Us again, guys. We just want to thank you for those lovely reviews! I mean seriously, they make our day, and all your subbers? We really really appreciate it.

A few changes. I've changed the formatting. Speech is only going to be italic now. The bold will be for texts or emails etc. I've gone through the rest of this story and done the same to the rest of the chapters.

Enjoy this chapter though.

The door to the lab creaked open as the figure representing Anderson wandered in. Sherlock could see John in the corner. His eyebrows were beginning to frown, fists clenched. Obviously John had grown infuriated more and more by Anderson over the last two years. It was almost amusing. "What is it that is so important, Mol- John?"

"Excellent deduction, Anderson. That is John." Sherlock said coolly from the other side of the room. Anderson tensed at the sound of the voice creeping into his ears. He slowly began to turn around to try and get a glimpse of the man sitting on the far ended stool. Molly and John watched in wait.

"You."

"Me."

"Why- what are you doing here?" Anderson stuttered. "How- you're alive."

"Very observant." Sherlock sighed, running his hand through his hair, "Yes, I am alive."

"...how?"

"How? Well now, that - my dear Anderson - would be telling." Sherlock grinned quickly. His face soon settled back into it's usual focused mask. "Anderson, I need your help."

Molly and John exchanged a worried look. What was Sherlock planning? They hadn't been told of his plan... Plans? John shook his head slightly as Molly's eyes searched his face.

"Never thought I'd hear that. Sherlock Holmes. Master fake. Needing MY help. I'm afraid I don't help criminals." Sherlock could see John's eyes had dilated, the vein on his neck appeared to be beating at a faster rate and his breathing had become harsh. Ever the loyal John.

"Anderson, as from tomorrow even somebody of your brain capacity will be aware of the truth before them. As it has always been. Stop being deluded and help me and maybe I could help you with this John Doe mystery of yours with the fractured jaw." Anderson looked dumbstruck. Though, Sherlock thought, no different to his usual clueless expression.

"I'm going to ring the Yard." Anderson replied sternly without a moments consideration.

"It wouldn't matter. It will be cleared by tomorrow. Now, are you going to use that brain of yours for something other than daydreaming about Donovan scrubbing your floors?"

"Hu-" Anderson huffed and spun on his heel. He pulled his phone out and dialled a number. Sherlock watched him walk away.

"I give him five minutes to return, ten if he argues."

"Sherlock, it's Anderson. He will argue." John whispered through clenched teeth. His knuckles where white and he was breathing heavily, still.

"John?" Molly put her hand on John's arm. "Calm down, please?"

"I- yeah. Sorry." John sighed, unclenching his fists. "He just gets to me."

"Thank you, John." Sherlock nodded. Why was John so protective of him? It wasn't as though Sherlock couldn't protect himself. He wasn't unable to fight Anderson, if the need arose. Ever faithful John.

John smiled tensely, his eyes strained behind the mask he put on his face. Anderson's voice was echoing down the corridor, a faint echo of "What do you bloody mean?" reached the lab.

Sherlock shook his head. "Some people never learn. Lestrade knows I'm here."

Sherlock could see John glaring towards the door. A look of anger strongly imprinted on his face. John was loyal but he couldn't understand why he was acting like this. He was usually protective but not this much. Something was different but Sherlock couldn't tell what. "Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"I said 'Are you going to tell us what is going on?' because we sure as hell don't know and Anderson is going to come storming in here any second and we'd like to know before I punch the sod in the bloody face or better yet ring his wife." A muffled laugh came from Molly in the corner. She had her head buried in some paperwork but it was obvious she was beaming underneath.

"No point with the wife front, she's been sleeping with Peterson for five years."

"Peterson? You mean on the forensic team? How the hell do you know these things still? You've been gone nearly three years." John groaned in the corner, tapping his fingers on the side of his leg in a rhythmic fashion. He was agitated. "He best come in soon."

"He will. He just threw his phone at the wall." Both Molly and John strained their necks to listen at the door. True enough they heard the mumbling frustrations of Anderson and the heavy footprints storming back towards the lab.

Anderson stormed through the doors.

"Sherlock Holmes." He snapped. "You are a bastard."

"Am I?" Sherlock asked, his face impassive. "I hadn't noticed."

John suppressed a laugh; Sherlock's utter boredom with Anderson's anger and frustration only made Anderson worse. But clearly, Lestrade had told Anderson something of importance.

"Lestrade says that you," He looked at Sherlock, "and you," he looked at John, "should come with me. But I, personally, don't feel safe with you two around."

Sherlock looked at John. A slight nod from him caused made John's face break out into a grin. Anderson noticed this and shifted on his toes.

"So, I'm saying you two go on your own and we'll... assemble... there."

"Good idea, Anderson." Sherlock said, his voice unusually cheerful. "John and I need to make one more stop home, and then we'll meet you at the Yard." He didn't wait for a reply but instead brushed past the stunned Anderson and out of the lab doors.

"Bye Molly." John said hurriedly. "Anderson."

"Have fun John!" Molly called as he left the room. She looked Anderson up and down, he was looking disgustedly at the doors.

"Fuckin' bastard." Anderson spat.

"Get out of here." Molly snapped. "And never say that about Sherlock, or John, around me again."

"Why do you stick up for the freak, Molly? Why do you do it? You don't still love it do you?" He eyes her up, sneering at her.

"He's my friend. Now. Get. Out. Or some mortuary security tapes of you and Donovan might accidentally end up in your wife's hands." Anderson looked profoundly. This was not the usual Molly Hooper he had pushed around and bullied all those years. This was somebody completely different. John had the right idea. Bring his wife into the equation and Anderson shuts up. "Stop staring. I'm a nice person normally but you've opened that gob of yours one too many times and it's annoying a lot of people. I'm not just sweet, innocent Molly, Anderson. Now get out of my lab before I get security to throw you out."

She had clearly done her job because no sooner had she finished speaking had he stormed out of the lab doors, leaving Molly to mutter under her breath before finally returning to her soil samples.

Sherlock and John were just entering a cab as a riled Anderson stormed out of St Barts. He shot a glance at them before thundering off in the other direction. "What's the matter with him now?"

"Anderson is very splenetic, John. I do believe Molly did all the things that I asked of her successfully." A smile tugged at the side of Sherlock's face as he informed the driver to take them to 221B Baker Street.

"Anderson was... Helpful." John commented, looking out the window at the grey streets of London.

"Very helpful indeed." Sherlock confirmed. John was watching the streets flash by, Sherlock was watching John. Sherlock was sat, leaning back into the seat, relaxed and comfortable. John seemed the complete opposite, leaning forwards and sitting on the edge of his seat. His face was tense and he was rubbing his hands together. He sighed deeply and turned to Sherlock.

"So, news conference. That's tomorrow, yes?"

"Yes." Sherlock rapped his knuckles against his knee and hummed quietly. "It will be tomorrow and I will be there. I need Lestrade, Anderson and their skilled,"Sherlock raised an eyebrow here, "teams to be there."

"Oh. Okay." John said, slightly relieved, slightly offended and hurt that he wasn't on the list.

"You sound disappointed. Don't you want my name to be cleared so you can stop punching people?" Sherlock laughed to himself as John turned to look out the window, mumbling under his breath. "Oh. John, you do realise I expect you to be there, don't you?"

The tension is John's body disappeared and he smiled slightly as he stared at the passing street. He didn't have any idea on why they were going back to Baker Street or why they had to go to the Yard. Truth be told he didn't know anything but it didn't matter. He was back doing what he loved and he could try and get rid of the last two years. Hopefully. Though he didn't welcome back the stress that came along with it.

"Just stop here, we can walk from here." Sherlock informed the taxi driver as he pulled up to the curve. They were a two minute walk away. Not bad. Hurdling out the the taxi, Sherlock and John began the walk back to Baker Street in silence. Sherlock expected John to talk, like he use to, but he deduced that maybe not talking at all was all the best. He could tell John was having trouble adjusting to having Sherlock back around. Of course it wasn't the idea of going on cases. No, Sherlock knew John had helped on two cases in those three years. It was something else and he would find out even if it metaphorically killed him.

John walked next to Sherlock in silence. He thought about the mystery that was Sherlock Holmes. The enigma that had kept him occupied for three years. It wasn't as though John had sat and twiddled his thumbs, waiting for the day he could see Sherlock again. John had gone through all of Sherlock's clippings, scrawlings and music. He'd filed it all and studied it extensively. He thought he knew most of the way Sherlock's thoughts worked, but having Sherlock back made him realise that he knew nothing about the thoughts of a madman.

That wasn't fair to Sherlock, John thought, calling him a madman just because John was frustrated with himself. He muffled a sigh, passing it off as a yawn, as they reached the door of 221B Baker Street.

Sherlock whipped out his keys and unlocked the doors. He swept in the doorway and ran up the stairs.

"Where is it... where would you have hidden it?" Sherlock shouted. "John, where have you put it?"

"It would be helpful if you had told me what it was."

"You know what it is!" Sherlock shouted, he was in his room. "I wan- Aha! Found it!"

"So... What is it?" John asked, his curiosity pulling him out of his thoughts and the dark mood that came with them.

"My skull, John!"

"Your skull? For God's sake, Sherlock. It's just a bloody skull." John yelled loud enough to let Sherlock hear as he fell back into his usual chair. He remembered that he had put the skull in Sherlock's room after the first five months. It was too creepy in the living room so he kept it in Sherlock's room, where he could talk to it at night before he would fall to sleep. It calmed him a little. That minor element of the old Sherlock.

"It's not my skull, John! It's what's in my skull that is important. I planted in there months ago whilst you were asleep."

"Whilst I was asleep? You came back here whilst I slept?"

"Irrelevant. Back to the matter, John. Stop straying and pay attention. The skull, John. You had to move it to my room, didn't you? Inconvenient. I lodged something under the parietal bone. It is important.." Sherlock was now pacing up and down in front of John, flipping the skull upside down and looking inside. It wasn't long before he pulled out a miniature tape recorder.

"What is that?"

"The key to the truth, John."

"The... The key?" John said, straining to turn around and look at him. Sherlock was stood with the skull in one hand, like the portrait of a Shakespearean actor. "What's on it?"

"On it?" Sherlock said, his brain not quite making the connection. He was rubbing the skull and peering at it, rather like a protective mother.

"On the tape, Sherlock."

"Only the proof of my innocence. It's the only copy so if we lose this, I will be disgraced forever." Sherlock said, matter-of-factly. His eyes darted back to his skull. John could've sworn he heard Sherlock ask it if it was okay and if John had been nice to it.

"Let's go then." Sherlock said abruptly. "To the Yard."

John sighed and stood up, Sherlock was driving him around the bend. John knew he cared for Sherlock, but the man was so frustrating that sometimes John wanted to wrap his hands around Sherlock's neck. Most likely, the result would be a fight between the two with them both getting minor injuries. Sherlock wasn't defenceless, neither was John.

"Get up, John!"

"I'm getting up." John heaved himself out of his chair, the short break of being home had made him even less eager to meet the rest of the police. Even Greg, who John liked, would be a stress.

They hurdled down the stairs and back out through the front door. A taxi was already waiting for them outside. Obviously Sherlock had organised that somehow. "Hurry up, John. The game is afoot!"

"Oh God. Don't do that. Ever again." John groaned as he seated himself on the far side near the window. Sherlock looked puzzling at him as he seated himself next to John.

"What?"

"Don't act to the bloody stereotype. I've had enough of deerstalkers and pipes and now you saying that? Just stop it."

"Coincidence. Nothing more." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Scotland Yard, step on it."