Sally wasn't sure she could watch the tape again. But if Molly Hooper could watch it over and over again, so could she. Sally immediately felt a little disgusted with herself. It was her damned pride that had been partially responsible for getting them into this mess, and she was still acting in accordance to it. But even she would still re-watch the tape, even if it made her feel a bit sick.

Lestrade was quiet. His hands were folded just under his chin, elbows propped on the desk.

"I can prove that you created a completely false identity," Sherlock was saying on the screen.

"Oh just kill yourself, it's a lot less effort….Let me give you a little extra incentive. All your friends will die if you don't, " Moriarty replied.

"John,"

"Not just John. Everyone."

"Mrs Hudson?"

"Everyone."

"Lestrade."

"Three bullets. Three gunmen. Three victims. There is no stopping them now. Unless my people see you jump."

Lestrade's eyes had closed as soon as Sherlock said his name. It was almost as though he hadn't believed Sherlock truly cared for him until he heard it from Sherlock's lips—heard the threat from Moriarty. When Sherlock stood on the roof, poised to jump, Lestrade felt his stomach clench.

"What?" he asked, as Sherlock jumped off the ledge, back onto the roof, laughing. But surely Sherlock had jumped. He was still alive, so…oh. Oh God. It had happened so long ago, but Lestrade still almost felt he could do something about it. He saw Moriarty put the gun in his mouth almost in slow motion. "Grab it," he whispered, but Sherlock was too slow. Sherlock. Was. Too. Slow. The worst part was that it proved beyond a doubt that Sherlock was human, just as capable of being to slow to connect the dots as anyone else. Only Sherlock's hesitation had cost both men their lives. Sherlock, on the tape was in shock. Lestrade could only imagine—to have that hope then have it cruelly snatched away by a madman. As Sherlock stood again on the roof, there was no longer any audio, but he spoke on the phone, holding out a hand. Then, he tossed the phone and fell. It was almost graceful.

Lestrade felt terrible for every time he had ever though of Sherlock as less than human, for every time he berated him for not caring. But he felt most especially bad for every time he had called Sherlock insane or allowed someone to call him a psychopath or a madman. Moriarty, he was the psychopath. He looked up at Molly with a fire in his eyes.

"Yes. I'll help. I'll do everything I can." Molly smiled.

"Thank you Detective Inspector."

"Oh, call me Greg."

It was soon after Lestrade came on board that they caught the third member of Moriarty's top 4. Lestrade insisted everyone go out for drinks. Mycroft wasn't invited, and Sherlock didn't want to go. He didn't see any reason to celebrate. "There is still another one out there, and Moran is the important one anyway." Molly insisted however. "Sherlock would never go out. Adrian likes people though, and he needs a break from his research occasionally too. People do need to know that Adrian Beck is out there, and they are starting to doubt his existence." Sherlock had grumbled, but eventually agreed to go, with the condition that they would leave when he said.

They had decided at the very beginning that Adrian and Molly would be a couple. It would ensure that no random men would be brought back to the flat, as it was far too dangerous to do so, and if Molly were in a relationship, it would seem odd that she never invited her boyfriend over. They didn't want to take that risk.

It had worked too—the few times Molly was asked out, it was handy to have the "oh, I have a boyfriend," excuse, although neither Molly nor Sherlock were particularly pleased about the situation. Sherlock was pretty sure that Molly had a thing for Lestrade anyway, and even if she did still have some vestiges of a crush on him the day he'd jumped, it had definitely disappeared in the interim two years he had lived with her. Molly, for her part, was a bit tired of being single. She did like the comfort and security that came from being in a good relationship, and she liked dating. With Sherlock, 'dating' was not wont to happen, even as Adrian.

But she felt that it would be good to make an excursion as a couple, getting drinks with a few people from work, just to ensure that people didn't think that Adrian was made up. Sherlock was pretty sure she just wanted to go out for once, and she didn't like going out alone. He almost felt bad about that. He knew it was because of him she never went out with her friends anymore, though he told her it was fine if she did. She didn't like leaving him alone, and with good reason, he supposed. The last time she had been gone for several hours at night he had left the flat and very nearly ran into John, which had bad news written all over it.

He had seen John a few times, of course. Occasionally when he visited the mortuary if a criminal had ended up dead and he needed to see if he/she were one of Moriarty's. John always did a double take, but Sherlock made sure that he was well away by the time John's thoughts had a chance to catch up to his eyes, and then, John would realize that the hair color wasn't right, the clothes were wrong, the gait of his walk was different. Sometimes when this happened, Sherlock would turn slightly, and see John deflate a little. He hated that. He could almost see John reminding himself that Sherlock was dead, and if Molly's new boyfriend happened to look a bit like him, well, he couldn't really blame her.

John never got more than a passing glimpse of him, but Molly was still worried that he she were not at home, and Sherlock was not wrapped up in his work, he would do something stupid, like go spy on John. Sherlock appreciated the concern, but he was fairly confident that he would be able to restrain himself. But, 90% sure was not 100%, and so he was glad that Molly had foregone going out. He didn't allow himself to feel bad that he was most likely alienating her from any friends she might have. He wasn't even properly sure she had any good friends. Someone who was willing to give up Christmas to work surely wasn't very close to anyone.

But Molly wanted to go out, and Sherlock did have a sense of fairness, even if it was a bit stunted, and he recognized that Molly had sacrificed a lot to help him. He had found several unsent letters to her sister. To protect him, Molly had basically shut herself off from everyone else. So, finally, he agreed to go out with Molly, Lestrade, and Sally.

So that is how he found himself wedged into a small booth at McGrathy's Pub, with Molly next to him and facing Lestrade and Donovan, drinking a beer and poking at a rather unappetizing sandwich.

"What is even in it?" he asked, wrinkling his nose.

"Oh come on Adrian," said Molly. "It's good. Just eat it."

"You don't know, do you?" He reluctantly prodded the sandwich with a long finger. "Look, it moved, I think it's still alive." Sally rolled her eyes.

"Why'd you get it then?"

"Well, I've never been here before, have I? Lestrade, I am not going to trust you anymore. You have terrible taste."

"No one asked your opinion Beck," was Lestrade's airy retort, as he popped the last bite into his mouth.

"Were you even listening when he ordered?" asked Sally.

"No," moped Sherlock. "I was busy."

"Doing what?" laughed Molly.

"Trying not to think about just how many people have used this particular glass." He held the half full glass up to the light, as if that would give him the answer. Lestrade smirked.

"How is that going for you?" Sherlock didn't answer, merely put the glass down and poked at the sandwich again. His hand leapt suddenly, and he snatched the toothpick off of Lestrade's plate. Using it and his own toothpick like chopsticks, he carefully began to dissect the sandwich.

"Oh, for God's sake," said Lestrade, exasperation and amusement both evident in his voice. Sherlock was silently cataloguing the ingredients. Then he decided that was boring, and began doing it out loud.

"Some sort of meat product, possibly roast beef, maybe chicken. Possibly dog,"

"It's roast beef!" exclaimed Lestrade, as Molly laughed and Sally tried her hardest not to do the same.

"Tomato. I think. And this lettuce is clearly struggling to spend its last few moments excreting copious amounts of something slimy."

"It's olive oil! It's good!"

"No, the olive oil is on the other side of the lettuce, with the other condiment, which is probably mustard, though I wouldn't be sure of anything here. There is no way the olive oil could have made its way around the cheese, onion and other piece of meat—salami? How can anyone eat speckled meat anyway?" Lestrade inspected the lettuce with something akin to horror. It was definitely sort of wilted. And a little bit slimy. He felt his stomach twist a little bit. "Oh, look!" said Sherlock, almost joyfully. "Is that mold on the cheese?" He pointed to a white spot in the corner. Lestrade looked a bit green, and then Sherlock bent his face close and licked it. Now all three of the others looked a bit sick.

"Are you insane?" asked Sally. Lestrade forgot his resolution not to let anyone call Sherlock crazy, because right now he was confident that the man was certifiable. Sherlock just laughed.

"Nope, just mayonnaise. Must have been some on the mustard cap or something."

"Don't do that!" breathed Molly. "You'll make someone sick." She looked a bit queasy still.

"I was proving a point."

"Oh, what point was that?" snapped Lestrade, who was still a bit put out that Sherlock was ripping his favorite restaurant a new one and tearing apart his favorite sandwich.

"Just that you all believed that this particular establishment truly was capable of serving moldy food. It has already served slimy, past due lettuce, so mold wasn't a far step. And every one of you thought it really was mold. So...isn't there somewhere that is slightly less of a health risk we can go?" Molly rolled her eyes.

"Just don't eat the sandwich then Adrian."

"Ah, so this is the famous Adrian." All four of them jumped. Somehow, Anderson had managed to get the drop on them. Molly was not going to hear the end of this one for a while. How the hell had Anderson of all people managed to sneak up on them? Sherlock already looked furious with himself. Sally could almost see him cursing his need to provide entertainment for himself by proving that Lestrade truly did have a bad taste in food and restaurants. Sherlock made a mental note not to try and embarrass people as much. He doubted it would last long.

"Sorry, who are you?" he asked. He said it politely enough, but he didn't really look at Anderson, only afforded him a sort of sideways glance.

"Call me Anderson, everyone does. Why are you here?"

"I was invited, unlike some-ow!" the 'ow' was because Molly had pinched him. Adrian had no reason to hate Anderson. But Sherlock was sort of determined to say something that would make Anderson mad, because Anderson had dared sneak up on him. Sherlock couldn't live that down.

"Adrian, honey. Be nice," pleaded Molly, trying to remind Sherlock that he was Adrian right now. Adrian was nice to everyone, even the waitress who had brought him inedible food. Sherlock glanced over at Anderson again, but didn't offer any more information.

"Mr. Beck has just helped us solve a rather big case," said Lestrade. "He and Ms. Hooper proved invaluable in getting a dangerous criminal behind bars. It's a bit of a celebration."

"Did no one else help on this case?" sneered Anderson. It seemed that he didn't believe them.

"Why, jealous?" asked Sally. "People are busy. It happens." Anderson turned his glare on Sally.

"Careful," commented Sherlock, as Anderson opened his mouth.

"What?"

"Careful not to say something you'll regret." Sherlock took a sip of the beer. He made a slight face. "Really? Guinness?" Then he shrugged, and took a longer drink.

"What the bloody hell are you on about?"

"What?"

"Who the hell are you anyway? I don't know you from a hole in the ground."

"Adrian Beck. I'm writing a book. Doing research on the biggest crime bosses of the 20th and 21st centuries. It is a very extensive book."

"Sounds fascinating," snapped Anderson, sarcastically.

"No one asked you. Why don't you leave when you are clearly not wanted?"

"Adrian!" said Molly indignantly. "I am sorry Anderson. What is wrong with you today Adrian?"

"Nothing is wrong with me Molly. I was merely pointing out that it is quite stupid to stand about when you weren't invited. Party crashing is looked down upon yes? Clearly, we are a party. As Lestrade said, we're celebrating." He said the last word like it tasted like the slimy lettuce in his uneaten sandwich. Lestrade looked a bit embarrassed.

"Sorry Anderson. I think he's hit a bit of a block with his book is all. You probably shouldn't have insulted it."

"Seriously Lestrade, who the hell is he?"

"I already told you. He phones in tips sometimes, and he is writing a book. Sally and I help him out with it occasionally."

"So you've already got yourself another freak detective? Brass won't like that."

"Is he always this smarmy?" asked Sherlock, loudly. "Please go away, I would like to eat my delicious sandwich in peace, and you are putting….your bad attitude is making me lose my appetite." Anderson glared. Lestrade gave a small shrug. Sally sat stiffly, and refused to look at him. Molly shrank back a bit against the back of the booth and then looked out the window.

"Fine. Fine. I'll leave. I don't want to talk to you lot anyway." He stormed off.

"How childish," muttered Sherlock.

"Oh right, like you are any better," griped Sally.

"How long since you stopped seeing him?"

"What?"

"Oh come on. It's obvious. He ignored you, but you acknowledged him, so you dumped him. When you interrupted he was clearly going to say something awful, his anger was practically oozing from him, so it wasn't all that long ago, and it still fresh. That means it wasn't particularly nice the way you dumped him. Then you just sort of sat there, and refused to make eye contact with him, and you were stiff and your fists were clenched. You feel sort of guilty for how things ended—also pointing to the fact that it wasn't mutual and it wasn't nice."

"Some things never change," she snapped back at him.

"Please, both of you, just stop it," sighed Lestrade. This evening was not working out the way he had planned.

Molly stiffened suddenly. "What?" asked Sherlock, turning. His face drained and he leapt up and in seconds was slamming the bathroom door behind him.

"What the hell…?" began Donovan, and then John was there, looking a bit too thin and tired, standing there looking a bit awkward, and a bit like he was regretting coming over at all.

"Erm, hi. I just saw you and, I wondered how everything was going. But um, you look busy, so, I guess I'll just go then."

"No it's fine," said Lestrade. Molly shot him a look. Sherlock would have to hide in the bathroom until John left, it seemed a bit mean to leave him there. She caught Lestrade's eye, but he looked away quickly. Oh. She supposed he needed a moment away from Sherlock—if only so Sherlock and Sally wouldn't argue. John was a welcome distraction. "We're good. We just solved a case, so, you know. After case drinks."

"Wasn't there someone else here? I could have sworn…"

"Oh, my boyfriend, Adrian. He's just popped off to the loo."

"Oh. Can I meet him? I've heard a lot about him."

"No, um. I mean…it's just that I think he isn't feeling well. He ran off so quickly." Molly was speaking to John's chest. She couldn't look him in the eye, she just couldn't. "I think the food disagreed with him." Sally couldn't repress a snort. John looked confused, but ignored it.

"How are you doing John?" asked Lestrade. "How are you holding up?"

"Oh, fine," said John, a bit listlessly. "A bit tired, the clinic's been busy."

"You've lost weight," said Sally.

"Yeah, but, like I said, work's been busy."

"We might call you sometime, if that's okay," said Lestrade. "It's always useful to have a medical opinion." John shrugged.

"If I'm not too busy. It was nice seeing you. I hope to meet Adrian soon, Molly." She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. John headed to the bar. Molly buried her face in her hands.

"He says that John works all the time. Literally…all the time. He doesn't eat enough or sleep enough. He just….works. He's been on a few dates, but…he got called into work. At least, he said he did, Sherlock doesn't believe him. He thinks John just used work as an excuse to leave, and then he goes anyway, just in case they do need him. Sarah usually lets him have an hour or two. But she is worried about him too." Molly looked up at Lestrade and Sally. "Mycroft has people following John everywhere. " She pulled out her phone. Sherlock had just texted her. She glanced over at the bar, and sent a quick text back. A moment later, Sherlock hurried out of the bathroom.

"Sorry, I can't stay. That sandwich made me a bit ill I think," he announced. "It was fun though, thank you for inviting me." Molly got up and she and Sherlock quickly left the restaurant. John followed their progress out. Adrian was bent at the waist a bit, Molly leading him out the door. He barely got a glimpse of Adrian's face. Still, what he did see struck him as familiar. Every single time. He had seen Adrian in passing a few times, but had never gotten more than a glimpse of him—usually from profile. And every time, he saw Sherlock. But Sherlock was dead, and Adrian was not him. John sighed. He wished he could just get over it, but getting over Sherlock's death was impossible. He didn't want to forget him, and even though Sherlock had been gone now for the same amount of time that John had known him, it seemed that Sherlock had been in John's life for a lot longer. John stared at his drink, not even seeing it. Sherlock had been the most important thing in his life, his very best friend.

But John was wallowing, and he could almost hear Sherlock scoffing at him. "It was ages ago John, get over it."

"Not today, my friend," John whispered. He fingered his phone, itching to send a text. He looked over at the table where Lestrade and Sally still sat, talking to the waitress, who brought them a bill. Both paid for their own meals, so, not a date then. John frowned, looking at the corner table. Four little black books stood on it. Four. That meant that Adrian and Molly had paid for their own meals too. Odd behavior for a couple. John shook his head. He was beginning to think like Sherlock.

Is that such a bad thing? You don't have to forget him, but for God's sake, don't dwell on the past. John smiled a bit. His inner voice even sounded a bit like Sherlock. But it was right. Sherlock would have hated to see John dwelling on the past. He had liked adventure—even if he refused to use the word. He had loved dashing about the streets of London after one killer or other, never looking back. No, Sherlock wouldn't be moping. Sherlock would be out there doing something. Something in John knew this already it was why he worked so much. It was why he hadn't started a drinking habit or other behaviors he felt would be self-destructive. But apparently, he hadn't done enough. Somehow, just equating Adrian Beck to Sherlock was helpful. If Molly could move on, so could John Watson. Sherlock liked to have fun, so John decided he would try. He might even do the things Sherlock enjoyed—some crime solving maybe. Not experiments, he never knew what Sherlock was doing with those anyway, but he might try his hand at helping the police out from time to time. He might even take up the piano again. As far as John was concerned, the violin was Sherlock's, but he had enjoyed piano as a boy, maybe he still would. For the first time in a long time, John felt a little bubble of hope rise in his chest. Next time he had a date, he wouldn't run off in the middle of it with a bogus story of how he was needed at work. He would be engaging and attentive. He might even get laid. He had no idea where this was coming from, but he found that he didn't mind. He was sure though, that Sherlock would want this, would want John to move on. Granted, Sherlock didn't really think the same way as everyone else, but Sarah and Mrs. Hudson, and Harry were always telling him to get a life. So maybe it was time to follow their advice.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, John remembered the odd situation of the four bills, but he ignored it for the time being. It would be a while before he remembered.

So, yeah, chapter four. The stuff on the tape is from the episode, I don't own anything etc etc.

Again, apologizes for OOC, or if Sherlock's deductions were simplistic or dumb. I am not very good at deductive reasoning. Reviews are good.

Story is not quite done yet, I don't think. Maybe one more chapter.

I hope no one is disappointed in John. He isn't really wallowing, I don't think. But he hasn't really tried either.