Author's note: Here we are at the green house.

I don't own anything, please review.

Once more, John was grateful that he not only always took his gun with him when they left the flat to investigate, but also that Sherlock had started to carry one as well; neither his nor his friend's counterpart carried weapons, and he was starting to wonder how they had survived this long.

John, obviously feeling his doubts, began, "I know baritsu. And Bill is helpful in a lot of different ways besides carrying a gun".

He was simply stating a fact, obviously too preoccupied to tell the doctor that he considered his worries idiotic, and Bill gently continued, "We both know how to defend ourselves. It's just – I never felt comfortable with weapons".

John simply nodded and without even sharing a glance, he and Sherlock stepped forward. When the other men tried to protest, Sherlock simply shot them a glare and hissed, "We don't know if he is armed."

He didn't have to add that it was likely he was. And he was certainly more than ready to commit another murder; aside from the fact that he had already killed Pike, it would grant him more possibilities of changing their world.

Bill and John silently agreed and they slowly moved towards the door of the greenhouse after they had switched off their flashlights; they couldn't risk Trevelyan to notice them, despite the darkness that made it almost impossible to see where they were going. Trevelyan had to have some form of light source, John guessed; otherwise he wouldn't feel comfortable, and he wouldn't expect anyone to find him, so he would think it safe to use it. It would give away his exact location, and they could surprise him. Plus, they were four against one.

John swallowed: He couldn't understand why he was so nervous. He had been a soldier, and he had been in far worse situations – and yet there was a sense of foreboding he couldn't escape. He fought the temptation to move closer to Sherlock. They had to spread out; it would make a successful attempt to capture Trevelyan more likely.

Still, he wished the others would carry a gun. Baritsu was certainly practical; he had seen Sherlock use it on several occasions; but it wouldn't be of much use if the scientist opened fire.

With a heavy heart, he gesticulated towards them, and without another word, they slowly came to stand on the sides of their counterparts, if a little behind them because the doctor wouldn't allow them to go in first.

With one last look at Sherlock, who nodded, he stepped forth and opened the door.

It opened noiselessly, and John breathed a sigh of relief. Apart from the fact that Trevelyan had to be there if it was unlocked – he didn't think the employees normally let their doors open – it was a quiet night, so quiet that Trevelyan would be able to hear every small noise that they made, and a squeaking door would undoubtedly have alerted him to their presence.

He moved before Sherlock could, and was ready to bet that his friend was rolling his eyes at his "heroic tendencies" as he had once called them, but didn't care.

The green house was huge, and aside from the light of the moon and the stars filtering through the glass, it was dark.

He took a step forward, then another. He more felt than heard the others following him, all of them thankfully used to move silently while looking for a suspect.

The plants hanging into the paved way made it more difficult to walk without making a noise, but they managed.

Even in the dim light, John could see signs that pointed towards this glass house not being open for visitors; once or twice, he almost stumbled over a ladder, and a few of the glass panels were covered up for some reason.

Trevelyan could be anywhere, he realized with a sinking heart. They could have walked past him – it wouldn't be difficult to hide among the plants and allow any intruders to come to the conclusion that no one was here after all.

Sherlock managed to grasp his shoulder while simultaneously avoiding Bill and John running into him.

John turned around – they were standing close, they had to, otherwise silent communication wouldn't be possible because of the lack of light – and looked into his friend's face.

Sherlock raised his right hand, the one with the gun, his left hand still holding unto John's shoulder, and pointed.

Far away – although it could be near, it was difficult to say – there was a glimmer of light.

It could be nothing. But it could be Trevelyan.

John signed to show he had understood. They would have to leave the path, but it was a risk they had to take. If Trevelyan was hiding here somewhere...

He still went first. He was the best shot – this was not the time for being modest – and he had survived one gun wound already. Two, if one counted the graze he'd received during a case a few months back; Sherlock had almost shot his attacker on the spot.

The light grew stronger. He had been right; the darkness had made it look farer away than it actually was. There weren't too many plants in their way – and those who were barely reached his knees, so he supposed this green house was used for growing them before carrying them into different ones – but they still moved slowly. It was a strange feeling to move through this small wood without hearing any sound one associated with it. John knew he should be thankful that there would be no wind, but ironically he missed it. It was too calm.

He was growing worried because he couldn't hear Trevelyan. Surely the man had to move sometimes? If he was asleep, why should he keep his light on?

He wondered if any moment he would recognize the silence as that of death. Who was to say the scientist hadn't had an accomplice who'd wanted the machine, or whatever he had used to bring them here, for himself and killed him?

Once they were close enough to see that the light was emanating from a small clearing between two fields of plants John didn't recognize, Sherlock's hand on his arm stopped him once more.

A sleeping bag was lying on the floor, and there were a few water bottles standing in a corner; but there was no sign of life, or that Trevelyan had been here recently.

John turned around, waiting for Sherlock to tell him how to proceed, when he saw the consulting detective's face in the light falling on them from the clearing; he was clearly looking at a particular spot, his brows furrowed.

John had been about to ask if his flatmate considered it better to wait or investigate the clearing; but he knew this look.

Sherlock had noticed something.

The other John, who had been quiet and accommodating until this point, suddenly pushed himself forward and came to stand beside the doctor. He wore the same expression on his face.

Both were looking at the same dark spot. John couldn't see anything, but he trusted Sherlock. Trusted them.

Before he could advance, however, the consulting detective's voice echoed through the green house.

"Doctor Trevelyan, I think you will agree that playing hide and seek would be a waste of our time".

There was a movement just outside the lightened part of the clearing, and John's grip on his weapon tightened.

Doctor Trevelyan stepped out of the shadows. John had seen pictures of him in the file Mycroft had brought over; he was a tall man in his late forties, his hair already grey, with brown eyes who seemed to look right through anything and anyone; the doctor was surprised how – reliable he looked. He was smiling, and if he hadn't known him to be a murderer and a madman, he would have thought him trustworthy.

He knew, however, and he trained his gun on the man.

Doctor Trevelyan sighed.

"I can't see much, but I assume Doctor Watson has a gun. Would you do me the favour to step into the light?"

Sherlock moved, and the others followed. Trevelyan smiled at them benignly.

"It's good to finally meet you, Mr. Holmes. You have to believe me that I didn't intend to bring you with me – but your surprised me, and I couldn't afford that I would be prosecuted for harming you two once I returned. Now, your brother only investigates your disappearance."

"You know Mycroft" Sherlock replied drily. "He will not believe you, should you reappear without us and claim you were kidnapped or whatever lie you choose to cover your tracks with."

"I won't have to lie to Mycroft Holmes" he answered. "I have been in contact with a – business partner of mind for quite some time".

John shuddered when he realized he could only mean Moriarty, but in the next moment he saw it wasn't possible. After all, Moriarty had only been saved a few hours ago –

"A paradox" Sherlock interrupted his thoughts. "Interesting."

"Aren't they?" The scientist asked gleefully, before his face became serious.

"I would have enjoyed discussing the subject with you very much, Mr. Holmes, but sadly I cannot allow you to endanger my plan any longer."

"Which is?" the other consulting detective demanded.

Trevelyan shot him a disapproving look.

"I had so little money to pay my research with... I had to do something".

"That's your plan?" John inquired. "Ruling the world because you had to improve the conditions in science laboratories?"

"Science is everything, Doctor Watson. Now, if you will excuse me..."

"I don't think so" Sherlock said.

"Mr. Holmes, you disappoint me. You must know that I wouldn't get myself captured. Then again, your friend's counterpart has no idea who I've talked to in his world."

"Do you – "

John turned to look at John Watson, and there was excitement as well as fascination in his eyes, and he recognized it. He knew what was going on.

"You didn't even know you had your own consulting criminal" Trevelyan said, almost sounding bored.

He took a step back.

"And now you will have to excuse me, gentlemen – "

John pressed the trigger of his gun – they couldn't allow him to get away, and he aiming for Trevelyan's shoulder – when he noticed a red point on Sherlock's chest. Before he could process what was going on, a body collided with his own.

In the next second, several shots rang out.

Author's note: Cliffhanger? What cliffhanger? I don't know what you are talking about.

I hope you liked it, please review.