Author's note: We are slowly getting closer to the reveal... Slowly. Bear with me.
I don't own anything, please review.
They decided to walk; the pub wasn't that far away, and on the chance that they were being followed, it would be easier to spot them if they were on foot instead of in a cab.
"Did Greg mention why his informant chose to talk to us?" Sherlock asked, already knowing the answer. He wouldn't have; John would have mentioned it. This could very well be a trap. If the consulting criminal was as dangerous as Moriarty, only less ready to take risks and play games, it was logical that he would try to eliminate the risk.
Of course the other man, who was resolutely staring down the street they were walking on, knew. But it was personal now; personal as it had been after Moriarty had kidnapped John, and nothing would stop him from following the clues.
He considered warning his colleague that they had to let the person live, whoever it was, but he knew. Naturally, he knew. That didn't mean Sherlock wouldn't have to stop him once they met the one who had wounded Bill, no matter how indirectly.
"I can control myself".
He wasn't surprised that he'd been able to follow his thoughts.
"I didn't think you couldn't" he replied tensely. He thought of a pool and the determination to blow them up if necessary.
"It's just –" John's counterpart stopped and Sherlock assumed their conversation was over. If he didn't want to talk, he wouldn't.
But then he resumed, "Everyone believes Bill is only a helper. Even he does. But he isn't. I'm meticulous, I am logical – but I will never understand humans. Ordinary humans, their emotions."
"I thought the same" Sherlock interjected, and John shook his head.
"Do not consider us the same. We are not. You are more human than I can ever be; with or without Jim."
There was no use in protesting. Sherlock had the strange urge to try, however, and he would have, if the other man hadn't continued, "Think about your John. They might call him ordinary, like they do Bill here, in the world you come from. But he was a soldier; he is an adrenaline junkie. Imagine yourself with some of the qualities he possesses, and tell me that you wouldn't be less human."
They rarely talked about John's deployments, and it was only fleetingly – a certain way he held himself, his ability to shoot an enemy at wide range – that Sherlock was reminded that his doctor was indeed a soldier.
"Bill is – " John took a deep breath. "Bill is emotional. He understands emotions to a degree that sometimes proves unsettling; I am certain he asked your friend about Jim already. Not because he deduced it, but because he felt what John must feel. He is full of empathy I can never comprehend".
There were many things Sherlock could have believed about himself – but being emotional in a different universe wasn't among them. Before he could say anything though, John asked, "What exactly did Jim do?"
"He made me choose. Kill myself or my friends would die. I outwitted him".
"And if you hadn't been able to?"
"What do you mean?"
In the isolation of three years alone, three years in a world that didn't know him and didn't care to, Sherlock had told himself again and again that he had outwitted Moriarty, not thinking (and if he did, deleting it immediately) of the consequences, of becoming a phantom. It was difficult to imagine not faking his death.
John huffed impatiently.
"If there had not been a chance of faking your death, what would you have done?"
"Jumped."
"I know. Me – I'm not so sure."
"Of course you would have" Sherlock said, almost shocked.
"I can't be certain. I would have a better chance at fighting him than my friends, and therefore it might be – "
"You shot the sniper. You would die for him" Sherlock said simply, putting an end to their discussion.
The rest of the way was spent in silence.
When they got to the pub, he didn't spot Greg immediately, but with the routine of looking for his homeless network, he soon saw him standing in the shadows at the corner of the street. Someone else was with him.
"Hey" the man who was probably looking for them in another universe began, "John" he paused and shot him a look before continuing, "Sherlock".
He wasn't surprised. He was certain the members of his homeless network would know too. People who were ignored by others were usually good watchers.
"This is Tony" Greg introduced his companion. He was a young man with red hair, looking down, obviously distraught.
"He recognized the man whose picture you sent me."
"His name is Peter Bennet" Tony said, raising his head. "He used to be in the army. We used to be in the army."
The consulting criminal of this world apparently used ex-soldiers just like his counterpart.
"He was – " Tony stopped, and Sherlock wondered what to say. As he had noticed when he had met John's old friends from the army, soldiers created special bonds during their deployments.
Normally, he would ask John to speak to him, but he only had a consulting detective who was waiting for the man to calm himself and a homeless man who was waiting for his money with him, and he would have to be compassionate.
"I am sorry" he said gently. "This can't be easy."
The man gave him the thankful look people usually gave John, and it confused him.
"It's just – I told him. I told him not to get involved with them."
"Them?" If this was an organization, like he had at first believed Moriarty to be, things just got more difficult.
"I don't know. It was just – he was so – there isn't much you can do after you leave."
He could remember how John had looked when they had met. The defeated look in his eyes, his limp. And he had been a doctor, a doctor who had actually hopes of working again someday, if he could get rid of his symptoms.
"Peter was a sniper, one of the best. Two months ago, a guy walked up to him and asked him if he wanted to work for someone."
"For who?" Asking about the messenger would be a waste of time. This Moriarty had kept under the radar, no one knew he existed. He wouldn't run around recruiting people.
"I don't know. He didn't know. Just some guy – someone who organizes things."
"You mean crimes" John said.
Tony bit his lip.
"We understand that you don't want to talk ill of him" Sherlock tried to convince him, with a patience that would have made his doctor proud, "but we need to know."
Tony took a deep breath. "Yes."
He waited a moment, then repeated, "Yes. I begged him not to do it, but he said he paid really well, and that he would never get caught. I guess he did – was it the police that got him?"
Sherlock couldn't see how he would come to this conclusion, since they were obviously not officers, but answered, "In a manner of speaking".
Tony nodded, his eyes watering. "He was a good friend. He just –"
He stopped again and Sherlock saw that John was growing impatient. He looked at Tony and willed him not to start crying.
He cleared his throat before continuing, "He told me he had shot a man a few weeks ago – Ronald Adair, I think – I read about it in the papers..."
"Ronald Adair?"
He was aware of the looks John and Greg gave him, but didn't care. Ronald Adair. The case that made him live again.
He had been shot now, instead of when Sherlock returned, but he had still been shot by a sniper, a sniper who worked for the man they were looking for, and if they went through the file and found out why he had been shot, they might deduce who Peter Bennet had been working for...
"Thank you" Sherlock said and pressed a few banknotes in his hand. He looked like he wanted to protest, but Sherlock could see his dirty clothes and hungry face, and knew he needed the money.
Tony did too, so he simply nodded and left.
Sherlock thought he had got used to Greg, but seeing him wait for his payment was still a shock. He stood there, obviously uninterested in the case or what had happened since they had last seen him, holding up his hand, like he had seen so many other men stand before him. Once he had his money, he happily bid them goodbye.
"I'll be off. Try not to get killed."
Sherlock told himself that he not only said it for the money, but also because he cared.
Once he had slipped away into the darkness, John asked, "To Scotland Yard, I assume?"
"Yes. To the Yard. I assume you have someone there?"
John nodded and they started moving.