Greg noticed something was wrong immediately. John was staring at the picture of the victim in a way that told him the doctor had seen him before. Sherlock's reaction was more subtle, but he had known the consulting detective for almost six years now and knew when he was shocked.

"What's going on?" he asked slowly, looking from Sherlock to John.

Sherlock frowned. "He was part of my homeless network. Quite useful, in fact. When he disappeared I assumed he had left town..."

He trailed off when he saw John's face, having until this moment been to occupied with searching through the information he had on Timothy in his mind palace (embarrassingly little, but then again, he had simply been an operative of his homeless network, and it was pure luck that he hadn't deleted the information long ago).

John had to sit down. This had been – unexpected, to say the least, and it didn't really make sense. Why would Moran suddenly drag up a body that couldn't be tied to John?

But first he had to tell his friends. He looked up. "Do you remember that I told you about a man I shot while I was working for Moriarty because he would have short Moran if I hadn't? A young, apparently homeless man?"

Sherlock nodded, comprehending immediately, of course; Greg needed a little longer. He looked at John and said, "Sure, but – " he trailed off and his eyes wandered to the picture. A moment later he had to sit down as well.

"So you are telling me..."

John nodded. "I'm afraid so, yes".

"But why?" Sherlock murmured. "What could Moran possibly gain from – " His eyes widened. "Of course, the bullet!"

"The bullet?" John asked, confused.

"John" Sherlock replied, slowly and patiently which really should have told the doctor something was wrong, come to think of it, "Moran was careful to leave the bullet with the body when there was no reason too, unless he wanted it to be found."

John's breath caught at the same time in his throat as Greg's eyes widened.

The DI was the first to ask what they all thought. "John, what did you do with the gun?"

And, just like that, John understood. "I..." He tried hard to remember where he had last seen his gun. Since Sherlock seemed to think shooting at the wall a good way to pass the time when he was bored, John usually kept it hidden (not that it mattered, Sherlock found it anyway). But, nowadays, the doctor kept his gun at home – when he had been working for Moriarty, he had always had it near him...

"I don't know" he confessed, and, surprisingly, it was Greg who exploded.

"Really? You shot a man and didn't even get rid of the weapon? How could you be so stupid?"

"At the time it didn't seem important" John shot back. "There were more important things to worry about. Plus, how should I have known that Moran would dump a body just to take his revenge on me?"

Greg looked taken aback at first, then swallowed. "Of course. Sorry. I didn't mean to – "

"It's alright" John replied, feeling ashamed already. Greg had forgiven him for lying to him, and now he was angry because the DI had pointed out what was obvious. He shook his head.

"I should have known that Moran was planning something. But, as long as the gun is – "

"You don't even know where it is" Sherlock interrupted, clearly concerned (and if John hadn't been scared before, that certainly did the trick). "What if Moran – "

"Wouldn't Mycroft's people – " John tried, but Sherlock interrupted him yet again.

"John. Think. When was the last time you needed the gun before we found the note?"

John tried to concentrate, which admittedly wasn't easy with Sherlock's gaze boring into him. "I can't say exactly..." He rubbed his face with his right hand. "When we caught the smuggler? You know, the one who tried to sell Greek antiquities? He would've run if I hadn't – "

"Thanks, John, that's quite enough" Greg said, apparently hoping to hear as little as possible about the ways Sherlock apprehended subjects. "But when?"

"That would have been..." But of course Sherlock had the answer.

"A week ago, in fact a week and thirty-seven minutes".

John nodded. "That could be right..."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I am right. The question is, where is the gun now?"

"In my bedroom drawer. But wouldn't Mycroft..."

"Mycroft was at a WHO conference last week, and, as we know from experience, his surveillance teams are easily tricked..." Sherlock stopped talking, looking into the distance. Then he turned around and left without a word.

John attempted to apologize to Greg, but the DI would hear none of it. "Go. I don't want..." He trailed off, looking at John worriedly. The doctor needed no explanation and ran after Sherlock.

The consulting detective had already disappeared by the time he left Scotland Yard, so he flagged down a cab himself and arrived at their flat shortly afterwards.

By the time he made it to his bedroom Sherlock had already emptied his cupboard and was making his way through his sock drawer.

"Sherlock..."

"It's not there" he answered shortly without interrupting his search. The doctor knew he would just be an annoyance to Sherlock so he simply went back to the living room, trying to remember where he could have left his gun. After a while, he heard the consulting detective stop in his frantic search – although he doubted he would have called it that – and take out his phone. It didn't take a genius to figure out who he was calling. The subsequent conversation proved the doctor right.

"Mycroft? I need your reports for the last week... You know what reports I am talking about. I expect them within half an hour".

Sherlock hung up and strode into the living room.

John sat down, looking at his friend. A thought occurred to him. "Sherlock... Let's say Moran has the gun. So what? It wasn't exactly legal anyway... It's not registered to me".

"I know."

"So..." John prompted, trying to understand why the consulting detective still looked more worried than he'd ever seen him, with the possible exception of the night at the pool.

"John" Sherlock answered, slowly, with a look that clearly told the doctor he was trying his best to stay patient, but wouldn't manage to do for much longer, "Fingerprints".

He didn't need to elaborate. John understood. He exhaled slowly.

"Exactly" Sherlock replied. "And I would be right to assume that your fingerprints are in your service record?"

John nodded. "In case they are needed for identification..." He rubbed a hand over his face. "So Moran is probably going to bring the gun to the police..."

"It's probably hidden in the park somewhere... I should have looked around more". Sherlock was clearly annoyed with himself, and John shook his head. "It's not your fault; the park is rather big. But, should the police find it..."

Mycroft walked into the flat, interrupting John, and for once not bothering to keep up the pretence that he didn't have a key.

He gave the surveillance files to Sherlock, who immediately started to go through them. Because it was obvious he wouldn't tell his brother what was going on, John decided to fill Mycroft, who had once again occupied his chair, in on what had happened.

The British Government glanced at the files in Sherlock's hands. "If Moran remains at large I might have to hire a whole new set of surveillance experts".

"Good" Sherlock snapped, "Yours don't seem to do a very good job".

"Sherlock" John interrupted, but Mycroft waved a hand. "I'm used to my brother's manners, or lack thereof, John".

Sherlock sighed, throwing the files on the table.

"Either John and I didn't leave the flat to go to a crime scene on that Monday around midday, or your surveillance team decided to have lunch".

For the first time since John had met him, Mycroft looked angry – just for a second before his face became the usual blank mask, but it was enough to convince the doctor that he had been right about the British Government all along. He was almost sorry for the surveillance team. Almost.

"About the gun" Mycroft said. "It would no doubt be possible for me to arrange to have John's fingerprints deleted from his service record until Moran is caught."

"And what if someone wanted to check it out?" John asked.

"Then it would be marked as "Classified" and inaccessible" Mycroft replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and perhaps it was. John wanted to thank the older Holmes when Sherlock's phone rang. It was Greg.

Sherlock spoke with him for less than a minute, but it was clear what had happened.

They had found the gun.

Author's note: And the plot thickens... I'm sorry for how short this chapter is, but I didn't have much time today and I wanted to update. And at least something is happening, which is something considering it's one of my stories...

Anyway, please review/follow if you liked this (See? I am experimenting with different ways to say it! I know, wow, right?)