Chapter 18

November

Sherlock was supposed to meet Molly for morning tea at a coffee shop not too far from St Bartholomew Hospital. After his conversation with his brother yesterday, he was contemplating the possible pathways before him.

There were several of note. One, it was clear that Moriarty would play a role at one stage. His brother had dismissed it as a low risk but he didn't agree. He knew Moriarty. The inactivity of the last year and half must've been hell on the man, locked up at Sherrinford. He would be scheming to find a way out. He had promised Sherlock that he'd be back and he wasn't about to dismiss the promise.

Two, the doctor of Brad Vine. Clearly a compatriot of Oliver. Someone who would understand how to manipulate Oliver's notes and videos and bring to the fore Sherlock's regression or conditioning. Whichever came first or was the focus. It made sense that Oliver had done something that he'd managed to hide away in Sherlock's mind. He suspected that it had to do something with Mycroft and quite probably Redbeard would be the trigger. The fact that Jason had called him out on it that first meeting back in August pointed to it. He still had the two locked rooms he couldn't seem to access in his mind palace. He was certain that one of them had to do with the hidden trigger.

Thirdly, the mystery man himself. The one that had been running things in the background. He was certain that this man had been a full partner of Oliver. On equal footing running the financials while Oliver ran the channels with Moriarty and his own pet project that had ended with Sherlock and Molly at the bothy on his estate. He was certain that Mycroft would've cost them money by his own dealings with other foreign entities. Maybe that's why Moriarty had been interested in finding a way to control his brother.

Of the three, Moriarty was the only known player. And maybe all the more dangerous for it.

He stepped into the coffee shop, noticing his wife seated at one of the back tables. He smiled and made his way over to her, taking his coat off before giving her a peck on the cheek.

"How's the planning going?" She asked him, putting her phone upside down on the table.

"Making progress. My brother and I seem to have a disagreement on what we deem is acceptable risk."

She gave him a brief glower. "Getting kidnapped again, Sherlock is not a valid strategy."

He threw his hands in the air. "Mycroft will know where I'm at any given time, Molly. They don't want me dead. You remember that it worked with Oliver."

"That's because we knew he was going to do it, Sherlock. But to throw yourself out there deliberately in harm's way to see if you'll get a bite…not okay."

He huffed. "Fine. I'll take it into consideration." He glanced around, noticed that she'd already ordered by the numbered tag on the table. He reached over and placed a hand on her stomach. Felt his daughter move in response to his hand. He couldn't help but be in awe of her already, even though she isn't even born yet.

"Hello, how're you doing in there?" He whispered, bending down. He got a kick against his hand in answer. They looked up when one of the cashiers came over with their order. Sherlock found these moments that he stole with Molly not at all dull, like he'd envisioned them to be when she had first suggested them. It reminded him of their times when they had sat outside the bothy, relishing in the warmth of the sun and just speculating about what Lestrade and John would be doing in London. Or they would discuss favourite foods or places they've been.

He quite enjoyed this coffee time with her. It had become something they did regularly as his cases allowed.

Afterwards, he walked her out the shop and turned towards the hospital where Molly was attending a seminar on pathology ethics, one of her continuing competence training requirements she had to do yearly. Molly paused just past the door of the shop, rummaging in her bag. "Oh, I forgot my phone." Sherlock remembered Molly placing the phone on top of the table, to the side of her plate.

"I'll get it." He said, turning and going back in, spotting it almost immediately on the table where they had sat. It was quick work to pick it up and dash back outside where he came to a standstill when he noticed who stood next to Molly.

He became hyper-aware, taking in not only the man in his Westwood suit that stood next to his wife, but the two men who were casually walking up to him.

Casual look, comfortable slacks and thick jackets to hide an assortment of weapons. Man on the left had two knives and a gun, a browning automatic gun with a custom grip. Had to with those large hands. Shoes practical and hardy. Easy enough to run after escaping prey. Right hand man comfortable with the gun he got tucked into a shoulder holster. Trained in hand-to-hand combat, ex-military, dishonourably discharged. Confident in his own abilities to subdue captives.

He took it all in the less than three seconds it took him to exit the shop and step towards Moriarty and Molly.

"My my, you have been busy, Sherlock. And not a virgin anymore." Moriarty said, grinning wide. "Mols look positively radiant. Is it true what they say that you and John share paternity?" He asked, dead eyes never leaving Sherlock's.

"Leave." Sherlock managed to say. Kept his hands in view as the men split and each took up place next to him so that he was sandwiched between them. To a casual observer it would look like they were old friends meeting outside the coffee shop. Probably what Moriarty was going for.

"No, no, no. Sherlock. That'd be rude. Daddy's missed you." The criminal consultant's arm was around Molly and he pulled her in tighter in the parody of a sideways hug. "After all the time we spend apart…you know with me being LOCKED UP!"

Molly jumped as Moriarty shouted. Sherlock glanced at her, noting the way she stood stiffly next to the other man. Her right hand was protectively over her stomach, her left clenched around her bag. He shifted slightly on his feet, trying to get his centre of gravity settled, ignoring the two men next to him.

"You okay," he asked her. She gave a small nod, bringing her bag across so that it was in front of her body. "You don't need her." He said, focusing back onto Moriarty while he turned his shoulders slightly sideways.

"You don't know what I need, Sherlock." Moriarty said. Anger marred Jim's features, all the more dangerous for where the consultant criminal stood next to his unborn child and wife. Sherlock's brain fizzed. He was trying desperately to come up with anything that would remove them from this scenario in a way that didn't leave Molly hurt or his child born prematurely on the pavement. He shifted his gaze, did a quick reconnoitre but there was no sign of the agents that usually accompanied them. As it wasn't that far from St Barts, they had not taken the car but the agents always followed them. Always.

"I'm not stupid, Sherlock." Moriarty said. "What do you think these two are for?" He said, indicating the two men at Sherlock's sides.

"You killed them."

"Well, duh. They were in my way. Shall we…" he said, indicating towards a car that was parked a bit further down the road. It was a 7-seater SUV with a driver behind the wheel. He moved the moment Moriarty turned towards the car. Molly already had the taser out of her bag and into the man's side. Sherlock was barely aware as Moriarty fell away with a surprised yelp when his elbow slammed into the man on his right side. He used his momentum, pivoting with the blow and hit the man on his left side with a left hook to the face. The man staggered back, hands going to his face and Sherlock was dimly aware of the bloom of blood that sprouted beneath the man's hands. He was already rushing forward, hand on Molly's arm as he pushed her towards a clothing shop that sat next to the coffee shop.

The ding of the bell sounded loud in his ears as they entered the shop. He hurried them along past a bewildered shop assistant towards the back of the shop. He ignored the protests as he pushed through the door into a small area that was clearly being utilised for storing boxes of product with a very small counter with a kettle and a few cups and microwave against the sidewall. He found the back door, slamming it open as they exited the shop in a back alley. His fingers were already dialling Molly's phone while he turned to the left, away from the main road. A distant shout was heard, his breathing and Molly's loud as they half jogged their way past the debris and bins that littered the alley. He growled in frustration when he realised that his brother's number was engaged. His fingers fumbled as he rapidly punched in a number.

"Where are you?" He asked when John answered.

"At the clinic…"

"Moriarty is in play. We're close to St Barts. Phone Lestrade. Bring your gun."

"Where?" He could hear John moving, the rustle of his jacket as he was putting it on while they moved deeper down the alley. He was looking for an egress point, the map of London vivid in his mind palace as he turned down a narrow space between two buildings. Molly was a quiet determined presence just in front of him. He did a rapid risk assessment on his possible avenues open before him as well as the fact that Moriarty had a car available.

"Trying to reach the museum." He said. "We're cut off from the hospital."

"Okay," Sherlock heard the slam of a door and then John's rapid breathing. "I'll call you back, yeah." John rang off and Sherlock kept the phone in hand as they made another turn. He pulled Molly to a stop just short of stepping out the alley they were in. A quiet road was just in front of them and he did a quick check before taking Molly by her hand and crossing the road. Hurrying down Kinghorn street, he was aiming for another gap between the buildings at the end of the road. He heard a shout to stop and ignored it as they passed underneath the arch into Bartholomew Close, aiming for the Middlesex Passage.

"You okay," he breathed as Molly stumbled. She just gave him a brief nod, her hand tightening in his. Molly's phone rang and he answered it without thinking.

"Sherlock, where do you think you're going?"

It was Moriarty. He didn't want to consider how the other man had gotten hold of the number. He ended the call without giving an answer. Threw Molly's phone into a bin. He let go of her hand as he reached for his pocket and extracted his own phone. Noticed that he had five missed calls from an unknown number. It joined Molly's shortly as they rejoined Bartholomew Close. He was aiming for Little Britain when he noticed a backpacker coming their way. He scanned her and without any conscious thought bumped into her, pickpocketing her phone and wallet.

He was lucky. She hadn't locked her phone and he tried Mycroft again.

Swore when it went straight to voicemail. Phoned John again.

"Seven minutes out, Sherlock." John was clearly in a police car; he could hear the siren over the phone. "Lestrade is sending armed units. Where are you?"

"Little Britain turning towards Montague Street. Trying to avoid roads as much as possible."

"Okay, yeah. Got it."

They crossed the road and Sherlock heard the sirens in the distance rapidly drawing near. Just at the end of the road, they turned into a walkthrough between two buildings. Cut off from the road, they made their way in the twisty walkway towards Aldersgate.

"Sherlock." Molly gasped and he turned to her in concern.

"You okay?"

"Sorry." She was bent over slightly, her face as white as a sheet. "Bit of a stitch."

"Okay." He bent down and picked her up. Held her close to his chest as he hurried on. She had one hand on her stomach, the other around his neck, curled inwards with her head against his chest just underneath his chin. He saw the big white letters that announced the Museum of London on the big rotunda in front of him at the same time as he saw the big SUV come to a standstill on the corner. Three men exited immediately; the driver ready behind the wheel. He turned, crossing the road while desperately searching for a way out.

He entered the first doors that he saw of the building only to realise that he was in the front foyer of a gym. He became aware of the phone in his hand when he heard John's tinny voice over it.

"Molly," He grunted, turning towards the turnstile that led further into the building. "Do you mind…John."

She shifted, took the phone from his hand, a grimace on her face as she groaned and almost bent double in his arms.

"John…" she said breathlessly.

Sherlock only half listened as she explained where they were while he manoeuvred her over the stile and then climbed over. He picked her up again, moving between gym machines and stands with dumbbells. He spied the stairs and took it two at a time.

"John says hide. He'll find us."

He was too out of breath to give her an answer. The top level seemed to be offices of staff. The first two doors were locked and he sighed with relief when the third door was open. He closed the door and locked it before moving deeper into the office. He sat Molly down on a chair and assessed the room. There was a cupboard at the far wall, a desk with two chairs, once of which Molly occupied. He dragged the desk across the floor, pushing it against the door and then opened the cupboard. Behind him Molly's breathing increased and she suppressed another groan.

There were a few dumbbells ranging in size between 1 and 5. Two big balls that looked big enough to sit on and had a certain bouncy feel to them. Towels and someone's backpack. He upended the bag on the floor, scrambling through the personal effects of the owner of the bag. He found a small pocket knife which he pushed into his sock underneath his trousers. It might come in handy if John was too late and he and Molly were taken.

"Top floor." He heard Mollys say to John as the screech of tires sounded from the road with the abrupt cut-off of a siren. The doorknob rattled and he grabbed the biggest of the dumbbells. Pushed Molly still seated on the chair to the corner, away from the door and flattened himself against the wall. He heard a brief argument and behind him Molly gave another softer groan, doubling over.

"John. They're here." She whispered. Sherlock understood her desperation in that one short entreaty of his friend's name.

A shoulder was thrown against the door and the flimsy lock broke without preamble. The desk squealed across the floor. He hit the first face that came through the door. Heard the crunch of bone sickeningly echo into the corridor. The man went down without a sound. He ignored him as he swung again but the second man was charging into the room, his centre of gravity low as he took Sherlock down in a rugby tackle. He lost his grip on the dumbbell, heard it clatter to the floor as he rolled and tried to squirm his way out of the man's hold. He grunted when a third man entered, a foot sinking into his side.

John isn't going to be pleased, he thought in the insanity of the moment. It was the side where his ribs had been plated and he grunted in response. Tried to avoid another kick but it was hard with the other man that had settled across his hips, hitting him in the stomach and chest, fists flying wildly. There wasn't even a science to his hits, he was just brutally lashing into Sherlock.

"Enough!"

The sound of a gunshot was sudden and loud and Sherlock felt a spray of blood cover him as the third man went down without a sound. The man that was seated on him, half turned towards the door and froze.

"Get off of him."

He had never been so happy to see John Watson stand in the doorway, his trusty Browning L9A1 High Power still outstretched in his left hand. The man rose and he rolled away, rushing over to Molly as Lestrade and five police officers entered the room, securing the scene.

"John!" he called out in panic as he pushed Molly's sweaty hair away from her face. Her eyes were huge where she was bent over, both her hands on her stomach.

"It's going to be okay, Molly. I promise…" he was babbling. His hand rested on top of hers and he felt a contraction like a live wire ripple from beneath their hands.

"I need a medic. Lestrade!" John was all business. His hand was on Molly's pulse and then he asked her questions. Sherlock could barely comprehend as he tried not to panic. Tried to go back into his mind palace and find his centre. Tried to strip sentiment away to cold logic.

He couldn't.

This was Molly. His child. "John?" He looked towards John who was calmly removing Molly's jacket and jumper.

"Sherlock, why don't you go with Greg." John said, making brief eye contact with someone standing behind Sherlock. He looked around to find Lestrade, who put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"No. Molly…"

"I'll be fine, Sherlock." Molly managed to say. "Just don't go far, okay."

"Give me some space, mate, okay." Sherlock watched as John directed the two EMS personnel that had entered. He was deft in starting up an IV, proficient in his movements. He gave Molly an injection via the port of the cannula he had set up while one of the EMS officers left.

"What happened?" Lestrade questioned him and he briefly glanced over to the older man.

"Moriarty." Was all he said. Watched with disinterest as Anderson entered. The second man was gone, presumably removed by Lestrade's men. All that was left was the man that John had shot and the man whose face he had caved in with the dumbbell. The EMS returned with a stair chair, stepping over the body lying in the doorway.

"Okay. Let's keep her upright, yeah." John said as the unfolded chair. John and the EMS that had been assisting him lifted Molly into the chair, making sure she was secure. Sherlock took a step towards her, grasping her hand.

"I've set up a security detail to go with you." Lestrade said to John. "Mike said to use the east entrance. It's smaller and better contained."

The next few hours went by in a blur for Sherlock. Mrs Hudson had brought him a change of clothes and he had taken a quick shower to wash the blood off his face and hair and only after John had threatened to bar him completely from being with Molly. He could later barely recall the ambulance ride or the time spent waiting beside Molly in the secure room with Lestrade and armed officers guarding the corridor and the room they were in. Molly had a foetal transducer fastened over her stomach and he kept switching between the monitor that spit out his little girl's heart rate and the monitor that held Molly's.

She was dosing and came awake when a soft knock came and he looked around to find John entering the room with another older woman, balancing a tray in one hand that held three cups of what looked like tea. He passed one onto Sherlock and put the second on the side table beside Molly.

The gynaecologist looked at the printout of the baby's heart monitor and clucked happily. For the life of him, Sherlock couldn't remember her name. Only that she had stepped up as they arrived and had been brilliant as far as he was concerned.

"Baby's settled. Good." She did a quick check on Molly. "And Mamma's doing well. Contractions seem to be under control for now but I'm going to keep you on bed rest for the next week, Molly. You need to keep your fluids up and no running around London okay."

She left shortly after, giving further instructions to John that Sherlock ignored. All he felt was relief. And anger. At Moriarty for putting his wife in this position. For Mycroft not having told him that the man had escaped.

"Where is he?" he asked John, ignoring the drink in his hand.

"Sherlock?" Molly questioned. Gave him a knowing look and she grasped his hand, squeezing it.

"Greg only managed to locate him ten minutes ago. He's on his way."

He gave a terse nod. Placed the still full drink on Molly's side table and tentatively put his hand on her stomach. His little girl moved and then settled down again. This was all wrong. He had wanted to protect Molly. Make sure that she and his unborn baby girl are safe. Even the plans that he and Mycroft had come up with John and Lestrade had not put Jim Moriarty centre place in a blatant attempt at kidnapping in the middle of the day in the middle of bloody London. In front of a coffee shop nonetheless.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, not entirely sure why he was apologising and to whom. John was up and he turned when he heard a knock to find his brother standing in the doorway. He was white as a sheet and clearly rattled. When his eyes met Sherlock's, he could read the guilt in his brother's eyes as surely as light was day.

"We need to talk." Mycroft said, twirling his umbrella in his hand and staying where he was.

"I'm not leaving my wife." Sherlock stated, standing up beside Molly's bed.

"I thought you'd say that." Mycroft replied, glancing at Molly and John in turn before settling again on meeting Sherlock's gaze. He clenched the umbrella. "Apologies. It seems I miscalculated…"

"Not the first time." He said with a calm he didn't feel. "How long did you know?"

"The possibility, even though remote always existed, that Moriarty would come into play. When we discussed possible ways this could go…"

He growled. Took a step towards his brother but Molly's hand was firmly in his, holding him to her and grounding him. His brother closed the door and turned to face the three with a quiet dignity that belayed the tension in the room.

"How long, Mycroft." He said, squeezing Molly's hand before he slipped from her grip. Oliver's memories surfaced. Redbeard. This was Redbeard all over again. Every time, throughout his life.

Deep waters, Sherlock. It gets you every time.

Moriarty's voice whispered in his mind. His headache he's been nursing increased and so did his irritability.

"Don't be absurd, Sherlock…" Mycroft's mouth gaped open and he closed it. He rallied. "If I'd have known…the risk that he'd come in to play this early was minor at best."

Sherlock glared at his brother. "Stop…just stop lying, Mycroft. This is Redbeard all over again."

"That old grave, you really want to dig it up again." Mycroft's voice had risen. He slammed the umbrella down. "Are you ever going to let that go? I was 12 and I made the wrong decision."

Sherlock glared at his brother. John had moved so he was standing between the two brothers. Molly, a silent observer to what was happening. Sherlock noticed out of the corner of his eye as she shifted higher, hand on her stomach.

"Redbeard? Who or what is Redbeard?" John asked bewildered, looking at Sherlock and Mycroft. Both brothers ignored him.

"This is a family matter, John. Please leave." Mycroft ground out, not removing his gaze from his brother.

"No. John stays." Sherlock replied forcefully.

"Can someone please explain what the bloody hell is going on?"

Sherlock glanced his way. "You mentioned sibling rivalry once."

"Ye-es."

"Redbeard is the reason why."

"That's enough, Sherlock!" Mycroft took a step towards his brother. "Redbeard was a long time ago and dealt with. It's time to let it go."

"No. It was never dealt with. You just brushed it under the carpet. You lied, Mycroft. To our parents. To me. And you're doing it again."

Mycroft turned his back on Sherlock and walked towards the door. He barely made it two steps, before Sherlock grabbed him by the arm and swung him around. "You're not running away this time, brother mine."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Sherlock. Always the drama queen, aren't you. Let it go."

"No."

"Why now, Sherlock? Mmmm. Have you asked yourself the question? Moriarty is messing with your head, dear brother and you're too stupid to see it."

"Oh, this again. 'Who's the smart one, Sherlock?' 'Don't by stupid, Sherlock.' 'Do think for once, Sherlock.' Predictable, Mycroft."

"Then think, Sherlock. What exactly do you remember about Redbeard?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. Staring at his brother, John almost took a step back. The animosity from Sherlock was palpable.

"You're the reason Redbeard died, Mycroft." Sherlock hissed, leaning into his brother's space. "Because of you, Mummy decided I needed to see someone. Because of you, I lost a part of my childhood. Because of you I lost my best friend."

Mycroft stood up straighter. Met his brother's glare with one of his own. His hands trembled on the umbrella. Gripped it tighter.

"Sherlock?" John stretched out a hand and touched his friend's arm. Sherlock jerked out of his grip.

"Moriarty called you the Iceman, wasn't that what Irene said?" Sherlock snarled. "An apt moniker, don't you think, brother."

"Your emotions are overruling common sense, Sherlock. I can understand that you'd be upset after your and Molly's ordeal…"

Sherlock swore, swung and then he hit his brother. A jab straight at Mycroft's nose, blood spurting down.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock!" John exclaimed, pulling his friend away. Pushing him into a wall. Turned his head to watch Mycroft dab at the blood with a handkerchief.

"Mycroft, I'd suggest you leave. I'm not sure what he's going to do."

"Yes, well. I think that would be for the best." Mycroft walked out, still dabbing at the blood flow. John turned to Sherlock who still stood against the wall, vibrating with anger.

"He's gone, Sherlock. Calm down."

Sherlock pushed John away roughly. Brushed past him to the door.

"Sherlock! Hey mate. Where are you going?"

He glanced at Molly, who had been watching everything. She nodded briefly in understanding. Sentiment almost overwhelmed him when she said calmly, "It's fine, Sherlock. John will stay with me."

He gave her a brief nod and turned and left. His long stride took him down the corridor, past the policemen that stood guard. It wasn't long before he found himself outside. He took a deep breath, just trying to get his emotions sorted.

He was angry at Mycroft. It was a deep knot inside his stomach that wanted a release. Because his brother…

"Hey mate."

He turned to find Lestrade standing next to him. Hands in his pocket and his jacket turned up, he hunched in on the cold breeze that seemed to flow around the building. He huffed, twitched his nose.

"Look mate, I know you're angry but this is not how we're going to get ahead of these guys if you two are fighting."

He stayed silent. Suddenly wished he hadn't promised Molly that he wouldn't smoke anymore. His hands clenched inside his jacket pocket. He hadn't bothered to take his coat. His gloves were conveniently stashed inside one of the pockets as was his wallet. He was still phoneless as was Molly. He guesses he'll need to ask his brother to trace the phones and retrieve them if possible.

Lestrade stood next to him. Waited him out while he sorted through his own sentiments and thoughts.

"How did he know where we were?" He asked out loud. Turned to Lestrade. "Moriarty knew exactly where we were. Molly had only asked me this morning if I wanted to meet up."

"Maybe he had someone follow you?" Lestrade ventured to guess.

"Nooo. I would've noticed." Sherlock stated confidently. "And so would Mycroft. He's keeping a close eye…" he sighed. "I need more data."

"And Mycroft would have it, I gather?" Lestrade said. "We have two men in custody. The driver of the SUV and the man that attacked you. Moriarty is still in the wind. Mycroft has men combing through footage, trying to track the man."

"Mmmmh." Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "I think they made a mistake."

"What?" Lestrade asked.

"The man behind it all. He let Moriarty loose. I don't think that kidnapping me and Molly was his idea. It was Moriarty taking advantage of the fact that we weren't looking out for him. This was a case of opportunity and it backfired when we fought back. Moriarty thought we'd meekly get in the car. He didn't reckon on Molly tasering him." At this statement, Sherlock smiled. It was a tight smile. For a brief moment he replayed the scene back in his head. Moriarty had clearly not expected the taser. Had been surprised.

"Maybe your brother had a reason for not telling you." Lestrade said softly. Sherlock's features darkened. He pouted his lips, frustration evident for the DI to see. He focused inward. Focused on logic. Tried to exclude sentiment.

It was hard.

He wanted to lash out again at Mycroft. He glanced at Lestrade who was still watching him closely. He remembered the interrogation and how skilfully the other man had directed the interview until the smuggler had given up all that he knew.

"You're worse than Molly." He said with a huff. "Before all this, I was perfectly content to not let sentiment rule my heart. To focus on my Work to the exclusion of anything else …distracting."

Lestrade gave a half-smile. "True. Except now you're a good man, Sherlock."

He huffed, but it was a secretly pleased one. "Fine. Give me your phone, Lestrade."

"Why?" The DI asked while he held his hand out, waiting. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Because mine is somewhere in a bin in the Middlesex Passage. Send some lackey to go fetch Molly and my phone, would you."

As soon as he had the phone, he dialled a familiar number. Waited until a terse, "I'm busy." sounded, when he said, "Should we have another go at this talking lark, brother mine?"


They were all seated in Molly's room. She had been adamant to be a part of it and at the moment, John knew that Sherlock wasn't about to say no to her on anything. Greg had brought in two more chairs and they were all seated in a half-moon around the one side of Molly's bed. He was happy with her numbers and she seemed to have settled down over the last few hours. Sherlock had returned an hour ago with the DI in tow. He had requested John to fetch him something to drink and as he left, he had heard Molly ask Sherlock what's going on.

He assumed that they had a conversation because when he returned with another cafeteria cup of tea for Sherlock, Molly looked smug and Sherlock brooding. Whatever the topic had been, Molly clearly had come out on top.

Mycroft's nose was slightly swollen and he still looked guilty. It was amazing, John thought, how similar the Holmes brothers were when they got caught out doing something wrong. They try to hide behind newspapers or keep their hands busy while trying to pretend that all was good. He almost snorted in laughter but decided that it wouldn't do in the current company.

Mycroft cleared his throat. "What is it you want to know?"

John placed a finger against his lips. Took a measuring breath. "How long have you known?"

"Excuse me?"

"About Moriarty? That he's not at Sherrinford anymore."

Mycroft didn't look at John when he said, "Three weeks. I suspected but couldn't prove it for the last two months. I didn't have time to go to Sherrinford and had obviously trusted the wrong people. It seems Moriarty had his own people in place since Alex."

"Mmmm. Okay."

"Moriarty had made it quite clear that I wasn't allowed…" Mycroft cleared his throat. "When I was taken from my home, they played a recording of Sherlock with Oliver." He glanced at his brother, who's lips tightened but he gave a terse nod to continue. "Sherlock had explained to Oliver exactly how to break into my home and how to circumvent the security measures I had in place. When they were done, I uhm…" Mycroft plucked at an invisible lint on his crossed leg. John could see how much trouble the deeply private man had in sharing his vulnerability. Mycroft gave a soft sigh. "Suffice it to say, they intimated that Sherlock had provided them with more information that could lead England into chaos. I believed them." He took a measuring breath. "That's when they told me that Moriarty wasn't at Sherrinford anymore. That if I was to tell Sherlock, they'd know."

Mycroft seemed to be gathering courage. He glanced at Sherlock apologetically but in a clear voice said, "Because I knew that something was going on with Sherlock and his missing hours, I couldn't take the risk that he'd tell them when he was drugged. So, I weighed the risk and decided to not say anything until I can put mitigation in place. I put them on maximum surveillance and it wasn't enough..." Mycroft almost looked embarrassed, if John was to guess. "Moriarty was …not anticipated to come in to play yet."

"Fine." John said. "You miscalculated. It happens to us all." He ignored Sherlock's eyeroll and huff of indignation. "What is Redbeard?" Sherlock pointedly didn't look at any of them. He glanced at his friend before refocusing on Mycroft. "Because clearly whatever this morning was, Redbeard is still a sore point." John paused. Took his measure of the older Holmes. "Oliver knew about Redbeard, didn't he? Sherlock told me once that Oliver pulled apart his memories. Of his childhood. His university days. And Jason mentioned Redbeard and Sherlock nearly went ballistic. The only way he could've known was because of Oliver."

"Oliver knew," Mycroft said softly.

"Bloody hell, Mycroft. You're a complete and utter moron."

"John…"

"No. I'm not done. If it was in Oliver's notes…then Alex knew. And I'm assuming we can be safe in making the conjecture that Moriarty does too. Mmmm."

Mycroft gave a nod.

"That maniac has intimate knowledge of Sherlock's childhood. Is obsessed with him. And you didn't think he'd come into play?"

Mycroft squirmed in his seat. Sherlock was rubbing his left shoulder. "John…" he implored.

"Sherlock, no. You trust us?" Molly said softly. She was sitting with a quiet dignity upright and glancing between her and Sherlock, there seemed to be some kind of quiet conversation going on that the rest of them just didn't seem to be privy off. Sherlock got up from his seat and walked over to Molly. He leaned down and whispered something in her ear urgently. Molly shook her head; her hand caressed his cheek and his friend leaned his forehead onto Molly.

"It will be fine, I promise. Time for secrets to end here and now." Molly stated softly. She looked to Mycroft as Sherlock sat down on the edge of her bed, his hand cramped in hers. Mycroft nodded. His voice was for once uncertain when he started to tell the story.

"When we were children…our intellect became apparent from an early age. Both Sherlock and I thought he was an idiot. Until we met other children. Sherlock made a friend. Victor Trevor. They loved to play pirates together. Victor had an Irish Red Setter, aptly named Redbeard. The three of them were inseparable. I'm seven years his senior. When I was 12 my mother asked me to look after the boys. I wasn't much enthused but had no real choice in the matter. Sherlock and Victor wanted to go to the treehouse my father had built but they couldn't take Redbeard with them. Sherlock begged me to look after the dog. I wasn't in the mood. I wanted to read my book and be left in peace. I reluctantly agreed and the boys left."

Mycroft paused. John found it interesting to see Mycroft's hand had a slight tremor in it.

"Redbeard died." Mycroft stated simply. In that one sentence he seemed to provide a lifetime of hurt. John could see Sherlock wince and then look away. Mycroft looked guilty, averting his eyes completely from anyone in the room.

"How?" John asked when the silence had stretched and it became obvious that Mycroft wasn't going to provide the answer without a prompt.

"I was irritated with the dog. Not at all interested in looking after him. I opened the door and let him out. Later that afternoon, I realised the boys weren't back. I went looking for them. I found Sherlock by the well. It was old, had been boarded up and the boys were expressly forbidden from playing there. From what I could deduce, Sherlock wanted to show Victor where he got a sedimentary rock he had showed me earlier. Redbeard had found them, had followed them and Victor and the dog had stepped on the planks that covered the well. The planks were rotten, had finally given way under their combined weight and they fell."

Mycroft didn't look at any of them as he continued, "I was afraid. My parents had entrusted me to keep them safe and I had been selfish. I managed to get Victor out. He had a concussion and a very badly broken arm. I…" Mycroft blinked. "I told Sherlock to tell our parents that Victor fell out of the treehouse. That Redbeard had run away. My parents believed them. I boarded up the well the next day. Victor struggled to understand and because of the concussion, he couldn't quite remember what happened. He didn't want to play with Sherlock anymore."

Mycroft paused. Took a measuring breath and then said, "It took a long time before my brother forgave me. Since then, I've tried my utmost to protect my brother. To do better by him. Even during his days when he was actively using and I found him passed out at flop houses and bolt holes. I insisted on a list after he almost died during a particular bad stretch. He complied."

"Okay, so that explains a lot, Mycroft. You two are a pair, aren't you? No wonder Sherlock struggles with trust. No wonder you act the way you do. Your guilt at what you did to your brother when he was five…five, Mycroft. Sherlock's right. You were a rubbish big brother."

"I'm aware…"

"No. I'm not done. I know you've changed, Mycroft. I've seen enough evidence this last year and half to know that you genuinely care about Sherlock. Bloody hell, shacking up with the Woman is enough of an indication to how much you've changed."

Sherlock shifted on the bed beside Molly. His hand was still tight in hers but he glanced at his brother and then said to John, "Mycroft is being blackmailed, John. They promised to …?"

"…Out Sherlock to the media as a traitor and a fraud with a drug habit. They want to discredit me. My guess is to get me to resign in disgrace after making me do a few faux passes. I had to decline a meeting this afternoon with Interpol regarding Moriarty's Barcelona activities." Mycroft said with a grateful glance at Sherlock.

"How did he manage to get you to do that?" Lestrade asked, speaking for the first time since they've come together. Running a hand through his hair, he said, "While Sherlock and Molly were running from Moriarty, you were unavailable. What exactly did he show as proof that got you to capitulate."

Mycroft looked embarrassed. "He sent me a photo of Sherlock with a needle stuck in his arm." Molly brought a hand up to her mouth. "When I tried to phone my brother, he answered the phone. Obvious really that he had cloned Sherlock's phone or picked it up after Sherlock had thrown him away. His people blocked my number that is why none of you could get a hold of me. I only realised when Anthea enquired why she couldn't get a hold of me an hour later." Mycroft's voice dropped. "I believed Moriarty that he had a hold of my brother."

Lestrade nodded. "Ok, so he photoshopped Sherlock…"

Mycroft interrupted him. "No, the photo was real. I do believe that it was staged during one of the times my brother lost time."

"Oh." Lestrade wiped his face and leaned back in his chair. "Fine. And the articles the last few months by Kitty Reilley?

Mycroft gave a swift grimace but from the look in his eyes, John suddenly had a good inkling why Sherlock had once said his brother is the most dangerous man in Britain. "Yes. Miss Reilley and I will be having a conversation shortly on her source." He didn't envy her at all. Wondered briefly what Mycroft was going to do to her and then decided that he just didn't want to know.

"As to the man behind this all," Mycroft stated, "He's been in the shadows, a silent partner in Oliver's organisation. If I had to make an educated guess, his money man. His CFO, if you will. He's never been mentioned by any of Oliver's men. Never mentioned in Alex's files. But when Oliver died, a huge sum of money was donated to Jason Crawford. We managed to track the money – it took a while after Sherlock brought him to our attention. His business was used to launder the money. Two weeks ago, his company sold off some shares and the money trial split out into different entities. One of them is traced to Tony Oxley and Brad Vine. I think we'll find another smaller branch going off to Dylan Masters. A payoff if you will for getting you to Whitstable so he could get hold of Sherlock again."

Sherlock squeezed Molly's hand and then he stood up. "We had proof of the tarantulas that pointed back to what started this journey in the first place. They were prepared to close off the branch regarding Tony Oxley and the smuggling channel of Dylan Masters to get to me. Moriarty probably suggested it."

"It feels a bit elaborate. Why all this cloak and dagger stuff?"

Sherlock tapped his fingers on his leg. Met his brother's eyes and Mycroft nodded. "You have to go back, John. Moriarty had suggested me to Oliver. He wanted not only my destruction but he wanted Mycroft in his back pocket. His own government man in office and doing his bidding. His great game has always been for me to join him in his organisation after I've been sufficiently 'trained' by Oliver. Oliver, of course, had other plans that didn't include Moriarty. Oliver didn't care about revenge or making Mycroft pay. His plan was to ferret me and Molly away to Europe and get me to be part of his organisation. I think he wanted to rival Moriarty. When Oliver died and Moriarty in Sherrinford, Alex came forward. He and Oliver were friends. He knew about Oliver's conditioning and he dabbled. He tried to follow his steps in forcing me to regress back to where he thought Oliver had control over me. It obviously backfired a bit. Mycroft was suspicious that there was more to Oliver's organisation than what he found when he started dismantling it. The money trial suspiciously fettered out unexpectedly."

"Okay, and now?"

"This new player is a bit savvier. He keeps to the background. We need to get Moriarty sorted first. Force him into play and finally dismantle the whole organisation once and for all."

"How do you plan on doing that?"

Sherlock smiled. "By giving Jim Moriarty exactly what he wants."

John stared at Sherlock. "You can't be serious?"

"You've got it wrong, John. He wants me, sure. But what he really wants is you."

"What?" Lestrade's mouth gaped open.

"Remember the pool, John and what he said - 'I should get a live-in one. Would be so funny.' – and he tried it already. When he kidnapped you and kept you in the cottage."

John nodded grimly.

"My brother and I estimate with 90% accuracy that he will take you again. Are you up to playing bait again?"

John felt a tingle in his body. He was very much prepared to meet the consulting criminal again and this time he knew what the outcome was going to be. It was a long time coming. His eyes gleamed in anticipation when he said, "Hell yes."