Hey there, beautiful people!
I'm sorry it took so long (it's hard to publish fanfictions in the army), but there you have it- the third chapter of "Too Much to Deduce"
I'm so excited!
Thanks Old Ping Hai for beta this chapter!
Please read and review!

thanks for reading

meytal

SHERLOCK POV

"Baker Street? Why?" John asks, with what I assume to be a failed attempt at nonchalance. John is not the type of person who can hide his feelings; I need to remind him that, next time we're alone.

"For a Doctor, and someone who has worked so closely with my brother, you are not too bright, are you?" Mycroft sighs, which annoys me for some reason.

"Well, if you're so smart, why don't you explain?" John seems angry and frustrated. He hates being with me and Mycroft together. He's gotten used to me, but being subjected me and Mycroft at the same time made him feel stupid, which, to be honest, he really isn't.

"Clearly the timing of all this wasn't a coincidence," my brother rolls his eyes, "Moriarty must have known that Sherlock was about to leave the country!" Mycroft patronized John, which made me very angry with my brother, although I wasn't sure why.

I sigh and shift my gaze from John - who I realized I had been staring at - to Mycroft, who must have thought that today was a good day to be a prat. Honestly, if I didn't know him, I might think that he was really anxious about Moriarty. So I guess that in some way, I'm lucky to know him, and therefore know that it is all just a big game for him. There's nothing he loves more in the world than to look down on others - and people say I'm arrogant.

"Mycroft, for god sake, eat some chocolate or something and shut up," I say, trying to sound as superior as I could manage - that always annoyed my brother. I look again at my best friend now, to explain the situation in a far less patronizing tone than Mycroft had used. "John, Moriarty planned this to keep me here. To challenge me and invite me to continue his little 'game'. He knew I was leaving the country, and I'm fairly certain he also knows why. So he deduced that his overly dramatic return would force me back to Britain without hesitation. A new game. Fresh from the grave, if I may. So, having deduced that he came back to pull me into another game of 'catch the psychopath before he ruins me', I know that he would have a surprise waiting for me in the flat. However, this time I have a considerable advantage. This time everyone knows what Moriarty is, and his lies which shattered my image during his last game have been brought to light. No one will believe that again, so he's come up with something new. Most likely this is a sort of grudge match, for revenge or whatnot. Last time it was all just fun and games, this time it's personal. Which means we haven't got any time to waste, John, because if Moriarty's last game was deadly, it was nothing compared to what awaits this time, when he's had years to plan."

John nods, his face growing ever paler. He looks like he's about to vomit, and he is clearly very anxious; probably imagining what kind of 'surprises' Jim might have left for me. But in just a split second, his expression changes, and he suddenly seems very pleased with himself, full of confidence. He may be up to something.

"Do you think we can use it to our advantage that he doesn't know you never left?" John jumps a little in is seat, so immersed in his train of thoughts that he probably didn't even notice Mycroft had been staring at him this whole time. John smiled at me, his eyes alight with hope. "Yes, he has his element of surprise, we have ours."

Before I have a chance to think it through, the black car has pulled up in front of 221B Baker Street, the main door of which was wide open.

Hardly a few seconds later, John is already outside the car, vanished inside the building. I step out of the black car and stop Mycroft, who is also about to get out. "Don't," I insist. "we'll be fine. Call Lestrade and tell him to come here as soon as he can." I'm about to shut the door when I hear John behind me, telling me Mrs. Hudson was not in her flat. He's breathing quickly, excitement and fear clear in his expression. I turn to face Mycroft again when he sighs, and asks if he should call her too. I nod, "And if she doesn't answer, have Lestrade find her."

Mycroft sighs again, "Take care, little brother." He closes the door and the car heads off to my brother's office.

"What's the plan?" John asks seriously, with a heavy undertone of excitement. I raise my eyebrow at his enthusiasm.

"Do you have your gun?" He nods, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a barely repressed smile.

I smile back at him, knowing and empathizing with what he was excited about - The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through his veins, the excitement of 'The game'... Just like old times.

I walk inside the building, curious and - what is that little twinge in my stomach, nervousness? - about what I might find in my flat. Those 17 stairs seem like a long road, that never seemed to end. When finally I am stood next to my flat's door, I hear music.

Partita No. 1.

So it really is him. I doubted it a little bit at first, given that the message showed only a photo of Moriarty, poorly animated to make his jaw move like that of a puppet, accompanied by a repeated recording of "did you miss me?" which could have easily been manufactured by any sound editing program. But now, hearing the music, there was no doubt in my mind that James Moriarty truly had returned.

I take a deep breath and open the door.

I'm not sure what I expected from the psychopath, but this certainly wasn't it. The entire floor is covered in black balloons, and on the ceiling is written "Surprise" in what appears to be blood. The flat smells like cheap perfume, and in the middle of the living room there sits a small radio; the source of the music. Going on the fact that the music is barely half way into the cheerful melody, I deduce that Moriarty couldn't have left more than ten minutes ago. It's odd hearing Bach's Partita No. 1 in this setting; the black balloons, the blood-red message, and the harsh smell make the joyful piece seem far too eerie. It makes me shiver to my core.

"Bloody hell," John murmurs, as though he were almost surprised, "he's truly a psychopath." John walks through the balloons to get to the kitchen. "Sherlock, you may want to see this," he calls. I walk toward the kitchen and see a beautiful, most likely toxic, black cake on which is written "Did you miss me?- JM"

"Where is he?" John wonders, moving toward the kettle.

"Well, I doubt that he is inside the kettle," I comment, quirking my brow as he begins to make tea. John only rolls his eyes in response; he really is becoming far too much like me. I stand by the entrance to the kitchen, listening to the music. "But I think we'll know soon enough." John stares at me for a few seconds before he moves his eyes back to the kettle, as if making tea would require his full attention.

"Why do you think so?" he finally asks.

"The piece is about to end," I tell him, my eyes landing on the radio in the living room.

The final tones of the Partita are played and the music stops. John looks at me, expecting me to say something, but there is nothing to be said. Just to wait for the message which is inevitably coming. A woman's scream sounds from the device. Janine - screaming my name. Crying and screaming. There is something that sounded like she's been slapped, and then she said between sobs;

"It was the happiest day of their lives

And the loneliest day of yours;

Where vows, and tears, and laughing arise,

My blood will drench the floors.

Step by step, he owes you a fall,

And I am the first to go.

Come dance or he will end us all

And leave you with naught but woe."

Silence.

"What the hellwas that?" John is paler than I have ever seen him, and from the way that he looks at me I understand that I look the same.

"The beginning of the game," I say, as I prepare to leave the flat. "Let's go, and don't forget your gun."

"Of course, but wait, who was that woman - just another random person, like the first time? Where are we going?"

I look at him, almost tempted to hug him again. He is so naive sometimes. I have to touch him, to feel him again somehow, to be sure that he is still there. He makes me feel alive. Being with him is stronger than any drug I could use to make me feel alive and fascinated. Hugging him today was so tense; it didn't mean half of what I had to say but it meant the most important thing he needed to know- Thank you for staying.

"Sherlock? Are you alright?"

I nod briefly, and try to stop a taxi.

"So who was she, and where are we going?"

"Janine. He's trying to take everyone who's important to me. Step by step, 'burn the heart out of me' remember?"

"Oh, right. So he's beginning with your ex? Why does he think you even care? You only went out with her because she was Magnussen's assistant".

I roll my eyes at him, as a cab finally stops for us. We step into the car, sitting there in silence. He is tense, restless, and frustrated that he didn't get his answer. I take a deep breath and figure it's time for the truth. At least part of it.

"At first, I didn't know she was his assistant. She was just pretty, and fairly intelligent for an average person, and there was no doubt she had an interest in me, so we started dating. She was the first woman I dated in 5 years, and I was actually attracted to her, which is a rare enough occurrence that I figured it was worth giving her a chance. When I found out that she was Magnussen's assistant I was... Angry. I didn't want to be too close to her once I found out, in case Magnussen was using her to gather information about me. I knew she would be useful, but I would have to act like she was just part of a case, and nothing more. After all is said and done, I do care about her, and she is only the first. It won't take long before he'll go to the next person who's important to me."

He stares at me, as though he were trying to analyze and deduce me the way I did to everyone else. Bloody hell, I can see why everyone hates it. What will he find out? That I need to stop Moriarty by any means necessary before he gets a chance to hurt John? That I'm torn between sending him out of the country for his own protection or holding him close for my own selfish reasons?

Human error. That what this is. Just my human error.

Caring and developing sentiment toward John Watson.

"Sherlock? Are you listening?" John sighs; I shift my stare to look him in the eyes so he knows that he has my undivided attention.

He pats my shoulder, which I assume is supposed to be relaxing but only makes me think of how much I need him, making me even more desperate to kill Moriarty.

"You have nothing to worry about, Sherlock. We can do this. He won't hurt anyone else." He smiles at me and leaves his hand on my shoulder. Maybe I should start praying. I'll pray to a God I don't know is listening, that I'm not sure I believe in; but I'll pray anyway, because John must not be harmed.

I throw my head back, sigh and close my eyes, trying to think.

I know there is no use telling John to get on the next plane to Paris and be with his wife - he won't leave, and I don't really want him to, but I need to protect him and be patient with him more than ever.

He removes his hand from my shoulder, and suddenly I feel emptiness down in the pit of my stomach. Cold and lonely, just because his hand is no longer on my shoulder. I roll my eyes, ashamed of what I have become, what have I done to deserve this...sentiment?

Irrelevant. Boring. Useless.

Sentiment won't help us now.

The car pulls over next to the gardens, still familiar even after all these months.

"My wedding venue? Seriously?" John mumbles, his expression no longer patient and apathetic. There is now anger in his eyes, and his 'war' face is on. An expression which always reminds me that John, under all the covers, is still a soldier. A brave, strong, acute soldier. Who is willing to kill for his beliefs.

"I can't believe that he is going to ruin this for me, too. As if St. Bart's wasn't enough. Or pools or journalism or even Westwood. Now he wants to ruin my wedding for me? I hate this bloody psychopath!" John kicks the seat in front of him in frustration.

He's right of course; Mori-fucking-arty is indeed trying to ruin everything which ever made either of us happy. For god sakes, he ruined murders for me for a whole week!

Something has to be done; I can't go in with someone who has more anger in his mind than logic. I have to get him to calm down.

"John, listen to me, don't let him ruin anything for you. Don't think of it as your wedding venue; think of it as just a venue you don't even know, that you have never been to. This venue is just about a case. Nothing more than that right now. Can you do that?"

He stares at me for a few seconds and seems more calm. He sighs and smiles bitterly, forcing himself toward self-control.

We step out of the cab, toward the building, passing through what was several months ago the path where we greeted the guests of the wedding, but now doesn't mean anything.

As we enter the building, there is a rather prominent stench of blood. The scent fills every cell in my body and makes me shiver.

"This place is huge, how are we going to find Janine?" John asks, his military past obviously making him more immune to the smell.

Although there is a shiver in my spine at the very thought of it, I know that there is no other way.

"We have to follow the smell: the stronger it gets, the closer we are. We should start in the dance hall." I hardly even notice that I instinctively grab his hand, and we start running toward the dance hall.

I suddenly remember that I danced alone with Janine in the back room before we began the traditional 'best man - maid of honor ' dance in front of everyone. She must be there.

"Back room," I say, and change our direction to head for the place I first realized I cared for Janine.

We arrive in the back room, out of breath. Laying naked and unconscious on the floor, is Janine. John immediately goes to her, checking her vitals and confirming that she is still alive.

Barely. But she is alive.

There is no trace of Jim; he vanished like he was never even there. Like he wasn't responsible for the naked, bleeding woman on the floor.

"Sherlock, you better see this," John falters, handing me a letter marked in Janine's blood. I clear my throat and take a deep breath:

"You can't protect them,
You can't hide them from me.
Tonight I was gentle,
Tomorrow I won't be.
Ordinary Sherlock, what can I say?
Wait for my riddle, and continue to play."

"This dickhead is justtoo creepy," John snarls, as he covers Janine's body with his coat.

"Give me yours, too; she might get hypothermia." John demands. I remove my coat and cover her gently. She is so beautiful, and so fragile.

Ugly injuries are plastered all over her body. There's one odd mark which looks like he must have bitten her. Who knows what more he may have done to her.

I find myself nearly overwhelmed. I can't think about it. No.

Odd. It's different when it is someone I actually like.

"Lestrade is on his way with the ambulance, so all we have to do is just keep her stable for now," John informs me. I get down to my knees and check her pulse. John smiles at me widely, and I can't but wonder why.

"Good to know that you are not such a machine after all," he tells me, effectively satisfying my curiosity.

If only he knew that he was the only reason for that.

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Partita no.1, Johann Sebastian Bach- watch?v=9VnWObqfPxQ