, or ex consulting criminal as Moriarty liked to remind Sherlock. This had gone on for about two days before the knock on the door came. Sherlock jumped to his feet with a heavy sigh to open the door. Lestrade stood next to the shell of a Romani beauty. Her hair was a mess, her brown eyes wide with dark bags beneath him. She was thin and boney, and it seemed that she had been crying recently. A necklace with a single triangle hung around her neck.

"Sherlock, she insisted on seeing you," Lestrade sighed, a hand firmly on his adopted sister's shoulder. Rosalyn frowned as she hesitantly stepped into the room. She slapped Sherlock hard across the face as Lestrade let go of her to shut the door.

"I finished!" Moira cheered at that same moment. Her smile faded as she saw the scene. "Rozi?" Moira breathed, running forward as the woman collapsed back into her brother's arms, sobbing profusely.

"HE LET HIM DIE! HE LET HIM DIE!" Rosalyn screamed, soon swearing in a foreign language. Moira ran forward, rubbing Rosalyn's arm.

"Rozi, calm down. It's okay," Moira hushed. She waved Sherlock away as she glared up at Lestrade.

"She insisted," Lestrade growled. Rosalyn stopped shaking for a moment, looking Moira in the eyes.

"Mo," Rosalyn muttered, quickly hugging her old friend. Moira squeezed her eyes shut. The years had been too long.

Rory knew in her heart that she was pregnant. She had been so awfully sick, and so tired. Whenever she was not throwing up, she was sleeping, only to wake up and find food sitting on the floor by the door. She ate, even though she could barely keep it down. She was now curled up on the bed, drying away tears. She wanted Moriarty more than ever. Still, it was he that she could not have. Rory still didn't even know who it was that had her captive. It had to be a part of that case Sherlock seemed upset over.

"Why did I have to leave?" Rory groaned, rubbing her abdomen with her thumb. She was miserable, all alone. She was not used to be in such solitude. She hated having it around. She wanted to be near people again, to have some voice talk to her. Yet the room was silent still. It made her skin crawl. She just wanted the nightmare to be over. It was far from it though.

"Do you believe?" a voice asked, growling behind the door. Rory sat up quickly.

"What?" Rory muttered. Her voice was rough.

"Do you believe?" the voice repeated. Rory shook her head.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Rory answered. There was silence. She was alone once again.

Moira sat with a cup of tea in hand. They had managed to calm Rosalyn down again, but Sherlock had to leave the room. He went to go get John. Moira thought that for the best. She was about ready to tear the man to shreds for not telling his best friend about his family. He had to be more open with some people. Lestrade sighed. "So you have a lead then?" the detective asked. Moira quickly nodded.

"The group is as old as the religion. Terracee. I had to translate one too many documents to get that bloody name," Moira sighed.

"It's still shocking you got it. We've never been able to do so," Moriarty reminded her. She just glared over at him. She didn't like the man, whatever he said.

"The leader will be a man quite powerful in the circle," Moira continued. "From the information I have gathered, it may be that the Terracee are in England, as an actual home base."

"Is that all you can tell us?" Lestrade asked.

"If I could tell you more, I would. Even finding this much out has taken a major part of my life," Moira growled.

"Will it be enough?" Rosalyn inquired. Moira thought for a moment.

"Hopefully it should," Moira assured softly, squeezing her friend's hand. Even after nine years the pain was still real, at least in the widow's eyes. It was one drug deal gone wrong, so awfully wrong. Then again, had Ford not been there, it would have Moira getting the news that her love was no longer alive. "You should go get some rest. Sherlock's room is over there," Moira suggested. Lestrade led the poor woman down the hall.

"I didn't even know Sherlock had a sister… Or a wife," Moriarty mused.

"There's a lot you won't know unless he says anything," Moira pointed out. Moriarty slowly nodded.

"I'm sure," he sighed, leaning back. "I'm not surprised he chose you though. You're brilliant, same as him. You challenge him."

"Should I take that as a compliment?" Moira asked dryly. Moriarty laughed.

"We'll be in laws if we save Rory. I'm not looking to be on your bad side," Moriarty reminded her.

"In that case, you better bloody prove you're worth not being on it," Moira growled. Moriarty sighed, ready to speak, but Lestrade walked back into the room.

"She was actually starting to do a bit better," Lestrade remarked, shaking his head.

"It'd be hard to see Sherlock, even after all this time," Moira reminded him.

"Will she be okay?" Moriarty asked. Moira and Lestrade both shrugged.

"She's been like this for years," Moira pointed out coldly. She hated admitting that, but it was true. Her best friend had been locked inside her own nightmare for years. They had tried to help her. She was the first to break. Then it just went downhill.

*Eight and a Half Years Ago*

Moira had just come home from a doctor's appointment. She opened the door, trying to think through. "Sher, I have news," Moira called as she entered the flat. There was silence. "Sherlock, where are you?" Scared, she ran towards their bedroom. Sherlock was barely breathing, eyes wide and staring at the ceiling. That would be the first time he almost overdosed, though not the last.

*Present Time*

Sherlock came back not long later. John was with him. "Where's Rozi?" Sherlock asked.

"She's resting in your room," Moira replied.

"Our room you mean," Sherlock pointed out. Moira smiled.

"Yeah," she nodded quietly, looking over at John. "How's Mary?"

"She's a bit off today but alright," John answered. Moira stood to get another cup for tea.

"Morning sickness can be quite a beast," Moira chuckled. She turned back to see Moriarty frowning.

"If she is… If Rory is… She's probably so alone," Moriarty sighed heavily.

"She's tough," Sherlock argued. "Even if she starts showing symptoms, she's tough and smart enough to handle herself."

"I suppose you're right," Moriarty caved. Moira could understand the man's unrest. He loved Rory. Moira could see that now. He truly worried about her, as strange as that was. At least it seemed strange to the historian. Sighing, Moira realized she would have to publish her findings soon. Then again, she'd rather recompile everything first. Her papers and notes were a mess.

"What's our next step?" John asked. They all looked up at him.

"We have to find Terracee," Sherlock replied.

"Hopefully we can. If they realize we're on their trail, then they may just move out of sight," Moira sighed. Sherlock sat down next to her.

"I think considering their movements they may want us to be against them, to try and find them," Sherlock pointed out. Moira thought for a moment.

"You might be right," she breathed, looking up at her husband.

"When isn't he?" John huffed. Moira chuckled.

"You'd be surprised," Moira muttered. Sherlock glared at her. "I'll see if I can figure out what they've done before this murder. Greg, you and Sherlock might want to go and see if there are any new murders. If they're attacking all new members and working backwards, there will be more."

"It's so nice to be called my actual first name by a Holmes," Lestrade sighed. Sherlock just rolled his eyes.

"I'll go, if you and I can talk… Alone later on tonight," Sherlock remarked. Moira looked up at him.

"Alright," she sighed. Lestrade motioned for Sherlock to follow him. As they left the room, Moira let her head hang. Moriarty stood and left the room to retreat to the bedroom he was using.

"I can feel how tense it is between you two," John coughed, crossing his arms. Moira looked up at him.

"I found him almost dead three times, three separate times. Then I left. Not long after was when Greg found him. That was when Sherlock was sent to rehab. I was already long gone by then. I couldn't do it. I couldn't be with him," Moira confessed. John sat down.

"He's changed," John told her. Moira slowly nodded. "How… How did you two marry?" Moira laughed.

"We eloped. Neither of us ever cared for wedding ceremonies, still don't, so we just eloped after we graduated," Moira told him. She leaned back. "Missed the most important day of his life, he did."

"What do you mean?" John asked. Moira looked over at him.

"You know how he guessed about Mary?" Moira inquired. John shrugged.

"He knows things. He just does," John sighed. Moira shook her head.

"Maybe that's so," Moira mused. "Still, he won't tell you about his past, not even if you ask. The person he was is far from the person he is now." She stood, walking towards Sherlock's bedroom. "I'm going to check on Rozi."

Rory was curled into a ball on the bed. "What is your full name?" the voice asked, returning once more to the door. Rory jumped up.

"Who the hell are you?" she snapped, her voice hoarse from lack of use.

"What is your name?" the voice repeated with a low growl. Rory crossed her arms.

"Aurora Charlotte Elise Holmes," Rory sighed. The voice laughed, a sickeningly deep laugh.

"Do you believe?" it asked in a whisper.

"What the hell do you keep talking about?" Rory shouted.

"Do you believe in savassi?" it growled. Rory fell onto her knees. She understood now. It all clicked.

"It's because of him, of James, isn't it? Damn you! Let me go!" Rory cried. The voice never answered. Rory looked around, pushing back her hair out of her face. She choked back a sob as she stared at the ceiling. She'd do anything to get out of there, out of that room. She bit her lip, looking down at her stomach as she slipped her hand onto her abdomen. She'd do anything to keep her unborn child safe.

Sherlock sat in the car with Lestrade driving. "You miss her," Lestrade pointed out. Sherlock glared over at him.

"What?" he breathed. Lestrade sighed.

"You miss Mo. You like having her around," the inspector elaborated. Sherlock huffed.

"She's a good help with the case," Sherlock argued.

"You both need to let each other back in. You'll drive yourselves insane if you don't," Lestrade advised. Sherlock glanced out the window.

"I hurt her, Lestrade. We both will never let each other back in. I don't think it's possible," Sherlock sighed. Lestrade only smiled, pulling down an alley where a dead body had just been found not even an hour before.

"If I still know her well enough, I'd say that she misses you too. You two need each other. You work well together. Don't ruin that," Lestrade told Sherlock as he turned off the car. Sherlock opened his door without a word. They walked over to the dead body: face down on the pavement with her shirt pulled down to expose her shoulder… and a very familiar tattoo.

"She was right," Sherlock muttered.

"Of course she was. She's as smart as you," Lestrade pointed out. "If not then smarter." Sherlock kneeled down, studying the body.

"They keep the kill quick. It's exposing the tattoo that means more," Sherlock remarked. "They know what they're doing, probably have done it a lot. No one heard her scream."

"What do you think?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock looked up.

"They're going faster. They want to make a message," Sherlock mused, jumping to his feet. He looked around. His mind raced, taking it all in. "This one's closer to downtown. They're getting bolder."

Moira returned to the living area with her laptop. John had left, perhaps to get to work. The historian decided to do some work as well, turning on her computer and sifting through her data to find anything that could help. Sometime after, Mrs. Hudson came up. "One of Sherlock's, um, friends is here. Where did Sherlock get off to?" the landlady asked. Moira set aside her laptop.

"He went out with Lestrade," replied Moira. "I doubt he'll be gone too much longer."

"Well, I'll send Janine up then. Would you be wanting any tea?" Mrs. Hudson remarked. Moira shook her head.

"No, I'm fine," Moira assured.

"Alright," Mrs. Hudson sighed. "It's good for him, to have a woman around. He never mentioned you, not once. But I see how he looks at you."

"Thank you," Moira muttered, watching the woman walk away. The sound of her footsteps on the stairs were soon replaced by another woman. Moira looked at her.

"Who are you?" the woman asked.

"Dr. Moira Holmes, and you?" Moira replied, standing as she crossed her arms.

"Janine," the woman answered. "Holmes? Are you related to Sherl?" Moira smirked.

"Sherl? You must mean Sherlock, my husband," Moira growled. Janine raised an eyebrow.

"No wonder he never would sleep with me," Janine muttered. Moira rolled her eyes.

"I saw your name in the papers, I think. I don't read them often. I could tell it was all a lie. He's kinky… Not that kinky," Moira pointed out. Janine frowned.

"And you'd know?" Janine laughed.

"Of course she would. I've only had her… What a few hundred times?" Sherlock's voice cut in as he stormed into the room. He tossed his phone to Moira, pictures of the new murder on the screen. Moira studied them for a moment.

"So you two are actually a thing," Janine remarked, pointing at the two of them.

"Have been for a while," Sherlock muttered. He looked over at Moira, walking over and kissing her head.

"Well," Janine sighed, "we may have more to talk about than I thought."

A/N: Great... I've caught up to where I've had written. I may need to write this weekend... Well, here we are with a chapter I thought was shorter. We have so much information! By the way, the actual religious group plot line may not be like super epic or perfected, but I enjoy the character interactions with this fan fiction. The actual "plot" is really just there to force the characters together. So what does Janine want? We'll have to find out next chapter! Check out my profile, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and as always, please leave a review!