Previously:

My last thought as I entered my former residence was that it might be best if Mary and Dr. Hooper were to be removed to a safe house, or sent on a journey to the Continent until this had all blown over; then, irony upon ironies, I was knocked off my feet as an explosion ripped through Sherlock's flat, and unconsciousness soon fell upon me.

Part 6 – A Most Civilized Discussion

"John! John, can you hear me? John!"

It was to the sound of Holmes frantically calling my name that I reawakened, to find myself lying on the floor covered in dust and debris – and thankfully unharmed but for the bump on the back of my head and some slight bruises I would later discover. Holmes was bleeding profusely from a cut on his forehead, but batted my hands away when I would have attempted to staunch the flow. "Never mind that, I'm fine, how are you? How badly are you injured?"

I reassured him as best I could through the ringing in my ears, and attempted to rise. He helped me to my feet, and the pair of us stood unsteadily looking at one another with equal expressions of grim determination on our faces. Mrs. Hudson's voice came up the stairs, anxious and fretful, and Holmes shouted down to her that we were fine. "The explosion was meant as a warning rather than an attempt to actually kill us, Watson," he said, a conclusion which I had already reached on my own. "I suppose we should be thankful that we have such a courteous and single-minded bomber on our hands; clearly he wishes only to ensure the death of Dr. Hooper, with as little collateral damage as possible."

"Else we would be having this discussion in the afterlife," I agreed, fumbling in my pocket for my handkerchief and pressing it on Holmes. He took it and absently applied it to his forehead, then began pacing through the debris now strewn about the sitting room. "Holmes, we should return at once to be certain that Mary and Dr. Hooper are…"

"Yes," he agreed immediately without arguing, as I half-expected him to. "We must return to your home at once, John."

His use of my first name twisted my gut; it meant that he was deeply worried about the wellbeing of my dear wife and Dr. Hooper. Without another word we bounded down the stairs, Holmes shouting for Mrs. Hudson to allow the police and fire fighters entry as soon as they made an appearance, brushing aside her questions as he ran to the kerb and hailed a passing taxi. I took a moment to reassure Mrs. Hudson that she was in no danger at the moment, but suggested that perhaps a visit to her sister in Leeds might be in order until Holmes had resolved the case.

I heard her anxious voice calling after us to be careful, then the cab had stopped and Holmes and I were inside. We were a disreputable sight, to be sure, but Holmes knew many of the cabbies in London, especially those whose custom brought them frequently to Baker Street, and apparently the driver was one of those, as Holmes called him 'Bert' as he exhorted him to hurry to my practice on Harley Street.

A tense twenty minute ride followed, with both Holmes and I remaining silent as we silently urged the horses to go faster, and glowered out our respective windows when traffic slowed us down. When we arrived we exited the hack, Holmes tossing the driver the fare and what was likely to be a hefty tip, as the cab remained by the kerb as we hurried for the front door.

The closer we arrived to my home, the uneasier I became; surely Lestrade's men should have accosted us by now, two ragged, filthy figures running toward a home meant to be under police surveillance, but no such attempts were made, and my mounting concern became a near-frenzy of panic. It was not one whit alleviated when Holmes reached the front door and turned the knob without impediment; it should have been locked, and we traded significant looks as he pushed the door open, dropping low as he rushed inside. I groped in my pocket for my pistol, holding it at the ready as I followed, bracing myself for whatever scene was about to greet my eyes.

"Ah, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, right on time!" The cheerful greeting came from the throat of a man I didn't recognize, although the gun he was holding to my Mary's head was enough to identify him to my horrified eyes. "Please, do be seated," he said courteously, as if we were welcome visitors to his home. Mary seemed calm, her mouth set in a tight line and her eyes clear and steady on mine with no signs of tears, and I took comfort in knowing that she would never allow the villain holding her hostage to see her falling apart, no matter how terrified she must be inside. Her hands were clasped at her waist, and my own clenched into fists as I lowered my weapon without being ordered to do so. I placed it carefully on the floor by my feet, then stepped away, never losing eye contact with my beloved wife as I did so.

"Dr. Watson is a sensible man," the stranger – Thomas Harrison? – said approvingly as he turned his attention to Holmes. "I believe you might wish to show the same common sense, Mr. Holmes, and place your own weapon – yes, I see it in the pocket of your jacket – next to his. And then," he added as Holmes reluctantly reached into his pocket and retrieved his pistol, "we'll have a nice, civilized chat about where exactly you've hidden Dr. Hooper."

I couldn't help a start of surprise; surely Dr. Hooper wouldn't have abandoned my wife and unborn child in order to save her own life? But no, Mary gave me a subtle shake of her head and a small smile; if she felt betrayed I would recognize it in her expression. Therefore if Dr. Hooper was no longer in my home, it wasn't because she'd fled the madman now holding Mary hostage.

"First things first," Holmes said, casually seating himself in the armchair facing my wife and her captor. I grit my teeth but said nothing, knowing that Holmes was far from the emotionless mask he was currently wearing. Inside I had no doubts that he was as anxious and unhappy as I was at the situation we faced. "I believe introductions are in order; after all, you've made free of Watson's home after having first laid waste to my own. Is it James Thomas Moriarty to whom I am addressing myself at the moment?"

The villain nodded his head and smiled, a tight, humorless smile that showed none of his teeth. "I am, indeed, Professor James Moriarty's younger brother. At this time, as I am sure you are aware, I simply employ the name Thomas Harrison after my mother. She was most unhappy with our father for choosing to name both his sons after himself, and always made sure to address me by my middle name when he was not around to disapprove."

"And may I ask why, after separating yourself from your brother, you have now chosen to step into his boots and take up a life of crime? Although you are an expert bomb-maker," Holmes added when the other man seemed about to speak, "it is obvious you learned your skills not from criminal activities, but from a military source. One Colonel Sebastian Moran, perhaps?"

Thomas Harrison – or rather, Moriarty – showed his teeth in what amounted more to a grimace than a grin. "I have been in touch with the good Colonel since my brother's unfortunate demise," he allowed. "But as you have also deduced, I have no interest in taking up where James left off. The only reason I have for learning the art of designing and deploying explosives is strictly personal – I wish to rid the world of Dr. Molly Hooper in as many pieces as possible."

Ah, there it was, the glint of madness, the obsession I'd been half-expecting to see and hear in his voice and face all along. The veneer of civilization was stripped away, revealing the beast below the surface. His grip on Mary's arm tightened; she gave an involuntary wince and he ground the barrel of the gun against her temple, causing her to gasp as he returned his attention to her. "Dear Mrs. Watson, I pray you do not try to distract me," he said through gritted teeth, "else my fingers might slip and you and your little one meet with an unfortunate demise."

I had moved forward a step, but Moriarty's cold gaze met mine and I subsided with reluctance, trusting to Holmes to take the lead in removing my wife from the madman's grasp.

With his next words, he proved my faith in him, although hardly in a manner I could have foreseen. "If you can reassure me that no other targets will suffer your depredations, then I will take you to Dr. Hooper. Right now, this very moment. As long as you release Mrs. Watson to her husband and take me in her stead as your hostage," he added coolly.

Moriarty smiled, the delighted smile of a child who has received a long-coveted toy. "You have that assurance, Mr. Holmes, although I am certain you have already worked out my disinterest in causing lasting harm to anyone other than that traitorous bitch to whom I was briefly engaged; surely your own encounter with my work told you that!"

Holmes nodded; I thought to protest, uncertain if he was handing himself over to Moriarty while unsure of Dr. Hooper's actual whereabouts, but kept silent, damning myself for my weakness. Holmes, however, had proven himself more than capable of removing himself from dire circumstances, whereas Mary and the baby needed to be free of further danger as quickly as possible. The knowing look and brief smile my friend gave me told me he understood my dilemma and held nothing against me.

"Watson the married man," he murmured as he rose to his feet, and with those words I also understood where Dr. Hooper was – and what my role was to be in securing her safety. I felt my self-loathing melting away in that moment, and simply waited for Mary's release with every appearance of a man who is focused solely on his family's safety.

The exchange was made, and Holmes was marched away through the back door with the gun firmly lodged in the middle of his back, while I embraced Mary and murmured endearments and questions regarding her health into her ears.

As soon as we were alone, she pulled herself from my arms and gazed at me knowingly. "You and Sherlock have some sort of plan in place, I take it? I know that must have been a code, what he said before he left," she added, proving yet again just how admirable and intelligent a woman I had married. "And you are both as unharmed as you seem to be, in spite of your alarming appearance? I knew of the bombing," she added in the same breath, her worry for me brimming in her eyes. "Mr. Moriarty took a great deal of delight in describing his plans to, as he put it, 'catch your attention'."

I nodded and reassured her further, then swept her into my arms for a final kiss. "Lestrade's men?" I asked when I was able to tear myself from her.

"Unconscious and tied up in the cellar along with the maid and cook," Mary replied succinctly. "I shall release them and we shall all leave the premises, the servants to their own homes and myself along with the guards to Scotland Yard," she announced. "As for Dr. Hooper, apparently she and Sherlock concocted a scheme to be implemented as soon as you'd left her here, wherein I and the guards would act as decoys to keep Moriarty's attention focused on the wrong location. I do not believe he expected him to manage to overpower Lestrade's men," she hastened to add as I felt anger suffuse my features, "or else he never would have done so. You know that, John; he and I have not always seen eye to eye, but you know he would never deliberately put me or our child in harm's way."

I knew no such thing, but allowed her words to placate me, at least for the moment. Once the current crisis had been averted, however, he and I were going to have words. "I must go to where he's hidden Dr. Hooper, and alert Lestrade so that he can have his men in place while Sherlock leads Mr. Moriarty on a merry chase around London," I announced. Mary persuaded me to wait just long enough to don a clean coat and wash the worst of the soot from my face, and then I was off to fetch Dr. Hooper from her hiding place in the storm drains beneath Parliament.