12 hours earlier.
"You're sure about this, John?" Greg quizzed his friend, worry plain to see on his face and in his voice. This plan could go terribly wrong. Mortally wrong. "You don't have to do this. I'm sure there are other ways we can get to Moriarty."
John shook his head, adamant. "No. This is the quickest way. Jim Moriarty has had a hold over Sherlock for quite long enough now." he shot a glance in Sherlock's direction. The young Holmes was sat in his armchair, examining his fingernails. He was following the discussion but keeping uncharacteristically quiet. Sherlock noticed John's look and gave him an anxious smile.
"Sherlock?" Mycroft cut in. "Are you certain this is the best course of action?" The elder brother sat on the sofa alongside Greg, swivelling his trademark umbrella in one hand, mindlessly examining the handle as he spoke. His other hand rested on Greg's thigh. Greg's hand was laid over it and gave it a gentle squeeze as Mycroft showed his brotherly concern.
Sherlock broke off the scrutiny of his hands and looked first at Greg, then Mycroft before finally resting his eyes on John who was stood in the kitchen doorway.
"It does seem to be the most expedient method of bringing this whole thing to a conclusion." he finally said, not taking his eyes from John's. "I cannot say that I am entirely happy with John's idea but..." he didn't finish. He knew John's idea was sound. He didn't like it though. It put John in danger.
"Good." John said decisively. "Greg, I will head out to meet you at the pub at about 9pm tonight. I'll make it seem as if I'm looking for a taxi, but I'll walk. Given the deadline that Jim gave to Sherlock, it seems likely that this is when somebody will make their move. If not then, perhaps on my way home later." His voice trailed off slightly, giving away the nerves he was trying to subdue.
Sherlock got up and crossed to where John stood in the doorway. He approached hesitantly, unsure of how to show his feelings about the situation, but as he got closer, John held out a hand, taking a hold of Sherlock's and giving it a reassuring squeeze.
"It'll be fine, Sherlock."
John was to be bait. Bait for Moriarty. The information they had seemed to show that, if Sherlock did not agree to leave with Jim, Moriarty himself or, more likely, Moran, would be making a move on John very soon. Perhaps a kidnapping - Sherlock shuddered at the thought - in an attempt to lure Sherlock out to leave with Jim.
Given all the information they had, it seemed the most likely plan.
All the four of them had to do was find a way to make this prior knowledge work for them.
John would wear a wire. Any information he could get Jim to share while he was his captive, could be incriminating and valuable as evidence.
Sherlock would ensure that he informed Mycroft and Greg as soon as he heard from Moriarty, giving them a location or any other additional information that would enable them to get a team in.
And everyone would hope that it all went to plan.
The morning after the night before.
"I'm fine, Sherlock", John repeated for what felt like the hundredth time that day.
He had found himself being taken to hospital in an ambulance after the team had swarmed the warehouse and taken Moriarty and Moran in.
Staff had fixed his broken nose and cleaned him up, sending him home soon after dawn.
Since then, he'd been resting up on the sofa with Sherlock buzzing around him like a nurse maid.
"Tea!" Sherlock jumped out of the armchair and marched towards the kitchen. "I shall make you tea."
John let out a resigned sigh. Sherlock only wanted to help; to feel useful; to not feel responsible. John empathised with the feeling, having felt the same in recent days.
"Tea would be great, thanks." he replied, lifting himself into a sitting position and wincing as he jarred his shoulders, still a bit painful from being tied behind his back.
A few short minutes later, Sherlock arrived with two mugs of tea, setting them down on the coffee table and sitting alongside his flatmate on the sofa.
"Mrs Hudson bought milk." he stated calmly, giving John a sideways glance as he flopped back against the worn leather. John turned his head, looking at Sherlock, seeing his friend's inner guilt.
"Sherlock", he began, placing a hand on the detective's arm, "I'm fine. Jim and Moran are being held somewhere secure. Greg is certain that they now have more than enough evidence to charge them not only with my kidnapping and GBH, but also with being responsible with Suzette's death."
Sherlock shifted his body slightly, turning to face John. He watched John swallow hard and felt his breath hitch slightly.
"I know, John." he managed to say, after a deep stuttering breath, and he leaned his head back, letting his flatmate; his friend; his partner rest his own on Sherlock's shoulder.
John gave a soft smile.
A smile that said everything would be OK; that said Sherlock and John would be OK.