A/N: Oh my god guys. Thank you all so much for the reviews! This took a tiny bit longer than expected but I hope it makes up for it (: Please read and review!

As he walked he knew it was getting late and that he should return so he swiftly changed his tack, darting back across the darkening streets and passing just under the dim light of a streetlamp. The sky was a dark inky blue and it bathed the streets in an ethereal royal blue glow that made the black cabs glisten and people faces to loom like ghosts from the bitterly cold gloom. Sherlock sniffed and thrust his hands into his pockets picking up the pace and turning into a slightly less deserted street. The people didn't look up as he wove between them and their numbers seemed to increase exponentially along the route. Sherlock glanced up from the floor his eyes catching on the back of a head.

A stiff hat, slick black hair and that well turned heel.

His heart rate picked up and he began to run, almost reaching the man several times but no matter how fast he ran the people would get in his way, crowd growing tighter around him and he screamed out to stop the man but his voice did not work and the only sound was his own panicked breathing and the man stopped at the end of the road, pausing and turning slowly in the orange glow, lifting his face so the shadow from his hat hid most of his face and yet his eyes, his eyes were lit like a film noir scene and they were twinkling with well remembered malice and Sherlock froze fear gripping his chest as he looked around, the crowd stopping as one and slowly lifting their faces.

The faces of woman or children or men all with the same eyes, all staring boring into his skin and he panted in terror at those liquid hateful eyes and he couldn't move but they were advancing on him and he had nothing left to do but to scream.

He woke with a start and lay breathing heavily for a few seconds, not wanting to open his eyes. Had he woken John? He didn't want to look to find out so he waited and waited but John didn't speak and didn't move so he sat up, ignoring the uncomfortable sheen of cold sweat and the way his clothes stuck to him. The doctor was sleeping on his back, one arm across his chest the other almost cupping his own hip as he softly snored. (An unusual position for him, John often slept on his left side. Perhaps this change in pattern was caused by his injury.)

Sherlock looked down at him and smiled, he was struck by the extreme differences in the day to day living and emotional aspects of his life now and in the time before John. It was...strange to imagine a life without the doctor, to not have him there to take note to listen to what was said and be impressed by it, to clean up around him and worry about him and kiss him and love him. He had been a purely work focussed creature and although he had found it difficult it appeared he had in fact found at least a small place in his mind purely for John. He understood love now, not just as a motivator but as a paralytic, a drug, a force by which men could be simultaneously made and broken.

The detective sighed and shuffled down the bed a little, letting his feet seek out the floor as he glanced out of the window. The sky was just becoming light again, silhouettes of pigeons and herring gulls littered the pink sky and his breath ghosted in front of him as he took a sharp breath from the shock of the ice cold floor. He lifted himself from the bed and stood rolling his shoulders and yawning, movement behind him.

"Where are you going?"

Sherlock didn't look at him; he didn't want the doctor to see him lying. He could always tell. "Just to the bathroom."

(He had been intending to walk the streets for a while and if he found himself back at that office block then well, so be it.) Suddenly large rough palms on his hips and John just held him there, fingers curled around the front, glancing over his hipbones and strong thick thumbs rubbed circles in the skin of his back. He wouldn't have moved for the world. "Come back to bed."

Sherlock titled his head and turned back to the bed, lifting the sheets to slide in next to his fiancée without a word.

"And don't lie to me."

Witch craft. He should never have looked at him.

John closed his eyes again and Sherlock waited for him to speak but he didn't. So the detective rolled onto his side and looked at him, taking in the striking shadows that spread across his lovers face from the window and the full pulse of his lips, hair tousled and sticking up in places and his tongue darted out, wetting his bottom lip before sweeping back inside his mouth and Sherlock was struck by an idea. Perhaps there were other things he could be doing other than staking out that office block.

He scooted himself sideway s a little and lifted a hand to drag it slowly over Johns ribs through his thin tee, careful to keep his touch delicate but enough to make sure it was felt. He then reached up and nosed the base of his lovers' neck, kissing him softly at the join between his shoulders and the smooth skin, a trial of pecking and licking reaching up to John's ear and along the length of his jaw. His hand now slid slowly over his partners' chest and to his nipple, rubbing slowly in a circular motion as Sherlock nibbled on the corner of John's mouth before his tongue reached out and swept across the doctors plump bottom lip, quickly followed by Sherlocks teeth as he caught the flesh between them and sucked.

Johns' eyes flew open and he looked a little dazed but still slightly angry. The detective began to move back along his jaw allowing the doctor to speak. "Sherlock, no...I really want to but I can't...my stitches."

Sherlock just nodded as he licked the shell of John's ear, lifting a leg to pull Johns' hips closer and he thought of the last night they had shared before the attack. His memory of it picture perfect at first but fading to sense memory of the taste of Johns mouth and the slick slide of his skin and the rough possessive grip of his hands and he smirked. He knew just what to do. He moved his hand a little lower and bit the shell of Johns' ear causing the doctor to take a sharp intake of breath just as Sherlock leant in and whispered hoarsely to him.

"Please John. I'm begging you."

John openly moaned and relented, turning his head to grasp Sherlocks mouth in a ferocious kiss, all tongue and teeth that sent sparks down his spine.

"Oh my god! I'm sorry!" Sherlock felt his heart sink as they broke apart and he looked to the doorway to see the unmistakable hand of Becker waving around the corner. "Uh, Mrs Holmes sent me..."

Sherlock groaned under his breath and lent his head against John's shoulder as the doctor glared at the doorway. It appeared John would get his wish after all.

He had left John reluctantly, the doctor insisting he went ahead and that he still had paperwork to finish getting himself released as well as a check up. Becker was careful to be out of the room as Sherlock kissed John goodbye, turning to leave only to be physically spun around by the doctor's hands and pulled into a tight hug. His arms were strong and warm and Sherlock gently put his own arms around the shorter man, remembering their very first hug and how surprised he had been at the warmth and comfort it provided. He also remembered John's reaction and sniffed, wondering just what had surprised him.

"Do you remember the first I hugged you?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You seemed surprised. I was just wondering what was so odd about it?"

"There wasn't really anything odd about it I just...wasn't expecting you to be so...tactile about it."

"What do you mean?"

"Well to be fair I didn't expect you to even ask so that in itself was a shock but when you actually did it...I was trying to be respectful, making sure I wasn't holding you too tight or anything because you made it seem like it was your first hug ever and I didn't want to scare you off or something.-"

"Scare me? I'm not an easily spooked rabbit John."

The doctor simply laughed. "Yeah well, you are when it comes to emotional stuff. So anyway, when you grabbed onto me like that and pulled me closer I was surprised you were letting me so close and I ..."

"And you liked the idea of that."

John blushed and rolled his eyes as Sherlock smirked at the doctor. Well, that certainly explained his reaction.

"Go on get out. Before your head gets any bigger."

The detective lifted a hand as goodbye before he walked out of the door, Becker instantly trotting along beside him. The commander was grinning, making sure to look away and Sherlock frowned not looking at him as he spoke. "What is so funny?"

"Nothing, it's just that when I told the guys that I got the job following you around they all told me it would be horrible and that you are a nightmare and a...a monster."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. He had no doubt the commander wasn't lying although he wasn't sure why he had paused like that on the word monster. "An accurate summation of your expected experience."

"Yeah well... but you're not so bad really. You're not a monster."

Sherlock paused for the merest second, probably unnoticed by Becker but a lifetime to him. He knew John didn't think his monstrous because John loved him but the idea that somebody else didn't see him as the monster he almost certainly was...well it was startling. He was beginning to like this Becker.

They arrived at Baker Street (It was easier to secure than the hotel Mummy insisted on staying in whilst in London apparently.) to find Mummy sat in the living room, elegantly perched in Johns chair, opposite her sat Mrs. Hudson gesturing with her tea cup and smiling as she spoke. "I don't know why they tried to hide it at first, like I said we get all sorts around here."

Sherlock closed the door behind himself causing both women to turn and look at him, Mummy merely raising an eyebrow as Mrs Hudson beamed up at him. "We didn't Mrs Hudson, it simply hadn't happened yet." She got up from her seat and crossed the room reaching towards the taller man with a wide honest smile on her pleasant face.

"Sherlock dear, I'm glad you're home. How is John?"

"He is well; he wants to come home today."

She hugged him briefly and let go pottering back towards the kitchen. "I'll just put the kettle on." Sherlock nodded her way and removed his coat, hanging it up before he placed himself on the sofa. He didn't want to be here with Mummy, he wanted to be back at the hospital with his tongue in John's ear. He narrowed his eyes and didn't speak.

"Sherlock I am disappointed to discover your engagement through outside sources."

"I didn't have a chance! The day af-"

"Silence. I will not hear your excuses."

Sherlock clamped his lips shut and sat on his hands to avoid them balling up. A familiar sense of righteous anger spread through his chest as his mother began a speech on how important it is that she is told about such a landmark moment in her son's life and now she had left for the country she could not be expected to just know these things. Mrs Hudson reappeared and pressed a warm mug into his hands, it was John's regimental mug. He looked down at it, the slight chip in the rim from John dropping it as he unpacked his things on that first day at the flat. He had stared at it for a while before putting it in the cupboard, a flicker of sadness in his eyes. Sherlock sighed blinking his eyes to force himself to listen to her spiel and Mummy clapped her hands together. His head snapped up and Sherlock looked at her.

She was glaring at him; hands loosely clasped together in front her face in a less rigid imitation of his own thinking stance. "Now, the wedding."

Sherlocks blood ran cold. He didn't know how to go about these things and he was certain Mummy would want every detail discussed and decided upon right now and he wasn't sure that what he chose would be what John wanted. (Frankly he didn't care what happened at the wedding as long as they did get married. He didn't understand the immense planning and detail people put into these things.) "Obviously Mr. Forrest will be needed for your suits and the hall will be used, always nice to have a wedding in the country. However almost every other detail must be planned..."

"We weren't planning on having the actual wedding for a while yet."

Johns voice in the doorway and Sherlocks face broke into a wide grin, the doctor was walking stiffly, Becker appearing the door behind him obviously having gone back to pick the doctor up whilst Sherlock had been listening to Mummy's rant. "John!" His lover smiled back at him and crossed the room to place two fingers under the detectives chin, lifting his face so he didn't have to lean too far to press a dry peck on his lips before he awkwardly removed his coat and slung it on the back of the sofa. Sherlock watched him carefully for any signs of pain but John hid it well, plopping himself down to the detectives left, and giving him a tired smile as the mug of tea was pressed into his hands.

John hadn't had any of Mrs. Hudson's finest for quite some time. The doctor took a long draught and handed it back bumping his shoulder against Sherlock as he looked away. (He felt the warm rush of affection in his gut but made sure to maintain his outwardly cold expression in front of Mummy. Judging by Johns muted greeting he probably wouldn't have liked Sherlock jumping him right there and then.)

"Surely it would be the sooner the better doctor?"

Mummy's voice had that dangerous tone to it but yet again John was impervious to her authority and simply sniffed fixing her with a stern gaze. "There is no rush; I would like to enjoy the planning process and simply being with Sherlock for a while. Not to mention my family will need much more prior warning to make sure they aren't working on the day and everything."

Sherlock smirked but hid it behind his mug. Ah finally, John was back in control. Their respective duties were equally shared in their relationship, John in charge of emotions Sherlock in charge of his work. Perfect.

"Oh, I see." Mummy continued to look at John with the same calculated look Mycroft had picked up when he was impressed with John...or surprised. Sherlock stomach turned when he thought of that day at the hospital with Bossley and Johns face after he had pulled the IV. The light behind his eyes gone for a mere moment. John glanced sideways and twitched an eyebrow at Sherlock who returned the gesture, taking a long draught of his tea as the doctor got to his feet again.

"Well, if you will excuse me I'd like to go for a shower." John waved at Mrs. Hudson who wiggled her fingers at him and he left the room, leaving Sherlock at Mummy's mercy once more.

"This doctor of yours rather spirited isn't he?"

He had never felt so proud.

He didn't answer instead simply standing and leaving the room, trotting past Becker at the door to go upstairs and walk unannounced into the bathroom. "John?" There was a surprised gasp from behind the curtain and Johns face appeared around the edge, his face a mixture of confusion and relief.

"What's wrong?"

"You left me with her." He was pouting and he knew it. John raised an eyebrow and disappeared again.

"You are a grown man Sherlock, you shouldn't still be afraid of your parents."

He hesitated for a moment. He wasn't afraid he just hated having to sit there being asked questions and being looked at when all he wanted was to work on the cases piling up in his email inbox without Mummy sat criticising in the corner. He felt anger flash through him and couldn't stop his own indignant response.

"What about you and your parents? You still haven't told them anything about me."

Silence from behind the curtain. Sherlock cursed inwardly, he had gone too far. Blast. He hesitated for a moment before making sure the door was jammed shut and stripping, pulling back the curtain to join his lover quickly. The doctor was turned away, the water cascading down the back of his neck as he stood arms to his sides' eyes boring into the floor. Sherlock sighed and reached for him sliding his hands around the doctor's waist and pulling him to his chest.

"I apologise John. I had no right to comment."

John was rigid in his arms but relaxed at these words, leaning his head back to rest on Sherlocks shoulder, eyes finding his. "No, you were right. I love you and I am not ashamed of that. If I am going to get married then they will know about it, whether or not they actually turn up is their own decision. It will still be the happiest day of my life."

Sherlock smiled and kissed his on the cheek. John lifted his hands to grip Sherlock's where they rested on his waist and looked down at the scar on his shoulder and then to the wound still healing on his stomach. He hummed under his breath and Sherlock watched him trial a finger over the new wound, sighing as his hand dropped. He reached his own hand down and slowly followed the trail too, watching Johns muscles clench as his fingers slid smoothly over his skin.

"I'm barely held together huh."

Sherlock smirked into Johns shoulder and pulled him tighter. Clearly John was somewhat self conscious about this new scar. He hoped he could do the right thing but yet again he was forced to take a wild guess. "I think scars are sexy."

John chuckled and shook his head and Sherlock spun him around to press a wet kiss to the corner of his mouth. The doctor's face had lost all the sadness of his tone and he was smiling again. Miraculously he had yet again managed to say the right thing. Marvellous.

"Oh yeah? Why is that?"

He thought about it, eyes trailing over Johns figure and then back to his eyes. "Because they are yours."

The doctor blushed deeply and shook his head, burying his face into Sherlocks neck. "What did I say about telling me things like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like ridiculously romantic things as though you don't know what you are saying."

Sherlock shrugged. He had no idea what John was on about.

Mummy insisted they went out for their meal that night and so Sherlock was made to sit in a loud poorly lit restaurant just watching Mummy, Becker, Mrs. Hudson and John chat amongst themselves. The only bright point was John's quiet back up when Sherlock said he didn't want anything to eat, simply sipping at a glass of water and stealing rice from the doctors plate. The doctor's stern gaze stopped any objections and so he was left alone. (He was so very thankful to have the doctor back.) That night when they returned to Baker Street Becker said his goodbyes as his replacement guard arrived and Sherlock and John went straight to bed, Sherlock collapsing onto the sheets and closing his eyes. For once, exhausted, and he thought perhaps tonight he would not have a nightmare; perhaps tonight he would be better.

The doctor sat on the edge of the bed and carefully lowered himself backwards, leaning on his elbows to look down at his lover. He twitched his lips and tilted his head. "How have the nightmares been?"

Sherlock paused, Barrows had told him to be more honest with John about the nightmares and although it made him feel hot all over and he really couldn't look at the doctor as he spoke he decided he would tell him. (Well, at least some of it. He wouldn't mention the eyes.) "Okay. Not as bad..."

John smiled warmly and lay down next to Sherlock, both men now staring at the ceiling. "Well, I'm here so..."

Sherlock nodded and reached out, turning the lamp off. John sighed and shuffled around, pulling the quilt over the both of them and Sherlock hesitated for a second before reaching down and grasping John's hand. He was glad to have him back but he hated having to restrain himself. All he wanted right now was to wrap himself around the doctor and hold him tightly, tight enough that he would be surrounded by Johns scent and by the feel of skin enough to wipe his mind blank enough that he could think, that he could concentrate.

He waited for a while, listening to the doctor's breathing slow and deepen until he was snoring softly, deep in his sleep. Sherlock let go of his hand and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Yes he was exhausted, but that didn't mean he wanted to have a nightmare and end up with Mummy bursting in on their room because he was screaming in the night.

Their room was special. Nobody else was allowed in here, especially not her.

Sherlock sighed and got to his feet, he was still fully dressed and he leant against the window frame looking out to see the snow had stopped falling, instead ice had begun to form a thin cover over the thick layers on the roof opposite and he sighed again, turning to take one last look at his lover before trotting out of the room and down the stairs, the living room empty but for the quiet humming of the guard on duty in the hall.

His feet were bare and his toes curled against the cold floor as he padded across to John's chair, sitting himself in it to think. His skin felt tight and dry pulled over his skull, legs stiff as he shifted around trying to get comfortable. The dry prickle of his tired eyes so familiar. Sherlock thought for a moment of Barrows, of what he had talked about and the dream diary. He reached out and pushed around the stacks of papers and books and plates that were on the side table until he found it. The thin notebook. Perhaps noting down his nightmares would stop them revolving in his mind and would allow him some release. He scrabbled down the side of the chair for a pen and wrote out each one on a page of its own, frowning as he worked and when he was done he slid the notebook back onto the side unit and hid it by placing papers over the top. (He didn't want anyone coming across it and yet he was too tired, too achy to get up and hide it properly so this would have to suffice for now.)It was then he turned his mind back to the case, his thoughts less cluttered now his dreams were not subject to them.

If he couldn't sleep he could at least be useful.

It was a few more hours until John pottered downstairs, again bending awkwardly to press a kiss to Sherlocks forehead, ruffling his hair as he yawned and padded into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. He came back after a few minute and placed a mug next to Sherlock, fixing him with a careful stare from Sherlocks chair. "Didn't sleep then?"

He shook his head. He didn't feel like talking right now. He had thought everything through in the night and had come to a definitive conclusion, one he was sure John didn't want to hear. He sighed and Sherlock looked back up to him. The doctor seemed to consider something for a moment before he leant forwards in the chair and stared right into Sherlock's eyes, only speaking after a moment and using the voice. "Okay, I want you to tell me what happened after I was attacked. I don't want any lies, I don't want you to try protecting me, keeping any information or theory to yourself or anything like that. You know what these mean?"

He reached out and lifted Sherlocks hand, holding it in a way that highlighted the matching bands, cold dawn light bouncing off and making them glint. Sherlock looked back up to John. "I have to be honest. Always."

"Exactly. So, what happened?"

"After you were stabbed I told Lestrade the license plate number..."

He explained everything in as much detail as possible, finishing with his main theories, everything he knew about who was trying to kill them except the name. He didn't tell John who he thought was behind this because the time after the bomb, for months afterwards they lived under constant unmentioned threat of Moriartys return. His body hadn't been found in the rubble, and Sherlock knew. He knew he had escaped and although they never ever talked about what had happened he knew that John had also figured it out.

The doctor was quiet for a few minutes, frowning into his mug before looking up. "Sherlock, you do realise who this could be..."

He didn't say anything, he just finished off his drink and placed it on the side unit, climbing out of Johns chair and crossing the room to lie of the sofa, fingers digging into his forehead. Of course he did.

"The man in the suit, the limp...he survived the bomb we know that and he probably sustained injuries and...It's Moriarty isn't it?"

Sherlock sighed and nodded his head. He needed to think so badly right now. John was quiet again and Sherlock opened his eyes, turning his head to watch the doctor set his mug down, straighten his shoulders and take a deep breath. "Right, okay. So if he is back then we have work to do."

Sherlocks eyebrow twitched and John's eyes found him again. "I'll just get my notebook and we can see what leads we have."

Sherlock grinned, work with John no less. He felt a thrill of excitement spark up his spine and suddenly he wasn't tired anymore, his mind practically screaming for this. To work through the details and to watch John note it down in his precise neat handwriting as he solved the puzzle. The doctor got to his feet and disappeared from view for a second, retuning with the expensive leather bound notebook Sherlock had given him, setting himself down at the desk and pulling back the cover and writing across the first page. Sherlock felt a warm pulse in his stomach at the image. John was using his gift, the very first gift he had ever given him. (He was proud of himself after all. He had managed to negotiate the troubled waters of 'gift giving' after years of failed attempts and disinterest. He understood why people did it now. Sort of, anyway.)

They had been theorising for almost an hour before Lestrade burst through the door, closely followed by Becker. "Sherlock! John!"

The doctor turned in his seat and Sherlock glanced up from his experiment. He had decided that working on several cases at once always helped his mind work more effectively as when he was concentrating on one case his mind would always be working on another. The DI glanced between them both and turned to John, gesturing apologetically. "I'd love this to be a social visit but I've got someone in custody who you might want to talk to..."

"This is to do with Moriarty isn't it?"

Lestrade sighed and blinked up at the detective. He was just coming around the corner to see John sliding a coat on gingerly, hand going for the drawer to pull out his revolver whilst Lestrade was distracted. ""Yes, at least I think it is. There's been a botched robbery, a guard was killed and a Daniel Ker was found trying to leave the gallery through a fire exit just as the police arrived. I think he is one of Moriarty's agents, this robbery is just one in a series and they have his name written all over them so..."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, his familiar cold indifference now spiked with anger. He had kept this from him?

"You have been keeping this from me?"

"Yeah well, I wasn't sure and you've kind of had a lot to deal with recently." He was using a sarcastic tone, frowning a little and vaguely gesturing to John as he spoke. A heady rush of anger made Sherlock's vision swim and he pointed violently at the DI.

"Spare me your petty concern detective-"

"Sherlock. Just take us there will you?" John had interrupted just as Sherlock was starting to get really angry. Lestrade had no right to interfere with his work, Moriarty was his case his puzzle.

His white whale.

The doctor was standing stiffly, hands buried in his pockets and when Sherlock made eye contact his eyelid fluttered a little. John was just as angry as he was. (It made him fell a little calmer, after all. Now he knew what could Lestrade do to stop him taking the case? Nothing.)

Their arrival at the police station caused a little stir as Becker insisted on going on ahead and checking every person they came across. He was somewhat hyper vigilant but it didn't bother the detective; his mind was entirely focussed on the interview room door as he stored on ahead. His skin began to tingle as he reached the room, glancing back in time to see John give him a tight smile and a nod. He was allowed in. (Not that it would've stopped him if he wasn't.)

The room was bare white walls and dark green lino flooring, the kind with a slight glittery sheen to them often found in primary school 'wet areas'. Above a single metal table bolted to the floor hung a grey lampshade and a slightly too bright bulb. Two metal chairs on one side of the table and one on the other, a man slumped almost bored in it. He had along face with a side swept fringe of his don draper style haircut hanging over his eyes and a large nose that dominated his face. He seemed cocky, relaxed, with his legs opened wide, arms crossed, quick eyes fixing on Sherlock and then John as the doctor followed him into the room, a sly smirk crossing his features as the detective leant against the wall and John sat himself down across the table.

They were all silent for a while as Sherlock looked carefully at the man. Well dressed in a grey pinstripe shirt, dark grey tie and black suit that fitted him perfectly, his eyes those of a man who had seen it all before, the thin imprint of a necklace visible just below his collar, indicating he wore dog tags. A solider then, or ex soldier judging by the floppy hair cut and slight stubble and... on his neck Sherlock spotted the faded green lines of a tattoo...initials. SM. So he wasn't who he said he was. He was much too confident for him to be in any danger, he had clearly been across this table before because his eye flickered momentarily to the hidden camera in the corner. He was not an amateur; he wouldn't have left a trace. Lestrade was going to have to let him go. Sherlock didn't have much time.

"Your boss is going to be very happy is he?" Sherlock leant forwards, and the man chuckled. Odd, so he wasn't frightened of Moriarty then.

"Oh yeah, why is that?"

"Well, a murder during what should have been a run-of-the-mill robbery tut tut, makes things messy."

The man scoffed and looked at John raising his eyebrows at him before looking back to Sherlock. "I wasn't involved in any robbery, innocent bystander." He held his palms up to the sky and smirked at the camera, "Heard that? Innocent."

Sherlock put his fingertips together and leant back in his chair rolling his eyes. This man was insufferable. "So, you must be quite high up in your little hierarchy not to be frightened Daniel...or whatever is your real name."

"It's Daniel Ker, Danny to my mates and you would be right about that." He leant forwards on his elbows and titled his head up to stare at the detective, all smugness wiped form his face. He wanted Sherlock to be frightened, to be awed by him. Pathetic.

"Oh really? And I suppose you think he cares what happens to you?"

He just lifted his chin and smiled, smugly, but with no light behind his eyes. Very strange, this man really did believe that Moriarty cared about him. Naive. "Nobody is close to Moriarty. You are either very naive or very stupid to think otherwise."

"And nobody is close to Sherlock Homes...well nobody was..." He was smugly looking over the detectives shoulder and John sighed in the corner, titling his head and giving the man an unimpressed glance.

The man gestured to himself as he spoke, his voice deep and languid, bored even and he scratched at his neck revealing his tattoos. Sherlock reached out and pulled his collar down, the man not even flinching. "Hmmm SM, is it Sam? Shaun? Sebastian?"

The man's eyes flickered to the left for a mere moment and Sherlock knew he had him, releasing his collar and sitting himself back in his chair with a satisfied grin. "Sebastian, well, now we both know each other..."

Sebastian leant forwards, elbows on the table top, face directed towards Sherlock with the light causing his eyes to fall into shadow. He seemed to be measuring the detective up, eyes trailing over his face. Probably looking for signs of weakness or of fear. He wasn't going to find any, Sherlock smirked and Sebastian blinked rapidly for a second. Clearly a bit shocked his usual aloofness wasn't working on the detective.

"I suppose your boss told you about me."

"He did."

"I have a message for you to give him."

Sebastian raised his eyebrows and opened his arms indicating for the detective to continue. John had stopped leaning on the wall and took a step closer to them but didn't interrupt. Sherlock placed both palms on the table and leant in close to the man, whispering in his ear. "If he wants to kill me, he is going to have to do it himself. He is going to have to get his hands dirty."

The door opened and Lestrade stood with a defeated slump to his shoulders, glancing in at the scene before speaking. "Mr Ker, you are free to go. You can collect your belongings from the front desk on your way out."

Sebastian pushed his chair away from Sherlock and swaggered to the door, smirking at Lestrade as he brushed past him in the doorway before strutting off.

"Lestrade, you need to get a trace on that man and his name isn't Daniel Ker, its Sebastian."

"Sebastian? Sebastian who?"

"I don't know."