75 is a bit of a mix. 76 may or may not be a time skip. Fear not, several more chapters until it's too late.

Forgive the shortness of this chapter.

When Mycroft opened the door to Sherlock's room, intending to give him a very strongly worded lecture, he found him blissfully asleep on his bed, Milton laying across his chest, purring loudly. Sighing, Mycroft sat on the edge of the bed, lifting the arm that was covering his brother's face. There were tear tracks running down his cheeks. Oh Sherlock. Mycroft put aside his anger and patted his brother's pale arm. They'll talk later.

Sherlock was quieter than normal after John's visit, at least he seemed to be so in Mycroft's eyes. Was it because of how much he missed the doctor? Or was something else bothering him? Whatever the case, his brother refused to divulge why he had been crying the night before. Mycroft decided that he would go back to distracting his little brother with cases and missions. Sherlock went undercover twice before New Years Eve. Once as The Angel and the second time, as a homeless man named Siggy. But even going outside seemed to do very little in terms of cheering up the lonely detective. Mycroft was at a loss.

Sherlock had tried to remain optimistic about things since Boxing Day, but he knew he was failing miserably. He still tried to catch glimpses of his friends while out undercover, wondering how they were, if they were happy, if they were thinking of him. Wondering if he would ever see them again, face to face. John still looked angry. Sherlock could sympathise.

He had every right to be angry.

"John slow down, I can barely hear you. Now start again, from the top. Who's alive?"

"Moriarty. Fucking Moriarty! He survived somehow and Mycroft's been keeping it a bloody secret!"

There was silence on the other end of the phoneline. And then.

"Are you sure?"

"I've seen proof"

"Shit"

"Exactly"

"Are we safe?"

"He thinks so, but I don't know if I should trust his judgement anymore. God, I mean I had just begun to think of him as a friend and now this! How is this fair, Greg? How is it Moriarty gets to live and Sherlock doesn't? Where's the justice in that?"

"..There isn't one. That's life I suppose. It isn't fair but I hope that doesn't mean he will have died in vain."

"Not if I have anything to do about it."

"John you aren't seriously considering going after the bastard?"

"That's exactly what I'm thinking"

"What about Mary? And your job? What about Sherlock? The kid died to protect us John, don't you dare run off and undo everything he sacrificed."

"Promise me John."

"..Fine, I promise. But if he comes after me, I'm not holding back"

"That's all I ask. Now, how's my Stag going?"

"You know you can't ask me that!"

"Come on.."

"Nope"

"Please?"

"Nope"

"Damn it"

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the king's horses and all the king's men, couldn't put Humpty together again. I rather like that nursery rhyme. Don't you?

Jim

Is this the Region, this the Soil, the Clime,

Said then the lost Arch-Angel, this the seat

That we must change for Heav'n, this mournful gloom

For that celestial light?

I think it is. I have found where we will meet again, Sherlock Holmes.

Jim

The sword of Damocles is hanging over my head

And I've got the feeling someone's gonna be cutting the thread

Oh, woe is me, my life is a misery

Oh, can't you see that I'm at the start of a pretty big downer?

Always loved that movie. Fits your life right now doesn't Lockie?

Jim

Sherlock never answered Jim's texts. He was no longer obligated. But they still haunted him. Even with their ridiculousness, he could sense the threats and darkness that lurked behind each one. They filled him with dread and fear. He wanted nothing more than to destroy the stupid phone and go on with his life. But Jim wouldn't leave him be. He tried to ignore them, but they sat at the back of his mind, mocking him in Jim's voice. He felt like a broken man again, without hope, without light. This wasn't right. This wasn't supposed to happen.

But it had and it would, unless he did something about it. Perhaps Moriarty would provide clues just to where he planned on meeting Sherlock. Perhaps he could devise a way to survive just as he had a year ago. A thread of light lit up in his life again and he grabbed it with both hands.

Dear John,

Forgive me for again not responding to your emails. You must think me a poor friend. My life is not my own anymore. It is, I fear, in the hands of a madman. I am at a loss on what to do. If you realised you had limited time, very limited time, on this earth, how would you spend it? I am in trouble John. I do fear my time is limited. I do not have the luxury of visiting my loved ones. I wish to but they are too far away. And yet so close!

Should I spend my time trying to enjoy what I have left? Should I try and find a way out of this terrible problem that I have found myself in? Should I enjoy myself? Or should I not? What do I do, John Watson? I trust you. Danger is something you understand. If only I could visit you. Please do not think less of me or my mental state because of this. I regard you as a friend and I hope you will treat me as such.

Normund Sigerson

A/N: Text #1:...Humpty Dumpty obviously...

Text #2: Paradise Lost by John Milton

Text #3: From The Rocky Horror Picture Show