Title: Believe

Universe: BBC

Word count: 566

Summary: John has changed during the Hiatus. Perhaps . . . too much.

When the blog entries started up again, Sherlock was not sure whether to be relieved or piqued. On the one hand, John was moving on with his life. He'd given up the campaign to clear the Holmes name and to link the name Jim Moriarty to that of Richard Brook. On the other hand, it had only been four months. A few days short of that, actually. But then, he and John had only known each other for a year and a half. They'd been flatmates and friends, nothing more. Perhaps it was better this way.

And then came The Entry. The one that started apologetically. The one that "finally admitted" that Sherlock Holmes was a fraud. That Jim Moriarty was a character. That Richard Brook was an actor and nothing more.

Sherlock was surprised at how viscerally sick the entry made him. John was only repeating the lies that he himself had told him. Why should he react so negatively now that John apparently did believe them? To distract himself from the unwanted emotions, Sherlock flung himself into his work. Every link Moriarty had forged had to be broken, crushed if possible. Only then would it be safe to return home.

It took eighteen months – the same length of time that he and John had lodged together. An interesting coincidence, but Sherlock had bigger concerns. John's blog entries had grown more bitter, more jaded, and filled with more lies about their cases. Also, John was still living at Baker Street but had virtually cut off all communication from Mrs. Hudson apart from rent and utility checks.

Also, John was not the least bit startled when he looked up from his laptop to see the supposedly dead consulting detective standing less than two feet away from him.

"Hello, Sherlock," John said calmly, and then went cross-eyed as Sherlock leveled a gun between his eyebrows.

"Colonel Jacob Moriarty. Half-brother to the late Jim Moriarty. Also an amateur actor, particular in roles requiring prosthetics and heavy make-up. Pathetic lack of imagination on the part of your father, incidentally, giving both his sons names that derive from the Hebrew word for 'supplanter.' Was it that meaning that inspired this charade?"

Not-John tried to laugh. "Sherlock, really, it's me."

The gun pushed harder against skin and bone. "The game is up. Where is the real John Watson?"

The fake started to deny it again, but something in Sherlock's gaze changed his mind. "If you kill me, you'll never know." Then he screamed when the gun fired, a few inches away from his left shoulder.

"There. Now you're a much more believable doppleganger," said Sherlock, with grim satisfaction. "I ask again, where is John Watson? Oh, really. Whimpering like that is no credit to your Naval position."

"Go to hell," came the feathery whisper of a response.

Without a flicker of emotion, Sherlock pointed his gun at Moriarty's leg. "Would you care to have John's limp as well?"

Moriarty took a moment to reply. Then, panting with pain and shock, he gasped out an address. In a flash, Sherlock texted it to Mycroft. Not quite ten minutes later . . .

JW retrieved malnourished but essentially unharmed. MH

Cannot say same for Jacob Moriarty. SH

I see. Sending ambulance to Baker Street now. MH

Must you? SH

Ambulance will also transport you to hospital where JW is headed. MH

Send ambulance. SH

On its way now. How did you know it was JM and not JW? MH

Because I believe in John Watson. SH