Chapter 22

"You'd better have a bloody good excuse for not answering your phone." Mary let her errant husband into the farmhouse.

"There seems to be a problem with the signal, I don't know if it's got anything to do with - " he wrapped his arms around her middle as she pulled him close by the neck. "The traffic was a nightmare. You'd think if the government told people to stay in their homes, they'd, you know, actually do it. It's not boding well for the emergency procedures if the roads are blocked from something as small as this."

"Don't worry about them," Mary whispered in his ear, "we have everything we need here." It was like she knew something no-one else did.

"Yes," said John, "but we also have David here. Hi David, how ya doin'? Sorry about the sickening public display of affection."

David held up a hand in greeting and promptly went back to his paper, not wanting to be a gooseberry to the couple's reunion.

"I'm so glad Molly's safe. Such a sweet girl. Except when she's stabbing people with forks, of course. Do you think she'll be alright?"

You almost got her killed, you prick, the voice inside his head seemed to say. He changed the subject. "Do you know she saved a man's life?"

"She what?" Mary looked amazed.

"He was there to rescue her and she ended up – never mind. I'll tell you all about it later. She was so brave. I wish I'd had more people like her on the battlefield. Not that - "

"John," Mary released his neck, lowering her arms and looking out of the window at the retreating taxi, "where's Sherlock?"

David looked uncomfortable.

"We had a fight," John said regrettably, "Not a physical fight, just a row. I stormed out. I'm sick of being treated - "

"You left him on his own?" Mary was stricken.

"Yes. He's a grown man, Mary. Besides, it's all over now."

"I'm calling him again," she said, taking out her phone and dialling frantically. David looked up and started to look concerned too, against his better judgement. "Damn, still out of service. He's doing it on purpose."

"He seemed fine when I left him. He was satisfied that Wade guy was dead." John watched her helplessly as she paced around the kitchen. David tried not to get involved.

"When is Sherlock ever fine?" she said rapidly, "He's a mess. Did it not occur to you that he had a go at you just to get rid of you?"

"You think…" John was worried now, "you think he's going to do something stupid?"

"You told me yourself he's obsessed with this Serbian guy."

"He's not real. Just a ghost of someone who never existed. Sherlock admitted that. He said he was wrong."

Mary scoffed, "Sherlock told you he was wrong? What more evidence do you need?"

"Shit."

Sherlock sat cross-legged in his chair and took a deep meditative breath. He had to be sure he wasn't doing this as a knee jerk reaction, falling into the same trap as his enemy and doing it for revenge. Emotions would make him weak in a way no-one else understood. They would make him trip up. Maupertuis had made a mistake; he wanted revenge at any cost and it had made him sloppy. Sherlock was going to exploit that chink in the armour for all it was worth.

He also shouldn't kid himself that this was some kind of noble sacrifice. All it represented was the unalterable conclusion of a chain reaction, events that he'd set in motion over a year ago – no, events that had set in motion the moment he'd heard the name Moriarty.

He took one last breath; it was probably the last time he would sit in this chair as a free man. He opened his eyes and looked around him. He loved this space. He'd only actually inhabited it for two years, and even those weren't consecutive, yet somehow it felt like it had always been home. He'd never felt like that about Montague Street.

It was probably something to do with Mrs Hudson and the fact that he'd shared the flat with John for a time. Time he hadn't felt as lonely. That was a gift that he'd always be thankful for, but he knew deep down that it could never be repeated and that he was never destined to settle down and be happy, never love or be loved.

Whenever he thought of Molly, it was with the knowledge that she'd always be out of reach.

It was Okay, he could go now. It was his time. Mrs Hudson was safe. Molly was safe. Mary was safe. Everyone that had ever mattered to him was well out of the way of the terrorist's intended target. He just needed one more piece of confirmatory information before he put his plan into action.

He rose and wandered into the bedroom, where he changed into black cargo pants and a t-shirt. He solemnly laced up black Caterpillar boots and ruffled his hair back into its usual mess, marvelling at his appearance in the wardrobe mirror. The transformation was for purposes of utility rather than appearance, but it wouldn't hurt if he was less recognisable to the casual observer.

In the kitchen, he packed the reserve thermite grenades and extra black leather gloves. He'd also made another alpha detector from a cheap burner he'd gotten in Phones 4 U.

He paused in his preparations when he noticed one of the dining chairs still wearing the brown corduroy jacket. He ran his hand over it appreciatively. Molly would live a long happy life without him.

As he zipped up the bag he received a text from Lestrade. He flicked through the documents, memorising the contents and deleting them. He smiled as he texted back;

Thank you. I won't forget it. Time for Robin to fly the nest.

One more text from Lestrade read;

Very funny. Just so you know; I've always believed in you.

He pocketed his iphone and went back to the bedroom. He left his beloved coat draped on the bed. He threw up the sash window and swung his legs out, dropping down onto the asphalt roof of Mrs Hudson's small shed.

John scratched his nose, "when you say it like that, it does seem a little implausible."

"Oh for heaven's sake, this is Sherlock we're talking about," said Mary, "what exactly did you say to each other? What exactly happened?"

"The police kept us waiting at the station for a few hours, while they took everyone's statements. After I called you we went back to the flat," John narrowed his eyes trying to see the pattern, "I passed out on the sofa and Sherlock woke me up with a cup of tea about seven."

"Did you drink the tea?"

"No."

"There you go then. It's fairly obvious he manufactured a situation in which he knew you'd walk out."

"How can you know that?"

"He couldn't drug you with the tea to stop you going with him, so he had to alienate you. He was protecting you."

John slumped onto a kitchen chair in horrible realisation. He spoke slowly, "he said it was all my fault, said I was the one who put Molly in the firing line and I… I believed him."

"He was probably playing off your already subconscious guilt," David interjected helpfully, "that's what he does. Oh, sorry should I not…"

Mary gave David a death look that shut him up. "You're not the first person to be taken in by Sherlock, you know John."

"Why does he have to do that? Now I'm having flashbacks of two thousand eleven. This should not happen to me twice in a lifetime."

"Aw, it's Okay my darling." She stroked the hair at the nape of his neck. "It's just his way of showing you he loves you. He doesn't know any other way."

"I just don't like being kept out of the loop, that's all."

"I know, it's against your ego and all."

John ignored that. "So what are we going to do? We've no way of contacting him. We've no way of knowing where the terrorists are hiding out. Sherlock thinks this is too dangerous for even me to handle… I mean, me."

"Well, look," Mary said, spreading out some of the newspapers on the kitchen table. They were covered in headlines about the polonium. Poisoned by Polonium, Eight Dead Including Government Official, Can the NHS Cope? Contamination Traced to Remote Farm, Hero Gun Cop fighting for Life.

"So?" said John.

"This morning we got to thinking," Mary looked to David for approval. She turned to a particular page in the financial times.

John read aloud, "shares plummet after the suicide of Netherlands Sumatra CEO Robert Jarvis."

"Look at the thumbnail," said Mary triumphantly. John squinted at the tiny, grainy photo of the export company head's exit from his office building last week. "Now look at this." She handed him the fifth page of today's Daily Mail.

"I'm sure the security services already have people on this, you know," said John, "it is their job."

"What if they haven't?" Mary looked at him earnestly. "Some things you only notice if you're specifically looking for it. Where do you begin? Do you really trust them to catch this guy? Sherlock doesn't. And he was so sure about it that he was willing to push you away to protect you."

"Oh, God," John folded the paper in such a way that he could compare the picture of Robert Jarvis with the deceased Robert Wade. The guys at MI5 had said he was a master of disguise. He was good; it was the kind of resemblance that no-one would ever notice if they hadn't been looking for it, but it was definitely him. The article said that Jarvis had blown his own head off with a shotgun. That sounded like Wade's MO. The deceased was a tramp with smart clothes on and Jarvis had never existed except in the mind of Robert Wade. It was what they called a long con. "You're right."

"If all this is true and the Netherlands Sumatra company was only ever a front for all of their human trafficking operations, that means they were regularly bringing people and drugs in through one of their ports of call. They'll have holdings somewhere inconspicuous. We looked it all up on the Companies House website. There's only one place that fits the criteria. We think it's here…" She looked very proud of herself, pointing out a location on David's computer. If John was honest he'd say that he saw the same look in her eyes that Sherlock had when he was on the scent of something, a look that was all about the thrill of the chase, solving the puzzle, not entirely motivated by compassion. If he was really honest, it scared him a bit.

"Mary," John said very seriously, suspiciously, "did you figure all this out on your own?"

"I had David's help."

"David sells medical supplies. No offence mate."

"None taken."

"Still," John continued, "it's pretty specific."

"What can I say?" Mary shrugged, "I've been spending a lot of time with Sherlock. Something must have rubbed off."

"If you figured this out then Sherlock has definitely figured it out." John remained motionless for a few seconds. He had to think this through. Not much though. "David," he said resolutely.

"Yes."

"Have you got a gun in that bunker of yours?"

"Certainly not."

"Don't mess with me; this is real - "

"Yes," David looked down sheepishly.

"Go and get it."

"What for?"

"You're about to redeem yourself with Sherlock," John paused for gravity, "by saving his life."

"I am?" David looked terrified, but John noticed that he didn't actually protest.

"What are you doing?" Mary looked between the two men.

"Stay here," John said.

David grabbed his keys off the hook by the door.

"But - " Mary began futilely.

"This is not a discussion. You have everything you need to survive if things go tits up. Keep the radio on and lock yourself in the bunker if they send out the emergency broadcast." He turned to go.

"John." She wrenched him back by his jacket, planting an indecently aggressive kiss on his lips. "I expect you all to come back in one piece, alright."

"Yes ma'am."