A/N: I am so sorry for the wait! I can assure you that I didn't abandon the story, but my old computer got stolen and the insurance company took their time with providing me with money for a new one :( But now I have a new computer and I'm able to continue writing! So without further ado, here's chapter four for you.

Hope you enjoy :)


"It's actually very nice having a night out. I've been piled up with work lately", Greg said as they settled at a table in the corner of the room. The bar they had found was quite small, but very noisy with many young people dancing and ordering drinks in the green-and-blue strobe light. John felt a bit out of place among all the students, but didn't tell Greg as he had been the one recommending the place.

"Have you found the killer yet? You know, the one who disappears", John asked, trying to start a conversation.

"Sadly, no. It really is a very perplexing case".

They got their pints of beer they had ordered, continuing to chat about the case.

"Do you suspect it's Moriarty? We haven't really heard much from him since he came back", John all but whispered. You never knew with Moriarty; him or his henchmen could be anywhere.

"At least I won't rule it out as a possibility, but you have seen his doings before and even you have to admit that this is really not his style"

"He likes to show off", John agreed."Besides, he already scared the wits out of everyone when he broke into Downing Street. If that was him, of course", he pondered.

"Let's stop twaddling on about work, we're here to have fun!" Lestrade said briskly and downed the rest of his pint in one go, already raising his hand to order another one.


"...then Anderson fell over the reeling and dived right into the fountain! I can tell you that I laughed for hours afterwards, especially when he got yelled at by the caretaker of the park!", Lestrade laughed. John also laughed, almost falling off his chair in the process. Hearing Lestrade's old anecdotes were utterly hilarious, especially since so many of them seemed to include Anderson or Donovan making fools out of themselves. They were down to five pints each and were feeling rather tipsy. John stood up only to almost trip over his own feet.

"I'm going to the loo" he announced, sweeping his eyes across the room to find the symbol that indicated 'lavatory'. He found it and forced his way through the crowd of people to get there. Upon opening the door he quickly decided that the alley behind the bar would probably be a better alternative, since it might not contain snogging people. Or maybe it would, there was only one way to find out. He, once again, elbowed his way through the wall of people to get to the door, not bothering to tell Greg about going outside. Outside of the bar stood a couple of people, smoking. John nearly fell on one of their feet.

"Hey, watch where you're going!", the teen said, taking a step back. John mumbled 'sorry' under his breath and continued walking to the back of the bar. The only light was provided from a lone street lamp, flickering in the chilly night. In the corner of his eye he thought he saw the shadow of a man, but when he turned no one was there. In his drunken state he couldn't really care less, so he went on with doing what he had to do, obscured by a skip. Suddenly, his phone buzzed, but he was to intoxicated to take notice of it.


"I almost thought you had gone home", Greg complained when John had come back from washing his hands in the, now unoccupied, lavatory.

"There were some damn kids occupying the loo so I had to go outside", John muttered. He checked his watch. It was 2 am and he had sobered up well enough to feel the need to go home and sleep.

"Maybe we should go home now", he suggested.

"I agree", said Lestrade and smiled.

They went outside and it had started to drizzle. Small drops of ice cold water hit John's cheeks as he tried to hail a cab.

"This bloody weather", Lestrade mumbled. All of a sudden, John's phone buzzed again. This time, he took notice of it. He read the first text.

It feels like I'm having contractions so I'm going to the hospital to check it out. But it's probably nothing, so you should stay with Greg and I hope you have a nice night out. You need it.

Love, Mary.

John's heart raced as he opened the second text.

I'm starting to go into labour now, so if you could come to the hospital I would be very happy!

Love, Mary.

"Bollocks!", John exclaimed. Greg jumped at the sudden swearword.

"What's happened?", he asked.

"Mary's gone in to labour! I have to be there now!", John waved at yet another cab, but it was occupied and rushed past them. Suddenly John felt a pair of hands on his shoulders. He spun around fast as a cobra, ready to maul anyone who came in his way.

In front of him stood a tall, suit-clad, dark-haired man. He opened his mouth to say something, but John interrupted him.

"No. Just...no. Your timing is seriously horrible and I advise you to go home and clean your flat. We can talk later today".

With those words John turned around and sat down in a cab Lestrade had managed to hail. He looked out at Lestrade, who looked bewildered.

"If you don't come with me you'll have to hail another cab", the ex-military said.

"Right". Lestrade climbed into the cab and Sherlock looked at the cab in puzzlement as they drove away.


"Are you okay?", John asked as he plunged into the hospital room where he was told Mary would be.

She sat upright in the bed, holding a wriggling bundle of cloth. She looked up at him.

"I'm so sorry, but you missed it. But here she is". She handed the bundle to John and he looked down at the little girl in his arms.

"She is beautiful. Just like her mother", he smiled, kissed the little baby's forehead and noticed that she already had hair. Small streaks of dark brown. Suddenly she started to cry and he had to hand her back to his wife.

"She doesn't really look like you". John jumped as the voice sneaked around from behind his back. He turned around and saw Sherlock leaning at the door frame.

"Who let you in?", he asked, more in confusion rather than anger.

"Really, John? I let myself in, of course", Sherlock rolled his eyes as if it was blatantly obvious.

"And what did you say about my daughter? Of course she looks like me!", John was really too tired to deal with Sherlock's mannerisms at the moment.

"It was nothing, forget about it", the consulting detective said, trying to swat away John's stupid questions. He stepped further into the room and sat down in a visitors chair. "Hello Mary. Congratulations", he said, like he hadn't seen her when he entered the room.

"Thank you, Sherlock", she answered coolly.

"I'll be going home now, but I need to see you at Baker Street at 3 pm, John", Sherlock said and left without waiting for John's reply.


"Sherlock! Open the door", John knocked at the door to 221b Baker Street but nobody opened. And he was on time.

"Hello, John". John turned around to see Sherlock standing at the stairway. He pushed himself past John and unlocked the door. To John's happy surprise the flat was actually not as horribly unkempt as it had been on his last visit.

"So why did you invite me?"

"We need to discuss this", the detective said and showed him a folder with police-and forensics reports.

"Aren't those from the crime scenes I investigated?", John looked confused. "But I thought they didn't have anything to do with Moriarty. Like Lestrade said; it's not his style".

"And since when has Lestrade ever been right? And the style depends on who Moriarty hired to do the dirty work", Sherlock explained, sprawling out on the sofa like usually. John sat down in his old armchair, secretly happy that Sherlock still had it.

"But what was his motive? How are these murders linked? Other than the style, of course", John considered putting the kettle on, like he used to, but a quick look at the kitchen made him change his mind. At least Sherlock hadn't stopped experimenting with foul-smelling substances.

"You're asking the wrong questions! The real question is; what was he trying to hide?" Sherlock said, in his dramatic way of explaining his theories.

"He did all this to try and hide something?"

"Naturally, it's blatant! There's been very many 'Moriarty-style'-crimes lately, right? That's because he wants to distract us from the real crime. Everything else that's happening are just decoys"

"But how can he be so daft as to think that he can distract you?", John asked, without being able to stop himself.

"I'm flattered, but I have to be much more cautious than I were before. He's been hiding months and months without me noticing, he was proving that even I couldn't find out what he was doing", Sherlock studied the case files carefully as he was talking. All of a sudden he looked at John.

"Any of the places or people he attacks could be his intended goal. We have to find out which one it is before he gets to it".

"And how do you know this is not another plan to trick you again. Maybe his intended goal is you", John reminded him. "Besides, I have to take care of my daughter. I can't run off to solve cases with you anymore, it doesn't work that way". Suddenly Sherlock seemed to have adapted a troubled expression.

"John, if a huge secret is being kept from you, would you want me to tell you even if it would hurt to know the truth?", he abruptly asked. John stared at him for a couple of seconds before answering.

"That depends. It's not about Mary's past, is it? Because in that case, I don't want to know".

"No, it's not about Mary's past", Sherlock replied. "It's about something happening in the present time, and even as my area of expertise isn't emotions, I am certain that you will become very sad or upset if I tell you", Sherlock looked down at his hands instead of at John.

"Please tell me anyway, the truth will hurt more if it's kept hidden", John said, determined. He was tired of secrets, and any pain the truth might cause him would subside eventually, whereas a lie would not subside unless someone told him.

Sherlock looked up into John's eyes.

"John, the baby is not yours".