Author Note: Actually, this should have been chapter 1 part 2 since it's still revolved around the Sherlock cast. Next chapter will be an introduction to a major character from Black Butler cast. I really hope I can write him right. This chapter is rather short, but next one will be coming soon. Promise. :)

Part 2: Coming Home

John couldn't be happier when he finally got back to Baker Street. Three weeks in the hospital had been far too long even with Sherlock popping in and out for a visit almost daily. He was glad to learn that his friend had only mild burns and concussion but barely any other bruises or wounds and was discharged after a week. John, however, got a first and second degree burns on his back, his arms, and his legs. He suffered from concussion for pretty much the first week, and got a few scratches for the flying scraps. The rest of him was fine, but they made it clear that they would not let him out unless they were absolutely sure. It took three weeks before they declared his burns healed enough to be out of highly sanitary environment.

Funny thing was Sherlock had been whining about it more than he did. He would sit by John's bed commenting on anything from the hospital food to the nurses, the doctors, and the world in general before asking him when he would be discharged. It was always the same answer and Sherlock always gave his dramatic complaint on how obscenely long these weeks would be. John would never admit it out loud, but it was really nice to know Sherlock needed his company.

He should have realized, however, that it was Sherlock being bored. Obviously there was no case for them after the pool because Lestrade thought they need a break for recovery. But when he was finally discharged and Lestrade came to pick him up, he learned that even the serial-bombing case was no longer accessible to them anymore.

"He had been impossible for the past two weeks," admitted Lestrade while driving John back to Baker Street. The DI did not need to do this, of course, but Sherlock's boredom had been too much of a torture that the DI decided to trade this lift for a couple of days of peace.

"Can imagine why," John replied with a snicker before he frowned, "but why?"

"I don't know myself," replied the DI, "I talked to the commissioner once. He would not elaborate on who is on it or why the transfer."

John could almost smell Mycroft, but he kept his mouth shut. Mentioning the Secret Service was of no good to them.

The car pulled gently in front of 221B, the same old building he remembered, and John sighed since it means question time was over. "Say hi to Sherlock for me," said the DI.

"Will do," John replied as he walked up to an empty and eerily quiet 221B Baker Street.

Apparently the peace treaty between Sherlock Holmes and Gregory Lestrade did not have any effect on Sally Donovan since the Freak had been sitting in front of her desk interrogating her for a good thirty minutes now. "I simply don't know, got it?" She fumed. It was not like she was happy with the transfer. No. Sergeant Donovan was the type to see things through. Whichever was her case, she treated it like the most important matter in the world. To have that taken away with a threat to never see the conclusion, to never understand what exactly had happened, was beyond tolerable. She had stormed into the commissioner's room once with Lestrade to have them both scorned by Commissioner Randall himself for not knowing their places. Bloody well they did, if not for the prick being his irritable self and pulled them out of the case they were both emotionally invested in. That was unprofessional, she knew. But unlike Randall up in his high ivory tower, she actually cared.

That was why she was so irritated by the Freak who was there for fun and game. Like Randall, Sherlock didn't care about the people involved. But unlike Randall, he actually saved the day a couple of times, if Sally was honest with herself. That was why Sally ranked Sherlock slightly better than her own boss.

"But there must be some kind of lead," Sherlock muttered, "He won't assign it randomly, will he?"

"You don't know him, Freak," she warned.

"Fine. I just assumed your insufferable lots have more brains than the normal population. Seems like I was wrong."

And Sally just wanted to slap him for that disrespectful comment. Of course, a bunch of them could be declared as useless- useless people are everywhere- but there were people like Lestrade and Anderson who actually were driving them forward. "Look, Freak. I don't have all day to argue or badmouth my boss with you. So why don't you just go home to John. He is already home, isn't he?"

Sherlock didn't even bother to look at his watch, probably glancing off something as he said, "Yes, John should be home by now. That is why I want the case, Sally. We can be all on it now."

"Oh, give John a break, wouldn't you? He had been strapped with Semtex just three weeks ago on THIS case."

"That is precisely why we must make haste," Sherlock snarled at her. "Give me a lead, I'll find out who, and I won't bother you anymore. Deal?"

Sally just shook her head. Of course, she would have told him by now who she suspected got the case just to escape the Freak for the rest of the ordeal. But she had no idea, absolutely none. And she knew Sherlock won't leave her alone until he had one.

"Let me ask around a bit, okay?" she offered. "I cannot guarantee anything, but office gossip is a good source for leads. I'll try and see if I can learn anything from it."

She was unprepared to see Sherlock smiled. "Thank you," he said.

Girls were usually a good source of gossip and information, albeit a great investment of time. That was why Sally was only on and off her office chitchatting with her fellow women of the force; she was usually pretty busy but especially on the Bomber case. Well, she had the time to hang around in the coffee room now thanked to Randall. He couldn't blame her for this.

Turned out they knew nothing of it either. In fact, it was them who was trying to get the inside scoop of the most notorious scandal in the recent history of Scotland Yard. No one expected the commissioner to just pull someone out of the case without an evident reason, especially not those with a good history for solving eerie crimes. If this was done with a good reason, it definitely had escaped any speculation.

After a while and good deal of ranting from Sally's part, they changed to the usual office chitchat as who had been dating whom and all that sort. They were missing Emily, the Yard's most efficient internal informant. Good thing they were rather close before Sally was involved with Richard Anderson.

"You remember Fred Aberline?" one of the girls said, "Seems like he just got himself another weird case again."

Sally's eyebrows quirked at the mention of a 'weird case', though she kept quiet and took a sip of her cuppa.

"I saw him walking out this morning and got into a car with a gorgeous guy. He looks like a model, really, and definitely not from Scotland Yard."

"Oh, you mean the guy Emily calls Death Angel?" another girl asked delightfully, almost dreamy. Sally felt like she had missed out on something.

"Probably, yeah. Dark hair, pale skin, around six-foot tall, drop-dead gorgeous," her friend explained and the little squeal confirmed it was the guy they were talking about.

"Death Angel?" Sally asked, just couldn't help it. The name was too cheesy.

"Yeah, that's what Emily calls him. She has been trying to find out about him for ages. Too bad he only comes with bad news for Fred. The other time anyone saw him was the case in Kelvin's manor. Poor Fred couldn't sleep for days after walking out of that hellhole. Seemed like there have been things going on there for years but no one ever noticed; we never noticed. Emily said it's the bloke who helped Fred get on the right track to Kelvin's manor."

"But why would he do that?" Sally asked despite herself.

"Who knows? No one ever met him. His name is never mentioned anywhere, and he never comes into the office. It's always Fred going out to meet him."

"Maybe he's just Fred's boyfriend," one of the girl suggested. Sally snorted.

"But him helping Fred make sense though," another girl suggested. "Not like I think Fred is incapable of his job, but really he has too good a heart. He shouldn't be dealing with that kind of, you know, gruesome deaths."

It was not like Sally did not know Fred Aberline. It's precisely because she knew him that this knowledge came to her as a surprise. The gentle Fred Aberline was on a case as gruesome as the Kelvin's manor? She could still remember how the picture of the basement had her on the verge of vomiting. The dried blood was all over the wall. Bodies, tens of them and mostly children, lied blackened on the marble floor. The fire had spared them a lot of detail, but that wasn't nearly enough to make it tolerable. She wasn't on the case, but that didn't mean she was not affected; everyone was affected. The public was spared the ghastly graphic, fortunately.

It was hard for her to believe this day-dreamed hypothesis that Fred was actually led to the Manor by another party outside Scotland Yard. Well, she had her associate, but Fred breaking the rules? She simply didn't believe things without firm evidence.

But if this was true, she might have a lead to Moriarty's files.

The flat was utterly silent as Sherlock would have suspected when he returned with Mycroft sitting on his favourite couch and John, his admirable John, was trying to be nice but failed to strike up any real conversation. The tea on the table was already cold, so he had been here at least for a good fifteen minutes or so, a great deal of time for someone as busy as his brother.

Sherlock did not bother to ask why he was here. He simply strode to him and snarled, "Why did you pull us off the case?"

Mycroft did not flinch; he probably saw this coming from miles away. He sighed and glanced up at Sherlock. "I did not."

"Don't BS with me, Mycroft. The commissioner pulled Lestrade off the case and forbade any further inquiry. If this was not your doing then who?"

Mycroft gave an annoyed huff before he replied, "I simply have no hand in that. However, this does work to my liking and I will not interfere with this decision. You have to let the case go."

"And let Moriarty roam London at will?" Sherlock swirled dramatically in the middle of the room. "I am his only match if you are not so concerned as to capture him yourself. Scotland Yard will not have a chance."

"Indeed the Yard won't," Mycroft replied with his usual nonchalant tone, "And as far as I am concerned, you are NOT his match either."

John quickly turned to Sherlock at the comment. The man was staring back at Mycroft with the most intense glare he had ever seen the entire time John had known him. Sherlock was furious, so furious he was probably ready to strangle Mycroft at any given opportunity.

Yet Mycroft was not affected by the glare. He raised his chin a bit and stared back at his brother. "You have failed, Sherlock. You fail to understand the situation. Moriarty is a sage in his own environment. He has people and weapons at his disposal. You don't have a chance against him since you are just a man. You know that, don't you? That was why you took the Bruce-Partington plan to him as bait and compromised the whole country for that matter. Still, it didn't work. You fail to understand him. I am rather glad you don't. It would be such a shame to see you fall to his level."

John didn't have to count the word fail himself since Sherlock's expression sank every time Mycroft uttered it. He felt like he need to say something, but all things he was able to think of failed to counter Mycroft's. He wanted to say Sherlock had known Moriarty was a consulting criminal. Sherlock knew he was after the Bruce-Partington plan. Sherlock knew the Game was to distract him yet he managed both side of the arena neatly. Those were a lot for a person to figure out with so little clue and so little time. The only thing, if anything, that Sherlock failed to see was the man was a psychopath, and psychopaths got bored.

The room went quiet except for Sherlock's heavy breathing. He was exhaling like a race horse ready to pounce forward at any signal given, probably at Mycroft's neck. But John was surprise to see the look of surrender on his friend's face. Sherlock was beaten.

"Now what?" John asked, eying both Sherlock and Mycroft. "You said so yourself that the Yard is no match to Moriarty. Sherlock, even though he did fail, is the closest to him in terms of intelligence. If he is off the case then-"

"You don't need to concern yourself too much, doctor. You are just discharged after all," replied Mycroft with a warm grin on his face that was more sinister than anything. "You and Sherlock can just continue to live your normal lives solving crimes. Only this time, I expect him to not deliberately break loose from the surveillance team again."

John could't help staring at Sherlock who made no further comment on the matter. "So you will take care of this?" asked the doctor.

"Not me personally. No. Like I said, I have no hand in this," replied Mycroft as he stood up and started towards the door. "But someone will. Good bye, Sherlock. Dr. Watson."

Sherlock did not reply and John simply nodded as the man disappeared down the stairs. As soon as the door was shut, Sherlock threw himself onto the sofa, coat and all, and sulked like John had never seen him before.

John was tempted to ask if he was alright, but that didn't sound like the right question. Of course, Sherlock was not alright. He had been insulted by his empowering elder brother regarding his much cherished intelligence. How could anyone, even those who did not possessed Sherlock's ego, feel all right?

"He is right," said Sherlock as he stared at the ceiling, "I failed."

"No, Sherlock, don't listen to him," replied John. Somewhere in him the anger towards Mycroft was boiling relentlessly. "He did not move his ass out of his office, so he has no right to insult you. You did more than anyone could have done."

"Yet I put your life in danger," His friend muttered, still not looking him in the eye, "I'm sorry, John."

John moved to his friend's side immediately. "Look, Sherlock, it's all fine. We make mistakes, and that's fine. I'm still alive, we are still alive, and that is all that matters."

At this Sherlock turned his head and stared at him. "Really?" he asked.

John couldn't help smiling. "Really, Sherlock," he laughed, "Geez, it's nice of you to be this upset though."

"Because I care" Sherlock replied. His eyes were fixed on John the whole time. "I do have a heart."

"Yes, you do" was John's reply, "and a good one too."

TBC.