A/N: Okay wow, I'm so very sorry this took so long but I was busy with decorating/exams blah blah stuff you don't care about. I am sorry though! Thank you to everyone who reviewed despite my absence, you really helped motivate me to finish this chapter, and sorry again but it's another cliffy. Oh how I do love a cliffy though.

Okay, so everything hadn't gone to plan. Sherlock blinked slowly not showing an inch of fear and leant into the gun, Moran's eyebrows raising the tiniest fraction. "You would really shoot me? Me? Now I don't think your boss would like that would he?" Moran pushed back and Sherlock felt John tense a little but he seemed outwardly cool. Lestrade looked furious, his eyes cold and his hand shaking a little. Not John though, Johns hand was as steady as ever. Good man.

"Are you willing to take that risk?"

"Absolutely."

"No, he would be pleased. He wants you dead."

"Really? If he wanted me dead he would've managed it by now. No, I think this has all been you Moran."

The man didn't speak but his hand tightened on the gun handle and he pressed just a little harder. (He was sure to bruise at this point.) Sherlock wasn't sure where he was going with this but the little voice far far back in the deep recesses of his mind told him that Moriarty wasn't behind all the attempts. There was something different at play here and perhaps...just perhaps... "Jealous are we?"

Moran took a definite step forwards hand sliding a little as sweat began to build up in his palms. He seemed to be battling something and Sherlock smirked, turning to block both Lestrade and John from the man, essentially pushing Moran backwards into the hallway and standing in the door so he couldn't go anywhere else. The gun was still pressed to his head and he could feel John inching towards him. A flicker of light in the hallway and Sherlock grinned.

"Jealous that he enjoys the games? All those puzzles? He thinks we are the same, an identical pair, two halves of a puzzle, meant to be-"

Moran was screwing his face up when sirens suddenly blared outside and he glanced to the side for a split second. Long enough for commander Becker to turn the corner of the stairs, run up and punch him so hard in the face that he flew a good two feet down the hall before dropping unconscious to the floor. "Wonderful timing as ever commander." Sherlock took two lavish steps and toed the unconscious mans waist. He didn't stir. "And commendable aim."

Lestrade raised his hands as several police officers burst into the hallway and spread through the house. "Alright everyone outside. Commander, mind giving me a hand with Mr. Moran here?"

The man was groaning, beginning to come back to himself and Lestrade raised his eyebrow in one of those expressions Sherlock assumed meant something. He never did pay attention to these things, so over complicated. Becker raised his eyebrows too and gave both Sherlock and John a strange look before striding away and bodily grabbing Moran off the floor.

This left them alone; the detective being tugged gently back into the living room as police officers swarmed the house pulling various men and half dressed woman from every crevice. John was silent for a long time before his fingers twitched and in the same instant that he reached forwards just a tiny bit Sherlock reached backwards without looking and grabbed his hand.

John exhaled. Sherlock inhaled.

"Can't give me one day can you." Sherlock raised an eyebrow and turned a little still not looking at Johns face, just allowing him to see the confusion in his own eyes. "Well, yesterday you almost drowned; today you tried to get a man to shoot you in the head. I am going to end up dying of worry related stress."

He couldn't believe it. (Both what he was seeing and what he was hearing. A strange occurrence.) John was speaking softly, clearly joking but with a tinge of sadness to his tone that implied he really was worried about the detective and Sherlock didn't know how to react.

So he froze.

"It is not my fault a maniac is trying to kill us John. These things happen to me, you knew this before you asked me to marry you."

"That I did. But still, every day? Bit much."

"I'll try to lessen the frequency."

"Good. Thank you."

Sherlock smiled because John's hand was slightly too tight on his fingers but was warm and strong and he hadn't let go. He seemed like he had forgiven the detective. "Does this mea-"

"This doesn't mean I forgive you. But I would like to get past that particular incident so I am declaring an embargo on discussing it. We can talk about what you did when we are safe."

"Oh. Okay" Worked for him. Sherlock was turned completely around now and Johns face was so very close to him. He hadn't kissed him, not properly not in the way that made his chest ache and his fingertips tingle, in so long and he couldn't stop staring at his lips. He really really wanted John to kiss him like that again...

"Sherlock?"

He jerked way from the doctor as Lestrade burst back into the room. He glanced between them and raised an eyebrow. "Sorry if I'm interrupting but you have to clear the house." Sherlock nodded and John tugged on his sleeve leading him outside into the street without looking up. They stood off to the side watching the trails of men and women being pushed out of the house and collected in the back of police vans. That was when Sherlock realised Moran was all alone, locked in the cage in the back of a van all of his own.

Completely unsupervised.

He was grabbing Johns arm and dragging him along before he could really think about it and he pushed the doctor into the driving seat before running around the other side and hopping into the passenger seat. John just looked at him with his eyebrows furrowed. "Uh...Sherlock..."

"Drive."

"What! No!"

"John. Drive."

He made sure to maintain eye contact until John went a delightful shade of red and something clicked behind his eyes, mouth setting in a firm line for a second before he snorted out a breath and reached for the keys. He seemed almost gleeful and the engine roared into life and Johns lips slowly trenched into a wicked grin as they pulled away from the house.

Sherlocks phone was ringing as John wove them in and out of traffic, refusing to use the sirens despite his fiancée's insistent requests. In the back of the van Moran was sitting silently his eyes burning into the back of Sherlocks head. "So, what exactly is the plan here?"

"I don't have one."

John smacked his head against the driving wheel. "Lestrade is going to kill me, and then he is going to come for you."

"I can take him."

He couldn't help smirking and when John laughed Moran snorted at the two men. The detective turned around and glared at him. "If I were you I'd be quiet. You're not under police protection right now." The man just raised an amused eyebrow and turned to stare out of the window. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, he didn't like Moran's confidence, he should be worried. Scared even, after all he was being driven away from relative 'safety' to an unknown location by two men who suspected him of attempted murder and were not hard pressed to retaliate.

He watched the man arch his back a little as though his only worry was the uncomfortable seating in the transport van. Sebastian sniffed and scratched his knee, almost deliberately nonchalant as he reached out to hold the wire of the small cage he was sat in, shifting on the hard metal bench and stared, seemingly fascinated, out of the window. His false composure was broken when John drove rather violently over a speed bump causing everyone to jolt in their seats. Moran let out a low gasp of surprise and winced cupping his cheek with his eyes closed. "Hurt does it?"

The eyes opened and Moran didn't remove his hand. His cocky indifference forgotten, replaced by a pained and sulky expression. "Yes actually. Rather unnecessary don't you think?" Sherlock didn't say anything. He would have probably killed him if he had been in Beckers place. Frankly it was a gift that it wasn't Sherlock, John's lifeless form back in that hospital bed, not knowing if he had lost too much blood... Yes, Moran was very very lucky.

"Where are going to go?"

Stupid question. "Baker street."

"But... Lestrade will check there first."

"What Lestrade does is unimportant, after all this is not for his benefit."

John raised an eyebrow and glanced over his shoulder for a second before turning back to the road. "So you do have a plan then."

"No, but I have a theory."

Moriarty. This may not be the work of Moran but another man bewitched into working for Sherlocks rival, perhaps he had more than one prize, more than one Moran. Regardless he would have to take the risk that Moriarty didn't come after them, didn't try and rescue this man. Although simply catching Moriarty in the same room as him again wasn't the only aim here. He wanted to understand this; he wanted to know if Moriarty could feel for someone else like Sherlock cared for John. He had previously secured himself in the knowledge that what separated them, the monster and the detective, was that Sherlock despite his purposefully detached personality could still care.

If the monster cared it meant that he wasn't safe, he would always be in danger of becoming another Jim Moriarty.

This thought made his head ache and he looked over to John, his slightly anxious expression, pearly white teeth nibbling on a plump bottom lips as his eyes scanned traffic and then back to Moran who was still glaring, his eyes dull, mouth slack and he frowned. Even if the monster could care, he still didn't have John. Sherlock would always be okay because he had John. He smiled and they turned the corner into Baker Street skidding to a halt outside the flat. John sat with his hands still on the wheel and looked at Sherlock, calculating weighing up his words. Sherlock waited patiently.

"You think Moriarty is going to come here, come to the flat to get him back don't you?"

Sherlock nodded and John's hands tightened on the wheel. There was a tense moment of silence and the doctor jumped out of the driver's seat pulling his gun from his waistband and looking at his fiancée with a stern expression. "Right well, no going back now."

Sherlock let John take Moran out of the back of the van, standing at the front door as John's gun was pushed against Sebastian's back and he unlocked the door as they approached only to be greeted by the guards. Oh, he had forgotten about them. "Excuse us gentlemen." Sherlock stood in the way blocking the two men's view as John rushed past and up the stairs. "Uh, detective inspector Lestrade hasn't happened to ca-"

"He called yes. He is on his way over."

Sherlock gritted his teeth. Well this was fine, he had less time to work with than he'd like but he was confident he could at least convince Lestrade to let him keep Moran until Moriarty turned up. However long that was. He turned away from the two men and made his way upstairs to the flat finding John handcuffing their captive to the heavy side table at the side of Sherlocks chair. He was thankful he hadn't put the man in his own armchair. Nobody was allowed to use John's things but him (And the doctor obviously.). The doctor made sure he was comfortable and trotted into the kitchen; the detective frowned and followed him speaking quietly so Moran wouldn't here. "What are you doing?"

"Making tea?"

"But...why?"

"Well Lestrade is on his way over and a cup of tea might calm him down a little as would showing him that we aren't trying to kill Moran, that we are keeping him comfortable. It might make it a little easier to convince him that keeping him here is a good idea."

Sherlock glared, what did it matter of Sebastian was comfortable; he could still be involved in Johns stabbing. There was a brief moment where both men stared defiantly at each other but Sherlock decided to concede if only because the doctor was now pushing a hot mug into his hands and so he returned to the living room to sit across from Sebastian, sipping his drinks and glaring over the rim. He had one leg elegantly posed over the other and his chin was pressed to his chest when John pottered into view placing a mug (One of the less nice pieces they had.) on the side table next to Moran and standing just over Sherlocks left shoulder. Moran raised a sarcastic eyebrow but Sherlock saw genuine surprise in his eyes before he reached out and lifted the tea to his lips taking a sip and blinking furiously at the taste. Sherlock smirked, Johns tea was always one of his best features.

"So what is this? Lulling me into a false sense of security so I spew out all the details? Good cop and even better cop?" Moran was trying to sound jovial but the detective caught the underlying uncertainty in his voice. He waited before answering, just long enough to keep the man on edge.

"So there are details to spill?"

Moran snorted and rolled his eyes. "Even if there was, would I tell you?"

"I don't need you to tell me."

"Oh yeah, Sherlock Holmes the great detective." He snorted and slurped his tea. Sherlock ignored him; instead he took a long draught of his own drink staring at the pathetic creature across from him. There were so many details left to understand, he had no solid conclusions and he was taking an extreme risk in inviting Moriarty here. But he was confident it would clarify everything, he would finally know for sure who was trying to kill them. (He ignored the voice in his head telling him that it was already obvious, that he just didn't want to face the truth.) Suddenly the door burst open and Lestrade rolled in like an oncoming storm with his gun drawn and a fierce look of rage on his face. He took in the scene, Sherlock and his captive sat across from each other drinking from mismatched mugs of tea and John rounding the corner in surprise, fingers on his own weapon. There was a brief moment of perfect silence before Lestrade lowered his gun and put his hands on his hip. Every movement was laden with energy as though he was holding back from leaping across the room and strangling Sherlock.

The detective almost laughed.

He placed his tea down and steeped his fingers together peering over at him. He knew it would only anger the man more but he couldn't resist. "Detective inspector, have a good trip over?"

John let out a sigh but didn't move and Lestrade turned puce stamping forwards a little, viciously pointing his finger at the man. "What the hell were you thinking! That you could just drive off with a police van and expect me not to notice?"

"Don't be idiotic, of course I knew you'd follow. I merely judged it irrelevant."

"Irr- Irrelevant! You know what, this is it, I have given you too many chances I'm just goin-" John slipped in between the two men and lightly pressed Lestrade on the chest, backing him away from the doctors lover and towards the leather sofa.

"Greg, listen. You need to wait; after this is all over you can do whatever you want to him. I promise just, just please wait." Sherlock frowned opening his mouth to argue but John shot him such a stern look he relented and instead watched Lestrades face carefully. Lestrade looked at him for a long moment and then he looked back at John with his eyes narrowed, suspicious. "He had better have a damn good reason."

As soon as Becker had arrived back at the flat (Complete with his wrist wrapped stiffly. Apparently he had hit Moran hard enough to break a bone in his hand.) they had dragged Lestrade upstairs to the hallway outside their bedroom, not wanting to reveal Sherlocks various theories to their captive. The DI had followed reluctantly his eyes boring into the back of Sherlocks head and when they did stop he merely crossed his arms, waiting. Sherlock felt like a scorned child caught stealing sweets. He scowled. John rolled his eyes and prodded him in the side. "Well, what are you thinking?" He drew himself up to his full height and sniffed, they were going to be impressed. He knew it.

"Well there are three possibilities." He waited for a dramatic pause; Lestrade was looking at him oddly as though he had appeared in no clothes at the crack of dawn again. How disappointing, John however was staring at him patiently with a flicker in his eyes giving away his anticipation. See, he knew Sherlock would be right, he knew Sherlocks theories were always brilliant. "First is that Moriarty is trying to kill us himself, although I do doubt this very much because in the past he has exhibited much more flair and quite frankly if it were him we would probably be dead by now. He wouldn't play dirty like this, he would at least give me clues, a message, something to let me know it was him."

John scowled but the detective ignored him, pacing back and forth in the tight space. "Second is that Moriarty is helping another pet of his who is either being trained using us a dummies or is trying to impress their new boss by killing us and is doing a very poor job of it." He paused again, this time they both looked interested and he spun on his heel, turning his back to hide the smile that glanced across his features.

"Thirdly this is Moran's work, again to try and impress Moriarty or through jealousy of Moriarty and I and our relationship." John's eyebrows shot through the roof and Lestrade glanced to him giving Sherlock a strange look. He didn't know what it was supposed to mean but Johns scowl was so very dark right now that the detective turned towards him slightly and tilted his head. The look in his eyes said it all. "Of course it is a purely cognitive relationship, he enjoys creating puzzles I enjoy solving them." John lifted his chin but didn't say anything. Sherlock gritted his teeth. Ah, his relationship with Moriarty was obviously a bad thing to mention in future. He opened his mouth to explain when Lestrade interrupted. (He wasn't sure whether to be thankful or not but to err on the side of caution he decided simple relief was appropriate.)

"Is that it? Which one do you think is more likely?"

Sherlock raised a finger and dragged his eyes away from his angered lover to Lestrades pained expression. "I do not know."

"You don't know?"

Ugh, Lestrade was practically dense. Sherlocks energy began to wane and his bright expression dropped as he scowled at the man. "Well of course not. Otherwise I wouldn't have three theories would I?"

"No shit Sher-"

"So that is why we need to keep Moran here. To get Moriarty to show up and then Sherlock will know which it is. Right?"

Sherlock turned back to John who had interrupted and smiled. Finally someone who understood. "Precisely." There was a moment where they shared a smile before Lestrades phone interrupted them and the DI shooed them away with his hand so he could take the call. Sherlock and John walked down the stairs and into the living room together, unwittingly walking in on Commander Becker punching Moran in the face. John shouted his voice unexpectedly authoritative and it caused the commander to look up at him panting heavily with a mean look on his face.

"Commander!"

Becker took a step away from Moran and the man spat a mouthful of blood on to the floor glaring up at them with an evil glint to his eye. "Bit sensitive this commander of yours. I only happened to mention what a lovely little town his partner is deployed to. "

"You had better shut your mouth, if you even think of going anywhere nea-" Becker had stormed back across to him, grabbing the man by the shirt collar and shaking him viciously.

"Commander! Sherlock, please take Becker out would you."

The detective blinked, he hadn't expected being brought into this (In fact he was rather enjoying watching the commander teaching Moran a lesson.) but the stern look John was giving him left no choice and so he swept forwards grabbing Beckers sweater and pulling him towards the door and out of the living room. John stayed behind, probably to tend to Moran's wounds. Sherlock didn't know what to do with his hands and they took slow stuttering steps down into the hallway, the two guards at the door dismissed with a simple head tilt and hand gesture. Becker threw himself into the chair and wiped a hand across his brow. He didn't know what to say, the man was breathing heavily and was scowling at the floor and Sherlock looked away from him when the commander attempted eye contact. "I'm sorry Mr. Holmes." Sherlock didn't say anything and Becker let out a huff of air. He sounded sad, regretful. "It's just...he knows where my partner is deployed! I can't..."

Sherlock licked his lips surprised at his own mind. His first thought was that he understood. How strange.

"Where are Mummy and Mycroft?"

The commander was silent for a minute and Sherlock span back around raising an eyebrow. The other man smiled for a second before coughing and standing back to his usual posture. "I escorted them to Mr. Holmes office myself."

"Good. Can't have them hanging around, getting in the way." Becker smiled and Sherlock blinked at him weighing up his next words. "What reason did you-"

"I just told them there was security issue near here and that it was my impression that they should move to a more secure area for the time being. I omitted that this is ground zero for the security issue as courtesy sir." Sherlock grinned. He knew there was a reason he kept the commander around.

"Good, well commander you should stay here for now. Man the front door and don't let anybody inside without my permission. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir." Becker saluted him and turned to the door.

Sherlock was halfway up the stairs before he thought of Mrs. Hudson. "Oh and commander, Mrs. Hudson would also benefit from not being here." He didn't need her popping up in the middle of his showdown with Moriarty. Although...it would be interesting. He chuckled imagining her offering him tea and biscuits. Back in the living room John was sealing a cut above Sebastian's eye with medical tape, the captive man squirming a little under his touch. Sherlocks expression darkened and he fought the jealously sparking within him. The doctor glanced up when he walked in and gave him a stern look and Sherlock wrapped his arms around himself.

Lestrade appeared behind him and clapped a hand down on his shoulder. Sherlock went ram rod straight. Since when did Lestrade think it was oaky for him to touch the detective? Well whatever his reasons Sherlock didn't like it. "That was Clarky. They need me back at that house."

"Right. Okay."

The hand was removed and Lestrade raised an eyebrow. "Don't do anything stupid and Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"If he escapes I will personally string you up okay?"

The detective didn't reply. There was a high likelihood that Moran would escape. He was not going to make the foolish mistake of promising anything. There was a tense beat and Lestrade was gone, his voice filtering up the stairs as he barked orders at Becker. John finished up and went to the kitchen to clean his hands leaving Sherlock to stare at their captive. "You need to excise more control over your employees." Moran was smirking at him, wincing slightly at the obvious pain he felt. Sherlock chuckled lowly and turned around to flop elegantly into his sofa, ankles crossed. He was thinking, thinking thinking thinking, trying to drown out that one singular sound at the back of his mind. That voice.

Hours flew by and Sherlock became only vaguely aware of movement in the flat, the soft voices as John watched his shows and Moran's bitter commentary. Some time later a warm plate placed on his chest. Sherlock nibbled at the sandwich, here a soft familiar mummer that urged him to eat more and so he focused on that for a while.

That voice was intangible, hovering on the edge but insistent like a splinter he couldn't find and couldn't ignore. He frowned and rolled over, feeling the wind across his neck.

He sat up to find himself in a wide open field, tall grass flowing and winding around him and the detective was confused. He didn't recognise this place and yet it felt so familiar, oddly saddening. That voice behind him and Sherlock turned to see him lying in the grass a foot away, hands behind his head feet splayed outwards as he stared at the unmoving sky.

"I used to come here when I was a kid."

"Oh. Let me guess, to escape the world around you? How touching."

The man didn't react to Sherlocks scorn; he just continued staring at the sky. Sherlock felt his stomach turn and he couldn't look anymore so he lay down too and joined in the quiet contemplation.

"Well it beats staying at home with an abusive drink father and a abusive drugged up mum."

"It's you isn't it, it has always been you."

"Of course it has Sherlock dear; you of all people should know that I am never quite finished."

"I hoped you were dead."

"Don't we all."

Sherlock awoke with a start. It was just a dream, a nightmare; he scowled at the ceiling and glanced sideways to see Moran watching him with an interested glint in his eye. He checked the clock, it had been hours. The detective flipped himself up so he was sat facing their captive and studied him carefully, the voice in the back of his mind almost screaming out for recognition and at once Sherlock decided just to see, just to entertain those dark thoughts for a moment. He suppressed a shudder and fixed Moran with a cold stare. "I have a theory about this you know."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes. Would you like to hear it?"

Moran raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms leaning back in his seat. Sherlock took this as an affirmative and leant his elbows on his knees bringing his fingers together in a steeple. "I think, in an effort to impress your boss and out of jealousy, you have attempted and failed to kill both me and John."

Moran looked smug, although he did uncross and cross his arms again and Sherlock knew he was close so he decided to push the man a little further. "At first I did believe it was Moriarty but then I realised he was no mindless thug and much less he certainly didn't do his own grunt work. Which obviously lead me to you-"

"What do you mean grunt work?"

"Well a master criminal as sophisticated as Moriarty wouldn't attempt to kill people himself; he wouldn't get his hands dirty like that. No these attempts were obviously done by a common henchman like yourself. You lack the elegance and charisma required to get somebody else to do it for you."

"Yeah well, that's where you are wrong isn't it. Because it was someone else, I heard about him, I searched for him, I helped him, I convinced him the only thing he had was his hatred for you. It was me all along pulling his strings, it was me who found B-"

The sound of breaking glass and both men froze turning to look at the kitchen door. He had been so close, his heart had been hammering in his chest and his mind had been a storm of fear and intrigue and adrenaline and it had all stopped at the crashing tinkling sound and then the tell tale crunch on expensive heel on broken glass.

"Tut tut love. We have been busy haven't we."