A/N: Here's the events we've all been waiting for and possibly dreading - Reichenbach.
Just a warning I skip over quite a bit because I couldn't really add much to the plot and it would've been tedious to just repeat something we've all probably watched.
I'll let you read because the game my dears is on!
Disclaimer: I do not own BBC Sherlock, that credit goes to Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss and the man who originally created Sherlock Holmes, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Without them this story would not exist.
xXx
Mycroft didn't know how he pulled it off but orders were orders. He stood behind a two way mirror as one of his minions told Jim Moriarty he was free to go. A chill went down the politician's spine as the spider of a man sent a smug smile towards the mirror, like he knew Mycroft was watching.
Mycroft quickly tapped out a text to A telling her to make sure surveillance was ready for the consulting criminal and protection on 221B and Gregory's flat was tightened. Every fiber of Mycroft's being was telling him to ignore orders and throw Moriarty in a hole where he would never see sunlight again, but that would be political suicide.
So it was with extreme self-control that Moriarty was able to walk out of the building unscathed. Mycroft was frozen staring at Sherlock's name scratched into every surface, silently praying that he didn't just condemn his whole world to collapse.
xXx
"Boffin. Boffin Sherlock Holmes" Sherlock said with disgust.
"Everybody gets one."
"One what?"
"Tabloid nickname. 'Su Bo' 'Nasty Nick' shouldn't worry I'll probably get one soon."
"Page five, column six, first sentence. Why is it always the hat photograph?"
"'Bachelor John Watson.'"
"What kind of a hat is it, anyway?"
"'Bachelor'? What the hell are they implying?" John couldn't believe that was his tabloid nickname.
"Is it a cap? Why's it got two fronts?"
"It's a deerstalker." Why is he still obsessing over the hat, there are more troubling issues than a stupid hat. "'Frequently seen in the company of bachelor John Watson.'"
"Stalk a deer with a hat? What are you gonna do throw it?"
"'Confirmed bachelor John Watson'" Yes he was in an exclusive relationship with Sherlock but where were they getting this confirmation? It was good to know that the press hadn't gotten wind of their relationship but with the added attention, they had to be careful.
"Some sort of death Frisbee"
"Okay this is too much. We need to be more careful."
"It's got flaps. Ear flaps. It's an ear hat, John! What do you mean more careful?"
"I mean, this isn't just a deerstalker now. It's a Sherlock Holmes hat. I mean that you're not exactly a private detective anymore. You're this far from famous." John couldn't believe Sherlock was missing the point. They kept their relationship between themselves and Mycroft and Greg for a reason.
"Oh it'll pass."
"It better pass. The press will turn, Sherlock. They always turn, and they'll turn on you." John cared for Sherlock but he didn't want to deal with the homophobic backlash that would accompany the press turning on Sherlock. Yes the world was more open but there were always an astounding number of idiots who liked to press their backwards opinions on others. John had seen what Harry had gone through, still went through, when people found out she's a lesbian and she wasn't in the public eye like they were.
"That really bothers you?"
"What?"
"What people say?"
"Yes."
"It's about me. I don't understand why would it upset you?"
John pursed his lips, frustrated that Sherlock didn't understand that John liked their affairs to be private and that since they were in a relationship what the press said about the genius reflected on him as well. "Just try to keep a low profile. Find yourself a little case this week, stay out of the news."
Sherlock was confused to why John was upset with him. It was an honest question. It didn't dawn on the genius that what they said about him would affect John as well.
xXx
John was getting tired of Mycroft's dramatics. He was dragged to a room by two goons with white gloves and booties over their shoes.
"Tradition, John. Our traditions define us." Mycroft said as the door closed behind John.
"So total silence is traditional. You can't even say pass the sugar?"
"Three quarters of the diplomatic service and half the government front bench all sharing one tea trolley, it's for the best believe me. We don't want a repeat of 1972. But we can talk in here."
"You read this stuff?" John asked picking up the tabloid on the table, sitting down reading the headline.
"Caught my eye. Saturday, they're doing a big expose."
"I'd love to know where she got her information."
"Someone called Brook. Recognize the name?" Mycroft was hoping that John would use his slightly above average intelligence and see that all this was the start of the end.
"School friend maybe?"
Mycroft laughed, keeping up the pretense of detached older brother. He was sorely disappointed that the former army doctor had missed the subtle hints. Maybe he wasn't as smart as Sherlock gave him credit for. "Of Sherlock's?"
Mycroft decided to go for a more direct approach, he went over to the files he wanted to show John when he called the shorter man to see him.
"But that's not why I asked you here." He handed the former army doctor the first file.
"Who's that?"
"Don't know him?"
"Nope."
"Never seen his face before?"
"Ummm"
"He's taken a flat in Baker Street two doors down from you."
"Hmm, I was thinking of doing a drinks thing for the neighbors."
"Not sure you'll want to. Sulejmani; Albanian hit squad, expertly trained killer. Living less than 20 feet from your front door."
"Well it's a great location. Jubilee line's handy."
"John." Mycroft groaned, the man never seemed to control his sass when he was around Mycroft. Sherlock was definitely rubbing off on his partner, in all the bad ways.
"What's it got to do with me?"
"Dyachenkov, Ludmila." Mycroft said instead of answering, handing John the next file.
"Uhh, um. Actually, I think I have seen her."
"Russian killer. She's taken the flat opposite."
"Okay; I'm sensing a pattern here." Mycroft handed over the rest of the files as he continued with trying to convey his message.
"In fact, four top international assassins relocated within spitting distance of 221B. Anything you care to share with me?"
John chuckled. "I'm moving." John said, his tone joking. There was that sass again; it really got on Mycroft's nerves. How could the doctor be so thick and not get what he was trying to communicate.
"It's not hard to guess the common denominator, is it?" The smile wiped off John's face at the insinuation.
"You think this is Moriarty?" Finally the doctor was getting the message; took him long enough, thought Mycroft.
"He promised Sherlock he'd come back."
"If this was Moriarty then we'd be dead already."
"If not him then who?"
"Why don't you talk to Sherlock if you're so concerned about him?" Mycroft sighed and reached for his drink instead of answering. "Oh, God. Don't tell me."
"Too much history between us John." And I screwed up. "Old scores, resentments."
"Nicked all his Smurfs? Broke his action man?" There was that famous John Watson sass; Mycroft was getting tired of the younger man's antics when he was trying to tell him to protect his little brother from the mistakes he made.
The blonde smiled and cleared his throat. "Finished." He got out of his chair to leave.
"We both know what's coming, John. Moriarty's obsessed. He's sworn to destroy his only rival."
"So you want me to watch out for your little brother because he won't accept your help." Not that John wasn't looking out for Sherlock, but he didn't like the insinuation that Mycroft thought he wasn't.
"If it's not too much trouble." Mycroft silently thanked Dr. Watson for being in his little brother's life. After the shorter man left Mycroft hoped that the former army doctor had truly grasped the gravity of the situation they were all in.
