forgot to mention this is post Reichenbach. Soooorry.

In the morning, John came into the kitchen and found Sherlock having made tea. Perfectly. The man was definitely feeling bad. John took the cup Sherlock handed to him and leaned against the counter.

"I am perfectly fine with it." John said and Sherlock pretended not to hear him. John sighed and turned his body towards the man. "It's okay."

Sherlock looked up, his dark curls just brushing his eyebrows. John couldn't help but smile a kind way. The man was a genius, but he was also in many ways a bigot. He had no idea how to deal with people and he was probably just thinking about why Moriarty wanted safety with him, not wanting Moriarty in the flat.

"Okay?" Sherlock asked, a rare thing showing John he was very much so sorry. Had the man even slept? He had rings under his eyes.

"Yes, it's okay. Have you gotten a call from Lestrade yet?"

"My brother called but I didn't answer."

"Why not?"

"I don't like talking to him."

"Of course." John sighed and pushed from the counter. He set the tea down, spectacularly made, and went to his bedroom. He grabbed up his phone and found a text message not too long ago.

Moriarty's prints on a body- Lestrade.

John stared for a second before getting dressed. He knew Sherlock would either take forever or run out the door right away once John mentioned the text, so it was better to be prepared for the worst.

As he left his room, he saw Moriarty in the hall. He paused, pulling his bedroom door shut. Moriarty was staring straight at him. It took more effort than John would admit to not go back to his room. Instead, trusting in Sherlock, he walked towards MOriarty in hopes the man would let him pass without problem.

Just as he thought Moriarty wouldn't move, the man shifted and made space for John. Eyes still locked onto him, Moriarty waited until the last second before grabbing John's arm. The contact was solid, but soft. John didn't feel trapped, but he suddenly felt that much less safe. He'd been at the mercy of Moriarty more than once before. He'd put them both through hell, and then Sherlock had jumped, and John had spent so much of his life afterwards in a depression.

"Why does Sherlock protect you so much? You're a doctor from a war. There's plenty of them. I see nothing special about you, Mr. Watson. Inform me..." He cut off sharply when Sherlock appeared and the look on his face could have killed someone were it possible. Moriarty made quick to release John and back away.

"John, your tea is cold." Sherlock said, waiting at the end of the hall. John nodded and headed towards Sherlock without looking back. As he passed Sherlock, he had a faint feeling of being set free from a viscous pair of dogs. How on Earth had he gotten stuck between those two?

Back in the kitchen, John downed his tea and the moment Sherlock walked back in he mentioned the text.

"That part is true, then. Because he didn't kill her." John said, gauging Sherlock's reaction, though he knew it was almost pointless.

"Yes."

Silence followed before Sherlock turned and walked towards the front door.

"Come, John, let us go see what we can do about Moriarty's killing."

John followed, glancing at the couch where Moriarty sat, watching John with an expression like that of a hawk eyeing a terrified rabbit. Determined to not give the man ideas that he was so easily take hold of, John made eye contact and then left.

At the morgue, Sherlock looked over the body. He had neither approved nor disapproved of Moriarty's hand in the crime.

"It is odd, yes," John commented, "that his prints were on her neck but she didn't die from a neck injury. Is there anything else? Do we know why she died?"

"Trauma," Lestrade answered, "she died from..."

"Trauma to the back of the head. Most likely broken bones along her back. A soft coloring of new bruises along her under arms and legs, suggesting she didn't die right away. She was pushed off of something. Where was she found?" Sherlock interrupted Lestrade as if the man hadn't been talking.

"In an alleyway. There was nothing she could have fallen from or been pushed from. The buildings were too large for such small damage."

"A window. Were there any possible windows?"

"She was lying a bit funny. There were a few landings above, possibly one she was pushed from." Sherlock leveled a look at Lestrade. Even John knew that this information should have been a dead giveaway but also, the lieutenant looked very tired.

"We'll go look in the alley, see what we can find." Sherlock said, rising from his soft crouch. The two men left the morgue.

At the alleyway, Sherlock noticed more than one suggestive piece of evidence to the fall happening on the second floor balcony. The damage that was caused seemed the most plausible from the second one in, as well. Having gotten up there, he noticed scuff marks from feet as well as some shredded skin on the edge where he guessed she scraped her elbows and fingers.

The only problem was the shoe prints seemed almost deliberatly put in place. Worse as well, they were the same type and size of shoe he knew Moriarty wore. He told as much to John, who frowned.

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know," Sherlock replied softly as he stared hard at the cement like the answer would just point itself out.

John's phone rang and after a soft, quick conversation he looked at Sherlock. "Another body showed up. Moriarty's fingerprints are all over it. First theory is she was choked to death. Fingernails have scratched-off skin. It's being taken to the lab now."

"That's not good." Sherlock said softly, not moving his gaze.

"How sure are you that Moriarty didn't do this? Didn't kill her? Or the newest victim?" Now Sherlock did look up and directly into John's eyes.

"He's being framed." The way he said it, the way he was looking at John, made John realize that Sherlock honestly didn't just feel that Moriarty was innocent, but knew it fully. Something that Moriarty had said or did in front of Sherlock had proved, without a doubt, his innocence in these murders.

"You think he knows who it is?"

"Almost positively."