'Mr. Holmes?' Mycroft saw his PA entering his office with a letter. Great, he thought. Just what I needed. It's beginning.

'There are four men outside and they insist on seeing you. They brought this.' She gave him the letter. He glanced at it, just to be polite to her, he already knew what it was, and nodded. She invited them in. Four middle aged men, all in black suits and no markings that would indicate where they worked. He had never met them but knew who they were.

'Mr. Holmes,' the spokesperson said.

'I was wondering when you would show up,' Mycroft said, and smiled insincerely. 'And then I was wondering whether you would show up at all.'

'You are under a formal investigation.'

Mycroft pulled up one eyebrow. 'Really?' he said slowly. 'Of what?'

The man looked at him with a neutral expression. 'We're not telling.'

'Typical.' Mycroft leaned back. 'Our Czech friend can be proud on you.'

'What Czech friend?'

Mycroft sighed, visibly burdened by the continuous witnessing of so much ignorance. 'Never mind.'

A mellow sunshine illuminated Hyde Park in the late afternoon. The air was filled the soft voices of tourists, the footsteps of joggers and the occasional high pitched voices of playing children. On a bench sat a blond woman, heavily pregnant, Mary. Her heart was racing and her breathing was shallow, her abdomen felt clenched by fear. There was a woman walking up whom she recognised out of thousands. She was blonde, wore a stylish black dress and heels that didn't belong in a park.

'Hello, Jacky, long time no seen,' the woman said.

'I'm no longer called Jacky.'

The woman giggled. 'Of course you aren't. I wouldn't either if I were you.'

She winked at Mary. 'You're still after Moriarty? Rather obvious bait, don't you think?'

Mary looked straight ahead. 'I've never been 'after' Moriarty. As you very well know.'

'That's what you say, who says I believe you?'

Mary grinned humourlessly. 'He's not my type.'

'I think he's exactly your type. Your poor husband.'

'That's in the past.'

'Yeah, you've got yourself a nice new life here, don't you? Married a doctor. Salary is probably not so good as you were used to.'

Mary froze. 'What do you want?'

The woman leaned back and stretched her legs. 'I dunno.' She looked Mary in the eyes. 'What do you have to offer?' She giggled. 'You live in London, I doubt you are poor.'

Mary looked back with an amused smile around her lips. 'You're trying to blackmail me?'

'Not trying.'

'People who blackmail me have the inexplicable tendency to end up dead.' Mary smiled. 'Friends.'

'Oh, Jacky, we both know that you're not gonna kill me. You need me.'

'You be careful that I don't just need your silence.'

'Empty threats. You wouldn't risk it. I know. Now, I could use with some extra pocket money. Those nails cost a fortune.' She showed Mary her nails. They were long and beautifully decorated. She had obviously spent hours in the nail studio. A pain shot through Mary's abdomen, a contraction. She had them more often now but this one was more intense. For a moment she couldn't think of anything other than the pain. The woman saw it but drew the wrong conclusion.

'Seems that I've got you.'

'No,' Mary pointed to her belly. 'She's got me.' The woman looked at her in surprise that slowly changed into horror.

'Either you're gonna sit here and watch me give birth or you piss off so I can go home.'

'Ok, then.' The woman got up. 'But don't think we're done.'

'Right, whatever.' Mary watched her leave. When she was sure she was gone, she slowly got up and called a cab. It'd take hours probably, maybe still another day, but the woman didn't need to know that.

John looked at the door and for a moment couldn't process what was happening. James Moriarty stood in the doorway, grinning and moving his head slightly sideways in that manner that was so particular of him. John looked at Sherlock.

Sherlock didn't bat an eye.'Hello, Mr. Moriarty, please come in, we were expecting you.'

John could tell that underneath his neutral expression, Sherlock secretly felt incredibly smug. For a moment his surprise was mixed with irritation that his friend had tricked him again, but his curiosity won.

'Please call me Jim.' Moriarty had been waiting at the threshold and now politely stepped into the room, followed by Billy.

'Thank you, Billy, you can go now,' Sherlock said. 'We're discussing private matters with our client now.'

'All right, Sherlock,' said Billy and left, the ease by which they interacted suggested that this was the normal procedure when there was a client.

Sherlock offered Jim a table chair and nodded to John. 'Jim, please meet John Watson, my dear colleague. Whatever can be said to me can be said to him.'

Jim took John's hand and grinned. 'Pleased to meet you.'

'Same to you,' John answered and looked at Sherlock, not hiding his astonishment.

Sherlock's face had an even expression. 'John, please meet colonel Jim Moriarty.' A twinge of a grin curled the corners of his mouth. 'You've already met his brother.'

'Twins,' said John, his eyes fixed on Jim. 'I see. You have the same Christian name?'

'Yes, we do.' Jim shared Sherlock's smirk but then got serious as he sat down. The joke was over. Sherlock and John took their own chairs. Sherlock took a cigarette from the side table, lit it and blew a big cloud of smoke.

'I think I have a general idea why you are here.'

Jim nodded. 'Something to do with the fact that my face is plastered all over the country with the title 'the most dangerous criminal ever lived'. Flattering in a way, though not very good on one's C.V.'

'Technically, it's your brother's face.'

'Yes, technically.' Jim rolled his eyes. 'Unfortunately, reality doesn't always conform to the truth.'

John looked from one to the other. Although Sherlock had a relaxed pose, John could see from the tension in his muscles and the movements of his eyes that he was really alert and ready for the unexpected.

John gave Jim a puzzled look. 'Why do you have the same Christian name?'

Jim shrugged dismissively. 'My brother's idea. You know how twins sometimes cheat at exams if they're alike enough? It's basically that, only on a large scale.'

Sherlock smiled in appreciation. 'Same date of birth, same gender, same name...' he looked at Jim closely. 'Same DNA.'

'Different mind though. That's why I'm here. I want my name to be cleared.'

Sherlock threw his head back and laughed. 'How can your name be cleared, it's the same name as the most powerful criminal London's ever known.'

'I'm not him.'

'You're his twin brother, people must be thinking there's something lurking in your genotype.'

'Do you?'

'How could I possibly tell?'

'Your brother was a psychopath,' said John. 'That's a hereditary condition.'

'Dissocial personality disorder. Or antisocial personality disorder if you are from the US. Its heredity is around thirty percent. I got lucky.'

'Or so you say,' said Sherlock.

'Fine, then don't believe me. I know what I am.' Jim laughed. 'Imagine what it must be like to have a psychopath brother.'

'I don't have to.'

John looked at Sherlock. 'Are you and Mycroft in a fight again?'

Sherlock stretched out in his chair. 'You wish not to be bothered by your twin brother's past, you know I'm looking into the matter, why are you here?'

Jim leaned forward. 'I seem to have inherited one of my brother's arch enemies?'

'Me?'

Jim shook his head. 'Birdy Edwards.'

Sherlock leaned back. 'You should take it up with him then, not with me.'

'You very well know that isn't possible.'

They stared at each other. John looked from one to the other. 'Excuse me, who is Birdy Edwards?'

'An American detective,' said Moriarty.

'An American myth, more likely.' said Sherlock. 'It's a story that goes around in the criminal classes. If for some reason they are caught, or get themselves in trouble somehow, they blame this Birdy Edwards, who is supposed to be a super detective. Very useful for people who don't want to take responsibility for their own stupidity.'

'What if he's real and he's after me? I'm his twin brother. You said you can't even be sure you can tell the difference.'

'You've got any signs that he's after you?'

'No. Just the stories.'

'So you're just theorising. Look, if he exists and he's so good, he'd worked out who you are before he strikes.'

Sherlock got up and walked to the window. Thoughtlessly, he picked up his violin and started plucking at the strings. 'Moriarty is no longer a man. He's an idea. Who knows who follows in his footsteps.'

'So basically, my face is a brand and any criminal or terrorist may take it for their own purpose. You don't have any ideas do you?'

Sherlock turned around on his heels. 'Plenty of ideas. Too many ideas. Unfortunately, they can't all be tested at once.'

Johns phone rang and he answered it. 'Yes? Ok, I'm on my way.' He hung up. 'Sorry Sherlock, I've got to go.'

'We've got Moriarty and terrorist theories here?'

'And I've got a baby on the way. I'm going.' He bolted off the stairs.

Sherlock and Jim followed him with their gaze. Sherlock pulled a face to him. 'Babies always win.'

Jim looked around, got up and stood next to Sherlock at the window. He followed John with his gaze as he crossed the street. Sherlock looked at him.

'You're not here for Edwards, are you?'

Jim looked around nervously. Which, for Sherlock, was as good an affirmation as any. He cleared his throat. 'The Edwards thing is just a ruse, as you've guessed correctly.' Again he looked around, looked onto the street and at the door.

'No one can hear you here, I can assure you,' said Sherlock 'I've got a fine eye for that sort of thing.'

'Do you know Sebastian Moran?'

'I've seen him a few times, I've got a general idea of what he does. He was your brother's friend, wasn't he.'

'Friend.' Jim shook his head. 'I don't think my brother was capable of feeling actual friendship. But then, neither was Moran. An arrogant follower of the biggest bully on the playground. Rich dad, you know the type.'

'He doesn't disturb me. The criminal world is full of types like him. Dangerous, but not particularly special. So why are you so nervous that even now you can barely talk?'

'It's not him, it's who he works for.' Jim looked at Sherlock and Sherlock noticed how open his expression was, the hidden pain now visible for the onlooker. This was a man who had decided to tell the truth. 'You've been in a struggle with my brother. Have you researched us?'

'Yes, you're originally from Dublin, you're in the English military, your mother is a housewife and your father teaches maths.'

Jim threw his head back and snorted. 'A maths teacher. That's one way to put it.'

Pruong! The string Sherlock was holding slipped and sprung back violently from the involuntary pressure he had put onto it. Sherlock breathed in deeply. 'Your brother's psychopath genes are from him, aren't they?'

Jim started pacing, he walked from the window to the door and back, looking at the floor and shaking his head. 'Sherlock, that man has done things you've never heard of. Compared to him, my brother was a choir boy.'

'I've seen quite a lot.'

Jim stopped and looked at Sherlock again. 'I really don't think so.'

'Your brother ran a criminal network, I'm assuming that he took after his father.'

'He doesn't run the networks, he runs the people who run the networks. His eyes and ears are everywhere. No one dares to go against his wishes. You've destroyed my brother's network, but that just means that he was temporarily blind.'

'And now the retina has regenerated?'

'It has.' Jim looked into Sherlock's eyes. 'I'm on your side, Sherlock and I've come to warn you. To warn you for my father. People call him the Professor.'

A week later, a surprised John found himself opening the door for Sherlock, who stood there with a giant wrapped gift. Stuffed animal, John could tell. Sherlock had responded to their invitation.

'Glad you're here,' John smiled.

'I wouldn't miss this for the world.'

'Yes you would.'

Sherlock grinned sheepishly. 'Well, maybe. But it's still your baby.'

'Hundreds of babies are born every day,' said John, imitating Sherlock's voice. 'Why would this one be special?'

'And they all look the same.'

'This was your cue to object and to assure me that my baby is indeed the most special creature in the world.'

'I know. I just ignored it.' He gave his friend a devious grin. 'And they do all look the same.'

'Hi, Sherlock,' came Mary's voice from the living room. She was sitting in the living room holding the baby. She smiled at him and he smiled back. As always he felt her warmth radiating and touching him. What had happened between them had only deepened their bond. They had shared a deep secret. He walked up to her and they embraced each other, careful not to touch the baby.

'Hello Angie,' Sherlock greeted the little girl. Tucked between soft pink blankets with white clothes and a pink hat, she was tiny. Sherlock put his index finger into a little hand and it closed reflexively around it.

John stood behind him. 'Admit that she's the most wonderful creature in the world.'

Sherlock smiled at him. 'Of course she is.' He meant it.

'Would you like to hold her?' Mary asked with a broad smile. Sherlock knew he couldn't possibly refuse and he sat down and carefully took Angie from Mary, making sure that he supported her head. Apparently, that's what you're supposed to do with newborn babies. She was heavier than he'd expected for such a small thing and made soft, wet noises with her throat, as if babies are born with small design flaws that only get better with time. He saw John looking at him and he knew that John would feel it to be somewhat absurd that he was holding a baby that belonged to a person who once had taken a serious risk with his life. However, Sherlock had seen so many crimes being performed by basically good people, he knew it was never as black and white as people found comfortable. Everyone could be a killer.

'She's small, isn't she?' said John, just to have something to say.

'Temporary condition,' said Sherlock.

'Well, I, for once, am quite grateful that she was small,' said Mary. She beamed at him. 'And that she has two extraordinary men to protect her.'

John looked from her to Sherlock, smiling but also uncomfortable and Sherlock wondered whether they would forever be stuck in this curious tangle of love and pain that they had created.

'How was the race?' Mary asked and smiled teasingly at John. 'Did Sherlock help you win?'

John rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. 'Well, Sherlock certainly made it cheaper. We also met a drug lord who might be the new local criminal mastermind and Moriarty's brother.'

Sherlock shrugged. 'I've been told that gamblers want action.'

'Sounds like you are a better companion than Stamford.'

John laughed. 'Then we need to capture criminals and position them there as bait. I don't see Sherlock going there on his own volition.'

Sherlock shook his head. 'Not really, no.'

He stayed with them, held the baby and gave them his gifts all the while surprising John at how normal he could be, if he really tried.

When Sherlock went out, John went with him outside. Sherlock lit a cigarette.

John looked at the cigarette. 'You're smoking again.'

'I can see that my observational skills have rubbed off on you. I am, indeed, smoking.'

John ignored it. 'Why are you smoking again?'

'Because I like cigarettes.'

'You quit.'

Sherlock avoided his gaze and looked out onto the path. 'I started again. Obviously.'

'Are you okay?'

'Sure, I'm fine.'

'You know if there's anything...'

'I'm fine, John!'

'At least tell me what your condition is then. Are you on parole?'

'Ha.' Sherlock stared into the distance. 'No. What happened at Applegate is now classified. Me getting a pay check from MI6 now kinda helps. On paper, I'm an agent who took out a hostile foreign national.'

'Don't they operate abroad?'

Sherlock shrugged.

'Mycroft?'

'Bureaucratic ballet.'

John pictured Mycroft as a ballerina and snorted. 'In the papers it said that he died of a heart attack.'

'The kind of heart attack that leaves holes in your skull.'

John looked at Sherlock. He seemed relaxed but with him you could never be sure. 'So what's next?'

'I'm employed by them to sort out the little Moriarty conundrum. I've got a team and everything.'

'That's good, right?'

'Well, now I've got to keep them busy. I'd rather just work on my own. Appearing busy is important when your employer has the power to charge you for murder. Hence one of the reasons why I take the Moriarty brother so seriously.'

'You're taking the case of James Moriarty?'

'Apparently so. My clients seem to be getting weirder and weirder.'

John looked to the living room where Mary was sitting with the baby but didn't comment. Sherlock followed his glance and probably read his mind anyway. John focused back on Sherlock.

'You're going to look for Moriarty senior, aren't you?'

'I'm going to look for Birdy Edwards. At least that's what Billy and the homeless network are going to do. They will make it a little bit too obvious. He will be one of my so called suspects for the video and that's what I'm going to be focused on in public.'

'And in private?'

'Professor. Obviously.'

'So what are your suspects for the video?'

Sherlock counted. 'Moran: he's got a motive, collecting a new network of criminals. He's not as cunning and clever as Moriarty, maybe he considers this a good advertising strategy.'

'Isn't that a bit counterintuitive? Criminals are not the only ones who watch telly.'

'It's not smart but in line with his personality. He's an alpha dog, at least that's how he sees himself, and this would be a power display.' Sherlock grinned. 'He's done a very strange thing, he killed a useful friend, judge Adair. Apparently they had been in a fight about a poker game.'

'And that was enough to kill a friend.'

'This is a man who was friends with James Moriarty. Maybe Moran was setting an example. Show the boys what a tough guy he is.'

He went on counting. 'The brother: he's got no criminal record and no inclinations of the sort. But he could have a motive. He could be a prankster.'

'Because he's angry about what happened to his brother?'

'Yes and because they are twins there's another hypothesis to be tested. Maybe he's the real one and still alive, they have been known to switch.'

'That's creepy. But why then the suicide?'

'It doesn't make sense, does it? But his loved ones could have been threatened. Maybe he sacrificed himself for them.'

'He must have put on an amazing show, then.'

'With the lives of your loved ones at stake? Why not? However, as far as I'm concerned, the man who shot himself in front of me was an absolute nut case.' Sherlock continued counting.

'There could be someone else, someone we haven't met. Mycroft's enemies, who knows how many he has or maybe someone Moriarty worked with. My new employers are suspecting me too, I imagine. Quite a way to get out of that exile thing.'

'Or the brother.'

'I already mentioned him.'

'No, not Moriarty's brother, your brother, Mycroft.'

'What would he do that for?'

'Well, it did bring you back, didn't it?'

'He'd need a motive. If Mycroft wanted me here he either wouldn't have exiled me in the first place or he would have worked in secrecy like last time.' Sherlock straightened. 'It could be a million people; new terrorist network, a bored hacker, anyone. The only requirement is that they know about Moriarty, somehow have access to some footage of him and know how to bribe the right people. Well, he's been in the news, so that's basically everyone. I've got nothing to narrow it down. Which is good, that means I can work on this project for quite a while.'

'So what are you going to do?'

Sherlock smiled. 'Narrow it down. One by one. And I'm starting with the most promising suspect, who, luckily, also seems to have killed a judge. Sebastian Moran.'

'Who supposedly works with the Professor.'

Sherlock grinned. 'What a coincidence.'