So, I know that it has been forever since I have given you a taste of this story. Here is the next chapter. Thank you for being patient with me.

-IAmJohnLocked4Life

In hindsight, I could never really comprehend what that noise meant. My brain had just taken over in that instant. I shot out into the living room, where I saw Sherlock standing and slowly begin to fall. Luckily, I managed to catch Sherlock before he hit the ground.

"Jesus, Sherlock." I muttered, lowering him onto the couch. "Why are you trying to stand? I just preformed an operation on you."

"You weren't here." He whispered, his eyes still wide with fear. It was then that I remembered what I had promised him and now I felt guilty.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. You're brother and I were having a little spat."

"I could easily here what you were arguing about." Sherlock answered as I began to check his vitals. "So I assume that Mycroft is questioning the significance of my evidence."

"Of course, I am Sherlock. There is nothing of importance within these files." Mycroft answered.

"May I see those dear brother?" Sherlock questioned, holding his hand out.

Mycroft put the files in Sherlock's hand and Sherlock tore them open, his hands searching for two sheets of paper.

"Here." He said, pulling the sheets out for further inspection. "These are family trees that I have constructed. One is Moriarty's and the other is for Richard Brook. As you can see, there is no difference between them except one. The picture and name of our suspect, Moriarty. Now, had I planned this, I would have changed some of the names. I also would have changed some of the pictures as well, but I would never change both the name and the picture of the same person."

Sherlock then dug around and found more papers.

"These are news paper articles. I believe that you have seen these before, John." Upon further inspection, I agreed that I had seen these before. "We had seen these the night I went to go meet Ms. Kitty Riley." Sherlock continued. "If you look closely, you will see that she wrote every single news article about "Richard Brook: The Story Teller". You can also see that these all come from different news papers. I have done some research on Ms. Kitty Riley. She has only been with one newspaper in her career and that newspaper does not appear among these articles."

Then Sherlock put those away and began to pull out a large script.

"Oh, John. The murder in the paper, the girl died at the hands of the brother's friend." He added.

"What?" I questioned.

"The girl's brother got himself into drug running. The girl followed him as he snuck out of the house. She saw what was happening, for the drugs were coming in and out of the shipping yard. His friend, who was the brother's boss, noticed the girl and tried to get her brother to kill her. He wouldn't, so the brother's friend killed her." And he looked up at me, finally finishing his explanation of the murder.

Sherlock looked back to his brother and began to argue again.

"This is a script of a phone call that I had apparently made with Moriarty. It does not address me by name, but by phone number. As you can see, it is not my phone number and I would have used multiple phone numbers. The phones would have ranged from payphones, burns phones, et cetra. I think you are beginning to understand my drift, but just to be sure." Sherlock reached for another sheet of paper. "This is Moriarty's bank account, with a 500,000 dollar deposit that was suppose to come from me. As you can see, this is not my bank account number. This bank account actually traces back to a member of national parliament." Sherlock went to grab another piece of information, but Mycroft stopped him.

"Stop, dear brother." Mycroft said, gathering the papers that were scattered around the table. "I will try my best." He walked out of 221B and I shut the door behind him.

I moved my chair by Sherlock before continuning our conversations.

"You should call Lestrade." Sherlock commented.

"I will call Lestrade later, Sherlock. I have a question for you. Earlier, you were trying to explain what happened between you and Moriarty. I don't quiet understand it, so can you please explain it again?" I asked.

"Moriarty told us that he had a computer code and that he had left it at Baker Street, after he had been acquitted. Well, I figured it out and told him to meet me on the roof of St. Barts. I gave it back to him, because it was a rhythm that was tapped out with the fingers, each finger tap being a one and a rest being a zero."

"Blimey, that's clever." I said under my breath.

"But I was wrong. It had never been a computer code. It was cartisan number one by Johan Sebastian Bach. The key code had never existed."

"But then...how did he break into all of those places?" I questioned.

"He paid off people who worked there. They were all daylight robberies. He told me that they were willing participants. It was his plan all along. He wanted me to die in disgrace. He wanted me to kill myself. I dangled him over the edge of the roof and that was when he threatened Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and you. He said 'three bullets, three gunman, and three victims. There's no stopping them now, unless my people see you jump. You can have me arrested, you can torture me, you can do anything you like me with, but nothing will prevent them from pulling the trigger. You only three friends in the world will die unless...' The only way to save you was to jump. I was planning to jump, but Moriarty said 'I'm certainly not going to do it', which is how I knew that there was a recall word. He knew that he had messed up, so Moriarty was forced to kill himself to make his "story" complete. Because Moriarty killed himself, I was forced to jump."

"I had to protect you. For the past two years, I have been hunting down the snipers who Moriarty were using to kill everyone."

It fell silent between us for a moment. Sherlock had been giving me time to digest all of the information that he just gave me. I sat there and nodded my head in thought.

"John, please let me..." Sherlock began.

"No."

"John!"

"You don't have to explain yourself right now."

"John, I'm sorry."

"Sherlock, there's no need to be sorry. Its okay."

"Its not okay, John. I saw you at the graveyard. I know that its not okay. I'm sorry."

"Its fine. You don't have to explain yourself to me now. What you need to do is to get better. I want you to get some sleep. Let the chloroform get out of your system."

"I'm not tired." Sherlock argued.

"Sherlock, I can see you fighting to keep your eyes open. Get some sleep. I'm going to call Lestrade and I will be right here when you wake up. Go to sleep."

I stood up and walked out of the room. I called Lestrade, which took about ten minutes. We spoke about the ship yard girl. When he asked me about the specifics, all I told him was that I had a hunch and that he had to trust me. He asked how I came to those conclusions and I told him that I had used some of Sherlock's methods. He took it at face value and told me that he would contact me with how it panned out. I thanked him and we hung up. I walked back into the living room to a wonderful sight. Sherlock had fallen asleep.

I pulled my seat closer to Sherlock's head, as quietly as I could. I sat in the chair for awhile, a smile slowly spread across my face. I had Sherlock back with me. The only one who I loved was back with me, but I still couldn't believe it. I felt like I would wake up at any minute and Sherlock would be gone. A cruel dream that felt so real. It wouldn't be the first time that I had dreams like that. I gently put his hand in mine, noticing that my fingers were over his pulse.

It was that beat that let me know that the heart, that was filled with the best intentions, which belonged to the person that I loved, was still alive. It was that heartbeat that carried me off to sleep.