A/N: Thank you everyone for the reviews! Please tell me what you think! We are nearing the end now so I hope this is enough plot for you! Too many exclamation points! Please R&R!

He sat alone on the bed for a full three minutes after John had ushered his parents downstairs, mumbling in monotone and fervently not looking at the sodden detective. His heart hammered in his chest and he felt out of control, sucked into a vortex. This was wrong, wrong, wrong all fucking wrong.

It was meant to be a nice surprise.

John was mad at him, so furious and Sherlock knew there was something else to this. This was ten times the level of rage John had shown when Sherlock had driven cross London in his pants and he wondered if John would want him anymore. He sucked in a sharp breath. Oh god, he really hoped he hadn't messed everything up. He clenched his fingers together and got up from the bed. His chest still ached although he couldn't be sure if it was the water he had gasped down or the crushing disappointing feeling that he had gotten it wrong again.

He walked on jelly legs to the door and padded across to the bathroom. He stopped in the doorway staring in with his hand on the doorframe the only thing keeping him standing as John looked back at him in the bathroom mirror. He looked so hurt that Sherlock honestly couldn't speak. The doctor patted his face dry with a hand towel and pushed past him, pausing for a hesitant second as their chests brushed and his face softened for a instance as the detective trembled against him before his eyes were a mask of anger and fear again and he trotted away, down the stairs.

Sherlock took his time drying his hair and washing his face in the sink. His clothes were still soaked through. That bought him another few minutes be he knew he would have to go downstairs at some point. He would have to face them.

He threw up in the toilet. He had swallowed a lot of water and his head was pounding as he slowly made his way to the kitchen. John was sat at the table with his parents sat across from him. Sherlock (Always with perfect timing.) walked in just as the doctor spoke.

"He isn't who he said he is..."

John's parents looked at him and Sherlock dropped the innocent, slightly self conscious expression he had created for them returning to his usual blank expression. They balked at the change and John's mother reached across the table with a slightly manic laugh and smile; she grabbed his hand and gripped it tight. "What are you talking about honey?"

"He isn't a writer at all, he is a detective."

"But...how do you know..."

"Because I live with him, I work with him."

"You work... no, you didn't mention this is any of your letters..."

"Of course I didn't. You wanted me to go into practice, how could I tell I spend my days following a lunatic around whilst he solves crime?"

"They don't allow police detectives to take doctors around with them."

"That is because I don't work for the police." He spoke up and John's father and mother stared at him. Simon put a hand on his wife's shoulder and took a step around the table so he was closer to the detective, blocking him from his wife. He eyed him suspiciously.

"Then you are not a detective..."

"I am a consulting detective. I work with the police when they are out of their depth but take private cases. I invented the job."

"You invented-"

Simon was interrupted by John's mother's intake of breath and every male pairs of eyes fixed first on her face and then on John's hand where she was cradling his fingers, ring glinting in the dim light of the kitchen. John snatched his hand away but it was too late and his parents rounded on him, Sherlock forgotten for the moment. He took a step forward and not knowing if he was allowed he kept his hands behind his back instead of reaching out and placing them on John's shoulder like he itched to.

"John love, are you getting married?"

The question hung in the air and the doctor's shoulder stiffened but he didn't look up. He stared down at his ring until Sherlock couldn't take it and when he spoke up for him his voice croaked only slightly.

"Yes he is."

"And what would you know about it?" Such bitter sharpness and Simon stared right into his eyes. Sherlock lifted his chin and put back his shoulders, towering over the family impressive despite the still damp curl of his hair and the pale sick tone of his skin.

"I would know a lot about it, Doctor Watson, as I am the man marrying him."

There was three beats of dead silence before John looked up and leant back to feel Sherlocks fingers dust over the back of his neck before he leant forwards again and looked into his mothers eyes. "Mum?"

She blinked at him her warm eyes turning cold, stony. "Tell me this isn't true, tell me that my boy, my darling boy...tell me-"

She sounded hysterical and John tried to grab at her flailing hands but she flinched away from the cold touch of the ring and John's father reached down to hold her hand.

"It's true."

She sucked in a sob and John pulled his hands back across the table, falling lifeless beside his chair and his head drooped and Sherlock frowned. He felt anger bubbling in his chest and before he could stop himself he strode around the table, leaning down to block their view of their son.

They stared at him, furious as he leant on his hands on their kitchen table and stared right back. He was not afraid of them. He could feel the rage busying under his skin and he felt powerful, unstoppable and he couldn't get the slump of the doctor shoulders out of his mind. He spoke, slow and calculating.

"Is there a problem?"

"A problem! A problem! Of course there is you filthy disgusting fa-"

He never finished his tirade because Sherlock was upon him, leaning over the man and his gaze bore holes in the man's face as their chest brushed and Sherlock let out a cold slow breath. He didn't touch him; he just stood there with every tense line of his body broadcasting his barely withheld attack. The shorter mans pupils retracted in fear and Sherlock leant in close to snarl in his ear.

"You have a problem Doctor? You think there is something wrong with me marrying your son?"

"It's-it's not natural!"

"What is more natural than love between two people? Than the desire to commemorate that love?"

He was fighting not to reach out and strangle the man, his bony fingers would fit perfectly around that stout neck but he kept it in. He held back, failing to keep all the rage, all the disgust from his voice but managing to keep it calm to keep it considered.

"But-"

"Doctor Watson why don't you answer me this, if the man you thought I was earlier, the man who helped you with your computer and found your lost cat and came through in your wife's hour of need asked you for Harrys hand in marriage instead, what would you have said? And please, be honest sir."

John's father's bottom lip quivered and he stared down at John. The doctor was looking up now his face the epitome of shock but it changed when his father looked at him and his mouth went in a thin white line and his eyes burned his fathers gaze and Simon puffed out his chest looking back at the detective.

"I would have said yes, but that is diff-"

"So because I intend to marry your son instead it is suddenly wrong? I am suddenly a bad person?"

"I- You..."

"Perhaps Doctor Watson, Mrs. Watson, perhaps you need to re-evaluate your views. I think you would find them outdated, bigoted and with respect completely and utterly wrong."

"Now see here, you can't just come in here lie to me, lie to my wife and expect to be allowed to tell me what is right and wrong."

"Funny, I thought I just did."

He had his arms crossed, smirking down at the man and he heard a scrape as Johns chair was flung backwards and the doctor was on his feet. "Sherlock." His voice was haggard and the detective took two steps away from Simon and turned, his anger, his cocky confidence melted away and he crouched slightly peering into Johns eyes with his hands clasped in front of him, begging. Pleading .

John looked at him calmly, he had a tiny frown on his face and he seemed to be searching for something in his eyes. Sherlock wasn't sure if he found it but the doctor looked away from him and back to his parents.

"Mum, dad...this isn't how I wanted you to find out and this isn't how I wanted things to be but I love you and if I am going to get married then... I just want you there okay? I know how you feel about Harry and how you are probably feeling about me right now and you know what, if you can look past that and can find it somewhere deep in your hearts to give me this last thing before you cut me from your life, well, I could only give you my gratitude."

John glanced up at Sherlock and blinked before turning stiffly to walk out of the door down the hall and out of the house. Sherlock stood in the wake of his speech and glanced at the Watsons, huddled together on the opposite side of the kitchen and he walked forwards, cocky again, taking a post it note from the pile on the unit, writing Mycrofts number on it and slapping it on the fridge, making them flinch, before turning to leave. He looked at them and felt his anger bubble again, his face stony as they both stared back at him.

"If you change your minds."

He didn't go back upstairs for his clothes and he didn't leave the house. He hovered in the hallway for a few minutes, dreading what was to come. Eventually he reached for the door and quickly stepped outside like ripping off a plaster. The air was bitterly cold and the rain hadn't stopped. He listened to the hiss as it hit the pavement and sucked in a deep breath. His swagger left him and he sagged, he was so tired and his head hurt and all he wanted was to be back at work, back with John.

He made his way up the road a little and a black car swept around the corner ahead sliding effortlessly alongside. The door flew open and Sherlock didn't hesitate before he hopped inside, pulling the door closed on the deathly silent occupants. He didn't look at the doctor, he could feel the rage pouring off him and he certainly didn't look up at Commander Becker, the man tutting under his breath. If there was anyone to fear upsetting it was the man who was charged with keeping him alive.

He fell asleep when they reached the motorway, knees pulled up as he dug his heels into the expensive leather of the car seat to spite his brother. He felt anger, impotent rage, although he couldn't pinpoint the exact cause of it. Was it residual anger from his interactions with John's parents? From his near drowning? Or was it that he had tried to do something good, something nice for his fiancée and the entire thing had backfired on him? Sherlock wrapped his arms around himself and let his head rest against the window watching water trickle sideways across the glass as they sped along. This was why he never did the emotional relationship things. He always messed up.

He was back in the swimming pool. He knew it was coming, he knew the tide would begin to swirl around him any second and those tense seconds seemed to stretch for eternity until his skin began to itch with anticipation and he fingers threaded his hair, nails digging into his skull.

Why hadn't it happened yet? Where was the flood?

He took a faltering step forwards and it echoed around him bouncing off the cold white tile and Sherlock blinked because now he could see him. John stood on the edge so far away and yet he could see every minute detail on his face and every cold slow blink as he stare down at Sherlock.

When the water finally came it was almost a relief, a sigh escaping his body until the torrent began to fling him around and he struggled to find the surface and the water was dark and muddy and he was being swept down the river faster than he could think and he saw the bridge ahead and John was leant over the side and he caught his eyes in gasping panting flashes when his head broke the surface and he reached out and tried to call for help but John didn't save him.

Not this time.

He was swept past the bridge and something fell in his chest as he chocked and gasped on the burning water in his lungs and the two men appeared beside John on the bridge and Sherlock screamed out but it was too late and everything faded to black.

He awoke to the clunk of a car door.

John was out of the car so fast Sherlock didn't even see him enter Baker Street. That left him alone with Becker; a tense moment in which they shared eye contact in the rear view mirror before Sherlock was out and away, skidding on the slick pavement as he rushed to follow his fiancée inside.

There were more guards here, security had clearly been beefed up and now two comfortable chairs (Obviously put there by Mrs. Hudson.) and a side table with a tray of drinks and piles of paper with neat notes and orders both written down in scratchy scrawls and printed out in formal lines. (Again Mrs. Hudson and handwritten notes from Lestrade, printed out from Mycroft. Oh god, an alliance.) Sherlock hesitated in the doorway as John talked to the two new men.

He eyed them from the corner, one tall and thin with almost vertical brown hair and dark brown eyes, his face was cracked in what seemed like an eternal smile and he leant on the table somewhat shielding his partner. He listened to what John had to say intently as though he really cared, arms crossed as he leant his head towards him. His partner was a more nervous looking man with curly hair, blue eyes, and bruised red lips which he licked self consciously. He was crouched in the comfortable chair and when he looked at Sherlock for a second his eyes flitted away nervously.

Sherlock could feel the walls closing in on him and he turned to rush up the stairs, aiming to return to his leather sofa and his solitude for a while. What he got however was quite different.

"You bastard!"

A fist to his nose and Sherlock was flung on his back by the unexpected force of the blow. He lay crouched on the floor clutching his bloody face and blinking up at Harry.

"What the hell do you think gives you the right to talk to our parents? What gives you the right to disappear for days and make everyone think you had been killed in a fucking train crash!"

She was stood over him gesturing wildly and Sherlock scooted himself into a sitting position. "Train crash?"

She paused and looked down eyeing him suspiciously. "Tell me you knew about the fucking train crash?"

Ah that went some way to explaining John's strange behaviour and the sheer magnitude of his anger. Perhaps another failed assassination attempt, perhaps sheer coincidence, still he was glad that he had changed trains at the last minute. "No I did not."

"What the hell is going on in here!"

John was back. Sherlock felt hands on the back of his shirt and he was yanked to his feet, the doctors considered gaze trawling his face, inspecting the damage. He reached out and pressed on the detective's nose in an oddly gentle manner and Sherlock (despite himself.) leant into the touch. John's eyes widened and he looked up at him with a soft expression for a second before the shutters came down and he was back to careful neutrality.

"Sherlock, go wash up. Get some sleep. If you wake up with a temperature, dizziness, headaches, anything you tell me. God knows what you picked up in that river. Got it?"

Sherlock nodded blindly and John turned away from him, slightly staggered in his movements. He paused there for a second catching Harry's still furious eye before turning unsteadily on his heels and making for the bathroom upstairs.

He lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He was waiting for John to come to bed. He knew he was waiting for something that wasn't likely to happen. Sherlock huffed and flung his arms out glaring at the window. Rain pattered against the glass and he watched it trickle down, the only sounds he could hear the hammering of his heart and the roaring storm outside. Lightning flashed over the houses and Sherlock sat up. He couldn't sleep, every time he closed his eyes he would hear the waters rush and he would jerk his eyes open.

So he sat on the edge of the bed and reached out to touch the cold window pane, he stood and pressed his body against it, the cool damp spreading through his t-shirt and soothing against his forehead. His chest still hurt and yet like this he could relax a little and so he stood for hours with his body pressed to the glass, eyes peering out as the storm raged on. Eventually the night sky lightened only slightly, dark clouds overhead and he cracked the window open a little smelling the clean fresh scent of rain in the air and listening to the faint murmuring of a radio in a house nearby. Sherlock sighed and peeled himself away, taking off his t-shirt leaving him in just a pair of long blue pyjama pants, his skin goose-pimpled but he didn't care.

He made his way downstairs ad wandered out into the living room. John was asleep in his chair, half a cold mug of tea on his side unit and a book lay open on his legs as he slumped, neck exposed, snoring softly. Sherlock frowned. He felt guilty. He treaded softly and made his way over to the doctor reaching out to slide a hand over his jaw and down his neck before leaning in a and pressing a soft almost not there kiss to the doctors forehead. It did little to ease the pain in his chest and Sherlock quickly withdrew his hand slinking back to perch on his chair. He stared at the doctor and scrabbled around his chair to find his violin case, pulling the instrument out and closing his eyes to quietly pluck the song he had played that brilliant morning.

The day after John had proposed. The happiest day of his life.

Sometime later he felt movement in front of him and finished the song slow and sweet opening his eyes and blinking rapidly. John was on his way into the kitchen. "John?"

He froze in the doorway and his shoulders stiffened. "Sherlock."

He didn't know what to say. So he said what he thought John would want to hear. "I am sorry."

The doctor didn't reply and Sherlock carefully placed his violin down, unfurling his legs from the chair and made his way across to the doctor. He placed a hand on Johns arm and the doctor spun around knocked his hand away. He began walking forwards and Sherlock took four steps backwards. "Do you even understand what you did?"

"I-I was just trying to do something nice for you I-"

"No. Don't you dare. This was not about me, it was never about me."

Sherlock gaped and John pointed at him, furious. He didn't know what to think but he felt bile rise in his throat and he couched away slightly from the doctors gestures. He didn't want to fight with him. "This was about showing everyone how you can manipulate people, showing off how fucking impressive you are. This was about you meddling in every part of me Sherlock, even the parts I told you were off limits. You had no right and don't you dare act like this was a big misunderstanding. You knew exactly what you were doing."

Apparently not and yet he still felt anger rise in his chest and he tilted his head trying to appear cold but probably failing. "I thought that is what this whole marriage ting is about. No secrets, every part of me is yours John. I was just trying to-"

"I don't care what you were trying to do. You could've been killed!" Sherlock spluttered indignantly and opened his mouth to argue but John was still talking. "And don't you dare say you weren't in any danger. What the hell were you thinking! You left without your phone, without telling anybody where you were going, without any warning. You could have been killed and I would never have known what happened to you! You were bloody lucky I was coming across the bridge when you went in."

"It was meant to be a surprise." He shouted, defiant, like a child and John seemed to slump for a second and he stared into Sherlock eyes for a long moment.

"What?"

"I left all my things behind and all that because it was supposed to be a surprise. I wanted to do something for you for a wedding present and I thought you would never get around to it yourself and it was obvious how much you wanted them there...I just wanted your parents to like me John, I wanted them to understand tha-"

He had his hands up in front of his face and John slapped them out of the way, reaching out and grabbing Sherlocks head and pressing himself up against his length. He kissed with ferocity biting and pulling and Sherlock gasped into the kiss trying to reach out for the doctor but Johns hands slid down and pressed his wrists into the wall behind them and Sherlock grunted as he collided with it, the doctor following though until the detective was pinned against the wall completely. John's hot breath across his face and for a moment the doctor rested his face against Sherlocks neck, breathing in deeply before he launched himself away from the wall and spun around panting heavily. He didn't look at Sherlock and the detective waited but John just turned and walked away, stamping upstairs without a word leaving Sherlock cold, alone and painfully hard.

He didn't know what to do, he didn't understand what had just happened and so he slowly crept upstairs to hear the shower running. He sighed and walked quickly past the bathroom door to change before rushing back downstairs, grabbing his dream diary, his laptop and his phone. He stuffed everything into his coat pockets and made for the door finding Commander Becker blocking his path.

"Where are we going?"

He looked up.

"Hmm 200B."

"Right."

Molly noted down the detectives estimation and moved forwards with the colour cards to make her own judgement. She held the card to Becker's bare skin and he sucked in a breath, she blushed and stammered, hands shaking as she noted her confirmation in the notebook with a pencil. Sherlock walked back across the room and raised the gun again, the commander waiting for Molly to stand clear before tensing his stomach muscles and wrapping his arms around his back.

"She-What the hell!"

The detective lowered the gun and peered over his support to blink at Lestrade and John in the doorway. Becker blushed and went to replace his shirt only to find it missing. He wrapped his arms around his front self consciously instead.

"I am conducting an experiment."

"Oh my god, have you been shooting him!"

John brushed past Lestrade and walked to Becker, inspecting the darkening bruises on his chest and stomach. He tutted and looked over to Sherlock.

"I was checking the relative colourings of a rubber bullet shot from different distances. Commander Becker has the correct skin tone and explained that he is able to withstand a significant amount of pain. He did not object. I didn't force him to do it."

John looked at the commander and Becker smiled sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders. John sighed and stood form where he had been kneeling. "You don't get paid enough."

"Oh Mr. Holmes pays me more than enough doctor." John smiled his hand on the commander's arm and Molly squeaked in the corner. Lestrade laughed in the doorway, crossing the room to help her off the floor where she had fallen in her flailing excitement. He also retrieved the commanders' shirt. Molly blushing fiercely and determinedly not looking back at Becker walked to Sherlock side.

"Um I had better get back-"

"Yes. Thank you Molly."

She smiled widely at the detective and left the notebook and pencil next to where Sherlock had laid his coat before waggling her fingers at Becker and scurrying out of the door blushing lightly but with a wide smile on her face."Goodbye John, detective...commander."

"She seemed happy..." Lestrade blinked as she scurried out of the door, handing Beckers shirt over. The commander laughed.

"Molly has a big date tonight."

Lestrade raised his eyebrows and leant against the wall next to Becker. "Oh yeah? She tell you that?"

"She wouldn't shut up about it." Sherlock was grumbling and everyone glared at him. He was messing with the gun just to give his hands something to do and so he didn't have to look at John. "So why are you here?"

John frowned and crossed his arms. "Do I have to have a reason?"

Sherlock laughed bitterly and peered over his stand to raise an eyebrow at his fiancée. Or at who he hoped was still his fiancée. "You're not exactly my biggest fan right now John."

John scoffed "No Sherlock that will always be Molly." Sherlock didn't look back at them he instead opened his email client on his laptop and began writing to his client. There was a long moment of silence before Lestrade spoke. He fully intended not to listen. After all, if he was going to a pariah he might as well act as one.

"We found Moran." Well that got his attention alright.

They were just around the corner from a row of quiet terraced house not two blocks from Baker Street. Lestrade and Becker were sat in the front seats and 'John and Sherlock in the back with Anderson pressed up against Sherlocks left side. The entire ride over he had been complaining about having to sit next to the detective, and why was he involved anyway. "I am not exactly thrilled about this situation either Anderson and anyway I told you. You are the only one either Moran or any of his agents haven't seen yet."

"I don't want to go to some mad mans house and knock on the bloody door."

"Careful Anderson, your yellow belly is showing." Sherlock smirked as the man next to him spluttered and elbowed him in a not at all secretive fashion. Lestrade shouted over their bickering as Becker pulled them into the parking space.

"Oi! Stop it, both of you. Anderson, you are here because that man is a very dangerous criminal and can lead us to an even more dangerous criminal and our job is to catch these criminals. So you are going to get out of the car, go up to the door and ask for Mr. Moran. Got it?"

"But-"

"And you will be perfectly safe because Commander Becker here will be standing just around the corner listening in. Okay?"

Anderson sagged in his seat and Sherlock didn't even try to hide the smirk on his face. He was so Lestrades favourite. He was too busy being smug to realise both Anderson and Becker had already left the car and he quickly jumped out. "Hey, I never said you were going! Sherlock!"

The detective turned on his heel and bent down, wobbling slightly, he still hadn't eaten today and his brain ached but he was running on adrenaline so he pressed a finger to his lips and smirked at the DI's indignant spluttering. He joined Becker at the wall and the commander let him stand closest to the edge, listening intently for Anderson's voice. He could hear him psyching himself up and fought a snigger. Anderson took slow hesitant steps up to the doorway and Sherlock listened for the dull thump of his knuckles of the door. There were a tense few minutes until the door clicked open and he heard a familiar voice.

"Ah I see the fun has arrived."

"T-The fun?"

"Your first time? Oh well come in. Don't worry I'll be kind to you...at first."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at Becker who frowned sternly. "Ki—Kind?"

"How far do you go? He did tell you what is expected of you right?"

There were a few moments of spluttering and a panicked gasp before the door clunked closed. Anderson had been taken inside. Sherlock turned and Becker signalled for Lestrade and John to join them. "Well?"

"This is definitely his house."

Lestrade gestured for the commander to come to the car to discuss tactics leaving Sherlock alone with John. The doctor was frowning at the space just over the detective shoulder and Sherlock reached out to touch his arm. "What is the plan here Sherlock? What are we doing?"

"We are catching the man responsible for hurting us."

John blushed lightly and looked up at him. "Us? I don't remember you getting stabbed."

He said it in an oddly shy small voice and Sherlock raised an eyebrow. The doctor wasn't kidding anyone. "John you are well aware of the effect you being indisposed has on me."

"I know." He sighed and leant towards Sherlock and pressed a hand to his heart almost as thought he wasn't thinking about anything but that and Sherlock smiled putting his own hand on Johns shoulder.

"Does this mean you still want to marry me?"

John raised both his eyebrows and his fingers clenched on Sherlocks chest. He felt more stable now than he had in weeks and yet his limbs felt useless, like they had a mind of their own. He looked oddly offended. "Sherlock, you listen to me. I love you. Do you remember what I said to you that morning when Irene came?"

Silly question. "Yes. You said forever is a long long time but right now I can't see myself leaving you and I know that the things we have seen, the things we have been through, they have been some of the worst things I have ever had to... well it hasn't been easy on either of us and we are still here. Nothing that has happened has changed how I feel about you or this relationship and I can't think of a single thing that would. So forever might be a long time but-"

John had stood in amazed silent for a short while but finally came back to himself and cracked a smile. "Sherlock! Sherlock. Okay, I get it. You were listening." Sherlock smiled and nodded and John sighed tilting his head. "So you understand."

He thought about it. "You still love me."

"Yes and...?"

"And you still want to marry me?" He tried not to sound hopeful. John shook his head.

"Yes Sherlock, sadly I don't there will be a time when I don't want to marry you."

It was Sherlocks turn to frown but he never got to ask what was so bad about that because Lestrade and Becker were back. "Becker is going to take the back entrance whilst John and I go ahead on the front." Sherlock opened his mouth to argue but Lestrade was already shaking his hands at him. "Look, I shouldn't even be authorising a raid with only one official police officer present but you were almost drowned last night and frankly you would just get in the way."

Sherlock glared at him but the other men were already moving away.

They crouched outside the front door, Lestrade right at the front with John close behind and Sherlock crouched behind them on the step. After a minute there were the faint sounds of a commotion at the back of the house and Lestrade slammed his fist up against the door a few times shouting out police but nobody answered and John made his way forward kicking the door open. They made their way down a tight hallway and into a lavish living room. Anderson was sat primly on a sunken leather sofa holding a whiskey and nervously inching away from Moran who was stood just across the room from him, leant on the fireplace. Sherlock wiggled his eyebrows at the blushing man and Anderson swallowed his drink with shaking hands.

"Enjoying yourself?"

Lestrade sighed from his position and vaguely gestured with his gun for Anderson to get up. "You can go now." He didn't need to be told twice slamming his glass down and pushing his way out of the house.

"Oh of course. I thought he was having an off night, the ones he usually sends are... of a higher class."

"He pays for your hookers? Novel."

"He looks after me."

Sherlock snorted and walked past John to pull at the curtains, the doctor inching into the room so Moran now had Lestrade and John pointing guns at him from his left and from directly in front of him. "Clearly." He gestured to the opulent house. "Buying you a house seems a bit extreme, he must have his reasons."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. He was curious. What was it about this man that Moriarty found appealing enough to lavish him with so much. Was it possible that the man he so feared becoming, the monster, was it possible he too had someone he cared for? It seemed unlikely.

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

Moran put his own drink down and stood with hands on hips eyeing Sherlock suspiciously. "Why are you here?"

"Why are you trying to kill me? I left your little operation alone for the time being."

Moran lifted an eyebrow. "I haven't authorised any action involving you or your-" He glanced to John and quirked a eyebrow with a smirk. "Friends."

Sherlock frowned as John scoffed, he was probably lying. It would be fitting with his behaviour...but then...

"Sebastian Moran you are under arrest." Lestrade spoke up and Moran sighed and lifted his palms up titling his head sarcastically. Odd that he would concede defeat so easily but then, Moriarty could probably afford a pretty good lawyer.

"Oh no you caught me."

Lestrade moved around the man and Sebastian sidestepped his way to the door, Sherlock walking up beside him. He was too focussed on analysing what the man had aid to notice the bulge in his pocket before it was too late and the cold metal of the pistol was against his temples.

"Nobody move."