He was not disappointed to be ripped out of the conversation. He couldn't expect to have all the fun; he had to let Sherlock have some control over his body as well, or it wouldn't be a game. And he had been done with explaining the case anyway.

John had looked at him with bright, happy eyes. It was obvious that he was still awed that his friend had returned from the dead. Jim wasn't surprised that he was single again. He would have left a man who looked at another man like that as well.

Sherlock must have woken up and found a connection between his mind palace and the outside world. It might have been the same Jim used, but it was impossible to say how many there were, and in the end it wasn't important. He wasn't going to sever the connection; once he had had enough of the game, he would ensure that Sherlock couldn't use them anymore. That was all.

Right now, he could move unhindered; the consulting detective must be too relieved to have his body back to care much for him at the moment. He wondered if he should try working on his memories, just a little, just to practice.

He smiled.

After Sherlock had stopped talking, John had stood up to make some tea, and he was left alone with his thoughts. They were not pleasant. Moriarty had not only looked through his eyes once more, talked with his voice, solved a case, but he had knocked him unconscious. The last time, while he had not been successful, he had at least been able to fight. He had watched in horror, but he had watched. He determined that he had been unconscious for an hour. Much could happen in an hour. An hour at Moriarty's disposal...

He might just as well have woken up next to John's body, drenched in his blood. Or at the crime scene to find Greg dead. Moriarty could have done everything he chose to; it was only luck and his idea of fun that he hadn't. He could destroy Sherlock's life and that of many others in the blink of an eye. He could want to keep playing. But he could change his mind any time. Someone who killed himself because he was bored was capable of anything.

He accepted the cup John offered him. His hands were shaking slightly, but the doctor didn't notice.

Greg should have been content. Thanks to Sherlock deductions, the killer was behind bars; he had already confessed. Another case closed.

But he was nervous. He couldn't pinpoint the reason, but he was nervous. Even a little scared. He didn't understand, but he had learned to trust his instincts. In his line of work, he had no other choice. They had never misled him; not when he had met Sherlock, not when he had arrested a suspect his superior had deemed innocent –

And he wasn't going to mistrust them now. But he didn't know what he was supposed to do.

He suddenly thought of Sherlock. But his instinct could certainly have nothing to do with him? He had just seen him. Sherlock and John were fine; in fact, Sherlock had been delighted to have a –

That was what was bothering him. Even as Sherlock had complained about the simple case, he had still been happy, happier than he had ever been when he had realized that he had left his flat for no good reason. He should have welcomed the change, but he didn't. He knew Sherlock, and this behaviour was completely unlike him.

Maybe he was reading too much into it. John hadn't seemed concerned.

But –

He had always understood Sherlock in a way the doctor couldn't. John and Sherlock had clicked when they had first met, but Greg knew the consulting detective's passion for solving crimes, his frustration when a case led to nothing because he felt the same. Granted, he had never been angry because a case was too easy, but he could imagine what Sherlock experienced in such a moment, and it was far from what he had seen today.

He really shouldn't worry. Sherlock being polite and happy even under such circumstances as had usually caused him to throw a tantrum was a good thing, wasn't it?

He would have thought so before Sherlock disappeared and he mourned for two years for a man who was very much alive and unravelling the most dangerous criminal web the world had ever seen by himself. He had once predicted that Sherlock could become a good man, without realizing that he already was, he just preferred not to show it. And if being this good man meant that he was grumpy because a crime was too easy, so be it.

He didn't need or wish him to change. Sherlock, as far as he could tell, was comfortable with the no longer a high-functioning sociopath he was, so why would he? Why the sudden glee at a crime scene that provided him with little to no distraction?

John wasn't worried, he repeated to himself. John wasn't worried; John was around Sherlock almost every waking second; so there was nothing to worry about. He had come to him with his concerns but was now certain that he had been mistaken. Which meant Greg should be as well.

And yet – Sherlock's smile today right after he'd told him not to call him out "until he found at least a seven"...

He decided that he would keep an eye on his friends. It might be nothing; he hoped it was nothing; but it couldn't hurt to be sure.

Just how much of their housework did Mrs. Hudson do?

It might have been a strange line of inquiry, but Jim was tempted to follow it after he had seen yet another memory of her dusting the flat while Sherlock was experimenting in the kitchen. She must be really thankful for Sherlock having her husband executed.

There was a reason she had been one of the three people he had threatened when Sherlock confronted him. She was always there in the background, shopping for them or cleaning the flat or cooking or being there for John when he needed a break and a quiet cup of tea in her kitchen, and generally being unfazed by Sherlock's behaviour. No matter how he treated her, she would always be back half an hour later with a smile on her face and a tray in her hands.

He wondered if she herself realized her important role in Sherlock's mind. She was certainly given more room than anyone except for John, Lestrade and Mycroft. Perhaps it had something to do with her knowing him for years and still talking to him. It was easy to create new memories if the person one created them with was ready to see one again.

And yet her importance wasn't as noticeable as those of the others. She had a more subtle influence, a gentle way of moving without being observed – proving once more that Sherlock, the man who classified 240 types of tobacco, trusted her – and most of the time, she was not doing anything at all, just bustling about to keep her boys company.

And that was what gave him the idea.

She was not the focus of many of the memories that were linked to here. There were certain exceptions – he did have a new admiration for Sherlock's fighting skills after watching him almost kill an American for her – but mostly she was just – there. And that meant that, if he was careful, Sherlock wouldn't notice if he manipulated the memories. Not much. Just a little, just Mrs. Hudson in the background. And of course not all memories. If they changed too suddenly, if Sherlock changed to suddenly, people might notice, and he had always preferred the shadows.

If he could only unravel the picture, he thought as he watched Mrs. Hudson dust the skull in a recent memory, while Sherlock was studying something rather unpleasant through his microscope. If he could...

He had never really tried to interact with the memories before, in case Sherlock noticed his presence, but that was a mute point now, and he approached Mrs. Hudson. It soon became clear that she neither saw nor heard him; she was only a memory, not a full-fletched personality like him. Even the Sherlock in the memory paid him no attention.

But he was determined. He would find out how to change memories. He had already taken control over Sherlock's body; how difficult could changing memories be? He simply had to find access. And he had already found that to Sherlock's subconscious; there must be a connection down there.

And he already knew what he was going to do the moment he found out how to manipulate memories.

Sherlock was always so nice to Mrs. Hudson. It was boring.

He would make him resent the good landlady. It would be entertaining to watch.

Author's note: There's always time for some Lestrade love.