Conclusion

"It was Irene Adler who first told me of Sebastian Moran." Sherlock stood at an immense open window, cigarette in hand, blowing the smoke out into the open London air as he watched the traffic on the street below. "They'd made one another's acquaintance in London before she became mixed up with Moriarty. He helped her avoid Moriarty while she was on the lam after faking her death… the first time."

Mycroft spoke quietly from an armchair by the fireplace in Richards' impressive office. "Then he was not associated with Moriarty?"

"Oh, they certainly knew one another; they were rivals, of a sort. Moran was not lying, he was primarily operating, in his mind, with Queen and country as foremost priorities, even after his military career was ended in Afghanistan. But he allowed himself to be drawn into Moriarty's games and he lost focus. If Moran supported an opposition group aiming to overthrow a regime hostile to Britain and her allies, then Moriarty would take the side of the government. A competition to supply their respective sides with money, weapons, technology. They played a real-life game of Risk that became more about besting one another than the actual results.

"With Irene's help, I got into contact with him. Together, we drew out every last ally of Moriarty's we could identify and reach; I sent Irene back to London to keep an eye on John."

Mycroft smiled drily. So two months ago, when Sherlock had expressed no interest in the well-being of his best friend…it was because he'd already known John's every recent movement.

"He eased into it, but subtly, in the course of our correspondence, Moran began to express a good deal of interest in the fact that I had a brother highly placed in the government. I could not figure out why, but knew that he would be watching Mycroft's movements after my capture, to ascertain if I had survived and returned. The plot against the gala tonight was long known to him, and we established a rendezvous at the Gallery two weeks ago, in the event I made it back to London."

He fell silent for a few minutes as he finished the cigarette. A sleek car drew up to the curb on the darkened street below, and the corner of his mouth quirked upward as a couple emerged and spoke to an MP investigating their intentions.

"I took a gamble; I acquired the ID card he would need to access the gala, but knowing that he must have intended for me to stop the bombing on my own while he pursued other vendettas. When we spoke though, I could read little of his intentions, only his past. It wasn't until last night, out of desperation to discover what he could possibly want with a card that would give him access to nearly any place in Britain, I finally asked Mycroft."

Mycroft harrumphed softly. Trouble in the minor position you occupy? That was Sherlock's version of asking his advice.

"Knowing Moran's last military service had been in Afghanistan, and that he bore a bitter grudge against whomever or whatever drove him from the Army… it began to make sense when Mycroft mentioned your arrival, General. Even more so when I researched the time frame in which Moran served compared to your tenure there leading ISAF.

"That still left me with the problem of dealing with the attack at the Gallery. Knowing the schedule of events, however, and having scoped out the premises multiple times in the past two weeks, it was painfully obvious when, how, and where the attempt would occur."

"So you hacked my computer and sent highly classified correspondence to Lestrade," Mycroft surmised.

Sherlock waved him off. "Don't be absurd, I hacked your computer weeks ago."

The general's lip twitched once, the closest he seemed to get to amusement. The expression quickly sobered, however, and he sized Sherlock up and down calculatingly. "Regardless of his intentions, you have murdered a man in cold blood tonight."

"I learned with James Moriarty that some men are too dangerous and too resourceful to leave it up to due process. Perhaps that makes me as bad as Moran, I don't know. But you're alive, and…" a knock at the door interrupted him; Mycroft stood to answer it. "John Watson and his fiancée are alive. I believe that's what one would call a result."

Low but increasingly loud voices sounded from the doorway, before John Watson shoved past the far-taller Mycroft Holmes and just stared across the room. Sherlock met his gaze for a moment, and then turned back to the general one last time. "General-I would be quite willing to return in the morning for whatever… consequences… you deem necessary; but if I might have just tonight, I would be most grateful. Believe me, I've no desire to run or hide anymore."

The older military man considered him a moment, then glanced at Mycroft. "Holmes?"

"Whatever shortcomings my brother may possess in tact and technique, he is a man of his word, sir."

With a nod from the general, Sherlock turned and took three long strides to where John stood with a bewildered young woman by his side, her sharp green eyes staring around the room before settling on the tall and imposing figure before her.

"You must be Mary." He offered his hand and she slowly took it. "Sherlock Holmes."

"Pleasure," she replied faintly.

John just shook his head as Sherlock looked at him, searching for words. "So."

"So."

"Not dead then."

"Not dead." He tied his scarf and gestured out the door with one gloved hand. "Dinner?"

X-X-X

A/N: Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed. :-)

-Lexi