Disclaimer: Same as chapter 1

Chapter 5: More Than Just A Game

-221B Baker St-

Since telling John most of the truth about himself, John and Percy's relationship had improved drastically now that there were (almost) no secrets between them. Since John had started working as a locum at a local medical centre, Percy was left languishing away in Baker St. To relieve his boredom, Percy had sprayed a yellow smiley face onto the living room wall and was now taking potshots at it from his armchair, having 'borrowed' John's handgun. As he emptied a clip of bullets into the wall, John stormed in, furious at the sudden clamour that had filled 221B. 'What the hell do you think you're doing?' John roared out. Percy glanced at John, then made a show of looking at his gun, and the wall, before quirking his eyebrow at his partner, Really? Must not punch him, must not punch him, John repeated to himself insistently like a mantra. 'I mean, why are you shooting holes into the wall' he said tightly once he was sure he wouldn't attack the petulant man-child in front of him.

'Bored.'

John could do nothing but stare at him in disbelief – before, Sherlock had simply turned to experimenting or writing more of his little-known monographs – he had never done something so extreme as this. 'W-what?' he stammered out eventually.

'Bored!' Percy declared, right before he jumped to his feet and started shooting at the wall again. 'Bored! Bored!'

John hurried over and snagged his handgun back from his friend before he could do any more damage to their flat. 'You're bored, so you take it out on the wall?' John ground out in disbelief, fists shaking in anger as he – just barely – held himself from clobbering the man.

'The wall had it coming!' Percy snapped back, throwing himself onto the sofa to sulk. John shook his head and paced over to the fridge. 'Is there any-' John stopped and closed the fridge door, before checking the fridge contents again to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him. He turned to Percy deliberately. 'A head, Sherlock! A bloody head!'

'Just tea for me, thanks' his friend replied absent-mindedly as he continued stewing.

'No, there's a bloody head in the fridge!'

'Brilliant deduction there old boy.'

'A head!'

'Well, where else was I supposed to put it?' Percy sighed, rolling over to face the ceiling. 'I got it from Molly to measure the coagulation of saliva after death' he added before turning his gaze onto John. 'I saw that you wrote up the taxi driver case – A Study in Pink.'

'Well, yes. Did you like it?'

'Erm, no' Percy said decisively, snapping open a science journal – Nature - that for some reason he had kept for over ten years.

'Why not? I thought you'd be flattered…'

Percy sighed and started reciting verbatim from John's blog, ' "Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in seconds. What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things" .'

'I didn't mean that in a- ' John started.

'Oh, you meant "spectacularly ignorant" in a nice way!' Percy exclaimed. 'Look, I don't bother myself with trivia, it doesn't matter to me who's the prime minister, or who's sleeping with who-'

'Or whether the earth goes around the sun' John interjected.

Percy sighed and rolled over to look at John directly. 'Oh, you're still on about that? It's not important. So we go around the sun! If we went round the moon, or round and round the garden like a teddy bear, it wouldn't make any difference!' he shouted at John, before descending back into a pensive mood as he thought about the moon, or rather, the deity of the moon. He had always regretted leaving her like that, but he knew that she wouldn't have let him move.

'It's primary school stuff' John spluttered out. Percy just sighed and focused his attention onto his science journal, completely ignoring his flatmate for the next few minutes as he scanned the pages in front of him. John was just starting to relax again when Percy stalked over to the window and started glaring out at Baker St. 'Look at it John' he demanded. 'Quiet, calm, peaceful, dull, boring, predictable. Isn't it hateful?'

'Oh, I'm sure something'll turn up Sherlock. A nice little murder – that'll cheer you up' Mrs Hudson encouraged as she walked into the room. She pursed her lips as she saw the damage to the walls. 'I'm going to add the repairs for that to your rent!' she called out as she left the room. Percy continued sulking and faced the ceiling again. He remained like this for the rest of the night and early morning, even after John left to work at a local medical centre. Eventually, he moved over to where his laptop was and started teaching himself the basics of Spanish. When his phone vibrated to signal a text from Mycroft, therefore, he was rather pleased.

I have a case; will come to Baker St; of national importance- MH

Percy quickly fired back a text of his own to John;

Mycroft has a case for us, meet at Baker St; apparently of national importance- SH

-221B Baker St-

After receiving Percy's text, John had pounded back to Baker St as fast as he could. As he burst into the living room of 221B, he caught sight of Sherlock – Percy, he reminded himself – lounging in his armchair and absent-mindedly playing the violin, whilst Mycroft was lazily spinning his umbrella around in another armchair.

'I can't, I'm afraid, far too busy right now' Percy said regretfully. 'I can't spare the time.'

John looked on at Percy blankly in disbelief, whilst Mycroft merely sighed in exasperation, 'Never mind your usual cases, this is of national importance, Sherlock.'

'I told him the truth about me' Percy commented idly as he launched into a brief rendition of the opening chords of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. 'You can call me by my real name in his presence now.'

'As you wish, Perseus' Mycroft replied before turning to John. 'Perhaps you can get through to him, John. I'm afraid that my brother is being rather obstinate today. What's he like to live with these days, hellish I imagine?'

'Well, I'm never bored' John said diplomatically.

'If you're so keen, do it yourself' Percy replied, absent-mindedly plucking some violin strings.

The elder Holmes sighed and turned his focus back to John, passing him a small folder. 'Andrew West, known as Westie to his friends' he said, gesturing at the file. 'He was a civil servant, found dead today on the tracks at Battersea Station with his head smashed in. Before his death, he was in possession of a memory stick containing M.O.D. plans – the Bruce-Partington Plans, they are called.'

'Not very clever' John snipped. 'And you want us to find the missing USB and determine if any copies were made?'

'Yes, we can't possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands' Mycroft agreed. 'Goodbye John' he said, briefly shaking the doctor's hand. 'See you again soon.'

After the elder Holmes had left the building, John quirked an eyebrow at Percy asking, Now what was that all about? Percy shrugged and looked at him directly. 'I'm delegating, putting my best man on it!' he declared. 'Simple recovery mission, sounds just a tad dull, so it'll be perfect for you'. As John crossed his arms in an unimpressed fashion, Percy further clarified, 'You need more solo experience, I'm delegating this to you, we both win. If you need my advice, use your phone. Now go away.'

John sighed and walked out of the living room, already thumbing through Mycroft's file.

-Battersea Station-

John strolled down the railway tracks, accompanied by a Tube guard, eyes darting about to soak in every last detail, no matter how seemingly insignificant or bizarre. He paused for a moment, tongue slightly protruding out of his mouth as he consulted Mycroft's file once more and adopted a thinking pose – as much as one could whilst standing upright, in any case. According to the MI-6 agents that took his body and searched it, he had no money on him at all, but there were absolutely no signs of a mugging gone wrong…theatre tickets…according to his fiancée, they were outside the theatre and everything seemed fine before he suddenly dashed off for 'something very important'…. John bent over and peered closely at the tracks where West had been found. Barely any blood… he frowned to himself. He turned to the guard and asked, 'Did your people start cleaning the lines?'

'No, we were ordered not to. Is something wrong?' the guard replied, puzzled.

'Yes' John told him and turned his gaze back to the railway tracks, ignoring the man's confusion. Barely any blood on the tracks, that's puzzling given how hard his head was smashed in, he mused, checking his file on West once more. There should definitely be a lot more blood, but there's barely any here on the tracks…he must have been killed elsewhere, and then transported here, then. The question now becomes, who killed him, and why? John stepped away from the tracks absent-mindedly as a train thundered down the track towards him; the points screeched as they shifted to a new route. He blinked. Points. Could it be…, he wondered to himself. He studied the rooftop of the carriage – shaking violently, he imagined that anything on the rooftop would be easily dislodged, especially considering the high velocity that the train was travelling at…yes, it makes sense that he was killed elsewhere, then dumped onto a train…a body of his size isn't easy to lug around without drawing suspicion quickly, so we'd be looking at somewhere close to a train station…

His eyes flittered over the railway again, and he nodded sharply. His theory formed, he walked back to the station.

-Andrew West's flat-

John gently held the crying woman's – her name is Lucy, his mind helpfully supplied – hand. 'He - he just wouldn't have' she whimpered. 'He's – Westie isn't a traitor! That's what they think, isn't it, his bosses?'

The doctor found himself nodding reluctantly. 'He was a young man, about to get married, he had debts…' he started.

'Everyone's got debts,' Lucy interrupted, 'and he wouldn't clear them by selling out his country; and he just received a promotion at work – t-there would be no reason for him to sell those secrets!'

'I-I see' John replied after a few seconds of silence. 'Well, um, could you please tell me what happened that night then?' he pleaded. 'I'd just like, to, um, hear it from your own mouth' he added. 'Though if it's too painful-'

'No, it's- it's OK' she smiled at him wanly through the tears. 'If it means clearing Westie's name, I-I'll do it' she said haltingly, and paused to collect her thoughts. 'I- we were meeting outside the theatre that night. He seemed perfectly normal – a-acted fine and everything, but when we were about to go into the theatre, h-he dashed off and said that there was something very important he had to attend to…that- that's all.'

She's not lying, John mused, unless she happens to be a method actor, having subtly taken her pulse as she was saying this. 'I see, thank you very much Lucy, I will contact you if I require further information' he said formally. 'Just one more thing – you have a brother, correct? Joe is his name, if I'm not mistaken? I was wondering if you could tell me where he lives? It's, ah, standard operating procedure' he said, injecting a trace of regret into his voice. If I remember correctly, her brother is a known petty drug dealer who is heavily in debt; it's not too much of a leap to assume that he might have stolen the USB to try and sell it for cash…

Half an hour later and John was patiently waiting outside Joe Harrison's apartment. It fit the criteria – right on top of a railway track. He took the chance to peer down at the landing using his magnifier – tiny splashes of blood dotted the stairs. He smirked. Just as I thought. And then, thank you, Percy.

When Joe Harrison walked into his apartment, he immediately found himself staring down the barrel of a gun. 'Give me the USB stick' John said simply.

-221B Baker St-

Percy glanced down at his phone as it started ringing – a call from Mycroft, apparently. He picked up and put it on loudspeaker.

'Sherlock!' Mycroft barked out. 'Is Dr Watson with you?'

'No, unless he snuck in whilst I was in my mind palace' Percy replied, already reaching out to sense John's aura – Mycroft seemed to be almost…panicking. Afraid, even. 'He's not in the flat, why?' he said after a moment's pause.

'It's been several hours since he handed in the USB stick to me and went back to work; by this time, he should be home by now…it looks like John's been…abducted' Mycroft eventually said.

'What?' Percy growled out, a slow, simmering rage starting to rear its head inside him. 'Give me everything you know so far' he demanded.

'I'll send it over to you now' Mycroft told him.

After he hung up on his elder sibling, Percy's phone immediately buzzed with another text, this time from a private number. His face darkened as he inspected the contents – an image of John tied up in a darkened room – too dark to make out any of the fine details he'd need to deduce where John was being kept. He focused on John's face – an ugly bruise was stretching along his jawline and cheek, but apart from that, he seemed fine – physically, at least. His eyes narrowed as he saw the large vest John was wearing – he doesn't own something like that, his mind helpfully supplied. As his fingers danced to forward the text to Mycroft and his lackeys, his phone suddenly began to ring. He glanced at the caller ID – just the letter M. Moriarty?, he wondered.

'Sherlock Holmes' he spoke at the phone.

'Thank you, well aware. My name is Moriarty' a voice replied smoothly. Percy didn't bother analysing it 'I believe we're overdue for a chat.'

'If you're really Moriarty, then yes, well overdue.'

'I'm sure you've been made aware by now of one John Watson's abduction' the voice continued, undeterred by his interruption. 'I would like to inform you that it was I that was behind that abduction.'

'Why did you do it, and what is your interest in me?'

'You want answers. I don't blame you. But first, I require something of you, Mr Holmes' the voice answered. 'I'd like to secure your services as a consulting detective. My payment – John Watson's freedom. And as a little extra incentive…well, why don't you go to 221C Baker St. You'll be hearing from me very soon…Sherlock Holmes.' the voice finished, and hung up.

Percy scowled to himself and pounded down the stairs to the basement flat that was 221C. Door locked, he realised. Mrs Hudson's away for the weekend, so…Percy studied the door and started to pick the lock. Gently pushing the door open, one thing stood out to him immediately – a pair of trainers placed neatly in the middle of the door. His phone started trilling gently again, and he picked up, only to be taken aback as a completely different voice to before – a woman's – started speaking, 'H-hello ... sexy.'

'Who's this?' Percy demanded.

'I've sent you…a little puzzle…to celebrate our new relationship.'

'Who is this?,' he repeated, 'And why are you crying?'

'I-I'm not...crying...I'm typing...and this...stupid...bitch...is reading it out.'

Despite the danger than John was in, Percy couldn't help but feel his heart starting to race in anticipation, his system flooding himself with adrenaline at the prospect of this new challenge. 'You've taken hostages other than John?' he stalled.

'Consider their lives a little extra incentive. Twelve hours to solve...my puzzle, Sherlock... or I'm going...to be...so naughty.'

-St Bart's Hospital laboratory-

Percy snapped on his gloves and started examining the trainers as fast as he could – fairly good condition, but the soles are well-worn, owner must have had them for quite a while, length about twenty five centimetres, so probably a man's, but traces of ink inside – a name, perhaps? But no self respecting adult would write their name inside their shoes, so these must have belonged to a child…these shoes, even though they look brand new, they bear a distinct 80's look, they must have loved these shoes as well – scrubbed them till they were in pristine condition again, very clear traces of whitening them where they got discoloured…mud on the soles, I'll need to analyse that.Percy took out a scalpel and scraped off a thin sliver of mud from the soles, delicately sliding it onto a glass Petri dish. Immediately, he dashed over to the nearest microscope, scrutinising every last detail of his sample. This mud…I recognise it, it's Sussex soil…but in the outer layer, there's traces of London soil as well…so the owner is a child from Sussex that went to London and left them behind. Why? He loved these trainers, he wouldn't have left them behind…

As Percy continued his train of thought, the door to the lab swung open; Molly came in, a man sheepishly trailing her – just a little shorter than me, so, height somewhere around one hundred and seventy….five centimetres…underwear very visible above the waistline, tinted eyelashes, taurine cream…

'Gay' he muttered just as the man said 'Hey!' brightly.

'S-sorry?' Molly asked him in surprise, and no small anger.

'Nothing, um…hey' he deflected awkwardly.

'This is Jim, he works in IT upstairs' Molly said after a moment. 'That's how we met; office romance' she giggled along with the man. Right, great, I'm sure, now just leave me alone, his mind whispered.

'Sorry! I am so, so sorry' Jim-from-IT apologised as he knocked over a metal dish. He put the dish back onto the table and shuffled his feet as he became the object of Percy's stare. 'Well, I'd better be off. I'll see you at the Fox, 'bout six-ish?' he asked Molly, now clearly a little unnerved by the consulting detective's unfaltering gaze.

'Yeah!' Molly said brightly. As Jim-from-IT closed the door behind him, she turned to Percy furiously. 'What do you mean, gay? We're together!' she protested. 'He's not gay. Why do you have to spoil ...? He's not' she insisted again. In response, Percy simply lifted the dish Jim had just replaced and showed her the slip of paper underneath; on it, was, presumably, the man's number.

'Break it off now and save yourself the pain' he advised darkly, eyes flaring as he thought about Chase. Molly stared at him for a moment, tears pooling in her eyes, before she turned and ran out of the room.

Charming, old boy. Really well done. You couldn't have been more of an ass if you tried, John's voice whispered in his mind. Well, at least she's going to break it off, it's kinder for her to find out now he consoled himself. Kind? Percy, that wasn't kind mind-John reprimanded him. He scowled to himself again – time enough to have a mental conversation with himself later, he had to save John NOW! Then he blinked, and let out a drawn-out sigh. Stupid, stupid, stupid, I should have thought of that first he admonished himself, and reached out with his mind for John, seeking out his companion, his friend. Percy started spinning around slowly, trying to get a better sense of where John was; he frowned as he realised that he couldn't seem to narrow down his range – he could tell that John was in London somewhere, but that was to be expected. Trying to sense his divine aura yielded the same results. At least this confirms that this Moriarty has links with the mythological world he told himself.

Percy frowned as he looked at the trainers again, gleaming at him infuriatingly. Unbidden, his mind drifted to the first cold case he had taken consulting with Scotland Yard – the death of Carl Powers. Carl Powers – died from having a sudden fit in the water, shoes missing from locker he recalled. Shoes…shoes….SHOES! I need to examine this under a microscope, he realised.

-A few hours later-

He combed the scans of the trainers painstakingly, eyes roving back and forth frantically in a race against time – he had already wasted eight hours, and he imagined that John wasn't pleased right now. There! Botolinum toxin, he realised. Now that was something one didn't see every day. Case solved, now how should I contact Moriarty? The cabbie said that he was a fan of mine…so it goes without saying that he would look at my website! Pleased at his deduction, Percy rapidly posted onto his website: 'Botolinum toxin on trainers of Carl Powers.'

His phone rang again; as he picked up, a new voice came out of the speakers – this time, that of an elderly woman's. 'Clever you, guessing about Carl Powers' she croaked out. 'I never liked him. He laughed at me, so I stopped him. I can stop John Watson too. Stop his heart.'

Percy ground his teeth as he recognised the same, shaking tones as that of the first speaker. Another hostage, another innocent dragged into this mess. 'What did you do to the other one?' he asked in seeming disinterest. 'You've stolen another voice, I see.'

'I let them go. There's no need for others to be caught up in this. This is about you and me…Sherlock. You solved my last puzzle in about nine hours. Let's see if you can beat that record.'

'Why are you doing all this? Sponsoring the cabbie, kidnapping John Watson, what's all of this for?'

'Why does anyone do anything? Because I'm bored. We were made for each other, Sherlock. But to tell the truth…I like…to watch you…dance.'

The call disconnected. Percy's phone lit up as it received yet another text; this time, a blonde woman lying on what he recognised as a morgue slab, with red speckles all over her body. Measles? No, measles rash is very distinctive, much more prominent, these speckles are much fainter and there are far less of them… Percy flicked to his contacts and dialled Molly.

-St Bart's Morgue-

Percy peered down at the blonde woman, eyes raking her body for details. 'What can you tell me?' he asked Molly.

'Her name is Julia Stoner, she was found yesterday by her sister at their home; she was found drowned in the bathtub' Molly stiffly read out from her report. 'Toxicology report says that there was lots of alcohol in her system; cause of death most likely was passing out whilst in the bathtub due to intoxication.'

Percy hmmmed as he leaned over and inspected the body closely. There it was! On her left foot, two tiny perforations – snakebite? He grabbed his phone and starting searching – no reports of any escaped snakes from zoos, so therefore, must be either a wild snake or one kept by a private individual….upon searching the premises, police found that the door was locked, the family said that they didn't keep a snake as a pet, so, someone must have murdered her – it's just impossible for a snake to enter a locked bedroom and leave of its own accord…I need to inspect the scene and question the family myself.

-Julia Stoner's house-

Percy scowled again as he glared at the room. It was infuriating, there were absolutely no clues whatsoever as to how the snake had gotten in. He turned back to the tearful sister – Helen, if he recalled correctly – and gently took her hand, inwardly grimacing as she continued to burst into tears. For John, he reminded himself. 'So, Ms Stoner, could you tell me what Julia was like before she died?' he asked, modulating his voice to be soft yet gently pressing, the same tones that John adopted during their shared cases.

'S-she was feeling a bit tired over the last week, b-but I figured that she was just stressed out from the wedding plans – she, she was engaged and they were planning to marry early next month' Helen sobbed. Percy perked up. Fiancée? That was the first time he had heard of the victim having a fiancée.

'Sorry, I was wondering, does her fiancée happen to keep snakes?' he continued after she had composed herself.

'Y-yes, why?'

'It's just…well, there were snakebite marks on your sister's body' Percy said gently. 'I'm afraid that there may be a possibility that one of his snakes bit her.'

'T-that's impossible' she sniffed out. 'H-he loved her, a-and besides, he has an alibi, i-it's been verified by the police already.'

'And how would you know that?' Percy asked sharply.

'B-because I'm his alibi' Helen sniffed and looked at him directly in the eyes. 'I-I was giving him the third degree' she said sheepishly. 'W-we met at a club, the police already examined the video footage there – they'll confirm this.'

Percy blinked rapidly as he took the information in – Scotland Yard isn't incompetent enough to bungle the validation of an alibi, so for now at least, I'll have to accept this as true…she doesn't look like she's lying…- 'Is there any way that she could have come into contact with his snakes?' he inquired.

'W-well, he keeps them at his home, so i-it's possible that s-she might have been bitten whilst she was over at his flat…b-but she hated snakes, wouldn't go anywhere near them!'

'I see…you've been very helpful Ms Stoner; just one more thing, if you wouldn't mind – could I check her room one last time?'

'G-go ahead' she stammered out, a little confused.

Percy nodded and strode into the adjoining bathroom. On the night she died, she had been drinking – clear traces of alcohol in her system from the autopsy report….she was found in her bathtub, enjoying a…bubble bath? Percy peered closely at the bubble bath bottle – Roylotts brand, apparently. He frowned – he'd seen Mrs Hudson using other Roylotts products before – some cosmetics thing or other, she was a big fan of the brand as he recalled – he'd bought her some of the products for her birthday just last week and she had loved it. He hadn't recalled seeing a bubble bath bottle though…and looking around the bathroom now, the deceased Ms Stoner seemed to not have been a fan of Roylotts, or cosmetics products in general. Curious and curiouser.

'I'm sorry, is this a new product?' he asked Helen. 'I, um, my girlfriend is a big fan of Roylotts' he lied fluently.

'Y-yeah, it's not released in stores yet, b-but my stepfather, he's, well, he's the CEO of Roylotts. He gave me one too' Helen shrugged, eyes still a little red-rimmed from her crying – but at least she's stopped that incessant crying. Percy glanced around the bedroom again, paying attention especially to the photographs – in every one of them, the two sisters seemed to be positioned away from a tall, imposing man – their stepfather, probably. So, obviously not close, from the tension in their stances, it's clear that their relationship is a bit troubled – now why on earth would he suddenly give them a gift – out of the benevolence of his heart? Not likely…

'Thank you very much, Ms Stoner, you've been very helpful' he informed her, surreptitiously pocketing the mysterious bottle.

-St Bart's Hospital laboratory-

Percy grinned to himself as he studied the lab report. Trace amounts of botulinum – just enough to paralyse Ms Stoner in the bathtub, causing her to drown as the bathtub overflowed. He bit back a laugh as he remembered his first ever visit to the Underworld. Drowning in a bath tub, that brings me back. The brief moment of levity was then lost as he remembered his companions for that quest. He went to his website and posted: 'Botulinum toxin in bubble bath bottle.'

Precisely two minutes after he had posted the message, his phone began to ring again. He picked up. 'Good! Very good!' an oily voice taunted. 'Your next…challenge is going to arrive at your flat very soon, Sherlock.'

'Give. Me. John. Watson' he ground out.

'Patience, Sherlock. This is just our first date after all.'

'If this is a date, then why not speak to me in your own voice?' Percy questioned.

'I know how much you're enjoying this game – I can't simply just give it away on our first encounter, what date would I be then? This is just the beginning my dearest Sherlock. But soon, we'll meet face to face. Be patient, Sherlock Holmes, we're just getting started.'

-221B Baker St-

Percy raised an eyebrow at the immaculately dressed man in front of him – expense of the suit says lawyer or banker, more likely to be banker though judging by his – no, definitely a banker, judging from business card tucked into his breast pocket; perspiration stains on hands and his handkerchief poking out of his left pocket, ergo stressed, the way he keeps checking his watch and glancing around to see if there are others indicates the need for my services is urgent and of a highly confidential nature, that'd be supported by how he was wringing his hands before he came in here –

'What can I do for you today Mr Holder?' he asked. 'I'd offer you tea but I can see from your fingers that this is of the highest importance, and being a banker I believe you'd appreciate brevity.'

'H-how?' Holder spluttered, before shaking his head. 'Bloody hell, I heard you were quick.'

'I am Sherlock Holmes; being quick is how I make my living. Now do please tell me what happened a few hours ago.'

'Y-you're right' Holder stammered out, before recomposing himself. 'Yesterday, I was approached by a client, who needed a loan of two hundred million pounds. Obviously, such a large loan needed to be backed up by some collateral. I-in this case, the collateral was a tiara, in which was set several precious stones; one of them was a diamond recently obtained from Africa, just as large as the Koh-i-noor gem before it was first cut- '

'The Koh-i-noor gem' Percy deadpanned. 'The same Koh-i-noor that happens to now be a part of the crown jewels, and weighed in at seven hundred and ninety three carats when first uncut.'

'Yes - ' Holder started.

'And now it's missing?' Percy interrupted again. 'Of course it's missing, that or the entire tiara is missing,' he waved his hand, 'You wouldn't have come here so quickly otherwise - please, tell me more Mr Holder.'

'While the bank's security is ample, it was agreed upon that I should take the tiara and store it in my personal safe. A few hours ago, in the middle of the night, I heard a noise coming from the safe room. Naturally, I hurried there at once. When I got there, I found the tiara in my son, Arthur's hands, a corner broken off, and the diamond was missing. It is, I'm sure you can understand, a matter that requires the highest discretion, and I would be willing to pay any sum you care to much, up to the limit of-'

'I'll take it' Percy said tersely. 'Let's go to your house now.'

'I-I haven't mentioned a figure-'

'Mmm, give me one hundred million pounds from your private bank account' Percy broke in. 'Now, let's go' he hissed out. 'Fill me in on the way.'

-Holder's house-

Percy's movements were so silent, so furtive, that they were oddly reminiscent of a trained bloodhound picking up a scent as he flittered through Alexander Holder's house. From what the man had told him, Arthur Holder was a fairly intelligent, kind young man – reading science at Oxford, he was also heavily involved in charity fundraising events and community service. He had no debts though, given who his father was, didn't want for anything; nothing at all about him seemed to indicate that he could have been involved at all in the theft – save for the fact that he had been caught holding the tiara in front of the opened safe. His mind flashed back to when he had been interrogating Alexander Holder in his chauffeured car.

'Apart from yourself and your son, who else occupies your house Mr Holder?' Percy inquired.

'My niece, Mary, is the only other person who lives in my house' Holder said after a moment.

'Who regularly visits your house?'

'Well, Mary has a boyfriend, a, uh, George Blackwell. Apart from that, we have cleaning staff once every week, but they're not scheduled to visit my house until Monday.'

'I see…remind me, what did your son say after you asked him what happened to the diamond?'

'He refused to answer me and told me he was leaving' Holder said angrily. 'He said that I should have more faith in him, but how can I when I saw him holding the tiara with the safe open!'

'Hardly conclusive and definitive evidence' Percy scowled. This is exactly why I usually don't take these kinds of cases, they're always jumping to conclusions, he sighed inwardly. Refocusing on his client, he elaborated, 'I presume that you searched his rooms and pockets and found no trace at all of the missing diamond – so if he stole the diamond, then he must have taken it earlier, and had thus returned to the scene of the crime. Consider your theory: you suppose that your son came from his rooms to your safe, stole the gem, and then returned to the room, where he had the greatest chance of being discovered. Ludicrous, is it not? No, in this case, Occam's razor prevails – he is a victim, Mr Holder, not the perpetrator.'

'That was amazing' Holder exclaimed in joy, before becoming sombre again. 'Regardless of my son's innocence, or lack, as the case may be, the evidence suggests strongly that he is involved with the theft, and his refusal to say anything about it is not helping him; I fear he and my firm may be prosecuted' he said worriedly, starting to wring his hands again.

Percy paused as he inspected the safe and the tiara inside it again. He blinked. A platinum tiara? How interesting… He could clearly see the missing corner snapped off. Hmmm, a bit hard to do considering just how hard platinum is… Tensing his arms, Percy tried to break off a piece of the tiara himself; despite his own unnaturally high strength, he felt the metal only bend a bit. Arthur Holder couldn't have done it, he decided – from the pictures decorating the study, Arthur's build simply wasn't muscular enough to allow him to bend the stupid coronet. He glared again at the offending article of jewellery before turning his gaze towards Holder's niece, Mary. Time to question her, he decided, and then paused as a chain of deductions leapt into being. Eyes are holding contact, but they're involuntarily sliding away…she feels guilty about something, but what? Her clothes – in the photographs I saw before they were always perfectly immaculate, but now? They're creased – she's not taking care of her personal appearance, then, that'd be substantiated by her hair – she hasn't brushed it, and it's nearly midday – she should have been up for several hours, so something is on her mind, but what? She knows something…

Percy turned and smiled charmingly at Holder. 'Mr Holder, I prefer to conduct my interviews with the utmost of privacy – might I request that I interview Mary alone?' he queried.

'Of course, I understand' Holder nodded and left, closing the door behind him. Percy strode over to the door immediately and locked it, before turning to Mary.

'I know that you were involved with the theft, Mary' he said calmly, blinking in surprise as she backed away from him in surprise – she probably thinks you're a sexual predator, genius idea Percy, mind-palace-John snarked – snatching a heavy glass paperweight. 'Now then, I'm going to have to ask you where your boyfriend has stored it-'

'How can you possibly know about George?' she gasped out, and clapped a hand over her mouth. Percy smirked. Hook, line, sinker.

'I didn't, not for certain, but thank you for confirming it for me. I imagine you'll be charged with being an accessory to a theft, as well as to framing your cousin for said theft, but I could help you work out a deal' he answered. 'Tell me everything.'

Mary paled with every word he spoke, until she staggered backwards and slid against the wall. She opened her mouth and began to speak.

'Thank you, thank you Mr Holmes' Holder gasped out, hugging him furiously again. Percy felt the sides of his mouth become just a little more downturned – this was getting ridiculous, fifteen hugs in as little as five minutes! 'Here's my bank account details' he grunted, scrawling out the necessary information onto a piece of paper. 'I also think you owe your son an apology.'

'Yes, I'll be visiting him later to apologise. Thank you again, Mr Holmes, and…if there's anything you need in the future, j-just contact me' Holder smiled, wiping away tears of joy and passing him his business card.

'Thank…you?' Percy said haltingly. 'Perhaps I shall. Farewell Mr Holder' he nodded. As he strode away, he tapped out and posted another message on his website: 'It was George Blackwell along with the assistance of the niece, Mary.'

Sure enough, barely a minute after he had posted his message, his phone buzzed again; this time just an image of a swimming pool. Percy frowned as he recognised the location. The pool where Carl Powers died. He scrolled over to the text that accompanied it:

Tonight, at midnight. Tell no one, or Dr Watson will die. – M

-221B Baker St-

The moment he was in his armchair, he set an alarm on his phone for 11:00pm on maximum volume, before promptly diving into his mind palace – if he was going to successfully save John, his nerves needed to be perfectly settled, his reactions sharp, and the only way to do that was to organise all the clutter in his mind. As he opened his eyes inside his mind palace, he found John and Molly in front of him, looking at him approvingly. 'You saved the other hostages' mind-Molly smiled at him. 'I always knew you were a hero.'

'I'm not a hero' he fired back automatically. 'I just happen to be someone that does things perceived as good in the accepted deontological paradigms of today's society.'

'Bollocks!' mind-John countered calmly. 'You saved those people-'

'Because your life was at stake, John' Percy snarled out, before sighing and shaking his head. 'Arguing with myself…'

'You may have saved those people because it was John's life at stake, but do you honestly think that we believe that you weren't infuriated when you heard other innocents had been dragged into this Percy?' mind-Molly questioned.

'Don't make people into heroes, John, Molly' he said softly. 'Heroes don't exist anymore, and even if they did, I most certainly wouldn't be one of them.'

'It's a calling. It's your calling' the fragments of his consciousness whispered. 'You left America and the life of a demigod hero behind because you were feeling sorry for yourself. A pathetic excuse. You spent the last ten years running away, but it's time for you – us – to stop running.'

'I'm sorry I keep letting us down' he said eventually, and left.

-The Pool-

Percy could barely stop himself from running straight towards John, mindful of the overly large vest his friend was wearing. Now that he was seeing him in a fairly good light, he realised that the vest was packed with explosives – enough explosives that if they were set off, it would probably wipe out everything within a five metre radius at least. But at this distance, he could see that apart from the fading bruise that marred his face, John was unharmed, physically at least. Percy frowned as his nose detected just the faintest trace of chloroform – so this Moriarty had been sedating John for the past couple of days, that explained why he was standing so shakily, at least. He gazed around the pool again, particularly the stands, acutely aware of how they were cast in shadows – perfect for any assassin lying in wait for him. 'Who are you?' he demanded out loud, spinning slowly in a circle. 'And where are you?'

John, are you alright? he sent out mentally – when they were this close, nothing could stop him from communicating with John mentally. I'm fine, Percy John replied. Percy, you need to run! his friend urged. Not without you, Percy responded simply. After all, you would do this for me.

'I gave you my number. I thought you might call' a man called out plaintively, stepping out from a door across from him. Percy frowned. Wasn't this man Jim-from-IT? 'Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket? It's rather dangerous to finger a loaded firearm in one's pocket, you know' Jim-from-IT called out. 'Or are you just pleased to see me?'

'Both' Percy replied, pulling out said firearm and aiming it at the man, who strode forward confidently, heedless of the gun aimed at his head.

'Oh, I don't think you want to do that' he smiled thinly, clicking his fingers; at once, several laser sights started dancing across John's chest. 'Jim Moriarty. Hi!' he sang out as he came to a stop. Mocking disbelief painted his features, only to be coated by feigned disappointment. 'Jim? Jim from the hospital? Did I really make such a fleeting impression? Although, I suppose that was rather the point.'

Moriarty slunk forward, head swaying just a tad from side to side in a hypnotic fashion, like a snake slithering through the grass. 'Don't do anything silly now Sherlllock' he drawled, hands firmly in pockets. 'I've given you a glimpse, just a tiny glimpse, of what I've got my fingers dipped into in the big bad world. I'm a specialist, you see. Like you!'

'Consulting criminal' Percy whispered. 'Novel. How brilliant.'

How repugnant, mind-palace-John whispered.

'Isn't it? I do barely anything myself of course, though I'm more than capable of that; I leave the sordidness mostly to my agents. If there a crime to be done, a paper to be abstracted, a house to be rifled, a man to be removed—the word is passed to me, the matter is organized and carried out. No one gets to me. And no-one ever will' Moriarty smirked.

'I did.'

'Mmm, you've come the closest; now you're in my way.'

'Thank you.'

'Didn't mean it as a compliment.'

'Yes you did.'

'Yeah, OK, I did,' Moriarty admitted, shrugging. 'But the flirting's over Sherlock, I've had enough now!' he sang out. 'Although I have enjoyed this – this little game of ours. You've seen what I can do; I cut loose all those people, even that diamond just to make you come out and play.'

Stay calm John, Percy broadcasted, noticing that John was beginning to feel the pressure of having a gun pointed at his face. If need be, I can and will use my powers. There's no reason to panic, absolutely no reason to-

Shut up, Percy, John snapped, scowling at him.

'So take this as a friendly warning, Sherlock, my dear. Back off,' Moriarty's voice broke into his thoughts.

'People have died' Percy ground out, unsure as to why he was saying this – why it bothered him. Because you're a hero, his mind jeered. Because you're a hero, and you'll always be a hero no matter what you say…

Moriarty shook his head faux-sadly. 'That's what people DO!' he snarled out, before, quick as lightning, he reasserted his composure. 'Do you know what happens, if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock, to you?'

'Oh, let me guess, I get killed,' Percy snarked back.

'Kill you?' Moriarty said in surprise. 'No, don't be obvious; I mean, I'm going to kill you anyway someday…I don't want to rush it, though. I'm saving it up for something special. No – no – no – no. If you don't stop prying, I'll burn you,' he whispered, his face, just for a moment, flashing darker than Tartarus. 'I'll burn the heart, out of you.'

'I've been rather reliably informed that I don't have one' Percy countered.

'But we both know that that's not quite true,' Moriarty smiled, nodding subtly at John. 'So do take this as a friendly warning, my dear. Back off.'

'Great. Leave' Percy growled out. 'Or the police are going to have to arrest me for murder.'

Moriarty threw back his head and started laughing – a chilling sound that sent shivers running down the partners' spines – no small feat, considering both of them were veterans of war. 'I am quite certain that someone of your intelligence can see that there is only one possible outcome to this affair. It's been a treat, Sherlock, really it has, and I must admit, I might shed some tears for you if I was forced to take any extreme measures. Oh, you smile Sherlock, but I would, I really would.'

'Danger is part of the job.'

'This is not danger' Moriarty replied. 'It is inevitable destruction, Sherlock. You're not facing just me, but a mighty organisation, which even you come up short against' he added, almost sadly. The demon in front of him smiled and shrugged, making a show of nonchalantly checking his watch. 'Well, I'd better be off. So glad we've finally had a proper chat and cleared the air.'

'What if I was to shoot you now – right now?' Percy inquired. This was the first time that he'd been challenged in a very long time, and he realised that he was drawing a kind of perverse pleasure from this entire encounter.

'Then I suppose you can cherish the look of surprise on my face,' Moriarty said cordially, completely unperturbed. The man even had the gall to mock him by opening his eyes and mouth wide open! 'Because I would be surprised, Sherlock, really I would. And just a little bit…disappointed. And of course, you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long,' he smiled, gesturing towards the laser sights that now trained themselves on Percy; as the grin dropped from Moriarty's face, just for a moment, Percy felt an impending sense of doom, the shadows and night growing darker, reaching out to envelope him and consume his very being – he could have sworn later that just for a moment, his heart had stopped beating. 'Ciao, Sherlock Holmes.'

Definitely someone with a mythically inclined family tree Percy exulted. Very well, so he is of divine heritage, and the fact that he used his powers so brazenly would seem to suggest that his accomplices are aware of this fact, perhaps even demigods or legacies themselves – at least, the ones here are; no demigod would risk exposing the mythical world to mortals. But then most demigods don't use high-tech explosives or firearms, so legacies seem more likely…

Even as he mulled it over, he fired back a sarcastic 'Catch you later.'

'No you won't!' Moriarty sung, the door swinging shut softly behind him.

His gaze drifting to John, Percy ran over and unfastened the thick vest strapped onto John's chest. 'Are you alright?' he asked. 'Are you alright?'

'Sherlock, I'm-I'm fine, fine' he gasped out. 'Jesus.'

Percy reached out to steady his friend as he stumbled, absent-mindedly throwing the vest as far away from the two of them as he could. All the stress of the past few minutes seemed to be hitting John at once, as he slid back down against the pale blue wall of the changing cubicle. Hyperventilating, dilated eyes, shock, his mind noted. He started pacing back and forth, still mulling over Moriarty's demigod status. You're safe now, he assured him.

His aura was like nothing I've ever seen before, it was completely alien, just so cold and…dark. I'm sure that I would have remembered such a distinct and potent aura – since this is the first time I've come across it, that means his parent can't be affiliated with Olympus; but its potency, how could his aura be so strong without being descended from a major god, how -

'I'm glad no one saw that,' John interrupted his train of thought.

'Hmmm?'

'You, ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk.'

Percy shrugged and grinned at his friend – his best friend he thought with a rush of affection – wryly. 'People do little else.'

John chuckled and made to stand up, before freezing as they both sensed Moriarty's aura returning again, even stronger than before. At the same time, a sniper's laser landed on his chest, whilst several more were aimed at Percy. 'Oh-' he muttered.

'Sorry, boys! I'm soooo changeable!' Moriarty cried out cheerfully as he ambled back towards them, stopping next to the explosives-packed vest. 'It is a weakness with me but, to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness.' The man lifted spread his arms out and smiled at them beatifically – like a prophet of the lord, Percy's mind snarked – 'You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't. I would try to convince you, but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind!'

'Probably my answer has crossed yours,' Percy replied, after exchanging a quick glance with John, before lifting his pistol and aiming it at the vest lying innocuously on the floor. As he did so, he subtly asserted his powers over the swimming pool, ready to summon it to block an explosion and provide a shield for himself and John should the need arise. As the tension escalated, and Percy was just deciding to fire off the shot, regardless of the consequences, music shattered the air from Moriarty's pocket. Closing his eyes, Moriarty sighed, exasperated at the interruption. 'Do you mind if I get that?'

'No, no, please, go ahead,' Percy replied pleasantly. 'You've got the rest of your life.'

Moriarty took his phone from his pocket and answered it. 'Hello?' he said, the faintest tinge of annoyance colouring his voice. 'Yes, of course it is, what do you want?'

Sorry, he mouthed at Percy.

Oh it's fine, Percy sniped back sarcastically.

Moriarty frowned as he listened to the person on the other end of the line. 'SAY THAT AGAIN' he roared. 'Say that again, and know that if you are lying to me, I will find you, and I will skin you.' Again, the man frowned, looking toward Percy and John angrily, before turning his back on them. 'Sorry. Wrong way to die' he bit out. 'If you have what you say you have, I'll make you rich. If you don't, I'll make you into shoes' he continued on the phone. Raising his free hand, Moriarty clicked his fingers; the lasers trained on John and Percy pulled away and disappeared. 'You'll be hearing from me, Seaweed Brain' he promised casually as he strolled away.

Percy's eyes widened. What? How could he…

As he began drawing on his power, ready to smash Moriarty until the man told him everything he wanted to know, the demon in front of him turned back and smiled thinly. 'Oh, by the way, did I mention that I had my people plant several bombs around London?' he threw out. 'If you attack me, Percy, then they have instructions to set them off.'

'Those are people's lives you're playing with' he snapped out, ignoring John's approving glance – he wasn't a hero damn it, he just wanted answers! Being a hero isn't something you retire from, mind-palace-John whispered.

'It's all a game, Percy, everything is a game' Moriarty giggled. 'So let me leave, my dear Percy, or you'll have the blood of thousands of innocents on your hands' he winked slyly.

'You're wrong. When you start playing with people's lives, it becomes more than just a game' Percy bit out. 'I will stop you' he promised. 'And know this, Jim Moriarty' he called out as the man began to turn to leave; the man paused, back facing him. 'If I were assured of your eventual destruction, I would, in the interests of the public, cheerfully accept my own.'

'I can promise you the one, but not the other' Moriarty shot back, and continued to move away.

'Sherlock, what just happened?' John asked after the door swung shut behind Moriarty, sighing in relief. He glanced at his friend, and found his jaw dropping at the look on Percy's face. Even though it was rapidly fading, he could clearly see astonishment, mixed with, dare he say it, raw, primal, fear.

'Someone must have changed his mind. The question is who…' Percy said distractedly.

'Any ideas?'

'Haven't the foggiest' Percy lied. He shoved his hands into his pockets, where John wouldn't see them curling into fists, fingernails biting into his flesh. It was her, he thought. Who else could it be? He ground his teeth in anger and self-hatred. Why was it, even after all this time, she still had this effect on him?

-Two months later-

'Really, John? 'The Speckled Blonde'? 'The Geek Interpreter'? Where on earth do you come up with these titles?' Percy sighed as he peeked over his friend's shoulder.

'Shut up, Percy' he said automatically. 'One thousand eight hundred and ninety five' he read out from his website's counter.

'What?'

'This website has gotten nearly two thousand hits in the past eight hours – we're officially a-'

-Simultaneously-

Internet phenomenon: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson

Since moving in together, these two confirmed bachelors have assisted bumbling police chiefs – ranging from Scotland Yard to the NYPD with numerous cases; from killer taxi drivers to hunting down terrorists, they have succeeded where the authorities have often failed.

John Watson is a former army doctor with a distinguished record of service in Afghanistan, and is a decorated war hero. Now, the soldier has turned from fighter to writer; his blog has become an overnight Internet sensation. In it, Dr Watson gives details of the cases he and his partner Sherlock Holmes have solved, both with and without police assistance.

Sherlock Holmes is a mysterious consulting detective that has been working with Scotland Yard and the NYPD, amongst other organisations, for over five years. Little is known about this detective, save for the fact that he graduated top of his class in Oxford University, equal with a close colleague, Molly Hooper, a registrar at St Bartholomew's Hospital. He also obtained a masters' degree in chemistry from Oxford and has written several monographs to do with the study of tobacco ash and advanced research topics in chemistry. Sherlock Holmes takes cases via his website, The Science of Deduction .

For more information on the dynamic duo sweeping the world, read page 2.

Thalia shrugged and turned the page, only to gasp in surprise as she saw the picture of the two consulting detectives. Percy…is Sherlock Holmes?

Response to reviews:

steve, ImaGuest and The Baker: Thanks for that man, I shall endeavour to continue this to the very end!

lol, myra and ImaGuest: I shall take your suggestions for John's heritage under advisement.

Author's note: When I checked my story stats today, I was pleasantly surprised to find that this work had almost 2000 views! Thanks so much for reading this guys, please stay tuned for more chapters, I will update as fast as possible! As always, suggestions for cases from Doyle's canon will be greatly appreciated, and the same goes for suggestions for John's divine heritage. Thanks again for reading this story; I sincerely hope that this chapter is to your liking, because this is where everything really starts to get going! The Greek world and Percy are set to collide together very soon, within 2 chapters! I wonder what they will make of this new Percy...? I am also looking for a beta reader; if anyone is interested please send me a PM :). In concluding, please read and review.

Regards,

ApocalypticPhoenix