Sherlock rushed to finish eating and darted back to his room to dress. He wasn't feeling particularly formal that day so he pulled on a pair of jeans and a burgundy button-down shirt. He had a certain amount of pride when it came to his appearance and even though it was only Lestrade he still wanted to be presentable. John was cleaning off the dishes when he walked back out so he stood in the living room, feeling awkward, wondering if there was anything he could do to help. To make a point, he walked into the kitchen with a timid disposition and made a place beside John until he noticed him. It didn't take him long.

"What?" he asked without looking up from the sink.

"Anything I can do?"

"You? Sherlock, you're the epitome of chaos," he laughed but when he saw Sherlock's face he saw how serious he was. "Well, if you really want to help you can dry the dishes and put them in the strainer over there."

He nodded, his mind set on the domestic task, when there was a knock on the door and his mind-set dissipated. John was thoroughly unsurprised, he even smiled in amusement. Sherlock rushed to the door and opened it to D.I. Lestrade in mid-knock. Lestrade nodded in acknowledgement but he had an odd look on his face that Sherlock had never seen him wear before.

"Come in," Sherlock said, stepping aside.

"Thanks," he replied, running a hand through his grey hair.

"What's wrong, Lestrade?" John asked, using his astounding power of empathy.

Sherlock stared at the D.I. trying to see what John saw. He noticed that he looked ill, frustrated, and ragged.

"Well, I said I have news but it isn't very good news," Lestrade said solemnly. "I know it's cliché but you should probably sit down."

Sherlock started to protest but John reached him before he could. He grabbed his arm led him to the couch, the only man who could pacify the great detective. They sat down together and Lestrade pulled a chair over to face them. He sighed before he started to speak.

"Sherlock, your brother sent me a message this morning."

"Why would he say something to you and not to me?"

"Probably because I answer my phone," he snapped. "Also because this concerns me and those at Scotland Yard as much as it does the two of you."

"What is it?" John asked, grasping Sherlock's hand.

"I should just say it, I suppose. Moriarty has escaped."

Sherlock's hold on John's hand tightened considerably. "How?"

"It seems he made some friends with a few security guards on the inside. He killed one of them and left the body in his bed to give him more time before he was noticed. He left a note," he said to Sherlock. "I think it was meant for you."

Lestrade rummaged through his pockets until his fingers curled around a particular piece of paper. He unfolded it, just to be sure it was the right one, and handed it to the dark-haired man before him. Sherlock didn't want to look at it, he felt sick at what it might say, but the other two men in the room were staring expectantly at him to read it. He gazed down at the paper and the note was written in an elegant cursive.

People are easily corruptible. It's all about what they desire and if you want to give it or take it away.
-M

"Lestrade, we need a detail here to protect John," he said in a monotone, his hands shaking.

"My thoughts exactly. I have a team on the way."

"Good."

"Wait. To protect me? Do I get a say in this?"

"NO, JOHN. YOU DON'T," Sherlock shouted, crumpling the note in his fist. "I may be his main target but Moriarty is after you."

"Why?"

He hesitated. "You don't need to know…"

"Sherlock-"

"You don't," he said sharply.

"Then what am I supposed to do? Stay here forever."

"You will stay here until Moriarty is recaptured or dead."

"I have a job, Sherlock, and who's going to do the shopping? You?"

"I'll explain the situation to the hospital and they'll understand, I'm sure. If not, you're more than qualified to work elsewhere. And I will do the shopping. I did take care of myself at one point."

"Yes, I've been wondering how you survived before you met me."

He looked to John with a softness in his eyes. "I've wondered the same thing."

"I'm going to stay here until the security detail shows up, just to be safe," Lestrade said, seeming slightly less ill since he told the two the news.

"Good, safe is good," Sherlock said, trying to calm himself.

"There's some tea in the kitchen if you want it," John offered the D.I. "Or coffee."

"Thanks, I can get it."

John nodded and looked to Sherlock who happened to do the same at that moment. They both looked worried and tired, even though it was only around ten in the morning. Sherlock laid down on the couch, on his back, and held out his arms for the doctor to join him. As though he were programmed, John automatically rested his head on his chest and allowed Sherlock's arms to envelop him.

"What are we going to do, John?" he whispered, mostly so Lestrade wouldn't hear from the kitchen.

"We're going to get through this," he replied, propping up his head so he could look into the detective's grey eyes. "We're going to take care of each other. Remember?"

"Of course I remember. Don't be ridiculous."