"Everybody wants to believe it, that's what makes it so clever. A lie that's preferable to the truth. All my brilliant deductions were just a sham. No one feels inadequate," Sherlock breathed. "Sherlock Holmes is just an ordinary man."

John rubbed his wrist, the one that was connected to Sherlock's since both men were handcuffed together. "What about Mycroft? He could help us."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "A big family reconciliation? Now's not really the moment."

"Sherlock -"

"Not now, John," Sherlock almost pressed John against the wall. "Not now."

"But Sherlock -"

"One of my new neighbours from Baker Street is following me. Let's see if he can give us some answers."

Sherlock led the way and soon two men were in front of a road and a bus was coming towards them.

"Where are we going?"

"We're going to jump in front of that bus."

"What?!"

The detective dragged John and both stood in front of the coming bus. John thought it was their end. It is incredible how much you can think when you think you're going to die. John thought he was going to die, he just thought they were going to die together. The doctor thought Sherlock was committing suicide and was dragging him into it.

But a man pushed them off the road and both fell to the floor together, Sherlock dragging the mysterious man with them.

"Tell me what you want from me. Tell me!"

"He left it at your flat," said the man in a very clumsy English.

"Who?"

"Moriarty."

"What?"

"The computer keycode."

A gunshot was heard and the man they were talking to fell dead.

John gasped scared. But Sherlock ignored it.

"Of course," Sherlock soon realised what was this about. "He's selling it... the programme he used to break into the Tower. He planted it when he came around. It's a game-changer. It's a key and it can break into any system and it's sitting in our flat right now. That's why he left that message telling everyone where to come. Get Sherlock. We need to get back into the flat and search."

"CID'll be camped out. Why plant it on you?"

"It's another subtle way of smearing my name. Now I'm best pals with all those criminals."

"Have you seen this? A kiss and tell. Some bloke called Rich Brook."

John found a pile of papers and at the top of it was The Sun and a bit of the huge exposé Kitty Riley had written for the paper. It was 'The truth about Sherlock Holmes'. John didn't need to read it to know what it was about. Suddenly everyone was against Sherlock - everyone. Greg, all the Yarders, apparently Mycroft who was nowhere to be seen and who John, at this point, expected to show up and help their brother.

This was unfair. John knew it was. But he just couldn't understand why this was happening.

And why now.

And why Sherlock seemed so helpless.

Why Mycroft was doing nothing?

And who was Richard Brook?

"Who is he?"

Sherlock said nothing and led the way again.

At Kitty's flat they met Moriarty. But he was not Moriarty. The man John met at that pool, when he had enough semtex tied to his chest to blow up the very same Big Ben, said he was not Moriarty, that he was an actor Sherlock had hired all along to play his nemesis. And the man had proofs! John just couldn't believe it! John was sure of who Sherlock Holmes was. They had grown up together. Sherlock wasn't a fake. Sherlock would have never hired someone to play his nemesis.

The man was lying.

He had to.

But when they tried to get him, he ran away.

"Can he do that? Completely change his identity and make you the criminal?"

"He's got my whole life story," Sherlock said with an air of bitterness. "That's what you do when you sell a big lie: you wrap it up in the truth to make it more palatable."

"Your word against his."

"He's been sowing doubt into people's minds for the last twenty-four hours. There's only one thing he needs to do to complete his game, and that's to -"

That's it.

That's what Moriarty wanted.

"Sherlock?" John could feel Sherlock tensing. There was a little thing in his eyes John could have sworn were tears. "Sherlock, look -"

"There's something I need to do."

John tried to reach out for him, but Sherlock stepped back, almost rejecting his touch, "Sherlock, listen to me -"

"I have to go."

"What? Can I help?"

"No," Sherlock said, his eyes on John's. "I'm on my own."

"She has really done her homework, Miss Riley... things that only someone close to Sherlock could know."

"Ah."

Mycroft found John sitting on the chair across his. He was reading the paper with the bit of the big exposé written by Kitty Riley for The Sun. John was angry, Mycroft knew it. He didn't need to be Mycroft Holmes or be at least a bit clever to know that. It was clear and it was, mostly, expected.

"Have you seen your brother's address book lately? Two names: yours and mine, and Moriarty didn't get this stuff from me."

"John -"

"So how does it work, then, your relationship? D'you go out for a coffee now and then, eh, you and Jim?" John did wait for Mycroft to sit don, but he did not wait for him to reply. "Your own brother, and you blabbed about his entire life to this maniac."

Mycroft closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I never inten- I never dreamt -"

"So this, this, this this," John stammered, with little, almost imperceptible tears in his eyes. "is what you were trying to tell me, isn't it: "Watch his back, because I've made a mistake."

Mycroft said nothing because he knew whatever he said John was not going to believe him.

Naturally.

John was clever. Maybe as clever as he and Sherlock were. The politician was sure John ad inherited their cleverness too, but John didn't know how to use it. John could sense there was a plan, a scheme.

But John would never find out.

"Why you made Sherlock cry?" A ten year old John asked Mycroft.

The teenager shrugged and kept on reading the papers. "He had it coming."

"But why? He didn't do anything to you!"

"Yes he did," Mycroft said, his eyes on the papers he was reading and not on his brother John who was standing next to him, asking why his brother Sherlock was upstairs crying and not having breakfast with them. "He ate the my slice of cake."

"It was me."

Mycroft smiled. "I can tell when you lie."

John bit his lip. "He didn't mean it, okay?"

"Didn't he?"

"You're his hero, Myc. Sherlock says he wants to study lots and make you feel proud of him."

Mycroft turned and looked at John. It was true he could tell when he lied. And this time John was not lying. "What else did he say?"

"That he's goin' to the same uni as you and study more than you too."

John wasn't lying.

"I'll tell you what we can do," Mycroft said, putting the papers aside and looking at his watch. "Tell Sherlock to dress properly and come downstairs. I'll take the two of you to London."

"Really?" John said with a huge smile. "Are we gonna eat fish an' chips too? Can we go to the -"

"Yes," Mycroft said waving his hand at him. "We'll go to all those places you like. Now go and tell your brother."

Sometimes Mycroft wished those old days were back. He wished Sherlock and John had stayed little forever. Mycroft wished Sherlock had never done drugs, that John had never gone to Afghanistan.

He wished this game was over.

"How did you meet him?"

"People like him... we know about them; we watch them. But James Moriarty... the most dangerous criminal mind the world has ever seen, and in his pocket the ultimate weapon: a keycode. A few lines of computer code that could unlock any door."

"And you abducted him to try and find the keycode?"

"Interrogated him for weeks."

John nodded. "And?"

"He wouldn't play along." said Mycroft remembering the long sessions of beatings, punches, slapping. "He just sat there, staring into the darkness. The only thing that made him open up -" He stopped and looked at John. "I could get him to talk, just a little but -"

"In return you had to offer him Sherlock's life story. So one big lie... Sherlock's a fraud. But people will swallow it because the rest of it's true." John leaned forward. "Moriarty wanted Sherlock destroyed, right? And you have given him the perfect ammunition."

John smiled bitterly. That smile wasn't the smile Mycroft remembered. Mycroft remembered John smiling happily, so honestly.

Now John was against him.

"John -" John was heading to the door when he turned. There was hatred in his eyes. That feeling Mycroft feared was there. "I'm sorry."

"Oh please, Mycroft. You -" He pointed at the politician with his index finger and shook his head. "You... you're letting Moriarty destroy Sherlock. Sherlock, who's your own flesh and blood. Your brother, Mycroft."

"I'm sorry," Mycroft repeated. "Tell him, would you."