A/N okay here's chapter four, hope you like it! I'm still looking for beta so if your interested send me a PM. Don't forget to review and DFTBA!

For John getting up in the morning used to be the worst part of the day before Afghanistan, but now the cold light of the morning sun had become a welcome relief from the night mares that filled the night. Sometimes he dreamt of the war, sometimes it was the fall, but mostly it was just darkness laced with the all encompassing fear that had gripped him as he realised that bullet had hit, the moments when he had gasped "Please God, let me live!".

So John opened his eyes to the beeping of his alarm and longed not to have to go to work today, he was eager to sleep off the exhaustion that clung to him because of the late night spent pouring over the stills and continue where he had left off. He couldn't though, Shara was pissed and there was little point annoying her even further. John began the mundane rituals of getting ready; eating, washing, clothing himself and he did it all without thinking about it, acting on routine. Within the hour he was out of the flat, calling goodbye to Mrs Hudson's closed door and walking out on the street, cane in hand.

John walked down the already busy streets, already his mind was beginning to stop focusing so much on the mysteries that surrounded Sherlock and The Fall, and instead he began thinking about boring things like how little jam he had left and the lack of milk in the fridge. John frowned for a moment, trying to figure out whether that was a good or bad thing, after all he needed to find him but if he focused on it obsessively then someone would say something and he would be shipped back off to Ella again.

John turned down an alley and passed someone spray painting, they painter used a bright yellow spray -smuggler yellow- he looked at what was written and felt his mouth fall open.

I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES!
MORIARTY WAS REAL!
RICHARD BROOK IS A FRAUD!

The still drying yellow was a stark contrast against the dull, red brick back ground, making it the most obvious thing in the alley. The Painter looked up, his face shadowed by the bright sun behind him and the orange hoodie that was pulled up around his head. The moment he saw John he dropped the can of spray paint and began running.

"Thanks!" John called after his, "People need to know!"

John looked up at the drying paint with a small smile, the doctor had long lost faith in the British population after they believed the stories so readily, but now… Maybe some of them weren't so stupid after all. John grinned and continued walking; a positive energy he hadn't felt for a long while beginning to course through him, maybe work wouldn't be so bad.

It wasn't. Shara still wasn't speaking to John, which was completely fine in his opinion, the patients were being friendly and actually seemed to listen to what he said. The hours passed quickly, thank god, and soon he was walking out the automatic door, calling a sarcastic 'See you later Shara!' over his shoulder towards the mute nurse.

He worked from seven till one that day do he had agreed to meet Harry for coffee at the nearest Starbucks. Ever since John had stayed with her after The Fall Harry had demanded they stay in touch, so they met every week for coffee. To be honest he never really looked forward to meeting his sister but he had to; after all, she was his sister.

When John entered the coffee shop Harry wasn't there yet so he ordered a coffee and sat down at a window table, content to sit and stare out of the window while he waited for his sister to make an appearance. It had always amazed him how little attention people on the street paid to the people in cafés, they were happy to just walk past, not caring who was watching them go about their daily lives. It was a lot like the cabbie thing really, no one paid attention to anyone out of their bubble, John knew he had done the same until Sherlock had swooped in and taken a pin to that bubble.

The doors to the café opened and Harry burst in, her long, straight, brunette hair flying around her face as the wind blew it. Harry was almost the complete opposite to John and not just in looks; she was rude, over confidant, vibrant in the way that she dressed and an all round annoying person. So it didn't surprise John when she stomped over to the counter in her heeled boots and began to flirt shamelessly with the guy behind the counter. Once she had a coffee and a number she would never call, Harry walked over to his table, a huge smile plastered on her face.

"Hey bro!" She greeted loudly, John took a deep breath and forced a smile onto his face, hiding the rising irritation she was causing.

"Hello Harry," He replied then added, "You're a lesbian,"

"My girlfriend agrees,"

John exhaled loudly, "So why were you flirting with that guy?"

Harry rolled her eyes, "I was winding him up and it worked," she grinned, brandishing the scrap of scribbled on paper, "Also I have good news: Clara's giving me a second chance!"

"I reiterate: Why the flirting?"

Harry swatted his arm playfully, "Bugger off John," John chuckled into his coffee.

"So how are you?" John asked after he put his cup down.

"I'm good, works boring though," She told him with a grimace, "Everything better now that I have Clara back though, what with her being the love of my life and everything,"

John rolled his eyes, "I'm sure she is,"

"She is," Harry assured her brother fiercely, "She wouldn't put up with me otherwise,"

John laughed and began telling her various stories about the past weeks, she wasn't annoying him yet so the conversations came freely and easily. They bounced between topics quickly, going from discussing the latest episode of 'Doctor who' to the recent serial killer; the one that had been killing people and using the bodies to recreate famous paintings. John should have known that it was only a matter of time before Harry said something insensitive that spoilt everything or he would say the wrong thing that would give Harry reason to believe that he was still depressed.

"So, have you got a girl friend yet," Harry asked, a light smile tugging at her lips.

"Nope," John replied as he lent back in the uncomfortable wooden chair.

Harry raised an eyebrow, "Really? From all the stories about Shara I would have though she would have asked you out by now,"
John frowned, "Why would she do that,"

"Well she obviously likes you," She told him with a smirk, "And the problem the last time was a certain consulting detective and now that he's gone I'm surprised she hadn't given you a second chance,"

"Have you even met the woman?" John demanded even though he knew the answer.
"No,"

"Well she's a bitch," John told her and Harry laughed, "I'm serious, she came into the flat yesterday and told me that it was like a museum dedicated to Sherlock Holmes,"

"Ugh, you're right: bitch," Harry told him with a grimace, "So no girl friend,"

"No,"

"Not even a little one?"

"Harry," John said in a warning tone, his sister rolled her eyes, then a look of sly realisation struck her features. With a smirk Harry leaned forwards, put her head in her hands and cocked her head to one side, her large brown eye twinkling dangerously.

"You were in love with Sherlock, weren't you?" She accused, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

"No," John replied immediately, "I'm straight remember, I like people of the opposite sex, heterosexual,"

Harry rolled her eyes, "Yeah, because it's perfectlyheterosexual to keep visiting you flatmates grave every week, and its fine not to move a singleone of his things because-"

"Harry!" John exclaimed, "He's not here, it doesn't matter, leave it!"

"So you did!"

"No I didn't so for fucks sake shut up about it!" John exclaimed. Harry lent back quick and refused to meet his gaze, instead staring out the window with a stony expression.

Harry was silent for a while and that irrational feeling of guilt began to well up inside John, he scowled at himself. Snapping at Harry had been a perfectly reasonable response, she was being a bitch, but then she was only trying to wind him up. After a few more minutes of silence Harry turned back to her brother, her expression soft and guilty.

"I'm sorry," She mumbled, "It's just you're still so upset over The Fall, you didn't stay this sad this long when Dad died,"

"Yes, well, our father wasn't a very good man," John replied, looking away, when he looked back Harry was frowning.

"And Sherlock was?"

"The best,"

Harry frowned, "See that doesn't make sense John, he lied to you yet you still believe he was a good person,"

"That's because he didn't lie to me," John scowled, "Sherlock wasn't a fraud, he was for real, hell, you have to admit if he was a fraud he was still a genius to pull it off for four years,"

"But the papers!"

"Oh come on Harry," John exclaimed, "You know the papers will print anything, you know that as well as I do!"

"There was evidence," Harry protested, "That Richard Brook fellow,"

"There's your fraud," John exclaimed, pressing his pointed figure down onto the table as emphasis, "His real name is Moriarty, he tricked everyone into believing Sherlock was a fake!"

Harry shook her head sadly, "John, when was the last time you went to see Ella?"

"I don't need a physiatrist," John protested, "What I need is for people to stop being so stupid and face the truth for once in their god-damned lives!"

Harry stared at him for a long moment, her eyes filled with pity, "I'm going to book you an appointment with Ella and you need to promise me you'll go,"

"No," John replied immediately, crossing his arms like a stubborn child, "I won't,"

"Please John," Harry begged with her huge brown eyes.

John sighed, his sister had always know how to get him to do something, always, today was no exception, "Stop that,"

"What?"

"The face and the massive eyes, you know it always works," he relied, the latter part through gritted teeth, "Fine, I'll think about it,"

Harry grinned, "Thank you!"

John just glared in reply.

Harry's phone buzzed, "I gotta go, clara wants me to meet up with her,"

"Have fun," John sighed as his sister got up and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"I will," She promised, "I'll text you when I have the time for the appointment,"

John rolled his eyes, "See you next week,"

"Laterz,"

"See. You. Later?"
"No you won't!"

John exhaled loudly through his nose, dispelling the flash back; he got to his feet and followed his sister out of the door, the air was freezing cold compared to the cosy warmth inside the coffee shop and he wished he had picked up his scarf and gloves. With a grimace, John shoved his hands deep inside his pockets and began to make his way towards the underground, he was going to the embankment at waterloo bridge and hopefully a member of the homeless network would be there.

John got off at waterloo station and made his way towards the riverside, it didn't take long and soon he was limping up the stone steps towards the seating are that overlooked the river. The same homeless person from last year sat there, nursing a polystyrene cup, a jumble of clashing colours protecting her from the cold.

"Got any change?" She asked with a suspicious look on her face. John tried to remember what Sherlock had said, for all he knew there maybe some secret code to this and he had to get that information.

"Erm, what for?" he asked, the woman grinned.

"Oh you know, a cuppa tea, bag of chips," She replied with a smirk, looking excitedly at what John had in his hand. John handed over the fifty pound note and the rolled up request inside it and turned to leave, "Oi, what's your name?"

"Doctor John Watson," He replied before he thought it might be a better idea to not give it.

"Thanks doc," She smiled.

John nodded curtly and turned to walk down the steps; if this didn't work, he had just wasted fifty quid.

"BORED!"Sherlock groaned from his sprawled position on the mattress in the corner of the room. His search for the other members of the web had ground to a halt while he waited for the network to get back to him, so he was left staring at the walls, his brain slowly turning to mush. He was wasting time, every second that he didn't catch them was another second that they had free to do whatever they wanted, another second to hurt John if they wanted to. Sherlock had tried to do as he used to and stop caring, it could cloud the deductions and make things worse, but he just couldn't, not when it was John; John was always the exception.

The Flatmate (Smith, Saxon, Sam? Sherlock couldn't remember, he'd deleted it, The Flatmate was boring) knocked on the door, "Sherlock, are you awake?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, of course he was awake, sleeping was a waste of time; John wouldn't have said that, John would have known.

John, I'm sorry John!

Sherlock shook his head slightly, trying to rid himself of the memory of lying on the rain soaked ground while John tried to find his pulse. He had tried to delete that memory so many times but it always came back, right when he didn't want it too, he supposed it was his punishment really, to have to always remember the pain he had caused his best friend. His only friend.

The Flatmate sighed and entered the room, he took in Sherlock's sprawled, pyjama clad body and shook his head, "Have you even had a shower today?"
Sherlock just gave him a withering look.

The Flatmate sighed again, even John hadn't done this much sighing, someone should get this man an award, "Look, Molly promised you would pay your half of the rent, I need it,"

"Don't have it," Sherlock replied in a bored tone.

"Why?" The Flatmate demanded.

"I gave it away," The consulting detective replied with a shrug.

"You what?" The Flatmate gasped, "Who the bloody hell to?"

"A homeless person," Sherlock told him, "Can you leave? You're infecting the room with your stupid,"

"You gave two hundred pounds to a homeless person?" he exclaimed, Sherlock groaned at his stupidity.

"Fifty, the rest I never had," Sherlock sighed.

"Well when will you have it?" he demanded, crossing his spindly arms.

"Um, well, seeing as I'm supposed to be dead: never!" Sherlock replied with a sarcastic smile, The Flatmate glared at him with those annoyingly large, watery blue eyes.

"Who was the bloke that was here yesterday?" he demanded, "Can you get money off him?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "You're so boring, all about money, John wasn't like this,"

"Yeah, well, I'm not him," He snapped, "Look, get me the money or you're out of here!"

Sherlock smirked and looked him over quickly, "You won't do that, you still need to be in your sisters good books, after all you're back on the drugs! Probably my fault really, an added strain, the lack of sleep weakened your self control. That's why you want that money, I'm guessing you owe some dealers a good bit of cash, probably my half of the rent for the next two months; am I right?"

The Flatmate turned bright red, backed out of the room and slammed the door shut.

Sherlock's smirk deepened, "Thought so,"

Sherlock lent back and stared at the ceiling. Before The Flatmate moved in it must have belonged to a young family, judging from the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling. He couldn't be bothered to deduce anything else, the family would have been boring; mother probably ran off with someone else, that was how most of these things ended.

Sherlock's phone buzzed a little while later:

Take a look at the news, you'll find it interesting. –MH

Sherlock frowned and pulled up the latest headlines on his phone: a woman's body had been found as a re creation of the Mona Lisa. The detective grinned and jumped up, moving towards one of the walls in three long strides; a suspect for a member of the web was an art teacher at a secondary school in Hounslow. The art teacher fit the bill, but there wasn't enough data, he needed more.

Sherlock grinned, finally things were getting interesting!