John hadn't noticed how Sherlock looked until after their fight. Once his vision had cleared he noticed the hair first. It was shorter, and light brown. He wore fitted jeans and tan leather shoes, not that different from John's old pair. He wore a maroon colored long sleeved shirt, and a black leather jacket. He'd looked even closer to find that the detective had been wearing green colored contacts. Despite the disguise, he was still the tall and lanky sarcastic man he had grown to know.

They sat now discussing why Sherlock had to jump that dreadful day, and other things related to the issue. John was just trying to talk through it, hold back more tidal storms of emotion, and listen to what the consulting detective had to say.

"...and so you had to jump because Jim killed himself? Because you couldn't figure out the word to call them off if he was dead?"

"Correct."

"So you did it, to keep us safe?"

"Yes, John."

"Wait...who else knew? Surely Molly did. I can figure that out."

"Yes, Molly had to help with the body switching and such. Mycroft found out a few months ago and that was...peculiar." Sherlock states, remembering the encounter with his older sibling. It had been a gloomy afternoon, and Sherlock had stopped into his favorite cafe for a quick snack, he'd needed his energy that day.

Sherlock paid for his scone and coffee, turned around, and bumped into the slightly taller man behind him.

"Sor-" He stopped, and looked Mycroft Holmes in the eyes. They were filled with disbelief for a brief second before clouding over to reveal nothing. He cleared his throat, and nodded, knowing his brother would follow him around the corner.

"Sherlock Holmes. How nice to see you agin, dear brother." He said, glancing at his fingernails, and then back to his younger sibling.

"As it is to see you, Mycroft. Shall I explain?" he sighed, sipping at his warm drink.

"If you would." he stated in that icy-Mycroft drawl.

So he had. He had told Mycroft the true story of what happened on the roof, and he noticed how uncomfortable his brother had been the entire time.

"What is troubling you, Mycroft?"

"Sherlock...I must say that I am sorry. A big portion of this whole catastrophe is my doing."

"How so?" He said, already deducing, but wanting to hear the words emerge from the British Government's mouth. He narrowed his eyes, and watched Mycroft squirm where he stood.

"I...I exchanged information with James Moriarty to get facts and data I needed. I had to tell him about you to open him up. That is how his story was so...accurate. I am truly sorry for inconvieniencing you." He finished, keeping his emotions tightly tucked away.

"I see." Was all Sherlock Holmes said as he stormed away from his brother, quivering with disgust at the costly mistake. They could talk about such matters another time and place.

Sherlock snapped back to harsh reality, and continued inspecting John. He could still see how much his blogger hurt, how confused he was, how much he weas trying to control it. He sat with straight posture, his face wiped clean of any feelings. He was trying to be the strong miliarty man, and not be weak. It was all Sherlock could do to not point out he could see everything in the man's eyes, but he kept it to himself.

"Sherlock?" John questions almost silently.

"Yes, John?

"Why couldn't you tell me? I mean I guess I can figure most of it out but...damn. This is all just really, really hard." He sighs, looking down at his lap, twiddling his fingers. Sherlock feels a pang of guilt once more, and he wanted to eradicate it. He wanted to scoop up all of this trouble, all of these hurtful notions, and just destroy them. Instead, he took a deep breath to keep his cool and he spoke to John.

"For your safety. I wasn't concerned about others, because I'm obviously closest to you. Yes, Moriarty is dead but his whole empire of villians is not. I have been working on destroying it, piece by piece and one by one. Just imagine John, if they found out you knew I was alive. Let's say one of them would want information about me, my wareabouts, my actions. They would take you probably, and hurt you until I came running. It would be very troublesome and tedious for us both. I couldn't let it happen. I've wanted you to be safe, John. So of course I followed you last night chase. Do you know what it'd do to me if you were actualy de-" He stopped himself. He'd already been rambling far too much, and John got the point. He didn't have to go on and spark more sentiment and pain.

"I know exactly what it'd do to you." John says, looking at Sherlock's mask start to crumble. He thought about what Sherlock had said, and it made sense. He almost didn't want to ask his next few questions, but he did. "Who else is left? In Moriarty's web or empire, I mean. Are we safe?" He asks a little to eargerly. He needed to know if they were safe. The possibility of losing Sherlock again was unbearable, even if at the moment he wanted to hate the man unconditionally.

"There are a few. I...I am most worried about Sebastian Moran. He was Jim Moriarty's number two man, and he's very dangerous. He gets his hands dirty." He tells his friend. If he had to scared of someone even the slightest, it'd be Sebastian. He knew that the vicious man had been John's assigned sniper, and it shook him to the core. Not that he'd admit that to his faithful blogger. Knowing John he'd be able to tell regardless anyways.

"Ah. I remember reading about him, when we were doing research once. He is very dangerous as you say. Very...unpredictable. Sherlock, do you hear that beeping? Is it your phone?" John noticed the faint sound coming from behind Sherlock, perhaps from the bookshelf they had used so much. It was eery to him, and familiar, but he just couldn't seem to place it. He watched Sherlock pick up on the reoccuring beep.

"Now I do." Sherlock narrowed his eyes and stood up abruptly. He took long strides to the shelf behind him, picking through the old novels, encyclopedias, and case files. There, wedged between two dusty books he finds a note and a very small webcam. How long it'd been there he didn't know, but from the amount of dust on it, perhaps only a couple days. He glances down to read the short note, written in a quick, legible scrawl.

That was such a heart warming reunion, really. My kind of reunion if you ask me. So I guess you've finally heard the beeping...it's a present, sending my regards to you and John.

You know what? Scratch the part about the present. It's a warning.

Seb. Moran

"No..." Sherlock had little time to scoff at the irony of the note he currently read and what they had been talking about only moment before, and as he looked closer he recognized the device that sang the repetitive beeping. "JOHN!" He turned, and ran at his flatmate, lunging across him and pushing them both over the back of the worn armchair as the flat erupted in noise and fire.

Sebastian Moran smiled from his rooftop perch as 221B exploded, the flames eating hungrily at the homey flat. Just the way he liked it. Oh, Sherlock would regret what he did to Jim. He'll regret tearing down the web of accomplices he had gradually built up steadily over time. He was playing his own game with the detective this time, and Johnny boy would be a great pawn to play with in his devious games.

He grinned again, and put out his cigarette. Lazily, he walked down the stairs from the roof out on to the now crowded street below, avoiding the flaming building. He knew he wouldn't have to come to Sherlock, he'd come to him. He'd said so after all.

_So there you have it, I know it's not that good. I've had serious writers block and I guess this is just kind of another filler. I'll try and update faster next time, and make it better, promise. I love all comments, reviews, favoriting, generally all the support. Thanks, tell me what you think as it will greatly be considered! - C