Standing in Lestrade's office, John felt the familiar awkward situation. Donovan stood in the doorway, ready to insult John's friend, Anderson stood in the corner with a newfound respect for Sherlock(after the man thought he was the reason Sherlock committed "suicide"), and Lestrade sat at his desk in anticipation for what Sherlock had to say. This time, though, it was Sherlock who was asking the questions.

"How did Moriarty get on all the screens?" Sherlock asked, pacing back and forth.

"We don't know," Greg said grumpily, hoping, himself, that Sherlock knew.

"WHY NOT?" Sherlock boomed. He threw his arms up in frustration.

No one flinched at the sudden outburst. They all understood Sherlock's anger and wanted a break.

"Why, in this whole country, can no one trace a signal?!"

Greg replied, "There's no signal to trace. It's underground. A lot of people believe it was just a virus."

"We know it wasn't," John spoke up. Everyone looked up to hear what the silent man had to say. "Some psychopath is out there, planning something, and we have to find out what that is before that little sh*t has his way, again." He spoke calmly, but everyone in the group could tell that he was choking down a scream.

"He could be hiding, holding out, until people forget," Donovan said, "The man could be in a cave, somewhere, buying time."

It was rare of Agent Donovan to speak up without having a burning insult for Sherlock. John realized that she had a point, but would never admit it. Instead, he gave a slight nod of approval. John, Anderson, and Donovan turned to Lestrade for guidance. All but Sherlock, who paced along the wall.

Gregory Lestrade spoke up, "Where could he hide?"

Everyone in the room knew the answer, but it was Sherlock who spoke up: "Where could he not hide? How many spider holes does the man have? How many contacts? How many identities?"

All this was said with closed eyes, as if he was researching the answers on screens within his eyelids.

Silence hovered in the air for what seemed like hours, as everyone stared at their shoes. The clock claimed that only five minutes had passed.

"I need coffee," Anderson muttered, and back stepped out of the room.

"I have paperwork," claimed Donovan, after a couple minutes, and she too backed out of Greg's office.

"Well then," Greg spoke up. "We can't solve this just by standing here."

John grunted approval and turned to his friend. Sherlock was now standing with his back to the corner. Something told John that Sherlock had flipped a switch in his mind, and the sleuth nodded to Greg and walked out, leaving John and the inspector.

"How's he doing?" Lestrade asked.

"Not good," John replied, "but he won't show it."

Greg nodded in understanding. John turned and walked out, hoping to talk some sense into Sherlock. Only once he got to the lobby, Sherlock was gone. John was worried, but he believed that Sherlock could take care of himself. He certainly needed some time alone. They both did.

Doctor Watson hailed a cab and headed home.

Locked out? Of his own home office? What was Mary doing?

"Mary?" John knocked on the door. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," called a voice back. At least she was okay. To be honest, having a pregnant wife and chasing criminals on the side was a questionable life, but John loved it. He had grown to be a little overprotective with Mary, but that was normal, right?

"Do you need help?" he called.

A man's voice called back, "John, stop worrying. I just need to ask Mary some questions."

"Sherlock?!"

"Who else?" he called back.

John was so confused. "Why are you locked in my office, asking my wife questions?"

"Because we know you won't like the questions," Mary called back.

"Why not?" John was concerned and laying against the door. Seconds passed.

"They're about the old me," his wife called back, softly. John's spine felt like pins and needles.

"Okay," he stated, and walked away. Christmas was not far back, and the subject of whatever was on that flashdrive was not easy to think about. It was better if he just ignored and walked away. It was actually a little touching that they had locked the door. He certainly didn't want to walk in and have them discussing the old Mary. John had fought any spark of curiosity that wanted to blame Mary for anything in the past.

John just went and sat in the living room. This meeting would just have to be waited out, but what could Sherlock possibly learn from Mary that would help with the search for Moriarty?