A/N: Hey guys, thanks for the reviews! Sorry this one's a little late, for some reason it took me ages to write and edit! Hope you enjoy this one I'm not too happy with the ending, I'll probably come back and re-write it eventually. Don't forget to review and DFTBA!

A week had passed since John had coffee with Harry, and as he looked at the wall that was decorated with the stills, he was painfully aware of the fact that things still made little sense; how did he survive, how did get away with it and what the hell did Moriarty said to get him to jump?

John decided to focus on one thing at the moment and that was how he had gotten away with it, Sherlock had a death certificate but where the hell had he gotten it? A though hit John and he realised how Sherlock had done it, and god was it obvious!

Molly!

John hit his forehead with his palm, how the hell could he forget the doting morgue attendant? She should have been the first thing he thought of! Immediately John was on his feet, grabbing his keys and coat and making his way out of the door. He made his way towards the Tesco express that was just a little farther down Baker Street and grabbed some sandwiches and two cans of coke; he needed an excuse to see her.

John exited the shop and got a cab. As he sat on his own he got that familiar feeling of loneliness he always felt when he took cabs now, the empty void to his left was just so glaring and obvious, the army doctor sighed slightly and stared out the window. He hopped out of the car quickly when they got there and almost knocked over a man wearing a hoddie, he called out sorry but the man just gave him the middle figure and carried on walking.

John made his way quickly through the deserted hospital halls towards the morgue, when he got there he knocked a few times and stuck his head round the door. Molly stood by a covered body making notes on a clip board; she looked up at him, grinned and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ears.

"Hello John," She greeted with a smile, John stepped into the room and returned the smile.

"Hey Molly," He replied, "How are you?"

"Oh, I'm alright," She told him; she glanced at his empty hands and frowned, "No cane?"

John smiled again, deliberately ignoring her question, truth was he did need it, the pain was starting to get bad but in his rush to leave the flat he had forgotten it. "Do you want lunch? I picked up some sandwiches from Tesco, chicken alright?"

Molly's smile faded but was quickly replaced by one that was so utterly false you didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to see it was fake, "Go and wait in my office, I'll just put this one back," She said gesturing to the covered body.

John nodded and entered the well lit office; it was your generic office, all wood and metal. Yet molly had managed to sprinkle her own personality around it through pink cushions and a few pictures of her family and two cats. John took a seat opposite the desk and got the sandwiches and cans out of the plastic bag, Molly walked in a few moments later, her hands clasped in front of her and an unreadable expression on her face.

"What is it John?" she asked after she settled herself down in her seat. "I know you want to ask me something so please, just ask me,"

John opened his mouth to speak but couldn't think of a reply to it so he just went with, "What?"

"People only ask me to lunch when they want something; Sherlock, Jim, and now you. Could you just… Please, just… Tell me straight off, or something, it's eaiser that way," she laughed shakily, "After all, you don't want to keep wasting your money on me,"

"Molly…" John sighed.

"Just ask me John,"

John exhaled nosily, "I know Sherlock's alive and I know you helped him fake his death,"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Molly told him with a shake of her head, biting her lip, "Sherlock's dead, I would know, after all, I had to… do my job,"

"You know exactly what I mean," John said in a monotone.

Molly shook her head again, "I swear John, Sherlock is dead-"

John tried restraining the frustration that was beginning to build but had to cut her off, "Molly stop it, stop trying to protect him!"

"No John, you stop!" Molly begged, her face desperate, "He's dead, just leave it, move on!"

"Sherlock is alive, and you know where he is!" John insisted, "For god's sake just tell me, tell me!" he said, shouting the last part. Molly bit her lip but didn't move, she just kept staring at him with her pain filled, brown eyes as his own blue ones begged her, finally she sighed and looked down at her sandwich.

"I told him I wouldn't be able to lie if I saw you like this," Molly murmured, shaking her head, "All destroyed and hopeless, it's terrible seeing you like it, you're normally so strong. It's been killing me keeping this from you these past few months but I had to, he begged me not to tell you, begged John!"

"Just tell me where he is Molly," John pleaded, "I need to see him,"

"I can't,"

"Why?"

Molly looked up at him with a strange expression on her face, she sighed slightly, "Because you'll be in danger if I do,"

John frowned and looked at her suspiciously, "What danger?"

Molly bit her lip, "I don't know, Sherlock said he couldn't tell me; the less I know the better, he told me,"

"Can you find out?" John asked.

"No, I haven't heard from his for almost a month now," Molly told him with a frown as she opened her sandwich, "Not for lack of trying, he won't answer his calls,"

John's eyes lit up, "You have his number?"

Molly sighed, "John don't ask for it, please, I won't give it to you, I told you, I can't,"

"I just," John sighed, "I want tangible evidence Molly, I just want to fricking hear his voice again!"

Molly didn't reply, just took a bite of the sandwich; John began to follow her lead but stopped, "So is that all you're going to tell me?"

"Yes, I'm sorry but he made me promise," Molly told him honestly, her eyes begging him to understand.

John sighed, "I would say it's alright, but it's not, I miss him and to know you have the way to contact him but won't give it to me is torture."

"I'm sorry John," she replied mournfully, John nodded and began eating, silence began.

"So how's your family?" John asked, after the silence had become awkward.

"Mums okay,"

"Do you have any siblings?"

Molly nodded, "I've got a brother, Scott,"

"Is he alright?" John asked, hating his lame attempt at small talk.

"Not really," Molly said with a wince, "He's an addict, he's got a new flat mate though, maybe he'll help,"

"Haven't you tried booking him into rehab?"John frowned.

"He refused to go," Molly shrugged, "I couldn't force him,"

John nodded, and then remembered something, "Sherlock defiantly fell, right?" Molly nodded, "So how did he survive?"

Molly frowned, "I don't know if I can tell you."

"Go on, I know he's alive, what harm can knowing how he survived do?" John smirked. Molly sighed slightly and took a sip form her can.

"Go back to where he fell and see," Molly said finally, "Please don't ask anything else, I've betrayed Sherlock enough today,"

"You haven't really betrayed him Molly," John told her, reaching forwards and patting her hand, "You just confirmed what Mycroft told me and what I had figured out,"

Molly's eyes widened, "Mycroft knows?"

"Yeah, he was the one that got me all the stills and everything so I could work it out," John narrowed his eyes at the look of realisation that was on her face, "What?"

"In the beginning Sherlock was trying desperately to make sure Mycroft didn't find out," Molly told him.

"My fault, I was the one that forced him to look at the footage, I don't think he had touched it," John replied. He frowned; it didn't really make sense, Mycroft was big brother, he had access to all the cameras in the country, so why hadn't he looked? John frowned, he would have to make sure he asked him later.

Molly nodded then looked at the clock, "I really need to get back to work," John looked up, 1:30.

"Gotta play spot the difference," John joked, Molly half smiled before picking up the rubbish and putting it in the bin beside her desk.

"I'm sorry John, I really am, but I can't, I think he trusts me and I've broken it enough already," Molly told him, he hands clasped in front of her.

"See you soon," He said, pressing a kiss to her cheek, "When I've found him we'll have to go out for coffee or something,"
"John…" Molly began but John cut her off by walking away with a smile.

"See you!"

John walked as fast as he could through the deserted halls of the hospital, when he got outside he walked towards the street where Sherlock had fallen. He looked around the street for a long moment, comparing it to the one he barely remembered six months ago. It hadn't really changed much, but one thing stood out more than anything else.

A mesh bin full of different coloured plastic bags, just like you would find in every single hospital in the country.

It was so unassuming, so normal that John's eyes had just glanced over it. Like a chameleon it blended in, so much a part of what you expect to see at a hospital it barely even registered. But it was there; if that had been filled with shock absorber Sherlock could have landed safely then just tumbled out onto the pavement. As John stared at it a similar truck to the one that had hidden Sherlock's landing from the cameras pulled up, a man got out and began chucking the rubbish into the back.

John smiled and walked away, the jigsaw pieces were finally beginning to slot together. He turned down another street and noticed a black car making rolling up beside him. John rolled his eyes and turned towards it, the car door opened and Mycroft looked out at him.

"John," He greeted in a bored tone, his face void of expression, "Get in the car,"

John rolled his eyes again, stepped into the car and sat down next to the Holmes brother.

"Where's your shadow?" John smirked, Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"Who do you mean by that?" Mycroft replied in a forced tone.

"Anthea, who do you think I mean?" John replied with a chuckle.

Mycroft's eyes narrowed, "She's in the front with the driver," He told the army doctor, "Tell me, what have you found out? Your mood seems to have lightened considerably compared to what it's been like the past few times I've visited,"

"Sherlock's alive," John began; the older man rolled his eyes.

"Like I told you," Mycroft replied evenly.

"Yeah, like you told me," John sighed, "I managed to work out how he did it, well, Molly kind of told me,"

Mycroft's eyes widened in interest, "How?"

"Laundry bin, he landed in a laundry bin, it was probably full of shock absorbers," John told him.

Mycroft nodded and smiled, "Of course, the truck, it was a laundry truck." Mycroft frowned, "Well done Sherlock,"

John resisted the urge to gawp, "Didn't expect you to congratulate him,"

"Well, it was rather clever," Mycroft replied, "What do you think?"

"My best friend faked his death, I don't really care how clever it is so long as he comes home," John replied.

"Mycroft raised an eye brow, "You both have the strangest relationship, you talk about him as if you're romantically involved,"

"I swear to god, the next person who implies that I am in a relationship with Sherlock Holmes is going to be punched in the face!" John exclaimed, he gave Mycroft a pointed look, "Regardless of their position in the British government,"

Mycroft chuckled, "You say that yet the one thing you care most about is whether he comes home or not,"

John sighed, "God, Mycroft, normal people in the car here, please explain why that shows how much I 'love' my flat mate?" he exclaimed bitterly.

"Well, in a platonic relationship I would have expected you to say, 'so long as he comes back," by saying 'Comes home' it suggests a much deeper relationship," Mycroft told him, smirking all the while.

"He's my best friend, surely that's a 'much deeper relationship,'" John scowled, putting air quotations in when needed.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and sighed in a knowing manner, "Whatever you say John,"

The car drove on for another five minutes and the two men sat in stony silence, after a while the car began to slow and John looked questioningly over at Mycroft then out at the unfamiliar scenery, "What's going on, where are we?"

Mycroft pointed at a homeless woman sat in a red blanket, "I'm am reliably informed that she had information to give you,"

John nodded, got out the car and walked over to her, shoving his hands deep into his coat pocket as he went. The woman looked up as he approached and looked at him strangely; John pulled his coat tighter around himself and wondered how she could just sit in the freezing cold with only a blanket. Because there's nowhere else she can be. John thought with a frown.

"Spare change?" She asked as he approached, John thought back to what Sherlock had replied with before.

"Erm, don't mind if I do?" John replied in a questioning tone. The woman smiled slightly and held out a piece of folded paper; John smiled and took it, placing it in his pocket. John walked back to Mycroft's car and got in, thankful for the warmth.

Mycroft gave him an impatient look and with a sigh John unfolded the scrap of paper. Scribbled in untidy scrawl in the centre was:

If you value your life, get out of London. The war is about to begin.

John looked up at the Holmes brother and handed him the paper without saying anything. Mycroft looked at it for a long moment before folding it back up and giving it back, his expression was unreadable.

"You'll leave?" Mycroft asked.

"God no," John snorted. "Even if that had scared me enough to want to leave, where the hell could I go?"

"Who knows? Good job you won't be leaving," Mycroft replied in a snide tone, "What with how much you enjoy danger and war,"

"Don't be a dick Mycroft," John warned with a sigh.

Mycroft raised his eyes to the heavens, "So rude, other than your unfaltering loyalty I don't see what Sherlock see's in you,"

John sighed, turned to the window and stared at the raindrops that were beginning to beat down on the windows; looks like a storm was rolling in.

Sherlock slammed his head back against the lumpy headrest and groaned slightly; stake outs were boring, a short bit of calm before the inevitable storm. They were dull, a waste of time and something he might have enjoyed if John were here. Sherlock growled in frustration at how pathetic he was being. He had survived long before John had entered his life and he should be able to survive without him.

The house he was staking out belonged to Daniel Moore, a secondary school art teacher with a penchant for recreating famous paintings with the bodies of his murder victims. But that wasn't why he was here; Sherlock was here for him, for Moran. The network had told him that Moran was going to be visiting here tonight, and so here he waited.

Sherlock drummed his figures against the steering wheel of The Flatmates car, he had borrowed it for a bit, of course The Flatmate didn't know he had borrowed it, but it was for the best, this way he wouldn't be able to get the drugs that Molly was trying to stop him taking. She had tried everything, bought him the car, found him the house, even got him at a job as a cleaner at St. Barts but the call of the drugs was too strong and he was too weak. Sherlock smirked, the poor boy was probably going through withdrawal right now; he was going to be pissed when Sherlock got back.

A car turned onto Moore's street, it was small, nothing fancy; the sort of car a young man in university might have. Sherlock was genuinely surprised when it pulled up outside the teacher's house and Moran got out. He chided himself for being stupid, after all it was the perfect car to have if he was trying to stay under the radar; small, unassuming, not memorable and no defining features.

Moran knocked on the door to Moore's house, after a few seconds (thirty, he was in the back of the house, probably the kitchen but Sherlock couldn't be sure at this distance) the murderer answered the door. The two of them spoke for a few minutes then Moore went back in the house as Moran went to the car. Moore reappeared in a coat a few minutes later, locked the door and walked towards where Moran stood. Moran said something else and got into his car, after a seconds hesitation Moore mirrored his actions and got in. The car drove off and turned left, Sherlock stared his.

Sherlock smiled and took his phone out; from memory he punched Donovan's number in and sent a text:

Daniel Moore, Hounslow, art teacher: he's your killer.

He slipped his phone into his pocket and followed Moran, from the direction the killer was heading in Sherlock could tell where they were headed. There was on old warehouse across the river where Moran liked to conduct meetings, no doubt he was going there. Sherlock took a longer route than the one Moran would take, he might miss something but he needed to stay undercover, he needed to stay dead.

After driving for fifteen minutes Sherlock turned into an industrial site and let the car roll to a stop. He got out, closed the door and ran quietly towards warehouse 14; he slipped inside the cold building and hid behind a pile of boxes. Moran stood in the middle, surrounded by thirty dangerous looking people, Sherlock peered round the boxes and took note of their faces and saved them in his mind palace; when he got home he would try and put names to faces. Before anyone could see him Sherlock ducked back around the boxes and listened intently.

"Evening everyone," Moran began in his deep tone, "Now I'm not going to fuck around with pleasantries like Jim used to, I'm just going to get on with it, clear?" There was a pause as people nodded, "Good, so first off we have a problem people, the name of this problem is Dr. John Watson."

"He's snooping people, sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. Luckily for us he's digging some rather interesting things up," Sebastian continued, popping the p on 'up', "Turns out our favourite detective might have done a bit of cheating, didn't stick to Jim's rules,"

Oh John, why couldn't you have just believed it?

"Is Holmes alive then?" a high, feminine voice piped up.

"I was getting to that Peace, so would just shut up and let me finish!" Moran growled, shouting the shut up, for a moment the warehouse was deadly quiet as the shout echoed off the walls. "Sherlock Holmes is alive my friends and do you know what that means?" He paused, "Bets. Are. off!"

Sebastian began to laugh and quickly the warehouse was full of laugher from the various criminals; some of it genuine, others false and nervous.

"New plan guys," Moran told them, rubbing his hands together, "John Watson dies, but we're going to do it properly. None of this boring reputation destroying Jim enjoyed. We're doing the proper, public execution method, after all this is war people, let's get public on this! I am done hiding in the shadows, letting lesser criminals take the blame for what I accomplish, its time London realised who's really calling the shots!"

"Surely that's a bad thing," the feminine voice, Peace, came again. "We've operated in the shadows for a long time now Moran, it's what we know and it works,"

"Its cowardice," Moran replied, "I thought your name was irony, looks like it's changed you, maybe you should go back to where Jim found you if you're so fond of peace again,"

Peace snorted, "Hardly, I want to kill Watson and be remembered as badly as the rest of us, but not from the inside of a prison cell; I like being able to do what I want,"

"Fair enough, just remember who's in charge," Moran told her bitterly, "When I say jump, you jump, otherwise you'll end up in front of New Scotland Yard with 'I've killed seventeen people' imprinted on your forehead." The woman said nothing so Moran continued, "Any way, where was I? Oh yeah. Next Wednesday is a month after Holmes' birthday, a month after Watson began getting interesting, next Wednesday we are going to draw him out and boom," Moran mimed shooting someone, "Blow his brains out. Publically,"

Sherlock closed his eyes and focused on stopping his racing heart. 'Distance yourself,' Sherlock told himself, 'You aren't good to anyone when you're emotionally involved!' Sherlock got to his feet and quietly slinked out into the night, Moran had gone on to talking about the business side of things and Sherlock could feel his mind begin to rebel at having to listen to that.

A plan was forming in his mind as he drove back to The Flatmates house, it was dangerous and risked everything, but then, what other plan was there?