A/N: I do not own Sherlock, probably if I did I would be traveling to everywhere.

The cab stopped in front of the hospital and Sherlock left hurriedly to the lab entrance that was located in the alleyway between buildings. He pulled out a key he had copied from a master set that he had nicked from Mike Stamford years ago when he had denied him access to a spine he wanted to experiment on. Sherlock was turning the lock when John caught up, looking annoyed. "You know, you could stop abandoning me at the end of cab rides and pay for once. My income is on the Oyster card level with Mary buying every baby thing under the sun."

Sherlock opened the door and ignored John. He had already set to scanning the room for the cypher. "Do be a proper assistant and look for any yellow paint," Sherlock said off-handedly. John ground his teeth at the detective, but only held back a sharp insult because of the intensity and fragility of the day. Might as well be nice to the git since his whole world keeps going topsy-turvy every three hours. But only for today. Next week, John planned to lay into him about being rude again.

Sherlock had been scanning the room. He was 72% sure the cypher wouldn't be in the lab but he was delaying the trip up to the roof. The last time he had journeyed up there, he had exited unconventionally and he was afraid of what his mind would recall or whom.

"Your friends will die if you don't. Your only three friends in the world will die ... unless ..."

John was rummaging, opening cupboards and pushing aside metal cabinets for any clues. He looked over at Sherlock to give him his empty report but the man was far off. It didn't seem like he was in his mind palace. More like a memory had pushed its way to the surface and Sherlock was fighting it back. "Sherlock? I haven't found anything here." Sherlock wasn't responding, then a beat later he shouted, "NO!"

John was startled but he could tell that the outburst wasn't really for him. Sherlock noticed John's reaction, "No, there wouldn't be anything here, would there?"

The doctor noticed that he was avoiding the obvious, and that wasn't like Sherlock. He lived to exploit others who did not observe the obvious. He was scared. This was difficult for him. John knew that Sherlock hadn't been up on the roof since … well since the event. But if they were going to solve this incident, they were going to need the clue. "Roof, then?" John gave a hesitant look.

Sherlock looked away from his friend and found a spot on the wall to stare at so he could reign in his anxiety. "Yes, the roof." John strode over to the other side of the room and put a firm hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "Alright, let's head up together, then." Sherlock nodded and they made way out of the lab.

They got into the lift silently, and took the remaining journey up the caretaker's stairs. John opened the door to the roof and stepped out of the stairwell. Sherlock hesitated for only a moment but he walked out to stand beside John. He started scanning the roof, and when he finally looked to the ledge he was startled back. He saw for a split second, James Moriarty casually listening to his phone, waiting for Sherlock to join him. John grabbed Sherlock's arm to steady him. "Are you alright?" Sherlock blinked back to the present and nodded while turning his body away from the area that startled him. Sherlock pointed to the ledge. "There. There is the cypher.

John directed his vision towards that location and noticed the yellow paint that was behind a small crate someone had left. John expected Sherlock to instantly go over to examine the clue like before, but he wasn't making any attempts to move. "Alright, I'll take some pictures of it with my mobile and we'll get off this bloody roof." John marched to the site and kicked the box aside with his shoe to take a few pictures. Sherlock, now alone, leaned against the stair door and let his mind wander again looking for a reprieve from this situation.

"Your friends will die…unless… but you didn't do as I asked did you, Sherlock. You thought you would be exceptional and escape death, but you were selfish. You couldn't even make a real sacrifice to save the only people you care about in this world. Shame, shame, shame. You're just like everyone else, so selfish." Moriarty was taunting him from the padded room he was kept in, but the cell door had a habit of being unsecure during slumber.

"NO! NO!"

Adelaide had sprung out of bed and quickly made her way into the room that contained her little brother. He was shouting so loud, she thought there might be some altercation taking place so she had grabbed her side arm from the night stand and lead with it, only to find Sherlock, flailing about, tangling himself in his sheets in a sweat. Nightmares. This hadn't been the first time she found him disgruntled in his sleep, but the shouting was new.

She put the weapon down and sat on the bed, pinning his arm down as he tried to push her away. "Sherlock! Sherlock, wake up!" she said forcefully while shaking his shoulders. Sherlock opened his eyes and stopped moving. He stared up at his sister with anxiety and terror in his eyes. Adelaide stroked his forehead and caressed his hair. He calmed slightly and sat up. She instantly wrapped her arms around him and he paused for only a moment before he returned her embrace. Sherlock could feel tears welling up as the fear subsided and sadness threatened to overtake him. When he started sniffling, Adelaide pulled back to look at him and placed his hands in hers. Moonlight illuminated the room enough for her to see his eyes rimmed with red. He was a right mess.

"Moriarty nightmare?" She asked the obvious, but Sherlock was glad to have had her say it rather than him outright admitting it. He brought his head down to hide his face, even though he knew he couldn't really hide anything from her. She could always tell what he tried to conceal from everyone else.

Adelaide squeezed his hands gently, "What did he say to you? You've been restless before, but he said something to you this time. What was it?"

Sherlock hated how she could deduce him so thoroughly. He hadn't seen her in years, then she had found him in Poland a month ago. She says found, but he knew that Mycroft must have had a hand in directing her to find their younger brother. Sherlock had been dismantling the Network over the past eight months, but his behaviour was becoming erratic. Sherlock missed checkpoints and evaded any handlers that Mycroft had tasked to keeping an eye on him. He had been squatting on a street corner, wrapped up in a ratty blanket, observing the comings and goings of a few key targets, when she dropped a wrapped sandwich into his lap. "I know you don't eat on cases, but even real vagrants manage a meal now and then." He looked up and saw his sister for the first time in almost a decade.

Now she was still looking at him, seeing everything he tried to hold back and he realized it was futile. Sherlock took a deep breath and exhaled, "I didn't make a true sacrifice. I was selfish by cheating death. I was supposed to die to save them and I didn't." He became upset again so she took him in her arms as his tears broke through.

"Oh, little one, why must you think the worst things about yourself?" she sighed as she combed her fingers in his damp overgrown hair. "What you did was not selfish. If anything you've gone beyond any martyrdom he intended you to have. You gave up your life and banished yourself away so you could continue to protect your friends. That is selfless, Sherlock. You are a true friend to those you care about and you can't let a ghost haunt you and tell you any different. You need to believe in yourself, that you will settle all of this and go back home where you belong."

Sherlock listened to her heartbeat and let the sound of it beat the words of comfort she gave him into his mind. Adelaide was his comfort from the very beginning. Anytime Mycroft had been cruel or unkind he could always depend on Addy to be there to tell him it was alright. She was his defender too, against Mycroft of course, but when her friends from school would make fun of him she would stand for him against any claim that he was weird or odd. Adelaide lost so many schoolmates and potential boyfriends because of him. Maybe she had been too protective, or maybe he had failed to grow up because she had always been the barrier between the hurtful world and himself. That's what he told himself when she left, it's the sentence Mycroft gave if ever he mentioned her after she departed from him. He had been so angry with her for leaving, and he had been so fearful of ever seeing him again because of that. Perhaps she wouldn't have forgiven him for not understanding. For being so caught up in himself that he couldn't see what was actually going on.

He rose back up to a sitting position, "Do you think I can actually go home after this? Won't I hurt them more when they find out? I was able to speak with Molly a few weeks ago and she said that John hadn't been well."

Adelaide looked for the words to best comfort him and the truth seemed like the best answer. "John misses his friend. He will move on at some point. Next year, five years, maybe? And he'll be angry at you for what happened. He might not understand completely why you did it and God knows you will be terrible at explaining it." Sherlock made to argue with her, but she halted him quickly. "Sherlock Holmes, you are the most empathic, selfless person I know who can't express himself well enough for others to see that immediately. But anyway, John will want you back. Even if he's got a wife and ten children, he'll always want you back. You two deserve to have your friendship and to be happy. If you keep away, that's when Moriarty finally wins."

He was glad she was here with him, saying the words he refused to think. The words his subconscious was so strongly denying. He was a good person. He had good friends and he made an extreme sacrifice to repay them and protect them because they cared about him. Sherlock let his mind settle in him and he gave a final sniffle and Adelaide gave him a tissue to stop him from wiping his nose on the sheets. He felt like a child again and a feeling of shame washed over him as he realised his behaviour was not befitting a man of his age. Sherlock rubbed his face and he replaced his weeping eyes with a stoic expression.

Adelaide noticed the change and took it as a sign to move on from the subject. "Since we're up, why don't I go make us some tea and you can tell me about the case you mentioned with the thief who used a poisoned blow gun. The one with the giant, 'the Headcrusher'. It sounds like a proper bedtime story."

Sherlock scoffed at her, "You are worse than John. He made a habit of making interesting cases fantastical instead of intellectual. I use science, and reason to make deductions, not by some magical, unempirical trick." He was beginning to pout and she thought he must be feeling better. Adelaide stood up and ruffled his hair, "Which is clearly why I prefer to hear your calculative rendition than rely solely on the blog, although Dr. Watson does seem to have found a voice singing your praises." He looked surprised at her. "You read John's blog?" Adelaide rolled her eyes, "Obviously, and that's not the only one I have referenced. I cannot tell you how many times proper ash identification has saved my head." She smiled and made way for the kitchen. He heard her cheerfully humming a tune and Sherlock Holmes realised he was grateful he wasn't alone.

John came back to the stair door to find Sherlock halfway in the shadows staring at his shoes. "Got the photos. Looks similar to the ones from the pool…Ready to go?" Sherlock popped his head up and grabbed John's mobile to flip through the pictures. "Yes. It's on par with the others." Satisfied, he bounded down the stairs and John followed.

When they reached the surface street, Sherlock flagged down a cab. After John gave the address to the cemetery where Sherlock's headstone was located, he asked, "If Moriarty isn't doing this, then you must have some sort of idea of who is behind it." Sherlock answered promptly, "I do. It is a person who had a more than professional relationship with Moriarty. A one-sided admiration, at least."

John gave a puzzled look, "Who would admire Moriarty? He was insane." Sherlock winced, "Best not say that around Molly, John. I believe that the 'Jim from IT' incident is one to avoid mentioning." John did feel bad now then felt worse that Sherlock Holmes, the anti-empath was telling him how to mind someone else's feelings. "Well, anyway, not many people would be enticed by Moriarty in his fully fledged form."

"True, but I met such a man while I was…away. Of every person I observed, he was the only one with such an attachment to Moriarty. Sebastian Moran. He was very high in the network and one of the few people to have direct contact with Moriarty. He gave me a proper monologue about his devotion to him while in Poland. It was one of the most boring stories I had ever heard." Sherlock was looking out the window now.

"Okay, so this man, Moran? He is behind this? Well that is a lead, then." John added a bit of hopefulness to his last sentence. Sherlock sighed, "Yes, but therein lies the problem. He is dead. Assassinated. You know there is a formula to determine how important a person is to be considered assassinated instead of just murdered? Well, at least I have come up with one that takes in a count a number of variables and factors—"

"Wait. Wait, Sherlock. You are saying that your only lead on who the person who is doing this is dead? Is he dead like you-dead, or actually dead-dead?" John was getting a bit frustrated at the reality of his life was that people did not stay buried like normal.

"Dead-dead, John? Really? …I suppose you are justified in your concern though. I am not completely certain. I was told he had died by a trusted source who disposed of Moran themselves," Sherlock stated.

"You have an assassin you trust? Oh god—please don't tell me it's Mary. I really couldn't handle that today." John began to run his hand on top of his head.

"No. Believe it or not, not every assassin I know is your wife. But Mary will be meeting her in an hour and a half when she arrives at Baker Street. They'll probably have the most interesting teas that have ever occurred there, and with your history, you should get on swimmingly with someone in her profession" Sherlock smirked at his nervous friend.

"Really? Your sister is an—blimey. I do have a type, don't I?" John shook his head, trying to believe that this is all real. Assassins, lady assassins just coming out of the woodwork. He chuckled and thought to himself, well, at least they broke that glass ceiling. John almost told that to Sherlock but held back in case he didn't understand the reference or worse, if he did and then John was berated by facts and statistics about the number of women in espionage. Even if he had though, they were approaching the drive of the cemetery and Sherlock had turned away from him, staring at the yard dotted with granite and marble memorials to the deceased looking for his own.

A/N: sooo I planned to explain why Adelaide ended up where she is and that didn't happen. It's a far cry from archaeology to murder for hire but that's character development. Sherlock is super OOC, sorry. He really loves his sister and she's one of those exceptions, she's a combo of parent/best friend that he can really trust. Thank you everyone who reviewed and keep letting me know how this is. I'm enjoying it and I hope you are too. See yall soon!