We're back again! Sorry we haven't updated in little over a month. The summer holidays were a busy time for the both of us. When Rayne was on holiday I was free and vice versa. We've had things to do and things to worry over etc. However we've finished chapter 28 now and I have just started chapter 29 for us so yay! We've nearly reached 30 chapters. Wow. I'll stop rambling now and let you read.

You'll finally be able to find out who our mystery, murderous poet is! Please review if you have the time (We've nearly reached 100 reviews!) and also hello if you are newly following us!

John watched Sherlock. Waiting to see what he would do. Greg was apparently doing the same. It was obvious how it was affecting Toni, the poor girl looked terrified. Sherlock glanced over at the page. His face void of any expression. Making it harder for John to interpret anything.

The page itself had barely information on it at all. A list of names and a description. A photograph was present but it wasn't the best. Like it had been taken from with a long distance lense or a CCTV camera. "Are you positive, Toni?"

"Positive. It's him. Look at his left eyebrow, John!" She exclaimed, passing over the book for John to inspect. The man did match the description that Toni had originally given them.

Sherlock still remained silent. Obviously trying to remember the minor details about the man. "Well?" Greg asked from the corner, turning to look at John. "You ever seen him before John?"

"I don't really know to be honest." He scratched his head, passing the book over to Greg to have a look at the guy. "What about you?"

"We-"

"Oh please, John. Lestrade would have never seen this man before," Sherlock interrupted. "This man is far too intelligent to seen by a common detective inspector."

Greg frowned and crossed his arms. "Gee thanks, Sherlock. Really. I only managed to lie successfully to your damn brother and help convince him you were still dead. Nothing too big. I'm only a common detective after all." Sherlock turned to look at him. It was good to see Gregory standing up like that. He had somewhat missed the man's character. It wasn't fun not having somebody to pick pocket when they annoyed you. "Now are you going to tell us about this man or not?"

"This man," Sherlock sighed, pointing to a grainy picture in the book, "is 'dangerous and violent'."

"Not your words, I assume." Greg smiled; he had missed Sherlock and his snappy, nearly sarcastic manner. His eyes followed the thin man as he thought about everything that had happened over the last few years. Sherlock - Greg had decided many times over - was infuriating, frustrating and fascinating.

"Not at all." Sherlock shook his head. He tapped the photocopy of the handwritten report next to the picture. "His psychiatric assessment. Of course, it was ignored because he was such a good soldier."

John's head shot up. A memory stirred, half remembered; a face that he didn't clearly look at, amidst the dust and smoke. It couldn't be... He shook his head slightly, forcing himself to forget the memory. It was impossible. His fingers started tapping his knee in a rhythm, yet another habit he had picked up during his time without Sherlock.

Greg shot John a look, noticing the tapping and knowing it wasn't a good sign. He had last seen this irritation before he assaulted the Chief. John shook his head, and turned to Sherlock.

"Who... Is he?

"I believe you know him, John," Sherlock walked around. Trying to recall pieces of information as if he were actually walking around his mind palace itself. He obviously cared about his man enough to retain at least some information about him. "Well vaguely. I believe you met at most four times to your knowledge. Several to his. He's a peculiar man. I lost track of his actions a few years ago. He became boring. Dull. However it appears he has changed his tactics."

"What the hell do you mean 'changed his tactics'?" John puzzled. He was confused. He didn't remember anybody of that description. Yet there was a buzz. At the back of his mind. Quietly minding it's own business yet slowly drawing attention. "And who the hell is he?"

"Isn't it obvious?" He sneered.

Greg folded his arms and sighed. Typical Sherlock. Always assuming everybody knew exactly what he did. "No, Sherlock. It bloody well isn't," he said with a little too much force. "Now tell us."

"Don't take your lovers tiff out on me, Lestrade." Sherlock replied coolly. "He's more than likely within your files. He definitely is within the army's. An ex-soldier. One of Britain's finest blunders. Training a man of that psychological mentality to wield a gun." Sherlock chuckled, bringing his walking to a stop. Toni stared up at him in wonder. Trying to figure out how John put up with this on a daily basis. "Despite his many aliases his actual name is Sebastian."

Sebastian.

The name sent shockwaves through John's mind. Suddenly memories screamed at him. Memories he didn't want to face, didn't want to see, and didn't want to remember.

His eyes, they were full of anger and joy. His blonde hair blended with the dirt. The gun in his hand was completely still, despite spraying bullets seconds beforehand. The dust around them choked John, drowning him. The heat pressed down and swamped him. Gunfire and shouting echoed in John's ears.

He felt his mouth open, his lips moved of their own accord. A name slipped from his lips.

"Sebastian Moran."

A deathly silence settled over the room. Lestrade was waiting for Sherlock. Toni and Sherlock were waiting for John. John was trapped. Back in Afghanistan, back in uniform, back in his past. Back with Sebastian Moran.

John gripped the arms of his chair, his jaw clenched and he felt a shudder of shame claw it's way down his spine.

Sebastian... Who else could it have been? Educated and ruthless. An angel of death. But Sebastian was no angel, he was a demon.

"Sebastian Moran," Sherlock echoed. "A madman. No more. Descended from a good family. Rebelled," he smirked at this. As if there was something he wasn't saying. "Joined the army. That's where his true nature came out. Wasn't it, John?"

Sherlock glanced over. John's shoulders were tense, jaw clenched. Pupils dilated and hands forming into fists. Lines upon John's face told him the man was tired however the way his mouth curved showed his alertness. Yes. Sherlock was right. He always was. John eventually let out a heavy sigh, discomfort, and lent against the side of the wall. "If you can say that," John shuddered. The memories all flooding back to him. The horrid army days. The horrid meetings with the man. The recluse who caused so much havoc. To say the least.

"What exactly did he do?" Toni asked from her place in John's chair. Unsure what to make of everything.

"Went on a blasted rampage. Killed a hell of a lot of good men," John spat. "He was a violent bully. An utter psychopath. I don't know who bloody allowed him into the army but I hope to God he was sacked." Shutting his eyes John took a deep breath to calm himself down. "He weren't ever this organised. He was guns blazing. Shoot first and think later and I can guarantee you he was no bloody poet."

"He was taught, trained." Sherlock shrugged, as though the answer had been there the whole time. "I don't know who by for sure yet, but I do have my suspicions."

"Sherlock," John snapped, his fists went to his side and he stood up. His knuckles where white against his skin and his eyes were downright murderous. "Moriarty trained him. That bastard. Who else could make him gravitate towards you?"

Sherlock nodded, considering the data he had available and the several hypothesise he had to twist to the facts. "Revenge then."

"For killing his boss?" Greg asked, looking up. "Not too likely. I mean, he was just a hired gun, right... So, why would he be interested in revenge? He doesn't have the will to follow that motive."

"Unless these are his orders, and he's just following them."

"Or he cared for Moriarty." John said softly. "What if he cared for Moriarty? His actions won't be predictable. We'll need... More information on him."

"I'll run him through the database." Lestrade offered, taking one last look at the book in his hands before giving it back to Sherlock. "I'll text you when it's done and email you the information." He turned to John. "Keep your laptop on."

John smiled weakly at Greg. "Don't I always? Come on, I'll show you out."

After bidding his goodbyes to Toni and Sherlock, Greg made his way downstairs with John. John was still wary about trusting Greg again. It was fine for Sherlock. Working like this and in such a short time frame. It had been like four days since the man returned and John had had no real time to adjust to everything. He hadn't had time to heal or trust people who had hid things from him. "I know you might be busy but pub tonight?" Greg asked "You need some time to yourself or at least away from him."

"Yeah. That would be good," John trailed off.

"I need to get away from the house too. Been a tiring four days," Greg sighed. "Think we both need a break from our... well. I guess partners is the right word." John nodded as he opened the door for Greg. "I'll see you later, John."

"See you later, Greg," John smiled as he watched Greg leave before shutting the door and beginning to make his way upstairs. The smile now replaced with a frown. Of all the people Sherlock had to have after him it had to be that psycho.

John trod up the stairs, the wheels of his mind churning away. Sebastian Moran was after Sherlock Holmes, that much he knew for certain. Whether he was craving revenge or following orders... That was up for debate, and possibly the most dangerous lack of information they had. If he was looking for revenge, then it would be his stamp on the attacks, his planning and his personal brand of violence. If he was following orders, Moriarty may as well still be alive.

He pushed open the door to the flat again, Sherlock was fingering his violin. He wanted to play, to think, but it wasn't going to work with other people there.

"Toni, do you want to go grab a coffee downstairs?"

Toni smiled gratefully, "Thanks, John. I would love to."

"Call Harry. Make her drink with you." Sherlock grunted, not focused on either John or Toni but instead on the map inside his head. "Good way to meet, instead of just shoving them at each other."

"Sherloc- that's actually a good idea." John shrugged. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialled the number.

"Hello John, don't ask for another favour. I already regret this one." Harry answered, sounding tired and worn out already.

"Hey, Harry... Want to come over? Coffee downstairs. I'm paying. And you'll get to meet Toni before you start living together and... Um, I miss you."

"You miss me?" She chuckled down the phone. "How sweet."

John shuffled in his spot. He had to go and admit that aloud. With Toni and Sherlock in earshot and especially to Harry. His ears turned a light shade of pink. "Yeah, I do alright. Now get your arse over here. Front and centre."

"Yes, Captain," Harry replied. Obviously trying to sound confident without bursting into a fit of giggles. "ETA as soon as I can."

"See that you follow that through. Bye, Harry." He smirked.

"Bye, John."

With that John hung up and pocketed his phone. He truly did miss his sister. Perhaps if he had spoken to her properly then they'd be on regular speaking terms but no. He had been stubborn almost. Intimidated and humiliated. Hopefully now he would be able to rebuild everything both of them had helped destroy. "She'll be here as soon as," he smiled weakly, looking at Toni. "Hopefully you'll like her. Has a brilliant sense of humour on her."

He didn't want to tell her about the rest of it. About the alcoholism. The worry and torment she had caused. Her horrid divorce and the cracked family relationship. She didn't need to know that. At all.

"Do remember the car watching your movements outside, John." Sherlock said absent-mindedly as he plucked at the strings of his violin. "It will be watching your entrance into the café as well to meet your sister. Not that they will know that of course and not that it matters. Right now the driver is occupied with the newspaper covering his face as he sleeps."

"Very good." John nodded, distracted by his thoughts. Did he just say very good? Jesus four days with Sherlock had left him with very little sleep; he wasn't himself when he was tired.

"Shouldn't we... Go? Like, now?" Toni asked, tempted to shake John to get his attention back from whatever he was dreaming about. He looked up just in time, and smiled at her before she could ask if he was okay.

"Coffee and muffins downstairs. You're not welcome, Sherlock."

"Leave already. I want to go to my mind palace." Sherlock waved his hand at the door.

John rolled his eyes at Toni, shrugged and pushed open the door. He held it open as Toni walked through and she smiled politely at him.

She knew he was thinking about something that worried him; he could see it in her eyes. He'd learnt to see that look no matter what face it hid behind while Sherlock had been gone.

Before you go, I've been thinking. This really needs a cover or something for the story. You guys must get fed up of seeing my ugly mug at the top of the page. xD So does anybody have any suggestions?