A/N: I'm so sorry these are so slow in coming!
John left the bleak room with the lone figure in chains and the dark, unseeing cameras as soon as he could, meaning as soon as he got all of Mycroft's questions answered. He was breathing hard and his heart was beating too fast, like he was pumped up on adrenaline from just a simple, more or less civil, conversation. Just as he had feared, Moriarty had completely messed up his mind, trying to plant seeds of doubt here and there, about Sherlock, about Mycroft, and even about himself.
"And what happens to you if Sherlock dies?"
Was that a threat? Or was he genuinely curious? John didn't have an answer. He didn't want to have an answer. Ever. He'd happily die without knowing the answer to that particular question. He hadn't liked Moriarty's answer either.
"Maybe you'd die, too? I wouldn't want that, of course, but it's possible. Maybe you'd be reassigned? What do you think, Johnny boy?"
John had thought he should just shut up already. He wasn't there to chit chat with the criminally insane.
John banged his head back against the closed door, trying to clear his mind. He wasn't sure how long he'd been in there, face to face with his former kidnapper who had developed an unhealthy obsession with him, like a Stockholm syndrome in reverse. He was just glad to be out of reach of the man's prying black eyes, so glad, in fact, that he didn't even care if Mycroft was there to see him have a teeny, tiny nervous meltdown for just a few little seconds. Surely he was allowed that much? John wasn't equipped with the Holmeses' massive intellect to deal with someone as twisted as Moriarty, and right now, he felt like he needed to scrub his brain clean with detergent.
Mycroft did eventually clear his throat though. He wasn't the sort to wait around for other people to sort their tiny little brains out after all, but his words did surprise him:
"You did well, John," he said, sounding as aloof as usual so it was hard to say if he was being sincere or not.
John snorted despite himself, because if he was sincere and The Iceman really was trying to cheer someone up, then that definitely went into the 'impossible' category. John looked him over: he was gripping his umbrella a bit more tightly than needed, his knuckles white under the strain, and the furrow between his brows might just be a little deeper than usual, so maybe he was a little shaken up. John nodded, accepting Mycroft's word but not breaking eye contact with the man lest he miss some flicker of emotion that would indicate what he thought about what he'd just heard. According to Sherlock, he would have him locked up under the tender care of a bunch of mad scientist, but John thought it was a bit of a stretch, even for someone as powerful as Mycroft. At the moment, he seemed stuck between blind acceptance of an unlikely truth and ignoring it outright, his hesitation so palpable it was kind of funny, so out of place on the man who knew everything. It did help John, though: his amusement flushing out his confusion and distress.
"Is it true? Or were you just feeding the fantasies of a sick mind?" Mycroft finally asked, very slowly and deliberately, when it was apparent John wouldn't be the one to bring up the elephant in the room.
No doubt Mycroft knew by now that John wasn't a very good liar, but exceptionally good at omitting the truth. John could just evade his question, he supposed, but it would be pointless. Mycroft would only dig deeper into his past actions, and have him under constant surveillance, he might even "visit" more often, which would irk Sherlock to no end.
"I'm sure you have more than enough data to answer that question yourself, Mycroft. Sherlock did say that you were suspicious of me, but that you would never find out because you wouldn't be able to grasp the… erm… supernatural aspect of it."
"I'm sure he didn't say it in quite as many words," the other man replied, smiling thinly at the mention of his brother, but he wasn't scoffing outright at John so it appeared he did believe him, as improbable as that was.
Maybe he'd had enough data to come to this conclusion after all. Or maybe it was just a better explanation that what he'd come up with himself, despite the unnatural aspect of it. In any case, he was taking John's ability and his link to Sherlock quite well, considering.
"Can you just promise not to tell anyone, Mycroft? And don't whisk me off into a super-secret lab somewhere, or Sherlock will burn down half of England to find me."
"He would believe I would do that, wouldn't he?" Mycroft sighed. "But he is right about one thing: I don't deal in…" he drifted off, seemingly looking for a suitable word that would not insult him, not that John really cared at this point. He knew he was weird.
"Hocus Pocus?" he offered.
"The occult," Mycroft corrected. "This ability of yours... it's bigger than me, or anyone else, and I wouldn't dream of interfering with something so powerful. To be honest, the implications of it… disturb me somewhat, not that anyone would believe you if you ever repeated it. But… if you were assigned to keep Sherlock alive, then it's my belief it's because he is needed for something, and given the path he has chosen, and the enemy he has been set against, I think it was a question of keeping the balance. Order and Chaos."
John blinked. How had Mycroft come to such a complex conclusion so fast? John himself had never seen things from this angle. He hadn't thought all that much on it, to be honest. It had just happened and he had gone along with it. The fact that it had seemed the right thing to do at first, that he liked Sherlock from the get go, and had fallen in love with him soon after, had only made things easier. But if Order had an ace up its sleeve, wouldn't Chaos have one too? A counter to John? Was it Moriarty himself? Sebastian Moran maybe? John hadn't noticed anything special about him, but then, you wouldn't guess John had something special just by looking at him either. It was all too abstract, he really needed to talk this out with Sherlock.
"How many times?" Mycroft asked and John didn't need to ask what he meant by that.
"Including Maple Cross? Six times."
Mycroft blanched. He didn't blame him. Six times over he could have lost his little brother, and John suspected Sherlock was really his number one priority, whatever either of them said on the matter.
"I feel like I should thank you, for watching over him," Mycroft said as they started walking back out of the building, John counting the number of guards they came across, thinking he would find some relief in that. He didn't.
"I feel like it's my duty. Besides, I rather like the berk."
Mycroft's lips twitched.
"I'd better take you straight back to Baker Street. Sherlock has been impossible during your absence. He's texted me all night and has threatened to blow up the Houses of Parliament if I didn't return you this instant."
"Ah. We can't have that," John replied, trying not to smile. He checked his own phone: twenty two unread texts and ten missed calls. Sherlock never called. He felt his fleeting smile drop into a full blown grimace. Sherlock would be furious when he got home. He sent a text back so he would stop worrying needlessly and shut his phone off again.
"He even explained in considerable detail how he would go about it. There's a major security breach I need take care of tonight. I think Sherlock hoped I'd give you up to take care of it sooner."
"He has no idea, has he?" John asked. "That you're doing all this for him?"
"It's for the best," Mycroft answered without explaining any further. "Sherlock never liked my 'meddling', as he puts it."
"You're not meddling. Well... You are, technically, but only to save his skinny are. I bet he thinks he was so clever about it all that he never worried once about it blowing up in his face."
Mycroft hummed in agreement, looking thoughtful, before he spoke again.
"If you did happen to see something of importance to the country in one of your Dreams, something that didn't concern Sherlock…"
John thought about this.
"Like a newspaper with headlines about terrorists, bombings, a plane crash...those kind of news?"
Mycroft nodded, waiting expectantly. It was a possibility, a very real one, but what would be the implications of passing on something that big to an outsider? Would it just create a paradox and annul Sherlock's death? It might, and it might not, but he didn't see any danger in trying it out at least once, as an experiment. Sherlock would probably agree. Not to mention the number of lives that could be saved. That alone was enough for John to give his answer.
"Yes, I'd pass on the information to you, as long as you put it to good use."
"Good, good," Mycroft said and drifted off into his thoughts again.
They'd finally arrived at Baker Street, ready to part ways, when John couldn't contain his anxiety any longer. It might be paranoia, but he had to ask.
"You're positive Moriarty can't escape? He said he'd planned on the possibility of being captured so he might-"
"John, rest assured the best security has been used to contain him. Indefinitely."
John deflated a bit, but the relief he'd sought still did not come. Moriarty was as clever as Sherlock, and nothing ever seemed impossible to Sherlock. And now that the madman knew his little secret, John had even more reason to want him locked up and the key thrown away. But he wouldn't put it past the criminal genius to not only escape, but also find a loophole to his Dreams and manage to kill Sherlock without him Dreaming of it. Mycroft sighed imperceptibly and John looked up to see the door to 221 Baker Street had been wrenched open and his furious boyfriend was standing there, his tall figure cut against the warm yellow glow from the hallway.
"Right. You'd better go, Mycroft. Sherlock is going to want to vent his frustration and it better be on me. I think you have something planned for the rest of the night?"
Mycroft nodded, holding his gaze as if he was trying to read him and all his secrets, his eyes wrought with curiosity and just the lightest touch of cunning. Like a child watching a pretty butterfly and wondering how to catch it without spoiling its colourful wings. Something John could imagine was the Holmes default setting since he'd seen Sherlock with that very same expression whenever something new and challenging caught his attention.
John climbed out, but remained on the sidewalk while the black car sped away. Sherlock's nostrils were flaring. It might still be time to fetch a cab and go to Harry's instead, or just run the hell away and share Lestrade's office, but before he could decide, Sherlock strode out and engulfed him in his arms.
"You idiot," he was muttering against his temple. "You utter and complete idiot. Do you know how worried I was? Don't you ever do that again. I'll get back at Mycroft for-"
"No," John finally replied, gently pushing Sherlock away from him and towards their home. "You won't. Come on, I need a cup of tea and then, we need to talk."
John failry growled that last word with the sudden return of his anger at Sherlock doing something so stupid as to give Moriarty sensible, super-secret information that put thousands of lives at stake, then ignoring the possible consequences for himself if it was found out, and not even telling him about it...
ooo
"That was incredibly foolish," John said for the umpteenth time.
"My thoughts exactly," Sherlock sniped back.
They had reached a stalemate, each believing they had done what was best while the other had taken unnecessary risks.
"And now, Moriarty knows," Sherlock added. "And Mycroft."
John still wasn't sure which he found more annoying.
"But at least you won't be locked away for high treason," John replied. "Look, this is getting us nowhere. What was done was done, there's no taking it back now, but you can't hide that kind of stuff from me, Sherlock."
Sherlock grumbled and stalked off to the window, glaring at the world outside as if it was somehow responsible for this situation and deliberately trying to make his life miserable. He rounded on John again with a determined expression.
"You can't ever leave my side again, John. Not with those vultures after you."
John sighed.
"Be reasonable, Sherlock. We can't be always together, that's just not realistic and you know it."
Sherlock's expression clearly spelled out "Watch me." It was true they had been near inseparable since they'd officially met, when Sherlock had stalked him all the way to his old bedsit, but even they would drive one another up the wall if they didn't have a little breathing room: John for when Sherlock did his most foul experiments for hours on end, and Sherlock for when John did mundane things he had absolutely no interest in like grocery shopping and washing the dishes.
"Besides, Moriarty is locked up and Mycroft let me go, so neither is a threat," John added reasonably.
But Sherlock did his best to follow through on his threat anyway, and was never more than a foot away from John for the next couple of days. John had to throw his out of the bathroom when he needed to use the loo, but that idiot would just wait outside the door. John felt like he had one of those big, overly friendly and invasive dogs instead of a boyfriend. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore and took advantage of the fact that Sherlock was wearing only a sheet to slam the door to 221B for some fresh air and some much needed alone time, ignoring Sherlock's pleas to wait for him.
Honestly, nothing was going to happen to him. Moriarty couldn't reach him and Mycroft didn't even want to. John would just go for a walk around Regent's Park before returning back home, safe and sound, just to prove to Sherlock he was being ridiculous. And no, John wouldn't look over his shoulder because he felt like as if he was being watched. That was just his paranoia acting up. And no, he wouldn't turn around because he thought he heard an echo to his footsteps. Damn Sherlock, he'd finally managed to make him crazy. John stopped, straining his ears and couldn't resist it anymore, he glanced behind him and found Oswald's dark, apologetic face gazing back at him. He should have known Sherlock wouldn't leave it at that.
"You might as well walk with me, Oz," John told him. "I'm just going for a stroll around the park and you're going to look very suspicious trailing behind me like a lost, puppy otherwise."
Oswald nodded and towered next to him, as close mouthed as he usually was when he was focused on his bodyguard duties, which suited John just fine today.
ooo
"See, I'm back," John said to the sullen Sherlock who was now dressed, sitting dejectedly in his armchair. "All in one piece, too."
Sherlock didn't answer, merely pulled on the strings of his violin which emitted a pitiful twang. John winced and went over to him, carefully plucked the instrument out of his hands to set it aside and kneeled between his legs so he could look up into his face.
"We can't go on like this Sherlock, locked up in our flat with you keeping me close at hand. It's not healthy, it's not living. Nothing is going to happen to me, or you. I'd see it."
"You can't know that, John. Not where you're concerned. Something is going to happen, whether you like it or not. You said so yourself: Moriarty knew he might get caught, so of course he's planned ahead. He's not an idiot. And you just go gallivanting outside alone like a harmless sitting duck with a bloody target painted on your back."
"I'm not harmless," John pointed out, having escaped the psychopath twice already.
"You will be if he gets his hands on you again. He'll do anything to get you now. Not me, you. And he will keep you close by, you can count on it. He'd probably keep you handcuffed to him."
John blinked. Had Sherlock thought of doing that himself, or was he just that good at reading Moriarty's twisted mind? And here he thought Sherlock had been overprotective before.
"I'd never see you again, John. I can't… Don't leave me again…"
John had never seen Sherlock like this before. So unsure, and afraid. It was like a fissure was starting to appear in his usually imperturbable facade, and it was all his fault. He pried Sherlock's hands away from the armchair, holding them in his own, his thumbs rubbing soothing motions around his knuckles.
"Hey, Sherlock," he said softly. "We'll be fine, I know we will. Even if he wasn't locked up, he wouldn't only have my Dreams to bypass to get to me. He'd also have to get around Clara and Oz, and all the rest of Mycroft's security, and let's not forget your brilliant mind. He's clearly outsmarted and outnumbered."
John did get a small smile for his trouble, but Sherlock still looked weary, as if he knew impending doom was coming and he could do nothing to stop it. If it had been a simple question of maths, John knew his reasoning was sound enough, but unfortunately, it wasn't.
Less than a week later, Sherlock received a text while they were eating breakfast in the kitchen amidst Sherlock's latest experiments. It was hazardous business at best and more than once, John almost ate something… something, he didn't really want to know what, having mistaken it for his strawberry jam. Nothing unusual there, but then Sherlock snarled at his phone, and, more worrisome, called back immediately, his words clipped and seething with barely contained anger.
"What do you mean 'escaped'? You promised, Mycroft-"
John didn't hear anything after that. The roar of blood pounding at his temples blocking out anything else and his vision swam, darkened… he didn't know to listen to the rest of the conversation, he knew, knew without a doubt that he was talking about Moriarty... and then a sharp sting on his left cheek snapped him out of it.
"Sorry, Doc," Clara said with a grim smile. "Looked like you needed it."
John nodded, he hadn't even heard the two bodyguards come in, which was rather pathetic. John was stronger than that. He didn't 'swoon' like a distressed lady, God dammit! His eyes searched for Sherlock, he was always stronger when he could focus on Sherlock rather than himself. His boyfriend was pacing in the living-room now, still talking to Mycroft judging by his deep scowl and harsh words. Moriarty had escaped, a nightmare come true. Somehow, he felt a part of him had always known this would happened, fueled by Sherlock's own silent certainty, but he had prefered to ignore it, to hold on to the hope that the madman was out of the picture for good and that he could keep on living his life, happy in the cosy but never boring cocoon he had built around him and Sherlock.
John got up from the kitchen table too, his appetite lost for good now, and joined Sherlock in the living room, but had to retreat to the window so he wouldn't get in the way of Sherlock's frantic pacing. It was a beautiful day out, which didn't seem right. Shouldn't there be threatening dark clouds and ominous lightning? Then, something caught his eye. Right there in the windows across from their flat, words had been spray painted in bright red, the edges dripping like so much unrealistic blood.
"Err...Sherlock!" he called and heard everyone rush around him to peer out the window. It was cramped, especially with Oz who took up half the place by himself.
"Ready or not?" Sherlock read, sounding puzzled.
"You know? Hide and seek?" John said. "Please don't tell me you never played hide and seek as a kid?" That was just sad.
"With whom?" Sherlock snorted. "Mycroft?"
Ah. He did have a point there. Mycroft would take all the fun out of the game by deducing Sherlock's hiding place within seconds. John explained the rules of te game and finished with:
"The seeker yells 'Ready or not, here I come!' when he's done counting."
"Moriarty needn't have bothered with the message then," Sherlock muttered. "We already knew he would come after you. He's just taunting you. Maybe he wants to scare you off, so you leave Baker Street?"
"Could be The Fugees song, too," Oz, who had been humming, commented.
Sherlock looked to John for yet another explanation, but for once, the reference escaped him too. However, Clara obviously knew what her partner was talking about because she gasped softly and fumbled with her phone until a familiar melody started playing, and then the lyrics:
Ready or not, here I come, you can't hide,
Gonna find you, and take it slowly,
Ready or not, here I come, you can't hide,
Gonna find you and make you want me,
Now that I escape, sleepwalker awake,
Those who could relate know the world ain't cake,
Jail bars ain't golden gates…
They listened to the very end of the song in silence, John feeling sicker with every word. The song might have an entirely different meaning, but you pictured those words coming out of Moriarty's mouth and it was beyond creepy.
"Well, that sounded very much like him," John muttered, before adding a sarcastic "Thanks Oz."
John stomped off to their bedroom to get his gun: he'd clean it, make sure everything was in good working order and load it, all the while thinking of putting one through Moriarty's sinister face. They should have gotten rid of him when they had the chance. John wouldn't make that mistake twice and he'd be damned before he let the madman kidnap him again or hurt Sherlock.
The silence was thick and stifling in the small living room. Sherlock had finally stopped prowling around the place like a caged animal but he was now being very clingy. Not that John minded, on the contrary, it was rather nice, but it felt like Sherlock was saying good-bye, as if it was inevitable that Moriarty would take him away and that Sherlock had to soak up as much of John as he could, while he could.
In fact, Sherlock only backed off when Mycroft arrived, preceded by the tap-tap of his umbrella he still carried despite the cloudless sky. John remembered just in time to curb Sherlock's temper, or he might have just bitten off Mycroft's face. Instead, he just shouted insults at his brother for several minutes while Mycroft waited him out and their bodyguards quietly fled the premises.
"Better?" the unflappable man asked Sherlock, then turned to John. "I'm terribly sorry, John. The mistake was human, as usual. It seems Moriarty managed to blackmail several guards into freeing him and Moran."
"Blackmail?" John asked. "Not bribe?"
"Oh, no. My men are chosen carefully, they're incorruptible, but they do have families or people they care for at the very least. Moriarty found them and very efficiently threatened the guards with their lives."
John sighed but understood.
"You need to built an army of droïds," he said.
"I'm working on that," Mycroft replied placidly and John had no idea whether he was kidding or not, but it did alleviate some of the tension.
Mycroft then walked over to the window and read the message left for them, pursing his lips. Whoever had been on guard duty on the street last night was going to get an earful.
"Maybe we should have you moved to a more secure location. The two of you, of course."
"Sherlock reckons that's exactly what he wants."
"That's one possibility, or he knows you'll want to do the opposite just to spite him."
"Is it a bluff? Or a double bluff?" Sherlock muttered, apparently to himself, so they ignored him.
"I suppose you didn't…" Mycroft drifted off, making a vague gesture of the hand.
John glanced towards the front door, but Clara and Oz must have fled downstairs for as long as the two Holmeses were in the same room.
"No, no Dream. It could be a good sign, or it could just mean that Moriarty is doing his best to get around it. He might succeed too. If I'm really his target now, all he needs to do not to give us a warning is to not hurt Sherlock. It can't be all that difficult."
"I could just shoot myself when he comes for you," Sherlock said.
"Absolutely not!" John and Mycroft barked simultaneously.
"That's the most stupid idea you've ever had, Sherlock," John continued. "We'd have no guarantee that we could stop Moriarty, or stop you from shooting yourself, or even create a paradox strong enough to stop the chain of events leading to it. Maybe I won't even Dream if it's you killing yourself, maybe it only works if someone else is responsible for your death. There's too much we don't know, Sherlock, so don't you dare do anything that stupid, or I'll just kill you myself."
Sherlock shrugged.
"We'll stay here for now," Sherlock told his brother. "Knowing Moriarty, he won't act anytime soon anyway. He'll want to draw it out and watch us squirm while we wait for his next move."