A/N: Sorry for the long wait! Very, very busy work schedule! ENJOY!
John heard the sharp squeal of overused brakes and the eardrum-shattering screech of a cab coming to a halt. A loud thud of a door being slammed shut –scratch that, two doors being slammed- echoed through his pounding head.
A woman knelt over him, placing a hand on his chest. "John?" Her voice sounded far away. "John?" She repeated, feeling his forehead. "Please wake up, John. Please…"
John tried to open his eyes, but they wouldn't open. He was numb, no feeling anywhere, and his eyes were just so heavy…
"I'll call Gregson to inform him of our intended late arrival…" A velvety accented tone whispered softly, laced with annoyance.
"Sherlock! Do something to help instead of calling Gregson –who, by the way, can wait. Call an ambulance! John is hurt." Her voice went weak as she ran a thumb across his cheekbone. "That's more important than a stupid case."
"Stupid case? Who are you and what have you done with my Watson?" Sherlock blinked.
John's lips cracked into a smile. This man, this man she called 'Sherlock', was exactly like his Sherlock…
"John needs to get to the hospital!"
"Why go to a hospital when you could fix him yourself? You were a doctor!" Sherlock huffed, clearly impatient.
John felt the familiar pain of an oncoming memory, but this time, it was dulled, not as forceful as the others. He let it play out in his mind, knowing that the more he fought it, the more it would hurt him mentally and physically.
John and Sherlock exit the cab and walk into an alley. Sherlock rips his scarf off and circles around, turning to face John.
John looks at his surroundings with confusion. "Are we here?"
Sherlock shakes his head. "Two streets away, but this'll do."
John stares confusedly at the consulting detective before answering. "For what?"
Sherlock motions to his face, "Punch me in the face."
John seems surprised, almost like he didn't hear him right. "Punch you?"
"Yes, punch me. In the face. Didn't you hear me?" He motions toward his face again.
"I always hear 'punch me in the face' when you're speaking, but it's usually subtext…" John retorts.
Sherlock sighs impatiently, "Oh, for God sakes." He swings his arm out and it collides with John's jaw.
John drops to the ground as Sherlock shakes his jacket out and prepares for a strike. John regains his footing and punches Sherlock's jaw in one motion. He retreats and shakes his hand, the pain from striking Sherlock's incredible cheekbones disappearing with the shakes. He examines his hand from the blow, the knuckles red from the impact.
Sherlock gets back up, trying to hide the pain. "Thank you, that was…that was…" He is cut off when John attacks him, tackling him to the ground.
John puts him into a chokehold, his military tactics surfacing with his actions.
"Okay, I think we've done enough, John …" He chokes out.
"You don't remember, Sherlock, I was a soldier…I killed people!" He growls.
"You were a doctor!" Sherlock is surprised at the statement.
"I had bad days!"
Joan's hand traveled to his wrist and felt for his pulse. "His pulse…it's elevated…Too high to be healthy…"
"I'm-I'm fine…" John grumbled, slowly coming back to reality.
Joan leaned back to give him some room. "John, don't move. Sherlock is calling an ambulance."
John grumbled at her statement.
Joan felt his forehead. "Your fever is broken…that's good."
John opened his eyes and stared up at her, the sunset highlighting her goddess features. He had to fight the urge to forgive her right then and there, but there was still some hurt left in his heart, though. She was playing him, making him feel the hurt over losing his best friend all over again…Sherlock was dead, but…why did she say otherwise? There couldn't be two Sherlock's…could there?
"I'm fine, Joan. Just help me up." John felt two sets of hands seizing him and lifting him to his feet. He stared down at his hospital gown with disgust. "I don't suppose we can make a stop for clothing…"
Joan smiled softly. "Good thing I think ahead." Joan grasped clothes from the ground –having dropped them to tend to his injuries- and handed the pile over. "I had these ready for when you woke up in the hospital…but…" Joan cleared her throat uncomfortably, her smile disappearing. Joan didn't want to think about the huge fight they had had.
John thanked her and began to dress, not embarrassed at all. He had been in the army; he was used to this kind of thing. He had nothing to hide, he was in shape, athletic, he didn't care that Joan or her…friend…saw him nude. He pulled on his shirt, having buttoned his pants already. He looked down at his bare feet. "No shoes?"
Joan turned to look at him –having turned away when he was changing, embarrassed, but tempted to sneak a peek. "They're in the cab, come on. We need to get you back to the hospital."
John shook his head sternly. "No, I said it once and I'm going to say it again. I'm fine."
Sherlock smirked. "You've said it more than once, mate."
John shot him a glare, a pretty deadly one judging by the sudden fear in the man's eyes. "It's an expression."
Joan sighed, "John, you have just overexerted yourself, which, I may add, is ten times worse seeing as you have a bloody concussion!"
John chuckled hoarsely. "Bloody concussion?"
"Dear lord, your British terms are rubbing off on me!" Joan faked a pout, a small, hopeful smile on her lips.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "And mine haven't?"
"Well when he uses them, it's cuter." Joan winked at John, the small smile leveling to a full force grin.
John couldn't help but let out a hearty laugh. "As much as I love laughing at your adorableness, I can't…My head can't take it." He massaged his temples with his fingers.
"Advil?" Joan shook the small bottle she had retrieved from her purse.
John nodded urgently. "Oh God yes."
…
SING SING PRISON- 12 HOURS AGO…
Sebastian Moran, a.k.a. 'Seb', stepped into the small visiting room, signed in under the name 'Richard Brook'. The name had always been an alias for Moriarty, but for now, it was his. Hopefully no one in the prison was educated on the suicide of Sherlock Holmes and his alleged 'hiring' of Richard Brook, contracting him for the job of playing the role of Moriarty. If someone recognized the name and noticed Seb was not Richard, his job and his life were as good as gone. So far, nobody had even looked at him, much less recognize him. This didn't totally surprise him though, as not many Americans were informed of international matters such as suicides or murders…or murderers.
He took a seat at the small table provided, the chair and the table itself bolted to the floor so that an angry prisoner couldn't use it as a weapon. That didn't mean the angry convict wouldn't use his or her hands though...or any other resources that were placed in the room. Moran could pinpoint each hazardous material that could either be used as a weapon or an attempt for an escape.
He had only counted seven before he was interrupted by a beautiful woman entering the room through a small door, accompanied by a tall, muscular man armed with an assortment of different weapons to subdue a rowdy inmate or, if needed, to make an easy kill.
The woman walked to the table slowly, studying the man before her. "Richard Brook. I don't know any 'Richard Brook', so you must be here to either request my services or offer your assistance for my release."
Seb looked at the warden behind her, not believing what she was saying in front of him. She could get them both killed!
Irene could sense his sudden tension. "Oh, please, he won't do anything. He knows what I'm capable of, don't you, Harold?" She smiled, imagining Harold's reaction behind her.
Harold stood at attention, ignoring her comment. He had to save his family, after all. Who knows what she would do to them if he reported her to his boss?
Seb eyed Harold, sensing his anxiety. "You have something on him?"
Irene's eyes sparkled. "I have something on everyone, even you…Sebastian Moran number two."
His eyebrow quirked up. "Number two?"
"Clearly you are out of the proverbial loop. I have heard of your little empire over in London, Hell, London is my home." She smirked, thinking of all the plans that had been meticulously premeditated and played out. Good times, good times.
"Clearly." The corner of his lip quirked up into a half-smile. "I've underestimated you, Miss Adler."
She smirked. "Everyone does." She paused. "On the subject of the two 'Sebastian Moran's', I had a pet of my own…a long time ago."
Seb felt his stomach drop. "Had?"
Irene smiled deviously. "He couldn't perform. He almost revealed my plans; he was just a pawn in my little game against the moronic Sherlock Holmes. He got in the way and everyone knows that you do not get in my way."
Seb grinned, putting the topic of his suspected demise out of sight, out of mind. "Then you'll understand when I tell you someone has gotten in Jim Moriarty's way. So if you are even half the Moriarty that Jim is, you'll know just how bothersome this little obstacle is."
Irene nodded. "I understand and I'll help exterminate this little rat of a man."
"So you know the target?"
"Oh, I am quite familiar. His blog is rather interesting…I can see why the whole city of London and beyond suspected homosexuality towards his flat-mate." Irene laughed.
"So you'll help us get rid of him…but what will you require as your payment?"
"Your help with the termination of my little pests."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Do me a favor, Sebastian?"
"Yeah?"
Irene stood and moved toward the door, calling out over her shoulder. "Call me Moriarty."
…
PRESENT- SHERLOCK AND JOAN'S BROWNSTONE
Joan ushered John toward the couch and he gladly took a load off.
"Need anything while we wait for Gregson?" She asked softly, not knowing if the tension caused by their row in the hospital was still between them.
"I'd love a cuppa…maybe some biscuits if you've got'em." John smiled, assuring her that the tension was fully gone, just a deep conversation was in order to explain exactly what was going on. Two Watson's and now two Holmes's? It was just too strange to go without explanation.
"A cuppa…?" Joan stared blankly at him.
Sherlock placed a hand on her shoulder reassuringly. "I got it, John." He squeezed her shoulder before he left to get John's request.
John laughed at Joan's blush, now spreading clear across her face. "Don't worry, Joan…just another British term."
"I could've figured it out…coffee?" She guessed.
John shook his head. "Tea."
Joan sighed. "Ah, well, maybe a London A to Z book is in order if I'm to be romantically involved with a Brit." She waited for his reaction.
John gleamed. "Maybe it is." He watched as Joan's expression went from nervous to relieved. John knew now that she had been telling the truth. Someone that nice couldn't be behind a plot to drive him into complete madness. Joan truly loved him, and he loved her too. "You know, I once solved a case using a book like that. Well, I didn't solve it, but Sherlock did…" His voice cracked, still not ready to speak his name. "I don't suppose you're interested…"
"Tell me the story, I'm totally interested! Besides, Gregson won't be here for another fifteen minutes, give or take a few for traffic." Joan took a seat beside him and listened to John explaining the Blind Banker case.
John retold the case, beginning to end, the only interruption being Sherlock handing John his tea and biscuits. John had paused to sip it every so often and bite off a small bit of biscuit, but managed to keep both Joan's and Sherlock's attention through the whole story.
"…so that's when Sherlock figured out the cipher could only be broken by a code. The book code, to be more specific. We used the London A to Z book, each pair of numbers representing a page and a word on that page. When he finally decoded the message, he came back to the flat ready to burst with the new information, but he found Sarah and I missing, kidnapped by the Black Lotus."
Joan cleared her throat. "Sarah?"
John swallowed thickly. "Old girlfriend…"
Joan's lips curled into an 'O' and she nodded.
Sherlock had to stifle pure laughter. "Anyway, continue Watson number two."
John glared. "Don't call me that…" He shook it off and continued with the conclusion of the story. "Long story short, Sherlock found us, saved Sarah from being shot with the Chinese contraption –with a little help from me, and that's it. We went back to normal life at the flat –or what we considered normal, anyway."
Joan smiled. "Your Sherlock sounded very clever."
"Brilliant." John corrected her.
"What?"
John put on his best Sherlock voice to imitate his friend in what he considered to be his response. "Clever? Sherlock Holmes is not clever. He is brilliant, and the sooner the criminal class realizes this, the sooner Londoners will sleep in peace."
This imitation caused Joan and Sherlock to burst into loud, noisy laughter. John soon joined in and the Brownstone was immediately immersed in laughter. So much noisy laughter in fact, that the trio almost was unaware that Gregson had made entrance to the Brownstone and was now requesting their presence.
Gregson did a double take, used to only seeing two figures in the Brownstone parlor. "Who's this?" He looked at John.
"John, John Wat-"
"Waterford, John Waterford." He cut Joan off and extended a hand toward the Captain.
Joan gave him a confused look that matched Sherlock's.
Sherlock was faster at catching on and he joined in on the act. "Yes…This is Dr. John Waterford. We went to Uni together…He's just as educated as Joan in the field of medicine and also skilled in the art of deduction, having been with a Holmes for years." Sherlock winked.
John had to admit, this Sherlock was just as clever –er, brilliant…
"Well, then come along. We need all the help we can get." Captain Gregson shook John's hand that had been extended and produced a file from his jacket. "If you know Sherlock, I'm guessing you know Irene Adler, a.k.a. Moriarty."
"So much so that it's almost like there are two different people…" John smiled.
Gregson nodded slowly, confused at the statement. "Well, then you'd know that she's positively the worst criminal mastermind out there."
"That could be argued, but sure…" John nodded.
"Well, that's why the NYPD is confused."
Sherlock furrowed his brow. "How so?"
"This may sound crazy, and trust me, I know it will, but we've received info that there is another, more sinister game master this time…and he has Irene as his partner."
Joan's eyes went wide, knowing exactly what had happened…and knowing it was all her fault.
John understood also, but hid it to save his cover as just an old friend from Uni.
Sherlock was the only one that was confused and needed clarifying –for once. "Not following?"
Gregson sighed. "Like I said, it will sound crazy, but from what I've heard, it's almost like there is no longer one Moriarty, but two."
A/N: Thanks for reading, guys and girls! I hope you like the story so far... Probably only two or three chapters left!
Two Moriarty's AND they'll be working together...this is going to be messy!
Thanks, please Favorite, Follow, and Review! P.s. Reviewing makes me very happy and encourages me to write faster than I usually do!