Part V: Chapter 19

November - December

"What a balls up." Jason turned to Smith.

"Oliver's notes…" Smith started to say, when he was interrupted by Jason. "No. Whatever you thought you knew about Moriarty, just shred it. He's gone completely bonkers."

"It wasn't anticipated that he'd go this far." Smith rallied again. "All indications were that Moriarty will cooperate. Do his part in bringing the downfall of the Holmes brothers."

"Well, that backfired a bit, didn't it." Jason exploded. Threw his hands in the air. "Bloody arrogant fool."

"All is not lost." Smith stated but he wasn't convincing. "We still have the conditioning in place."

"Do you really believe that?" Jason asked.

Smith sighed. "No."

"Exactly. Because of Moriarty's bungle, they've actually discussed Redbeard. Sherlock and Mycroft are stronger than ever. Lord Byron wants us to lay low for a bit. Stay off the radar while we come up with a revised plan."

"Fine. I'll go over Oliver's notes. See if we can adjust Sherlock's conditioning. Work on some of his other triggers. Redbeard might be salvageable."

"What about the drug? He did prove to be quite susceptible to it, didn't he?"

"Mmmh." Smith grimaced. "True, but the drug's efficacy is an hour, maybe two. If we do use it, we will need to make sure that the events are predictable. That everything is in place."

Jason swore. It summed up exactly the consequences of Moriarty's bungle. A carefully laid plan that had so beautifully been orchestrated for the last year all up in smoke because he couldn't keep his hands off Sherlock and Molly. He had one job to do. Kidnapping the pair was definitely not it.

"What about Moriarty?" Smith asked, interrupting his internal monologue.

"He's made his bed. He can lie in it." Jason said. "He's on his own."

Sherlock was with a sleeping Molly when his phone rang. John had left earlier and had gone back to Baker Street. He glanced at the time before he answered his phone.

"You know, I forgot how feisty Mols can be." Moriarty said by way of greeting. "That created a bit of a buzz. I can still feel the sting."

A calmness seemed to settle over Sherlock. This little game of theirs he could play. With Molly safe, he could focus on Moriarty.

"How did you know where we were?" He asked casually, rose from his chair and walked to the bathroom. Closed the door quietly behind him.

"Don't be boring, Sherlock."

"Is that how you're going to do it? Burn me?"

"Well, you have yourself your own pet and then you went off and got married. About to become a daddy. More than one pressure point there, Sherlock." Moriarty gave a sinister chuckle. "Now your brother has once again shown his own vulnerability and it's you. Everyone thinks it's so hard to get to him but one little photo of you high as a kite and he declined meetings. Imagine what he'd do to keep you alive."

"Is that what you want? Me so you can force Mycroft to do your bidding?"

"Oh please. You were a distraction. Nothing more."

"Distraction for what?"

"A secret for now." Moriarty gloated. "You see, Sherlock, this little game of ours is coming to a head. You owe me, dear. A lot, if I was honest and I want to collect."

"You know where to find me."

Moriarty laughed. "No, no, no. Not yet. Anticipation is so much better for the want, don't you think? I need to get the baby room ready. Pink, right?"

Sherlock didn't bother to reply. Moriarty was goading him; it didn't take a genius to see it. Moriarty allowed the silence to stretch. When it became apparent that Sherlock wasn't going to rise to the bait, he gave a soft chuckle.

"You have changed, haven't you. Oh Sherlock…the fun we're going to have."

"Thanks for the chat but it's late, so if you don't mind…" Sherlock said calmly. Ignored the uneasiness he was feeling. Reminded himself that they had a plan to get to Moriarty.

"Just thought I'll check in. See how you're doing. Ciao for now, Sherlock. Send Mols my love. Until later."

He opened the door, checked in to see that Molly was still asleep. Satisfied that she was safe, he texted Mycroft and then John. Afterwards, he got on the bed with Molly. Held her close as he finally allowed sleep to claim him.

Mycroft was still at the office when he got the text message from Sherlock. He looked up at Anthea after reading the text.

"Hydra is a go."

She nodded. Was already on her phone when she left, closing the door behind her. It wasn't long before Lady Smallwood entered his office. She looked tired but considering that it was just after midnight, it wasn't a surprise. Out of everyone, she has known him the longest and he felt comfortable with her. Knew that he could trust her.

"Our background checks have rooted out three guards that had taken bribes. The governor was under duress. Apparently they had kept an eye on his wife and sent him periodic photos. He's been relieved of his duties." She said, "Sherrinford is secure."

"The impostor?" He asked her.

"He's here. I've done due diligence but he's not in the system. We've started with the interrogation but so far …nothing. I suspect that he hasn't been privy to any sensitive information."

"Have a look at Russian connections." Mycroft said. "It's entirely possible that he's not even British. They picked him up for his resemblance to Moriarty, not whether he can speak English."

"Ah. Noted." She leaned back in the chair she was sitting in. Wiped her forehead tiredly. "The Interpol meeting's been rescheduled to next week."

He was surprised. It hadn't occurred to him that the meeting would be deferred.

"I told them you were indisposed due to a personal matter." Lady Smallwood continued, "Inspector Thevenoux was very understanding. He'll liaise with Barcelona and the surveillance they currently have set up on Moriarty's cell. There's no movement yet on any of the members."

"Okay. Thanks Elizabeth." Mycroft was sincere. "It's time you went home. I'll speak to you later today after I had a chat with Ms Reilly."

"Very well, Mycroft." She said, as she stood. "Go home. Get some rest as well. I suspect that you're going to need it in the coming days."

He nodded his acquiescence. Rose to his feet and watched as she left and Anthea entered.

"It's done." She said, "The tracker is active."

"Good. Setup a meeting with the Dover lot, will you. Tomorrow afternoon would be best."

He waited until she left before he opened his secret drawer and retrieved the new number for A.G.R.A. The call was answered almost immediately.

"I need full surveillance on an asset."

"Where?"

"London. He will have a tracker. I'll provide you with the details. He will be taken within the next week or so. Do not interfere unless there is a credible threat to his life."

"Very well. You can use the same account as last time for payment. We'll be in place in 12 hours."

He rang off. Deleted the number from his phone and crumbled the paper before burning it. The ashes were scattered in the small tray he had used. He sent off the email that contained the details on the tracker, a photo of John Watson and Moriarty and a rough outline of the plan they had come up with.

Only after he had done it, did he close up and go home.

"I have rights, you know." There was a definite catch to her voice. Mycroft had casually spread out the articles of the Sun on the conference table, starting with the one last year November that exclaimed that Sherlock had been found alive. His laptop was at one end, for later use.

He leaned back against the table, right next to where Kitty was seated by the conference table. They were in the stuffy MI6 room where the inquiry had been held. An apt symbolic gesture, he thought. Something Kitty would never know about but for him it had a sense of righteousness.

"You have been busy, Ms Reilley." He said casually, pushing the articles towards her.

"My editor knows where I am," she said again. "If you think you can make me disappear, well, think again…" She swallowed and her voice petered out. He reached out and casually took her purse from her. Put it on the table. Anthea came in and upending it over another smaller table in the corner, switched off the recorder. He raised an eyebrow at Kitty in exasperation. Gave a small sigh. Anthea took Kitty's phone from the flotsam and gave it to Mycroft.

"That's mine. You can't…"

He looked up. "Ms Reilley…you will find that there are a lot of things that I can do." He gave a dramatic pause, letting the words sink in. "Passcode?"

"No."

"Very well." He gave the phone to Anthea. "Get decryption working on this. I'm certain they'll have the phone cloned by the time we're done here."

"You bastard, you can't do this." Kitty stood, pushing her chair back. "I'm leaving."

"Sit down!"

Her eyes widened in fright and she plopped back down on her seat. She watched him closely, her body full of tension, her hands clenched together in her lap.

"Who told you to print these articles?"

"No one."

"Ms Reilley, you have a source. Someone who fed you these lies."

"They're not lies. I have proof."

He tilted his head. "What proof?"

She pressed her lips together. Glanced back at the closed door behind her. He could see her resolve strengthening. "I want to phone my editor."

"No. What proof?"

"I'm not saying anything else. I have rights. You can't keep me here. I've done nothing wrong."

Mycroft got up and moved to the end of the table. Switched the laptop on and then brought it over to where Kitty was still sitting. Placed it on the table in front of her. The screen was open on a form. In the far-right corner was a passport photo of her. Her name and personal details filled the screen.

"What is this?"

"This is you, is it not, Ms Reilley?"

She leaned forward. He allowed her to reach out, move the mouse and scroll through the form. It was her passport details. Her birth registration. Everything to do with making her a British born citizen.

"What is the meaning of this?" She asked. He could hear the fear in her voice but she still seemed resolute. He reached across, pressed a few buttons and then pressed Enter. She watched as the words on the screen changed.

"Y…you c…can't…"

He gave her a small smile, his eyes dark and without mercy.

"Say hello to Katrina Petranova. A Russian sleeper agent that had been placed here to bring discord and chaos in England. You will be tried and then deported to Moscow. You will be persona non grata on British soil. I hear that Siberia gets a bit chilly in winter."

Her mouth opened and closed. "That's not true…" she managed to get out. "I have school friends…photos…family…"

"All fabricated. I have proof." He said succinctly.

"Who are you?"

"Ms Reilley. I occupy a minor position in the British Government. I'm no-one but you will find that I'm allowed a certain leeway in dealing with threats. Are you a threat?"

Her shoulders slumped and her eyes teared. Her attention seemed to drift between him and the screen. And then her whole demeanour changed.

"His name is Jason."

Mycroft reached behind him, opening a folder he had lying there. Pulled out the sketch that Sherlock had provided so many months ago. "Is this him?"

She took the sketch. Closed her eyes briefly and then nodded.

"Where do you meet?"

"We only met twice. H…he usually mailed me a memory stick with the details on that he wanted me to publish."

"You said proof?"

"There were photos. I asked after the first one. He told me that I wasn't allowed to publish them."

"Where are they?"

"In my locker at work."

"When we're done here, Anthea will accompany you and get those memory sticks from you. All of them."

She looked up. "I can go?"

"Of course. After we have discussed your next article."

Giles was in his study when Mycroft entered. "I've cleared the Dover site. It's secure."

He nodded. Picked up a piece of paper from his desk and handed it over. "A list of the four men that I suspect would have the skill to take Oliver's notes and work around his methods."

Mycroft took it and glanced at the list. Frowned. "John Smith?"

"Yes, that is his actual name. There's not much I could find on him but he was a contemporary of Oliver and was at Maudsley Hospital at the same time. He was part of the same research trial that had raised flags and seemed to have quietly disappeared after Oliver left. Same as Oliver, there isn't much known about the man."

"Very well. I'll get my people on this." Mycroft said. "As for Sherlock?"

"I'll work with him when he's ready, Mycroft. You understand the delicacy of what you're asking."

"Sherlock understands the need."

"Very well. Once they are secure, I'll set up a time for a meeting."

The article appeared a week after Molly and Sherlock's attempted kidnapping. Mycroft was pleased when he read it. Knew that Moriarty wouldn't be thrilled.

But that was the whole point. To keep the other man on the back foot. He wasn't surprised when his phone rang an hour after the release of the paper.

"Oh, very funny, Mycroft. I'm assuming this was your doing?" Moriarty asked.

"You started it." He said glibly. Silence met his statement. And then Moriarty laughed.

"Oh…just brilliant. Well done. I'll be in touch."

He picked up the paper and read through it again.

Richard Brook found alive and well in rural England

Richard Brook has erroneously been listed as missing. He had not been aware of the missing persons case that had been opened up. He is married and a farmer, with a son and another on the way. "Domestic bliss agrees with me," he said. "And I've never been one to read the papers, you know. What with being busy on the farm and all."

He had shown me around his yard. He was very proud of what he'd achieved. "Oh, I love getting my hands dirty, you know. Feeling the soil run through my fingers. There's nothing better."

I did point out to him that he was a pig farmer. He laughed. Told me that the best soil for his veggie garden comes from the pig pen. And it was very satisfying when he worked the soil in. Each to his own, I think.

I did ask about his career as a children's actor. "Oh, that. I dabbled a bit, you know. Decided in the end it wasn't worth it. I'm done with that life. It was never really me. I did some consulting work on the side under a pseudonym as Jim Moriarty but have found it a very unsatisfactory life and I wanted to move away from it in any case. All kinds of crazy people would phone me with their problems, you know. It just wasn't sustainable."

It seems that Richard Brook is alive and well, happy as a pig farmer with his family. The missing person case has been closed.

"We have a problem." Jason said, putting the Sun on Lord Byron's desk. Watched as the other man did a double take on the title before picking up the newspaper. Happily smiling with his arm around a woman both of them didn't recognise, was Jim Moriarty. A small child sat on the woman's lap, adoring brown eyes meeting the camera with long lashes. Byron read the article, mouth gaping open in shock he couldn't quite conceal.

"What do you want to do?"

"Where is he?" Byron asked Jason.

"Who? Moriarty…" He nodded, flinging the paper away from him in a fit of anger he couldn't conceal anymore. "We're trying to track him but he's gone to ground. It is rumoured that he's still in London."

Lord Byron was silent but Jason had known his employer for a very long time. He was thinking, working on the angles to get on top of an already sticky situation. Moriarty's attempt at taking Sherlock and Molly had led exactly to the type of scenario that they had been trying to avoid. The Holmes brothers seem stronger than ever. The added difficulty lay in the fact that Sherlock and Molly had the full might of all Mycroft's resources behind them and they had not been seen since Barts.

"We have redundancy in place," Byron said to himself. Looked at Jason. "Our channels are secure. Moriarty won't be able to close all of them and we have our own people in place. Let him take the fall. Even if Mycroft gets to him in the end, we can step away from those business partners that could be compromised. Who knows, we might be lucky and they end up killing each other."

Jason grunted. "Smith thinks he might have found a way."

"Really?" Lord Byron sounded surprised.

"Yeah. With the drugs it could work."

Lord Byron leaned back in his chair and tapped on his lips with two fingers. Eyes dark with malice focused on Jason. He pouted his lips briefly and his nostrils flared in response, as he dispelled a snort that seemed to show his contempt. "One chance, Jason. If it doesn't work…kill him. He's become a liability."

"What about Mycroft then?"

A sneer briefly lit his face. "There's always the hunt."

Jason smiled. "Both?"

Lord Byron met his gaze. "Why not."

John was on his way to the clinic when two men that had been walking towards him, about turned and grabbed hold of his arms and turned him into York Street and away from Baker Street. He stopped, pulling backward but they had a firm grasp of him at his elbows and then something hard jabbed into his ribs.

"Let's keep moving, Dr Watson. Don't want to alarm anyone, do we."

He looked up into the face of the man on his left that looked vaguely familiar. "What is this?" he asked, pulling back on the hold they had on him despite the gun. Their fingers tightened and they stepped closer, crowding him in so that he had no space to try anything if he was so inclined. His hand drifted down towards his jacket pocket when the gun dug in a bit deeper. He just knew it was going to leave a bruise.

"Keep your hands away from your phone, you understand."

He nodded and tried to glance back towards the dwindling crossroads. A van was idling not too far away in front of him and he was being steered that way. He tried digging his heels in but the men just forced him forward, their momentum enough to complete the last five metres.

He knew this was going to happen but it still didn't make it any easier. Mycroft had predicted within the next two weeks, not bloody now. He swore under his breath. What he needed to do is get to his phone and press the alert button.

Okay…this is going to hurt…

As they pushed him into the van to slide the door open, he kicked upwards and using the van as a springboard managed to get enough force to slip his arms from their grips. He scrambled away, his hand in his pocket, his finger on the button when he felt all the air leave his body as one of the men slammed him into the ground. He twisted and rolled but it was too late and the second man kneed him in the liver, landing full force on his back and he bellowed out in pain and anger, blinking back a swarm of reactive tears. A hand clamped onto his mouth, pushing his face into the ground. He felt skin scrape free as his hand was forced away from his pocket, his phone clattering onto the walkway.

"Did he manage to make a call?" A voice above him questioned angrily.

The knee on his back shifted and he grunted in pain. "No, we stopped him just in time."

He almost smirked, stopped himself just in time.

"Get him into the van. Now."

The pressure on his back lifted and then hands pulled him to his feet, shoving him into the van. He managed to stop his head from hitting the side panel on the opposite side, rolling onto his back and then he stilled when the door slid shut and the gun unerringly pointed not at his head but his leg.

"Good try, Dr Watson but try anything like that again and I shoot you in the leg. Do we understand each other."

He looked up into the blue eyes of the man in front of him and for the first time noticed the man's other hand. Gloved and missing a thumb. The image came unbidden to another time and place.

"Lyle…"

The man gave a sinister smile. "Glad to see I'm not entirely forgotten."

"You're supposed to be in prison."

Lyle threw him a pair of handcuffs. "Put one around your right wrist and the other to your left ankle."

"What is this?" John asked again while he did what the man wanted.

"A job. Nothing more than that."

"I don't understand." He said, sitting awkwardly upright as the van started and moved away from the curb.

"You're understanding is not a requirement, Dr Watson. Now be quiet. The trip won't be long."

The trip by his estimation was less than fifteen minutes before they turned into a garage. The doors rolled closed behind the van, bringing darkness inside the building. The back doors opened and John shuffled awkwardly to the opening. Lyle pressed his gun into the back of his neck while one of the men who had opened the door undid the cuff around his ankle and reattached it around his left wrist. A pair of hands reached out and pulled him from the van as Lyle jumped down, pocketing his gun. They forced him through a doorway and upstairs until he came to a standstill in front of a closed door that led to the house.

One man opened the door, led the way inside as he was pushed from behind. They entered a living room and brown eyes met his and with wide opened arms and a Cheshire grin.

"Johnny boy, guess who missed you." And Moriarty stepped forward and enveloped him in a hug, crushing him to the other man's chest. He felt the other man shift and then warm breath on his ear, stirring his hair as the other man whispered, "Welcome back, my pet."

Sherlock put his phone back into his pocket. Turned to Molly who was seated on the porch beside him. The wind ruffled his hair, the tang of salt in the air. The white cliffs of Dover weren't too far away from where the safehouse was. It was a converted old farmhouse, the surrounding area secure with patrolling guards.

"John's been taken."

Molly nodded. "It started then…"

Sherlock stood in front of her and held out his hand. The blue of the ocean was just about visible over the horizon. "My brother reckons a week. He's never wrong on these things, you know."

She slipped her arms around Sherlock. Her head rested on his chest. "This isn't so bad." She said softly. Looked up at him and gave him a soft smile. He tucked a stray hair that was whipping in the wind behind her ear. Leaned down and gave her a gentle kiss. Pulled away and held her close.

"Do you remember the smell of rain…"

"I remember arguing with you outside the bothy while a storm was gathering on the merits of me not being John."

He chuckled. "I was an arrogant arse."

Molly chuckled. "You still are, Sherlock."

He looked down at her with a mock horrified look on his face. "I'm wounded Molly Holmes."

She gave him a playful shove. He captured her wrists, pulled her close and then he kissed her. It deepened and was hungry. More than ever, he felt he will never get enough of what she tastes like. They were both a little out of breath when he finally broke the kiss and stepped away. He leaned his forehead against hers.

"Are you sure you don't want to be in London while they're rooting out Moriarty and the others?" She asked him softly. He shook his head. "No. This is where I want to be. Let my brother do what he does best. If he doesn't need to worry about us, it gives him leeway to do what needs to be done. Besides, London will still be there next week."

Molly blinked. He saw her eyes film. He gently glided his thumb over her cheek. Kissed her eyelids. "I made a vow, Molly." He said to her gently. She frowned. "When?"

He pulled her in, folded his arms protectively around her. "The first time after Oliver had his man beat you to a pulp. I was …helpless to do anything. Do you know what it felt like watching him do that to you and not being able to put a stop to it." He cleared his throat. Settled his own emotions. It still felt raw even after all this time. "You were so strong." He said softly. "I admired you; you know. When you were inside the bothy, I washed away the sweat. Sat on the well and watched the sun go down and I realised that Oliver hadn't even really begun yet. That it was going to get a lot harder and that we'd have to endure. I made a vow then at that moment to protect you at all costs." He gave a small sigh and gently rested his chin on her head. "Oliver made it hard…" He swallowed, the remembrance of his own fear and despair hard to bear.

"I made my own promise." Molly's voice was so quiet, it almost got snatched up by the wind. She tightened her arms around him. Leaned into his presence. "I wasn't going to let him win, Sherlock. No matter what." She looked up at him with a fierce determination. "Just like we're not going to let Moriarty or anyone else stand in the way of us living our life."

He gave a silent nod. Gave her an encouraging smile. "You really are something else, Molly."

She laughed. "Keep saying it, Sherlock. Never stop saying it."

He shook his head. Looked at the vista that lay before them. So different to the bothy yet the same. He tilted his head, closed his eyes and felt the wind. Felt Molly in his arms. Felt her breathing and warmth and then movement of her tummy against his. His daughter.

He smiled.

This was good and proper and right. He remembered what Giles had said to him all those months ago when he had told the psychiatrist about Molly's pregnancy. He understood it now. Life changes. Priorities change. It wasn't good or bad, it just was.

And he wasn't afraid anymore.