"Cold."
John Watson was staggering down the streets of London, his coat wrapped around him as he tried to find a place to warm himself.
"So fucking cold."
It was the time of night where all the shops were closed, the only lights coming from t top-floor windows and street lamps, the occasional head lamps of a passing car.
"Where is Mycroft when you need him, the bastard."
As if on cue, the sleek black car pulled up to the curb, a slightly disheveled- yet still professional looking woman stepping out.
"Doctor Watson."
John turned, his shaking form resisting the urge to fling his arms to the heavens and shout his praises.
"Oh god yes."
She smiled at him softly as he crawled into the back of the car, following swiftly after.
"What took you so long? I've been wandering about for hours."
The car pulled forward, the heat blasting through the vents as John settled into his seat.
"We were only called forward an hour ago. You can disappear quite effectively Doctor."
John smiled, the burn of his wind-bitten cheeks easing slightly.
"I suppose I should thank you for getting to me before I suffered any permanent damages."
She smiled at him warmly.
After a few moments of simply basking in the comfort of the car, the former doctor gave in to the niggling feeling of discomfort that resting in the back of his mind.
He turned in his seat, and observed the woman sitting next to him.
She looked familiar, as if he had met her once before.
He had, though the resemblance was a tough one considering that she was currently mobile free.
"Deliverance."
A nod.
"Yes, I do believe that was the last name I used with you."
The former doctor shook his head.
"Always mysterious, you. What is it today then? Destiny? Fate?"
"Aceso."
John smirked.
"Alright then, Aceso, tell me. What sort of message does Mycroft have for me now?"
The woman opened the back of the seat in front of her, pulling a manila folder out of the concealed compartment.
"The case file of one Sherlock Holmes. Or rather, a detailed synopsis of all of his exploits over the past three years."
She placed the folder solidly in John's lap.
He ran his fingers carefully over the stamp embedded in the top right corner.
"Top Secret."
The first few pages were psych evaluations of Sherlock, followed by a list of various diagnosis and recommendations.
John smirked at the word 'Psychopath' scrawled at the bottom of the page
"I'm not a psychopath, Anderson. I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research."
The next page was a detailed list of interactions between Sherlock and Moriarty.
Phone records, clips of CCTV footage, typed conversations.
IT was all there, from the Cabby to the Pool to the Fall.
John paused, his eyes watering at the image of Sherlock, bloodied on the ground.
The image that had haunted so many nightmares.
Next was a description of how he faked his death that left John not only confused but unsatisfied.
He'd have to get that straight from Sherlock later.
Then came a list of pictures.
Each with a name, a check mark, a location, and a date.
After the second page, John noticed the pattern.
Each date was accompanied by two initials.
CK
Confirmed Kill.
The former doctor shook his head, not wanting to believe it, but the evidence was right in front of him.
So many faces had been of people that he had known.
People that had passed by him on the street.
That had waved hello in the mornings.
Each one a confirmed associate of Moriarty.
Part of his web.
And each one, in one way or another, had been removed from existence by Sherlock.
His Sherlock.
Another read through of the locations brought a lump to the doctor's throat.
Chicago.
Johannesburg.
San Pedro Sula.
Moscow.
Berlin.
Eight pages later John felt both horrified and disgusted.
Horrified at the fact that so many dangerous people had been wandering around completely unchecked for so long.
Disgusted that Sherlock had been forced to fix the mess.
There were more pages of information.
Details of Sherlock's living conditions and various facts throughout the past three years.
John refused to read them.
He looked up, blinking away the tears that burned at the corners of his eyes.
He needed to see Sherlock.
To hug him and hold him.
To fix what was broken.
"Can, ahh, Can you take me to him now?"
The woman nodded, gently grabbing the folder.
"We are almost their sir."
John nodded, straitening his sleeves and wiping his eyes.
"Right. Thank you."
A few moments later they pulled up to a curb, Anthea-Deliverance-Aceso opening the door for John once more.
John stepped out, peering around in search of the detective.
"Err where is-"
The door behind him slammed.
"Ma'am?"
He spun around, only to see the car pulling quickly away from the curb, leaving him behind.