John was walking home from work, and he was thinking. This had happened often as of late, just walking home and thinking about just what exactly had been going wrong in his life, and why he was having trouble rejoining society. He had been doing well lately, at actually living his life. Mostly. The main problem, John supposed, was that he was bored. He had gone on a few dates with a nice girl named Cassie, but somehow she was just sort of boring, and it hadn't lasted long. After Cassie, there had been Gabrielle, but she hadn't been any more interesting than Cassie or Jeanette or whoever it was before her. Strange, they hadn't seemed boring at the time. John sighed. He decided that before, his life had been more interesting and so he'd needed a dull girlfriend. Sarah hadn't been dull, he mused, but then again, he had unfairly put her life in danger, what with being kidnapped and the fact that she had almost been skewered by a crossbow and, of course, it really wasn't fair of him to sleep at her house then rush out at a moments notice with barely a goodbye and absolutely no explanation. He'd understood when she'd broken it off with him. Now though…his life was boring again. He decided that since his life was boring, he needed to find a very interesting girl. But all the people who looked sort of interesting also looked sort of scary, and they weren't really his type anyway.

So John was feeling a bit down after breaking up with Gabrielle. He was pretty sure that he wouldn't find someone that wasn't boring, mostly because he had never met anyone whose life was as interesting as Sherlock's had been. Sometimes John walked past Molly's house on his way home from work. Not always, but sometimes. John decided that today could be one of those days, and maybe he could swing by Molly's and relieve some of those "good-old-days" and maybe explain the Irene Adler thing, because Molly had never understood how Sherlock had been able to tell whom the dead body had been from "not her face," nor why it had affected him so badly. It didn't really even matter that Irene had tricked Sherlock, though that in itself was both funny and astounding. He had heard that talking things out was healthy. He was also quite sure that his reasoning for talking it out—as a means of alleviating was not exactly what his psychiatrist meant by "talking through your pain," because he had no intention of doing that. He wanted to relive a happier time, if only for a few minutes, with someone who had lived it with him. He just needed to get it out of his system, John told himself. One last discussion about how life had been, and then he would be able to play an active part in his own life. Maybe he would try rappelling off of something very high. Maybe he would travel. Cheered by the prospect, he walked a little faster. His limp had come back a bit, but he refused to use the cane, even though his leg did often hurt. He was already planning all the things he could do with his life after talking through things with Molly when he arrived at her door.

He had been at this place several times before, but no one had ever been home and he had always felt awkward leaving a note, and he didn't really want to call her up to make a coffee date. For some reason, it was less awkward and embarrassing to just show up and act like he had been in the neighborhood and fancied a chat.

Today though, the curtain in the upstairs window of Molly's flat moved. He was sure of it. He looked intently. There, it moved again! Someone was home. Maybe it was the mysterious Adrian. His mind flashed back, and he remembered that he was somewhat suspicious of Adrian. Something about a restaurant. John shook his head. He pushed it to the back of his mind. He rang the buzzer for Molly's apartment.

"Yes? Do you have it?" came an excited voice. It was somewhat familiar.

"Sorry, what?" For a moment, there was only silence from the speaker. Then a cough.

"The pills of course. This bloody cold." There was another hacking cough.

"Oh, sorry. Um…no, I wasn't….that is, I wasn't here about any pills. I am a doctor though, maybe I could help anyway."

"No, no, I will just wait for my pills. Thanks."

"No, wait," cried John. "Look, is this Adrian? Can you buzz me in? Molly said to meet her here, I guess I am a bit early." There was another cough, but this one sounded a bit like Adrian was trying to cover up a laugh.

"Sorry, I really am very sick. Wouldn't want you to catch anything and pass it off to your patients. I'll tell her that I sent you off and that….who is this?"

"Um, John Watson."

"I'll tell her I sent you off. John, I'm sorry. Really, I am."

John felt a bit daft having this conversation with a speaker.

"I had sort of hoped to meet you too, we didn't get to speak that time at the restaurant."

"Yes, and….I am sorry for that too," for a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, Adrian's voice came from the speaker again. "I hope that soon we'll meet face to face. I truly wish it. As soon as I am well, OK? You can come over and we'll all have dinner or something." John nodded, then remembered that Adrian couldn't see him.

"Yeah, OK. Just….tell Molly I came by."

"Yes." John glanced up at the window as he left. There was a shadow standing there, just behind the curtain, watching him leave. John could feel the mysterious Adrian's eyes on him until he could no longer see Molly's house. Even then, the uncomfortable feeling of being watched lingered. It wasn't until he arrived home and happened to glance out his own window that he saw a black car driving slowly down the street. John sighed. Did Mycroft still have men watching him? John rolled his eyes, then headed to the kitchen to make some tea, thinking about the restaurant, and the way Adrian's voice seemed familiar, and trying desperately to figure out what bothered him so much about both things.

Sherlock had been pacing. He paused every so often to glare at the pictures on his wall. It was absolutely papered with pictures, stacked in a sort of pyramid. Moriarty's face smirked at him from the top near the wall. Underneath was a sketch of Sebastian Moran. All they had to go on was the combined descriptions of the four men underneath Moran. All four of them had an X through their face. All four of them had been caught and questioned. Sherlock didn't know how Mycroft had done it, and he didn't know what Mycroft had done with the men. Nor did Sherlock particularly want to know. Underneath the four men were lots of pictures. It had gotten impossible to just put the underlings directly underneath the man they reported to, so they all became connected with strings. Most of their faces had X's over them. Sherlock was less concerned with the lackey's. All he cared about was Moran. Mycroft believed that he had a lead, so Sherlock had sent Lestrade out after it. He was hoping that Lestrade would come today with some hopeful news. At the very least a location of where Moran might be hiding. That is when the buzzer rang.

"Yes, do you have it?" Sherlock almost forgot to put on his Adrian voice. He couldn't see who was buzzing from his position in his room, which he thought was poor building planning, but no one had asked him. And Adrian waited until someone asked his opinion before giving it. Sherlock was quite bored of Adrian.

But John Watson's voice coming from the speaker almost knocked Sherlock for a loop. He made up some story about meaning the pills, throwing in a few coughs for good measure, but his mind was whirling. This was one thing he had not planned for at all. He had not expected John Watson appearing on his doorstep wanting to talk to Molly. Why hadn't he thought of this? He had watched John from the shadows quite often, but he hadn't known that John had even known where Molly lived, least of all that he might want to talk to her. John explained that Molly had asked him to come over, and Sherlock had laughed. He had mostly managed to disguise it as a cough, but he didn't think it was very convincing. Molly would never invite John over. Not when Sherlock was there. It wouldn't even occur to her to do something so dangerous. But John didn't know that, and John was assuming that Adrian wouldn't either. Probably, John figured Adrian would think that he was some work friend of Molly's that she hadn't mentioned. Sherlock would play the part.

He asked John's name. "John, I'm sorry, I really am," said Adrian, apologizing for not letting him in on grounds of not wanting him to get sick. Sherlock closed his eyes and lay his forehead on the wall. John mentioned the restaurant. Sherlock didn't move for a moment. "I am sorry for that too." He could feel his Adrian voice threatening to crack. He didn't say anything for a moment. He wanted to tell John something that was true for both Adrian and Sherlock. "I hope that we'll meet soon, face to face. I truly wish it." You have no idea how much. "As soon as I am well, OK? You can come over and we'll all have dinner or something." That is what people do right? I am so, so, sorry John. He couldn't help himself, he stood at the window and peered through a crack in the curtain. He knew that John could sort of see him through the curtain fabric, but he couldn't see John unless he actually looked opened the curtain a bit. He pushed a button on his phone, and the driver followed John home, long after Sherlock couldn't see him any longer. I will find him. I will find Moran. The last piece of the puzzle. Then I will go home.

When Molly came home she knew right away something was wrong. Sherlock was sprawled on the couch lightly touching her violin. He never played it, because Adrian couldn't and they couldn't risk anyone hearing, but when he was particularly stressed or upset he would take hers out and just hold it, sometimes fingering his way through a song.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Hm? Oh, nothing." He sat up and put the violin away. "Mycroft called. He's coming to dinner. Him, and Lestrade, and Donovan. Something about 'rallying the troops' or some nonsense." Molly stared at him. "I already ordered food from that new Italian place. I didn't know what people would want, so I just chose at random." Odd. Sherlock never admitted to leaving things to chance. Molly took the violin case and placed it back in its corner. That was not the reason Sherlock was upset. Usually, when he got the violin, it was for one of two reasons. One was that there was no break in the case. No one knew anything and Sherlock began getting desperate. The last time that had happened Sally Donovan had found out their secret. She didn't think it was that. If it were, there would be no reason for Mycroft to call a planning meeting. Sherlock called it "dinner," and probably Mycroft had called it the same, but it was definitely a planning meeting. Possibly a war council. Molly was a bit uncertain that her house was the best place to have such a council, but she supposed that was why there would be food. A dinner party was fairly harmless. But that was not why Sherlock was upset. If it were, he would be angrier, talking quickly and furiously about the incompetence of everyone but himself, and possibly throwing something valuable. But he was quite and withdrawn, and he was making excuses.

"You saw John," she said quietly. Sherlock shrugged. She looked at his bare feet and dressing gown. "But you didn't expect to, you weren't following him." Molly's eyes widened. "He came here."

Sherlock didn't respond, which was all the answer Molly needed.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry. If you want to talk I'm here, you know. You can have….I mean, I want to help."

"You have helped." His voice was so quite Molly wasn't sure he had even said anything. "It was nothing," he said louder, looking at her. "He just came by for a talk with you, he had some story about how you invited him. Adrian sent him off home—Adrian's very sick by the way. Practically on death's door. Keep it in mind. Anyway, he never even saw me, so no harm done. Anyway, best get ready for dinner. You don't want to be dressed like that when Mycroft gets here." He gave a distasteful look at her jeans and sweater combo she had worn home from work. And put some lipstick or something on, your mouth is too small." He stalked away, and slammed his door. Molly watched him go. She had learned long ago that when Sherlock was upset, he took it out on everyone and everything, doing his best to prove that he didn't care about anyone. But when he was re-using insults….that was when Molly worried. The fact that he refused to even use John's name concerned her even more. God, I hope this is over soon. She wasn't sure how much more Sherlock could take. He seemed to be slowly coming apart at the seams, and she had no way of stitching him back together again. Molly toed the couch glumly. She almost wished Moriarty was alive again, just so she could kill him for what he had done to all of their lives. She sighed, and went to go clean up the flat a bit before dinner. Obviously it wasn't something that Sherlock cared much about, so the flat was a mess. She just hoped that they caught Moran soon. If they didn't….Molly knew things would only get worse.

It seemed that Sherlock had done a better job than he had thought with his choices in picking out food. That in itself was a bit odd. It seemed that every single one of his choices was someone at the table's favorite Italian dish. It made a certain amount of sense that he knew what she and Mycroft liked, Molly supposed, Mycroft being his brother, and he having lived with her since he had jumped. Although, he almost never ate with her, so the fact that he knew that she liked the three cheese calzone best sort of astounded her. She was sure she hadn't said anything about her favorite Italian food. Food was boring, and Molly hated boring Sherlock. He wasn't kind at all when he was bored, and she always worried that if she were too dull he would do something stupid and get himself caught or revealed or something.

All the same, it was Sherlock, and you can't live with someone without picking up on a few things. And Sherlock had known her for years, lived with her longer than he had with John, and it was actually rather stupid of her to assume he wouldn't know what she liked to eat. She was mostly surprised that he cared to remember, she would have suspected that he would have…what was the word in John's blog? "deleted" the irrelevant information.

But he knew what Lestrade and Sally liked too, so Molly, for the millionth time, decided to give up trying to figure out the great Sherlock Holmes.

However good the food was, and however much each person liked it, no one was particularly hungry, and everyone was a bit uncomfortable. Sherlock sat between Molly and Lestrade, and Sally between Mycroft and Molly. Lestrade seemed a bit uncomfortable sitting next to Mycroft, and Sally was leaning a bit toward Molly, almost as if she wanted to get as far as possible from the man without being offensive. Mycroft noticed of course, but was completely unruffled as he slowly cut into his Stromboli. Sherlock had probably just looked for the fattiest thing on the menu to give to his brother, Molly reflected, as she slowly cut into her calzone. She had a bite on her fork, but the process of raising the fork to her mouth and actually eating anything was a bit beyond her at the moment. Lestrade and Sally seemed to be making a valiant effort to eat as well, but mostly they just pushed their food around their plates. Sherlock didn't even have any food, he just sat and stared at the wall over steepled fingers. Finally, Mycroft, having eaten about half of his Stromboli, put down his knife and fork.

"I believe it is time to get to the business at hand." Everyone stopped playing with their food and looked at him, the tension in the room building, and everyone tried very hard not to look at Sherlock, who hadn't even moved. "Moran is proving to be a very slippery rat indeed."

"Oh, beautiful image Mycroft," snapped Sherlock. "Please, do regale us with excuses and pretty language. I am sure we all care about the many and intricate reasons why you have failed thus far." Mycroft didn't move or speak to defend himself. Sherlock continued. "All the power of the British government and you can't even find one disgraced soldier. Well, I am so glad you are on our side brother. I can't imagine what it would be like to be faced with fighting against your incompetency."

"Sherlock…"began Lestrade.

"Oh, yes, you've been so useful too, thanks for coming through with that oh so useful information about Moran's whereabouts. I gave you good information, and you can't even follow through. At the very least a phone call explaining that he hadn't been there would have sufficed." Sherlock was out of his chair now, pacing, his voice growing louder and louder. No one moved.

Sally stared at her plate. It was obvious Sherlock was looking for a fight, but for once, she didn't feel inclined to give him one. She couldn't look at him at all, she was afraid of what she would see in his face, in his eyes. She couldn't decide which would be worse—to see tears or fury in his eyes. She almost wanted to protest—they had been trying, they'd been doing their best—but she could almost hear his sarcastic remark that a trained monkey could do better, provided it hadn't been trained by Scotland Yard. Finally, Mycroft spoke, cold and low.

"And what, dear brother, would you suggest?"

"We need to draw him out. Make him come to us, because obviously trying to find him isn't working."

"And how will we make him come to us?" Sherlock didn't answer for a moment, as if gauging how his audience would react to what he was going to say next.

"We tell everyone that I am alive."

"What?" The response was unanimous and instantaneous. Everyone began talking at once.

"Sherlock," protested Lestrade, "we have just gone through all of this to keep that a secret. How can you ask us to jeopardize that now, when we are so close? It's insanity."

"It'll get people killed," interjected Sally. "Wasn't that the point of pretending to be dead? So that no one would die?"

"If this is because of what happened today Sherlock, you can't do that. I know your upset about John, but this isn't how to solve things it'll make things worse," said Molly. Mycroft was silent. Sherlock colored slightly, whether from frustration or embarrassment from Molly's statement it was hard to tell.

"Are you all really that slow? My God, how tedious. I didn't say to prove anything. We simply tell people that I am alive. Start a rumor. So and so saw Sherlock Holmes sneaking out of Scotland Yard with a big hat—they'll believe that, people like me in a hat—or so and so saw Sherlock Holmes ducking into a cab. It was a closed casket funeral, who's to say he really died? Figure it out. Plant enough suspicion, get people talking about what happened, find people who have never stopped believe I survived somehow—"

"Those nutters who write 'I believe in Sherlock Holmes' and 'Moriarty was Real' all over everything?" Lestrade scoffed. "Spend half my time chasing down vandals who decide it's brilliant to do it in paint," he grumbled.

"Look, if we can generate enough questions—and come up with a place that I have been 'seen' the most, we can draw him out. It is unlikely that he will just kill John, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade without checking the rumors out for himself—but he will have to check them out. He is Moriarty's man through and through, and he has probably considered the possibility I survived anyway, at least at one point he must have considered it. He was Moriarty's right hand man, if what we have been told is true, and Moriarty would not have a foolish or stupid second in command. It would be someone that he felt was….well, not an equal, he didn't think he had those…but at the very least someone who was a cut above the rest. So we know he is clever. But he is also a soldier, so even if he is a bad soldier, he will follow some sort of protocol. So he will investigate the rumors first. I don't know about his morality, except that he obviously has a rather lax code of morals. But, as a soldier, without someone above him, he will be less likely to just kill people. He will investigate the rumors first, and then he will kill…the intended targets. But we can get to him first. It shouldn't take long. A few weeks at the longest."

"And what if you're wrong Sherlock? It wouldn't be the first time. Remember the sugar thing at Baskerville?" Sherlock glared at Lestrade.

"He shouldn't have told you about that and the stakes are significantly higher this time. I have thought about this carefully and for a long time. I know what I am doing."

"But the Detective Inspector makes a good point," said Mycroft. "What if you are wrong? What if he just goes and kills everyone without checking the validity of these rumors himself? Are you sure you have thought this through? Or is this plan the result of seeing John today?" Lestrade looked blank for a moment, then his eyes widened. Sally felt her mouth drop open. She closed it almost immediately, because if she didn't Sherlock was sure to make a comment, but her shock remained etched all over her face.

"Actually, Mycroft, dear, I have been thinking about this for some time. It has nothing to do with…with his visit. And because I know what you are going to say next, it also has nothing to do with the fact that I've been feeling pretty useless just sitting around the flat all day. I get out, I give the police tips on various petty crimes, I do research on the people in Moriarty's web. This is something I have been thinking about for a while." Molly twisted her napkin in her lap. Sherlock still wasn't saying John's name, and that was concerning her more and more. Clearly, the doctors visit had bothered Sherlock even more than she had originally thought.

"I am just a bit concerned that it is your ego talking, and you have realized that people are forgetting Sherlock Holmes—aside from the aforementioned 'nutters' and you want people to be thinking about you again because your ego cannot handle being forgotten." Sherlock looked dangerously close to hitting Mycroft.

"This is so much bigger than my ego Mycroft." Sally swallowed. She had never heard so much venom put into one word before, not even when Sherlock had to interact directly with Anderson. "And I never cared what the commonwealth thought of me. Of course I would like things to go back to the way they were. But first and foremost is that no one else dies. Every second Moran is out there is another second someone I care about is in danger. And if it works, and John hates me forever and refuses to see me, then at least he is safe and Moran is in prison. If it doesn't work, then Moran won't outlive his targets for long, and I…."Sherlock stopped. Molly felt her heart leap to her throat. True, he had finally said John's name, but he was obviously not in control any longer, and he was coming dangerously close to threatening suicide. Sherlock took a deep breath. "But it will work. I have thought about it for months. I have gone over every possible scenario. It will work." Molly ground her teeth slightly, in an effort not to cry or do something that might embarrass Sherlock even more than he was already embarrassed. She could hear the desperation in his voice, and the unspoken 'It has to.'

"I can see where it would work," commented Mycroft.

"What?" cried Sally.

"Obviously, we would increase security on the potential targets, but I can see how Sherlock's plan would be effective. And I do not believe that he would suggest this lightly. You were waiting for news, were you not, about Moran's location?"

"I had thought I would know by now," admitted Sherlock. "But this is truly the only course of action I can see available to me."

"This is insanity. He will kill…" started Sally.

"I have calculated the risks!" shouted Sherlock.

"And it could work," snapped Mycroft. "Sit down Sherlock, and stop yelling. Ms. Donovan is merely concerned. I think that this plan has merit. I do not believe you would suggest it lightly. I will increase security on Detective Inspector Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson and of course John Watson."

"Wait, have we actually agreed to this? I thought it was still under debate?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock glared at him. "It is my life in danger here. Shouldn't I have some say in it?" This bit of logic had Sherlock silent for a moment. Then, he decided that getting offended was the best option.

"Do you really think that I would throw your life away so easily? That I wouldn't have thought of all the possible possibilities before coming to this conclusion? I did not come to this decision lightly, and it isn't just your life in the balance Lestrade. But this is idiotic even for you. You truly think I would come up with a plan that ends with you dead?"

"Well, no, not on purpose," began Lestrade. He stopped. Sherlock had already proven that he was willing to die for him. Before, he would have laid down money that the only person Sherlock cared about even a little was John Watson. But he had already seen that was untrue. He cared for Mycroft, and Mrs. Hudson, and Molly, and even him, though Sherlock was unable to show it. "No, I don't think you would come up with a plan that would get me killed. But Sherlock, things have not always gone according to plan, you have to admit that."

"Yes. I have made provisions. You have to trust me. It will work." Lestrade sighed.

"So, what then? We go around, you in your various disguises, and tell people—'hey, remember that detective Sherlock Holmes? The one who is meant to be dead? Well, he's not!' No one will believe it."

"Yes, they will. Because someone will catch a glimpse of me. A bad photograph, one that could definitely be me trying not to be seen, will be put in the paper. And people will talk. They'll believe anything if it is in the paper." He said the last part bitterly.

"OK. I can see it working," said Lestrade slowly. Sally made an uncomfortable noise in the back of her throat.

"Are you sure Detective…er….I mean, Greg? It is an awfully big risk," said Molly. Sherlock sent her a dirty look.

"Yes. God help me, Sherlock, I trust you. And I don't think your brother would O.K. a plan that he thought would get innocent people killed."

"You put too much faith in Mycroft," muttered Sherlock. Mycroft looked away, but didn't try to defend himself. He would be making up his mistakes to Sherlock for the rest of his life. Or at least, until Sherlock stopped making him apologize. So, basically, never. Sherlock did not forget and forgive.

Sally still felt a bit uncomfortable with the plan. "Sherlock, please. No offence, but people's lives are at stake. Some concern…."

"I have thought it through, I won't say it again. I do not relish sounding like a broken record."

"Sally, it's fine. I think it will work," said Lestrade. Sally still looked a bit doubtful. But she finally nodded.

"Fine. What if he doesn't show up at all?"

"He will. With rumors swirling about—if you were to care so deeply for someone that you would follow their orders even after they are not around to make sure you follow through, and it is clear that Moran has continued following Moriarty's orders, you would follow up on any rumor that maybe the last mission did not go as planned. He will be careful. He knows he is being tracked down. That is why Mycroft and Lestrade can have nothing to do with spreading these rumors. You, me and Molly will have to start them off." He gave a grin. "It should be fun."

OK, this was going to be the last chapter, but it got really long, so….not the last chapter. I am sorry it took so long—I was on spring break, and then busy, and then….well….just a lot of work. It took a while to write, but it was also written not all at once. I apologize for OOC and lack of Sally. I feel like I really neglected a bunch of the characters. If any chapter is primed for a re-write after a bit it is this one. Reviews are awesome. I will update soon (sooner with reviews—5? It would be nice. Any critique would be much appreciated).

Disclaimer (because I keep forgetting) I own nothing.