Playing the Fool

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Chapter Twelve

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The world was a haze of pain, soot and mud as John found himself hoisted unceremoniously on top of something soft. He found himself outside, witnessing a sky full of embers and smoke. The burning building he was just pulled out of was starting to collapse in on itself. John watched like a man possessed as a familiar silhouette bobbed in and out of view; there was absolute panic written over every feature of his face, but John couldn't bring himself to worry. He had seen this face, tinged with the light of hellfire before. This was just another feverish dream.

Then the world cut in, sharp as a knife, and sound rippled through the doctor in a wave of immense pain. Sirens were wailing and people were screaming in the distance. It was like Afghanistan all over again and a rush of adrenalin made the doctor's head spin. John tried to sit up, some part of his brain itching to help, but he was pushed back down by a strong hand

John wheezed, groaning in pain as he tried to sit up yet again, "I can - I can fixpeople..." He was suddenly cut off by blinding agony since something was painfully driving itself into his open knife wound. He cried out, but was silenced by a scarf forced into his mouth.

"I need you to shut up John. Bite onto that if you must." Sherlock said tersely, his alabaster face swimming into John's vision. There were heavy lines under the man's eyes, and his hair was an absolute mess.

John spat out the scarf and groaned to fight off some of the pain. "You... you made me think you were dead."

"Stop talking!" Sherlock hissed as he looked to John's legs and saw the horrid burns there. His eyes roamed over the doctor's body, categorizing and assessing every wound, getting more anxious the more he saw. "The ambulance will be here in a few minutes, keep still."

"I swear to god... I'm going to k-kill you for real... if... if I survive this." John choaked out, clenching his teeth till he they were in danger of chipping. He resisted the urge to squirm under the pressure Sherlock was applying to his abdomen.

There was a weak chuckle that escaped the detective's throat, but it was quickly bitten back as he took in the agony visible in John's puffy eyes. "Just a few minutes longer John..." He whipped his head around as a fire truck arrived in the distance and started to slow. John could hear the shouts of the fire-fighters and he felt momentarily relieved that help was arriving.

Sherlock's fingers sought out John's hands, which were clenching at the moldering casing of the discarded mattress he tossed him onto. Gently he dragged the trembling limbs to the improved dressing that was stained bright red through the white of some unknown fabric. Sherlock pressed down, hoping that his friend would comprehend the motion and do the same. "John, stay awake. I-" He hesitated, fighting with whatever he was about to say. "I need to go."

"Y-you're leaving me here... like this?" John questioned weakly, not believing what his formerly dead flatmate was saying.

A man bearing reflective stripes spotted the pair from the side of the house and called out something inaudible over the crackling flames spewing from the backdoor. Sherlock looked up and then back down. "It's not over. I can't..." He looked into John's eyes and set his lips into a grim line. "I can't – not yet."

John was about to say something in reply when the detective disappeared into the flickering shadows. He was replaced almost instantaneously by a fire-fighters wearing a mask. He asked John something he couldn't remember before others joined him with what looked like a stretcher. Next thing he knew was pain, and lots of it, before the darkness that was lingering at the corners of his vision finally claimed him.

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There was only one thought running through John's mind when he woke up, and that was a urgent need for silence and solitude. There were too many conversations going on in his head - all of them wrapped up in hazy nightmares that made the doctor want to scream at the world to stop this giant charade. He was tired of being a puppet. Tired of thinking about how tired he was.

His eyelids felt so heavy, but he opened them anyway to encounter beautiful darkness. Obviously he was in a hospital – a private room by the looks of it. There was a small window to his right, which from John's perspective, offered a clear view of the night sky. He was momentarily confused by this and went to check the time, but his watch had been removed and replaced with the familiar tubing of an IV. He frowned and stared up at the ceiling.

Sherlock. The bloody fool had shown himself at last. John was half glad he had been stabbed and nearly burnt to death since it prevented him from taking the idiot's head off. At this very moment the fool was probably out chasing Moran around London.

Thinking of the Colonel made the memory of killing Jamie Moriarty spring to mind and John cringed. How many times had he killed an enemy of Sherlock Holmes, and how many times did he glance at Irene's newspaper clippings and frown at the thought of Sherlock doing the same?

Just what was going on? He needed to know, now more than ever.

Something touched his unmolested hand and it made John's heart leap into his throat. He almost screamed, except he instantly recognized the shadow looming over him and the cry was extinguished.

"How long have you been watching me like that!" He hissed, keeping his voice down so that the nurses outside wouldn't do anything dramatic.

"Only a few moments. From what I overhear, you've been sleeping for 28 hours."

John stared up at the gaunt face that was appraising him with a look of indifference. The expression scared the doctor and put all thoughts of an argument on hold. He needed to try and coax a rational explanation out of the detective before any punches could be thrown.

"I'm so... angry at you right now Sherlock. No – beyond angry... disappointed in the extreme. These last few months have been... I don't even have an adjective to describe the special brand of hell you put me through, and not just me Sherlock: Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Lestrade, your brother-"

Sherlock laughed. It was a bitter laugh that made John turn red with fury.

"I can't believe you can just... laugh it off!"

"It was the only way John." The detective closed his eyes and let the poisonous smile fall from his lips. "I made a few mistakes in predicting those around me. Nothing too damaging. It was a brilliant piece of work, but you were slow. Moriarty grew over confident... let me claim my victory." There was so much hate in the word 'victory' that John became quite confused.

"So... you won then? You're free to drop this stupid act and try to piece together a normal life? Not to mention give Mrs. Hudson a heart attack once she catches the sight of you."

The detective walked around John's bed and sat himself down heavily in a chair. He rubbed his hands together and stared at his fingertips. His body was tense and John could tell he was desperately refraining from throwing things.

"John... I failed."

The doctor tried to shuffle to a sitting position, but he mewled in pain and remained where he was. Sherlock's eyes darted to John at the noise, but then returned to his hands. This made John sigh wearily and lean back into his pillows.

"I'll bite then. How so...? Start from the beginning because I may have worked some of it out, but there are a lot of places where I'm lost."

"Moriarty." Every syllable of the name was uttered with hostile respect. "I first suspected that everything wasn't as it seemed when he allowed himself to appear in court. It did not fit his profile. Moriarty is a man who works in the shadows. He is the puppeteer above it all. A man who is skilled at pulling strings would never throw himself into the stage lights. Something was wrong."

John watched his friend clench his jaw and stew in the negative emotions that were surely stirring in that brain of his. He wanted to say something to defuse the situation, but he found himself helpless.

"How do you sell a lie John? Remember?"

The doctor blinked in response and tried to figure out where Sherlock was going with this. "You... bury it in truth?"

"Precisely. The journalist's flat is where I began my theory. Moriarty was a figment of my imagination remember? Richard Brook, the actor I hired to play the role? Moriarty waved the answer in my face like I was some idiot boy who needed a leg-up. Jim Moriarty was just another puppet and I was a fool not to realize it sooner."

His hands clenched themselves into fists and he let out a long sigh of frustration. "I realized then that it was his intent to push me into his realm. He wanted to best me on an even playing field, but then I went and made myself famous. How was a man who lived in the dark places of London supposed to interact with a man surrounded by cameras and fanatics? He offered me the choice of blackening my reputation and getting one step closer to thwarting him, or to live in the limelight surrounded by easily manipulated idiots who could turn against me with a wave of his hand. I made my choice John. It would have been easy if it wasn't for you."

Sherlock looked up from his hands and adopted a look of anguish that made John want to tell him everything was all right. But it wasn't. John felt like he had been betrayed and he was only beginning to understand why.

"I didn't want..." Sherlock paused, trying to express himself, but the emotions he was trying to convey got all muddled in his head.

"- to leave me behind, I know Sherlock; but you did, and you can't change that."

"The last thing you said to me - before that phone call - was 'friends protect people'. I knew you would understand. He threatened to kill you and everyone else that mattered if I didn't leave you all behind. I was selfish though, I couldn't let you forget me. For some reason... I just couldn't cope with you believing that..."

"You were dead?"

"No, not... not exactly. I liked myself through your eyes John. It pained me to marr that vision. I had to or the world would believe in you, since you would believe in me. Do you understand?"

"Not a wit. It doesn't explain the note you left with Molly and the other clues you left."

"Aa... that was, a change of plans. Mycroft's idea., he guessed at Moriarty's motives and gave me some contingencies if things started to deviate from the plan."

"Wait. Mycroft? He was under the impression you were dead! I talked to him – twice!"

"He thought my plan was risky, and there was some chance I would kill myself overdosing on whatever benzodiazepine I would have on hand. He wanted to meddle but I cut him out last minute which had him in a bit of a bind. He played his cards right as usual though. You were a switch John. People cried out on my behalf and created all sorts of chaos when I died. Only fools believe what they read in the papers, and despite what I say, not everyone in this city is a complete imbecile. All they needed to uncover the truth and resurrect me was you." Sherlock locked eyes with John and gave him a faint smile that was the warmest expression the doctor had ever seen on that man's face.

"You." Sherlock closed his eyes and then turned his face away so that he could look out the window. The pale moonlight highlighted the detective's features the way John thought he would only ever see again in his memories.

"Mycroft knew that you would eventually expect this mess to be more than it seemed. When that happened, he was to spur you on your search for the truth. Molly had the evidence of Jim Moriarty's true nature, you would only be able to use it after two months, which is when she returned from the vacation I planned for her. Two months was enough time for me to slowly undermine the true Moriarty – by taking out his contacts... one by one."

"Sherlock-"

"Don't protest my actions John. Honestly, you and Lestrade continue to try and confine me to your silly concepts of morality. What is morality? Right and wrong defined by religion? By society? Why should I be bound by such an invisible thread when I am dead in the eyes of the law and put into the perfect position to dole out justice as I see fit?"

"You aren't god Sherlock."

"There is no god John, but I am the next best thing."

John sat in stunned silence for a moment. "You... are the vainest... most impossible-"

"Someone had to take down Moriarty, and I was ready. There is no other remotely close to his genius."

"Right. Moving on. So you killed or caught everyone but Moran, Colonel Moriarty and that other man... Millerton?"

"Milverton. Yes, Moran was one of my first targets, but he was slippery. A very cautious man. Miss Moriarty wasn't someone I was going to concern myself with since I had no evidence of any wrong doing on her part... but Milverton - that man was destined for a sticky end. I was trying to catch him in my net whilst there were four others trying to kill him. It was a very delicate situation. I decided to leave them until the next stage of the plan commenced."

"Which was?"

"Moriarty's true goal." Sherlock stood then, his height doubling and making John crick his neck to adjust his eye level. The man began to pace at the foot of John's bed.

"There was no explanation for Moriarty allowing me to capture his pawns one after another. He left them open - practically abandoned them. I could only assume that he meant for me to take them – take them where? Prison? I was Daniel herding the lions in the den, all Moriarty had to do was make me lie down with them. How? My footsteps were invisible and I did not let my mind slip. He couldn't touch me." Sherlock halted and shook his hands. "I was frustrated and I sought answers, getting closer and closer to the centre of the web until at last I intercepted communication between Moriarty and his sister. That was only a week ago and it wasn't much. I learned that the corpse on top of St. Bart's was the brother, not The Professor as those in the London underworld call him. They were watching you John. Waiting. You were involved somehow - even though Moriarty would have considered it rude. I was tailing Milverton when I heard Moran give the order to fetch you. Miss Moriarty was playing to both Moran and her brother by complying. I told Mycroft – it was the first contact with him in months – to pull you out of Baker Street."

"I wasn't there... I was at the Spencer's that night." John sighed, realizing the mistake.

"Your spies followed you where Mycroft couldn't. When Mycroft figured out you were missing I had to improvise. I never intended for you to play the victim. I was going to smoke out both Moran and Milverton, but they were clever and knew that while you were a hostage I was severely limited in my options. I saw you being taken into the study, and I knew then that I was going to have to keep to the plan and hope that in the chaos I could save you."

John felt every tired nerve in his body and tried not to blame the detective, but he was still a little peeved.

"You left me to chase Moran."

"I found him, and I figured out Moriarty's plans for you through him. Moran was a clever man and he knew that he wouldn't evade my guile for long. You were a double edged hostage. If Moriarty wanted you for his nefarious purposes he was going to have to cut him a deal. It was a desperate move. After some coaxing he told me why you were so valuable. You were destined to be a sacrificial lamb. Moriarty was going to have you killed you as soon as you announced to the world I was alive, and then I was to be framed for it." Sherlock snarled. "Poison the world against Sherlock Holmes! He wouldn't be able to use his mental prowess to prove his own innocence! I would have floundered in my grief and my rage, and prison would be inevitable. There I would be forced to eat the rotten fruit of my labour. I wouldn't last two days. It would have been complete and total ruin."

The doctor stared at the dark figure, glowing in the faint light outlining the doorway. "But you won."

"I fooled him this time John, but he is untouchable now. He knows that this plan has fell through and he pulled out of the game. He could be anywhere, pretending to be anyone... living pretty with blood money I can never trace. I'll never know when he'll return to try and fool me again. I am paranoid John. I... I am scared."

The detective slowly lowered himself onto the hospital bed and gripped the edges of the mattress with his long slender fingers. "John. I am going to be hunted... forever... lest I keep to the shadows."

"Sherlock. Listen to me. Your brother is Mycroft Holmes; he manages security for the bloody Queen. I'm certain he'll step things up a notch to protect his little brother. You also have me. I'm not much, but I'm a solder and a doctor... and willing to patch you up or watch your back every moment of my life if need be. The world needs you, you give people hope Sherlock. Hope when the police are at the end of their rope, and when the small things just don't add up."

John put a hand on his friend's shoulder and squeezed. "I will also scream like a stuck pig if you try to leave my sight for a second time."

Sherlock chuckled, "By the time the nurse arrives I could be out the window. Her reaction times are very slow. Someone forgot to stock up on coffee in the staff room. All that was left was decaf. Pity."

"You're staying. I mean it."

The detective closed his eyes and put on of his own hands over the one on his shoulder. "I'm going to regret this."

"You're damn right you are." John released Sherlock and shuffled in his bed so that he was more comfortable. "I'm going to savour every lecture Mrs. Hudson is going to give you, and make you wear that stupid hat when the reporters get a hold of you. "

"Really? The hat John? Of all punishments – the hat?"

"Don't look at me like that. You hate that thing above all else. I think you'd rather hug your brother then wear that atrocity in public again."

"Will you give me the choice?"

"Can I be present with a camera? It would make a lovely Christmas card for Lestrade."

Sherlock huffed and glared at John, but the grin on the doctor's face made Sherlock's scowl melt in seconds and they both started to chuckle. They were still laughing when Mrs. Hudson burst in with a basket of fruit for John. She nearly fainted at the sight of the world's only consulting detective back from the grave, which made Sherlock get up to help her to a chair.

Instead of taking his hand she began to beat him viciously with the fruit basket, sending several oranges and a cantaloupe flying onto John. She was still shrieking things in a pitch so high no one could tell what she was saying when John ordered her to stop through a fit of laughter. The woman started to weep and shake from the emotional trauma before Sherlock gave her a hesitant hug and she latched onto him as if afraid she'd fall off the face of the earth otherwise.

"There there Mrs. Hudson. I promise I'll never do that again. " He patted her back while she sobbed uncontrollably into his chest.

"You... you damnable boy..." She cried, hitting him and pulling away. "I thought I was rid of your foul manners!"

"Dry your eyes Mrs. Hudson, people might think I was the one doing the beating." Sherlock grabbed a Kleenex from John's bedside and handed it to her. She started to mop up her face and pick up the fruit she scattered everywhere. She was stuttering through a string of soft curses before she pointed a finger at her resurrected tenant.

"I'm not d-done with you yet. Oh... I need to lie down. My head is s-splitting."

Sherlock guided her to the chair he had occupied earlier and stood awkwardly on the other side of John's bed. Every time Mrs. Hudson looked up and caught sight of the detective she broke out in fresh sobs.

"Really now! There's no need for that!" It was getting on Sherlock's nerves.

"Feeling guilty yet?" John said smugly.

The detective looked away. John knew that there was guilt there, at his core, but more that that – there was joy. That hug from Mrs. Hudson changed him and soothed the rough edges of his soul. They were all back together now, and things could start to return to the way they were before.

Sherlock had come back home.

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Author's Note:

Well there you have it. I suck at endings, and this one took me ages to write. I wanted more of Moriarty's plot to work out, but Moran's involvement really screwed it up. This is what happens when you let characters roam freely instead of planning it out.

Thanks for sticking with me to the bitter end. Somewhere down the line I might throw in a bonus chapter like I did with Exception to the Rule. If you haven't read that one yet... I think it's better than this one. I'm also doing an AU fic called The Twisted Games We Play which takes place in a mental hospital and it's going to be very very dark. Maybe I'll see you around! One last time - please Read and Review! Tell me if you liked it, hated it, think I should never write again. Even if you're reading it all in one giant chunk months from now, I still love feedback. I make a bajillion grammatical errors and I need you all to sort me out - only way I'll ever get better!

Take care.