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Mycroft escorted Sherlock to the black car and showed him the creepy picture of Moriarty repeating 'did you miss me?' (Clearly we haven't.)
"It has been running more than ten minutes, and does not appear to be stopping or changing. As I understood from Anthea, it's being played on every screen in the country," Mycroft explained. "You can't change the channel; you can't even lower the volume. People are starting to really panic." He glanced at John then, and observed, "Brother, I think your... friend is going to faint."
The Holmes brothers both stared at John, who was at the moment extremely pale, and embracing his wife with a worried look on his face.
After the moment of elation, I realized that if Moriarty had actually returned, then Sherlock is in grave danger - if anyone could ever manage to kill Sherlock, it would be Moriarty (or Mary, but I prefer not to think on that).
They are like the real-life Voldemort and Harry Potter- only one can live. Wait, does that make me Ron, or Hermione? Either way, I wasn't about to stand back and let Sherlock take on his arch nemesis - good lord, is this even real? - without his best friend.
A moment later I also realize that Mary is in danger, yet with her reputation as an assassin, she can probably take care of herself and our little baby on the way. Yet, I can't leave Sherlock to deal with Moriarty by himself, nor can I stand to have Mary and our child be in danger.
More importantly, Sherlock has already proved to me several times that he is willing to kill and be killed to save his friends, and I'll be damned if I let him do it again. This time if someone must die, I should gladly give my life for Sherlock. If not for my best friend, then for who?
I have done this before - risked my life and freedom to save Sherlock's. Even the very day after we first met, I killed for him. Just to protect him. Who knows what could have happened if I had not pulled the trigger? Sherlock might have been dead, and all this never would have happened. I would not have gotten a life full of adventure, excitement, friendship more powerful than anyone could imagine... Even though it wasn't always easy, it was the best life that I could have hoped for after the war. I was sure I would be damned forever with my limp and the everlasting tedium of an ordinary life, but Sherlock fixed me, and allowed me to truly live again. He fixed me, and I owe him so much. I couldn't ask for a better friend than Sherlock Holmes.
I was aware that both of the Holmes brothers were staring at me with expressions of concern which looked oddly out of place on the generally apathetic siblings, and tried to give my best smile to show them that they have nothing to worry about. I'm not afraid of Moriarty. 'Not convincing enough' I noted to myself when Sherlock got out of the car and walked in my direction. Every step seemed heavier and slower, as the anxiety started to make my heart beat faster, thinking of what Sherlock might say.
"We both think that you and Mary should get out of the country for now. Just until Moriarty is gone for real," Sherlock said quietly. His eyes, which expressed deep concern and warmth, flicked back and forth between me and Mycroft, who was clearly responsible for the idea. It was rare to see Sherlock actually obey Mycroft's suggestions and plans, especially when he so obviously did not agree with them - not completely, at least.
"Well, sorry, dear, but we are absolutely not going anywhere," Mary said with a kind smile and hard look at Sherlock. I was rather grateful to hear her say that, but probably not grateful enough.
"I can't let you stay, you might get hurt." Sherlock stated firmly, challenging Mary's stare with a hard look of his own, "You saw what happened last time you and John were in danger and I couldn't bear it again; being locked down by Mycroft is outright dreadful." He couldn't guarantee our safety, and although he made jokes, it seemed that was really bothering him. He knows I'm not afraid of Moriarty, and I'm sure he knows that even if I were, I would face the madman for him. Really, if he doesn't know that, then perhaps he's not as clever as I thought.
"Look mate, I don't care what's going to happen, I'm not going anywhere. It's like you said; the game is never over." I looked Sherlock directly in the eyes as I spoke, conveying all of my determination and certainty in that stare, "I would rather play it with you if that's alright." I wanted to do this with Sherlock. The two of us against the world - against Moriarty - like old times. As long as I can. It's probably my last chance.
Sherlock grabbed my hand and pulled me aside, which I did not expect, but I allowed it.
"John, it could be dangerous - very dangerous - and this time I'm not saying that to convince you to join me," Sherlock warned. "You have a wife and a child on the way to take care of. You don't need this kind of thing on you right now and—"
"Sherlock, listen to me, I won't let you do it alone. Not ever. Maybe I could convince Mary to leave the country for a few weeks - and that's a big maybe - but I'm staying right here to help you deal with that dick head! Just the two of us against the world remember? That's the only thing that matters right now."
Sherlock held my shoulders firmly and looked me in the eyes as he said, "Don't do it for me, John. Do it so you can raise your child in a Moriarty-free world." We both chuckled quietly, even though I was a bit overwhelmed by the unexpected intensity. I nodded firmly and clapped a hand on one of his shoulders just before he pulled me into a hug which, shocked yet no less pleased, I returned. We stayed like this for a long moment, just glad that we have this time at all; that it doesn't have to end right now.
For a brief moment I felt Sherlock relax, pulling me closer and leaning into me, but then he left the embrace quickly, as if he'd just remembered we have a case to solve. "Sorry about that," he muttered, "don't ever mention it." He cleared his throat, looking in every direction except at me."But you have to get Mary to leave the country, it is already too much of a risk with you staying here, I can't worry about her as well."
"You have nothing to –" I argued, but, as he frequently does, he interrupted me.
"Oh and one more thing," Sherlock pleaded with an expression somewhere between embarrassment and dread, "there's a letter on your nightstand; don't open it. Promise me."
"A lett—"
"Promise me, John," he demanded.
"You, wrote me a letter?" I blinked, wondering if I hadn't imagined what Sherlock had just said, "Why?"
Sherlock sighed heavily and raised an eyebrow as he spoke, "I thought we would never see each other again…that's what people do, don't they? Write a goodbye letter."
Something must be wrong, it's not possible that Sherlock actually wrote me a goodbye letter. The last time Sherlock told me 'that's what people do' he was about to jump off a roof and leave me grieving at an empty grave for 2 fucking years, facing his absence with frustration and tears. A lot of tears.
"What's wrong Sherlock? Are you dying or something? Why would you leave a note?"
Sherlock seemed to be getting to the end of his patience, and looked angrier by the minute. He was clearly not ready to talk about this.
"No, John, I'm not dying. Not yet. I would have, if I'd left, but as I am staying there is a chance I may survive, hence why I am telling you not to read the bloody letter." I wasn't sure if I should leave the subject or keep pushing for answers, but to Sherlock's relief, Mycroft called us over before I could decide.
"Come, Doctor Watson, there's a lot to be done. Sherlock, I assume you've already deduced where we must begin," Mycroft drawled.
"Obviously." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "But there is something else we need to do before that. Mary, the plane waits only for you."
Sherlock went to hug her but she stopped him, one eyebrow raised and her lips pursed, staring him down. Sherlock stared back, his face determined and insistent. This went on for what seemed like several minutes.
"Mary, please, if not for me or for yourself, then go to protect our daughter." I begged, while Sherlock and Mary continued their staring contest, "Keep her safe now while I try to make a safe future for her. It's not safe here."
She narrowed her eyes slightly, and finally, she shrugged and sighed in resignation. "All right then, off I go. But just to be clear," she emphasized, "I'm only agreeing to this because I'm pregnant. Now, where am I going?"
"Wherever you would like," Mycroft smiled, "you can take it as a vacation."
"It could hardly be a vacation Mycroft, all alone and worried sick." she commented, "Paris perhaps?" she tried to smile, but all I could see in my wife's eyes was deep concern.
"Paris sounds good," I concurred and kissed her lightly. "We will be fine. I promise. Just take care, all right?" I hugged her tightly and didn't let go until I was positive she was calm.
She smiled an unconvincing smile as Mycroft put his hand on her shoulder. "I'll keep you updated on the progress and wellness of my brother and your husband," he assured her.
She shook her head and said "Don't bother wasting any time on me. Just keep them safe and get rid of that bastard Moriarty," she commanded as she kissed him lightly on the cheek, then whispered something I couldn't hear. Mycroft nodded and looked at me, as if he was trying to read me. I find it even more aggravating than when Sherlock does the same.
Mary got on the plane and waved goodbye. With a worried, yet delighted expression in her eyes, the plane took off, heading to Charles De Gaulle Airport in Paris.
"Ok, so we are done with that, now can we please go?" Mycroft complained, "Moriarty is out there for god sakes."
"Yes, and he will still be there if we wait for a couple more minutes." I sighed. Too much has happened, too much to process in 30 minutes. More than I could possibly have imagined could have happened to me today. At least I didn't lose my best friend. I still have Sherlock by my side, and I'd worried that I would never have that again for the rest of my life. I felt my stomach twitching at the thought that this was supposed to be my last day with Sherlock. The expression on my face might have been funny, because Sherlock grinned widely and his eyes were fixed on me.
"What's on your mind, John?" he asked - which, in and of itself, was remarkable.
"Nothing," I answered, "just thinking about how unexpected this day turned out to be." I smiled back at him, wondering when he started to make me smile just by being present. This wasn't the first time.
"Yes, this wasn't really what I expected either." Sherlock smiled broadly, and sounded like the most pleased person in the universe - aside from perhaps myself. "I think it worked out as well as it possibly could. The two of us, going on an adventure to solve crimes and catch Moriarty - What else could I possibly want? This is the most interesting thing to happen since I've been back from the dead."
"I'm very delighted to see the both of you so pleased," Mycroft said, his voice dripping with a level of sarcasm I think only possible for the Holmes brothers to achieve, "but really, this is a short drive and we need to talk about what we are going to do," Mycroft said, poorly concealed anxiety written all over his face.
"Where are we going actually?" I asked Sherlock, who rolled his eyes at me and turned his gaze toward the rushed streets of London.
"Baker Street."