Author's note: I am an idiot. I chose the wrong language and didn't notice. Thank you to ijustsigneduptofollow, who told me.

Anyway, on with the story.

Greg didn't even have time to process what Mycroft had just told him before another possibility, an awful and not to be thought of possibility presented itself, that made him feel like all the air had left the room.

"Is – " He broke off because he couldn't bring himself to ask if Sherlock was alive. The answer had been "No" for far too long, and he didn't want to hear it again.

"He's alive" Mycroft breathed, and his face was showing such relief that Greg reached out to grasp his shoulder before he remembered who he was talking to and let his hand drop.

"And Moriarty – "

"Nothing". After a moment, he clarified, "We don't know where he is. There have been a few cases where it is entirely possible, if not likely, that Moriarty was responsible, but other than that – Moran seems to have taken over the web officially."

"Moran? We arrested him – "

"No, you didn't" Mycroft explained, obviously trying to keep his patience, and it told Greg just how concerned he was, "Moriarty didn't die, therefore he had no reason to avenge his death".

Greg vividly remembered the day Sherlock had returned, the day they had captured Moran –

Nothing could have prepared him for Sherlock Holmes casually showing up at his flat, picking the lock before sunrise and strolling into his living room like he hadn't been gone for three years and reminding him that "It wasn't nice to point a gun at friends" when he'd stormed out of the bedroom, ready to arrest the intruder.

He could have screamed or hit him, but instead he had hugged Sherlock because he had missed him so much, and when Sherlock had explained that he needed his help to arrest Moran, he had agreed without a second thought.

It had been a long wait that evening, standing at a corner of Baker Street, waiting for the sniper to show up –

No, it hadn't. Sherlock had simply strolled into his living room and that was that. What had he been thinking?

"Greg".

There was a hand on his arm, and the DI tried to recall why he was in Mycroft's office to begin with.

"Focus."

The word startled him out of his reverie, and he quickly chased the memories that hadn't been there seconds ago away. What was happening?

"Reality has been changed. It tries to reassert itself in our heads. Don't let it."

"Right. Right, sorry". He stared at Mycroft, who only now pulled his hand back.

It would become even more difficult, he felt sure of it. But he would be no help if he didn't remember. Maybe he would forget that he was supposed to help Sherlock and John, and he couldn't allow that.

He quickly reminded himself again what Trevelyan had done. After taking a few deep breaths, he answered Mycroft's questioning stare with, "Alright. I know. I'm okay".

He didn't add "For now"; Mycroft already knew.

"Do you think Moriarty and Trevelyan are in contact?" he asked instead.

"It is probable. Trevelyan wouldn't bring Moriarty back to life simply because he could; he has the ability to change everything, so why should he choose to save him if he didn't profit from it?"

"But Moriarty was dead" Greg argued "they can't have talked. They can't know each other – I assume the Secret Service would be aware of it if that were the case. So, if he was dead, and Trevelyan only learned about him after his death, which is likely, because no one knew about him before – "

"I know it is complicated, but Moriarty wasn't dead. Not in this reality". Mycroft's calm only resulted in worsening Greg's confusion, and the DI shook his head.

"So because he wasn't dead, Trevelyan was able to communicate with him and make sure he didn't die".

Speaking them out loud made the words sound even stranger, and he winced. Mycroft, however, nodded.

"It's a paradox. While there has been a lot of research dedicated to time, no one has ever been able to explain it; it may be that paradoxes are only a consequence of our linear view."

"Linear?"

"It might be that time isn't linear. In fact, the Celts – "

Greg raised a hand. He had no doubt that Mycroft and Sherlock found the subject matter fascinating, but he would rather deal with the problem at hand.

"Moriarty is alive. He and Trevelyan are working together" he stated, more for himself than for Mycroft's benefit; the British Government nodded anyway.

"That is all I need to know". He was serious; why and how didn't matter, not when Sherlock and John depended on them, not when the consulting criminal was still around, controlling almost every crime in their city, the city Greg had sworn to protect.

"What now?"

He already knew that none of Mycroft's agents could help. If Moriarty had been alive for three years and they had failed to find him, there was no reason to believe that suddenly the man's location would appear on a monitor.

Mycroft Holmes was more than capable of finding him, though, Greg felt confident about that. They needed to find him, they needed to make him contact Trevelyan; it might even be that the consulting criminal himself knew how to access parallel universes and that they could get Sherlock and John back. Once they had saved them –

"Moriarty would never leave London" Mycroft declared. "He regards the city as his. He couldn't leave it behind".

Greg wondered if he spoke out of personal experience, but judged it wise not to ask.

"He wouldn't do without certain comforts, of course, and he would need to be available in case anything went wrong. Moran may be a good shot, but he can't be trusted with a web this size..."

Mycroft fell silent and Greg let him come to his conclusions. He had long ago learned that, if one the Holmes entered his mind palace (although for Mycroft, it probably wasn't a palace and bigger than Sherlock's) it was best to wait.

"There are three options" he finally explained.

"And once we have found Moriarty and he has given us all we need – " Greg had decided not to think about the possibility that this might lead nowhere, that Sherlock and John could be stuck. What he had just said, however, wasn't about that. It was more of a question than a statement, designed to get exactly the reply he expected to get.

Mycroft stood up. He took his umbrella in his right hand as his gaze hardened.

"We will do what I should have done a long time ago".

As John had predicted, both his counterpart and Sherlock accepted the necessity of waiting for a new development, but neither possessed the patience to make it easier on their friends.

Thankfully, they were both working on the sample in the kitchen, occasionally arguing about the best way to proceed, and he and Bill could stay in the living room and try to relax. Although John doubted he would succeed. It had been difficult enough when he had known them to be trapped in a parallel universe, with no idea how to get back into their own; but now, with the possibility that Moriarty might be alive, it was utterly impossible.

He was just wondering what they would find if they succeeded to return home over his fifth cup of tea when Bill asked, "What did he do?"

"Sorry?"

"Jim. He's my friend. You punched him. You wouldn't punch any criminal".

It was tempting to simply answer "How do you know" and ignore his question. But Bill was right; Jim was his friend. If something similar happened with Greg or Mike, John would want to know too.

"I – He – " The doctor coughed. "I apologized for hitting him."

"I know you did, and I know he's too nice to hold it against you. But you didn't answer my question."

John couldn't think of an easy way to put it, so he bluntly told him, "You might find it difficult to be his friend if you knew".

"Because he was a criminal?"

"No" John replied tiredly, his head swimming with memories of the pool and the rooftop and three years alone, "because he was – he was very dangerous."

""Was", so you put him away?"

"Not exactly."

Bill was looking at him expectantly.

John avoided his eyes.

"Moriarty – Jim – he was dangerous. Very dangerous. He tried to – "

His voice broke. Sherlock and he had never really talked about it. There was no reason to, with him being back. And, as it turned out, John wouldn't have been able to form a sentence anyway.

"Tried to what?" Bill asked. He allowed the doctor to take his time, even though it was obvious that he wouldn't give up until he had had his answer.

John didn't know what to say.

"He tried to make Sherlock commit suicide. Instead, he faked his death and I didn't see him for three years afterwards."

The words fell into the silence between them, and John could watch Bill slowly comprehending their meaning, his eyes flickering to the kitchen doorway, where Sherlock and John were still debating the merits of a certain test and back to him.

"Not for three years..." He swallowed. "Did you know – "

"I thought he was dead".

John figured that Bill wanted to know the whole truth.

"For three years – you – "

Once more he stared at the kitchen doorway before demanding, "So he was the one? The criminal Sherlock talked about?"

John nodded.

"How can you even look at him?"

He didn't have to clarify who he meant.

"He's different. He's not the same person. Sherlock was right".

Bill bit his lip and looked down at the floor.

"I understand" he said softly. "You hitting him, I mean. If – " He trailed off. John smiled.

"It's difficult to imagine life without them".

"Exactly. Even if John can be – "

"Demanding?"

"I've heard far worse than that".

"Me too" John answered, "But it doesn't matter."

"No" Bill chuckled. "It doesn't."

John allowed silence to fall between them once more; Bill had enough to think about.

He heard another crash from the kitchen and winced. He knew better than to interfere until Sherlock called him, though.

"It has to be rare" Sherlock murmured, looking through the microscope again.

"I know. You made yourself clear on this point several time already". John sounded annoyed, but Sherlock couldn't bring himself to care. They had to get home as soon as possible. Moriarty might be committing crimes even now – as a matter of fact, knowing him, he was certainly committing crimes now.

And he might be going after their friends.

So Sherlock said nothing and concentrated on the sample once again.

"It was Jim, wasn't it? The criminal you talked about before?"

Of course John would use the opportunity when neither the doctor nor his flatmate was in the immediate vicinity to hear what he had to say to ask. Sherlock would have done the same.

"Yes" he replied curtly. "He was."

John raised his eyebrows.

"He must have cost you a lot".

It wasn't a question, and Sherlock made no attempt to refute it. There was no point.

John changed the topic then, proving that Bill must have had some influence on him, with or without a consulting criminal and three years of separation.

"Any idea on the plant?"

Sherlock sighed. "Obviously he must have had it between his fingers, either because of an experiment or because he played around with it – it was squashed enough not to be recognizable until we did tests on it; the results of the tests indicate – "

He stopped. How could he not have known? Thinking about what he had just seen under the microscope, it was so obvious.

He knew what kind of plant they were looking for. And there was only one place in London he could think of where it could be.