Big chapter with a bit of a twist. Hope you enjoy. ?

Chapter 24

December

All of this was very familiar to Greg Lestrade. He remembers Oliver and his estate and getting ready with Mycroft's team to extract Sherlock and Molly and arrest Oliver and his men. The fact that it hadn't exactly worked out that way back then in capturing Oliver and then finding the cellar and all its sordid details were in the front of his thoughts as he joined the men in kitting up.

"Sir?"

He turned to the young soldier that had come running up to where he and one of the sergeants were methodically searching through the study. So far it had been a bust. There had been nothing more than psychiatry and history books. Some of the topics were disturbing, giving him a very brief insight into the type of man who would find these types of topics interesting.

"Sir, uh…you need to see this."

He gave the sergeant a look. From the shocked and breathless way the soldier was behaving he knew it wasn't going to be a pleasant experience. They followed the soldier out the house and got into the jeep. The road they followed was nothing more than a sheep track, rough and barely there. It took an hour and Lestrade was starting to wonder if taking the helicopter wouldn't have been better, when they turned off the track and came to a standstill on top of a small escarpment.

"Not far now." The soldier said, walking ahead of them at a quickened pace. The smell was the first thing he noticed. It was familiar and he felt his heart sink. As they went over the rise, he saw the four other soldiers standing a bit away, nose and mouths covered by facial masks. He breathed shallowly through his mouth as he stepped up and looked down at what the others had found.

It was Oliver's dumping ground.

He swallowed the bile as he looked at the mass grave. Turned away, trying not to think of what those men had endured before ending here. He nodded at the sergeant and walked away back to the jeep.

"We need forensics." He said to the other man. "A full team and a temporary morgue need to be set up here."

"I'll get it sorted." The sergeant said, pulling out a satellite phone.

"Those poor buggers." He murmured while he tried not to think of what he'd seen of Molly and Sherlock's injuries so far. At least both of them were now being looked after in hospital. Safe and secure and more importantly away from Oliver.

"Take us back." He said to the young soldier after the sergeant had indicated that he had finished his call. They were quiet on their way back. Shocked to silence by the callousness and brutality of the man that had kept his friends captive these past almost five months. They continued their search of the house with a grim resolution and it was another one of the men that found the cellar two days later.

When he stepped over the threshold, he just knew that Oliver had brought Sherlock here. The first thing he had noticed when he entered the room was a grubby couch against the back wall. One side of the wall had shelves built in, of the kind you find at hardware stores and can DIY. Boxes were placed on them, filled with files. Years of experience had him look up and he found a hook hanging from a rafter. Dried, flaky blood covered the metal, giving it a burnished look. He swallowed his anger down when he noticed the telltale old and dried evidence of blood, vomit and fluids. He'd been to enough scenes during his lifetime of working as a DI to understand what he was seeing without even Anderson pointing it out.

He walked a wide berth around the hook, indicating the area to be marked off with flags and not to be disturbed. He made for the wall with the boxes while he put on gloves. Waited until they finished taking photographs before taking down the last box that had been placed on one of the bottom shelves. Pulling out the file, he opened the bulky folder.

…Jim had come with a proposal that I found intriguing. As I've noted before, the subjects I've managed to acquire lacked either physical strength or mental resilience. The one subject that had looked promising had barely managed two months. This had been quite vexing but still profitable overall. I needed someone I could benchmark any future endeavours against. Jim had suggested I look at Sherlock Holmes…

He skipped a few lines. Raised eyebrows and blanched at what he was reading. With unsteady hands, he closed the folder and rummaging in the box, he found Molly's. He didn't open hers. Couldn't. He gave instructions to the men and women who were starting to catalogue the evidence.

Shortly after exiting that depressing hole in the ground, he phoned Mycroft.

He checked the gun, cocking it back to make sure it was loaded before placing it in the holster that rode his hip. The bullet proof vest was secure and heavy on his chest. One of the men was passing out the ear wigs and he took one, securing it in his right ear.

The twin Pumas started up when everyone was kitted up and ready. He joined the rest of the men as they loaded up and less than five minutes later they were in the air.

"Widen the camera." Mycroft stated to the technician. He watched as the whole estate came into view, the satellite he had commandeered giving a clear picture of the house and surrounding gardens. "Security measures?" He asked.

"Still analysing, sir." The technician said. "So far the asset has indicated electrical wires on top of a two-metre wall that surround the estate. Four guards are stationed at the gate as well as video surveillance. It's going to be bloody hard getting in there without anyone knowing, sir."

He nodded. Didn't doubt it one little bit. But he trusted in her. She had shown her mettle. He knew her professionalism. Knew what she was capable of.

"How long until our teams are in place?" He asked.

"The first lot should arrive in fifteen minutes, Sir. We've identified a farmhouse out of the way that should suffice. It's abandoned and had been part of an estate that had no living heirs. Judging by the way it's been let go, it should be safe."

"Very well. Any indication of numbers?" He asked.

"No sir. She reckons at least 15."

He grimaced. More than Oliver but then again, this was Moriarty. And he was certain, his private bolt hole that they had been searching for these last five years.

"My brother and John Watson?"

"Inside the house, sir."

He turned away from the screen when he felt his phone buzzing. Noticing the number, he pressed the button to answer.

"The Spanish cell has activated."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes. Do you want us to pick them up."

He pinched his nose. Made a further three connections in the ever-expanding decision tree in his mind palace. Pulled the threads as he worked on the probabilities laid out before him. Could see how this was going to pan out.

"Let the local police tag and follow them and pick them up when they enter the warehouse."

"Very well. Do you want us to close down the bank accounts?"

"All of them."

"It will be done." Inspector Thevenoux said. "Bonne chance!"

He closed the connection, turning his attention back to the wide screen that showed Moriarty's estate, where Sherlock and John were currently being held.

If all goes according to plan, by the end of tonight the last dregs of Jim Moriarty's international web will be shut down and the man himself will either be dead or back in custody.

Molly was comfortable situated in the warm kitchen of the house she had been ferried to. This time they were back in the Midlands, having bypassed London for a new site that was close to the hospital where she and Sherlock had stayed during their convalescence after their rescue from the bothy.

Peter felt more comfortable with the arrangement. He wasn't entirely happy with her blood pressure and was keeping a closer eye on her. She could feel her daughter move as she sipped tea, her hands folded around the cup she was holding.

"Hey Molly," Giles said, as he walked into the kitchen. He made for the kettle, switching it on as he pulled a cup from a cupboard. "How're you holding up?"

She gave him a brief smile. "Okay, I guess. Been a bit of a busy morning." She said softly.

"You got to see a bit more of the tunnels than you bargained for." He said with a quick smile.

"Could've done without the history lesson," she quipped. "How's John and Sherlock?"

"The last I heard from Mycroft is that they entered Moriarty's estate about thirty minutes ago. Sherlock had a minor flesh wound on his thigh. It seems they removed his chip in a warehouse in London." He gave Molly a quick encouraging smile. "He's fine, Molly. John's there and Mycroft has a plan, remember. One that he and Sherlock had come up with to finally clean up the last of Oliver and Moriarty's hidden channels. They are aware of the risks involved."

"I know…" She sighed. Dropped her gaze as she tightened her grip on the cup. Looked back up and met his gaze as he sat down by the table with his own cup. "It's just …hard."

Giles didn't say anything. Just took a sip of his own tea as he allowed the silence around them to stretch. He didn't give her empty platitudes. Didn't promise her that Sherlock and John wouldn't get hurt. Just his assurance in his own way that whatever the result, he would be there. Suddenly, she felt at peace. Her own uncertainty coloured over and replaced by this man that had been instrumental in bringing both her and Sherlock to a place of healing. Had helped them to overcome what Oliver had done. Had steadily and without prejudice, stepped up and carried the load of their memories.

She smiled but this time it was genuine. A smile that spoke volumes of her thankfulness. She knew she would never be able to put it in words.

"You knew…" she finally stated, as she thought back on the last few days that she and Sherlock had shared at Dover. "…what it would mean for us to be at the farmhouse."

Giles smiled. "Maybe a little." He took a sip of his tea. "Anything happen I should be aware of?"

She laughed. "You bloody cock." It sounded foreign coming out of her mouth. Something she had said only a few times in her life but this time it was with affection. Giles joined her laughter. Leaned back in his chair with some satisfaction.

"You're going to be fine, Molly Holmes." He said finally. "You and Sherlock both."

She nodded. "Yes…I think you're right." And for the first time she truly believed it.

Sherlock couldn't help the smirk when Moriarty threw his phone against the wall in anger. It seems Mycroft had come through and had kept Molly out of the criminal consultant's hands. He was seated on a chair, his leg throbbing – the stitches pulling as he tried to shift into a more comfortable position. John was seated opposite him, raising an eyebrow at his smugness. Reminding him that they were not even close to safety yet.

But he could deal with Moriarty. The man wasn't as unpredictable as he pretended to be. That being said, Moriarty turned towards him. His eyes narrowed as he indicated to one of the men guarding them to step up.

"Show Dr Watson his room." He said. Waited while John was manhandled out the room. Sherlock didn't like the fact that they were separated but he knew that John would know what to do when the time came. He focused everything he had on the man in front of him. Understood that this would be the culmination of the Great Game they've been playing these last few years. That today would be the final move.

Jim Moriarty settled into the seat that John had occupied not so long ago. Grimaced slightly as he shifted on the seat. "I always hate it when you have to sit down when the seat is still slightly warm, don't you?" Moriarty said, wiping an invisible lint from his leg as he crossed it over the other.

"Trouble?" He asked.

Moriarty waved a hand dismissively. "Nothing that isn't unrecoverable. How's the leg?"

"Throbs."

"Yes, well. Apologies but had to be done. You understand that I wasn't exactly keen to have half of England on my doorstep."

"Mmmh."

"I can get you something for it." Dead eyes met him. Dark with malevolent intent.

"I'm good."

Moriarty raised an eyebrow briefly. "Very well. Tea?" Both of them watched as a man entered with a tray and proceeded to pour them both a cup. He handed it over and Sherlock took a sip of his own cup. It was still hot but made exactly the way he liked it. He expected nothing less from the man across from him. The goon left, leaving only him and Moriarty in the room. He placed his cup on the saucer and then both items on the table that stood next to his chair.

"How did you know where we were?" He asked casually.

Moriarty blew on his own tea. Took a sip. "Wasn't that hard. Tell me again the pay scale for a soldier in her majesty's army."

"You bribed someone."

"Well duh." Moriarty rolled his eyes. "It wasn't even that hard to find someone willing. Normal people are so predictable."

"It took you a while, though."

The criminal consultant chuckled. Placed his cup on his saucer. Leaned back in his seat. "You really believe that?"

"If not then why wait?"

"Why indeed, Sherlock? Care to wager a guess?"

He leaned back. Steepled his fingers against each other just underneath his chin. Studied the other man from underneath his lashes. Allowed one half of his mouth to tug upwards into a quick smile.

"You needed to put things in place. Get everything ready before you could make your move." He said, raising his eyebrow briefly at the end.

"Very good, Sherlock." He placed his cup down. Played with the rim of the cup, letting his finger twirl around in a slow circle. Crunched his nose as in distaste. "Do you know what it took to not pitch up at that farmhouse, Sherlock? Just take you and Molly right from under your brother's nose. To play dumb in front of the camera that Mycroft put in the kitchen."

"Why didn't you? Your delay tactics had let Molly slip through your fingers."

Moriarty frowned. "Don't worry, Sherlock. You'll soon be reunited with your wife. It won't be that hard to find her again."

He tilted his head. Scanned the man in front of him and then he allowed a mocking smile to come up. "You have no idea where she is."

The criminal consultant waved a dismissive hand. "It's only a matter of time, my dear."

"So, now that you have me and John, what's the plan." He asked casually. "Or are you going to be boring and do what any other megalomaniac out there does and threaten us."

"Oh, nothing as crass." Moriarty said. "We are civilised. Oh, no, no, no, no. Sherlock. I have something much better planned for you."

Sherlock shifted in his seat. Suddenly wary of the gleam in the other man's eyes.

"Go on then." Moriarty stated. Picked up his cup and took another sip.

"You want me to guess?"

Moriarty shrugged his shoulders. Took another sip before placing his empty cup back on its saucer.

"You can't be serious." Sherlock said, eyeing the man before him.

"You owe me, Sherlock. And I've come to collect."

"I won't help you." He said clearly. What was frightening was when Moriarty didn't get angry at his statement. "I thought you'd say that. So, you see, Sherlock. I came prepared."

"Without Molly…" he started with a mouth that was dry. He heard movement behind him. A thread that was familiar and terror made its presence known. A knot in his stomach tightened and he found his hands were clammy. A hand came down on his head. Familiar in every sense of the word.

No. He's dead. Oliver is dead.

His head was pulled back and he looked up into a face he had thought forgotten. A face he had thought long dead.

Oliver smiled.

"Mr Holmes…it's been a long time." Fingers tightened in his curls. Held him in place. "Let's see what you remember. Now, shall we begin."

John slammed a fist against the door. His hand hurt but there was no response. He tried the doorknob again, rattling it against the frame. The door didn't budge. He sighed, pushing his worry for what Moriarty's plans were for Sherlock deep down and tried to find another way out of the room that he'd been placed in.

Maybe once, a long time ago, this would've been a servants' quarters. It was tiny. Claustrophobic. Big enough for a single bed, a basin and a toilet. That was it. No windows. No egress except the solid door.

He hadn't liked the way Moriarty had looked at Sherlock. Hadn't liked the way the man had somehow seemed to think that he'd already won.

There was something decidedly nasty that was going to happen and he didn't want to be excluded. Didn't want Sherlock alone with the criminal consultant. Even though he knew that Mycroft would find them. Even without the trackers, he was confident that he would outplay Moriarty. He had seen what Mycroft was capable of these last few years. Knew the intellect the man possessed. The protectiveness he felt towards his brother and his friends and family.

He went to the bed. Sat down and took a deep breath. Counted the seconds down underneath his breath as he utilised some of the calming methods Giles had given Sherlock now for himself. A little time later he felt calmer. Could think properly.

This time he was methodical. Lifted the mattress and checked under the bed. Searched the whole little room with intent. Finally managed to wangle a piece of wire loose from the springs under the bed. He started to bend the wire into the little loop that Sherlock had taught him. It was hard work and it took time. His fingers were covered in cuts by the time he finally had a working lock pick.

After that it took him less than five minutes to wiggle the lock open and exit the room.

Lestrade and the team were holed up in the farmhouse. They were sorting out teams. The plan was to go in with teams of three, attacking from different angles as they converge on the house. The video surveillance was up and running, live feed coming in over their headsets.

Everything was in place. Entry was scheduled for after 11. Hopefully by then, the guards would be less vigilant. Would allow them the surprise element, just as it had with Oliver.

He grimly smiled.

It went against his grain, but for once he hoped Moriarty will resist. His attention was drawn to one of the Toughbooks that one of the men had set up. It showed a thermal view of the house, points of warmth situated on different levels. Overall, he counted eight warm bodies, two of which he knew was his friends.

"Do we know where they are being held?" He asked, watching one of the dots move horizontally along one floor.

"Sorry. Without the trackers, it's almost impossible to determine. I don't think they'd be kept in the same room. If it was me, I would've separated the two men."

He nodded his agreement. And from what he knew of the criminal consultant, it made sense.

"I can't see any tunnels." The man said, indicating the house. "There are three vehicles in the garage. One looks like an SUV. Two unable to determine but probably four-wheel drive at least. The helicopter is at least five hundred metres over open ground away from the house. If we have one team on the vehicles and one team on the helicopter, we can take out any transport that they'd use and prevent an escape that way."

"That leaves three teams for the house," Lestrade said, making the sums. "It feels a bit light."

"We'll have to make do until the other two teams can join us." The man said. "It'll be fine."

Lestrade grimaced. "Yeah…Moriarty is a sneaky bugger. I'll feel more comfortable if we had another team covering that…" he said, indicating a side entrance that seems to have been discarded so far. The man tilted the camera, moved the mouse and the view of the house changed. Moved it around until they could see the entrance. It didn't seem used. Boarded up and locked, the grass and weed overgrown. The picture didn't gel for Lestrade with the rest of the house and gardens. Something was off. He frowned.

"Pan out." He said. The man did; the satellite overlay with the house blueprints and CAD that had been created, making it easier to visualise. Lestrade found that he wasn't alone. Three other men had joined him, watching the screen.

"Can you draw a line from that door to the estate boundary?"

"Yeah. Just give me five."

He watched as the man worked. Pulled the camera back more and they followed the blue painted line as it disappeared amongst a grove of trees at the edge of the boundary.

"I want a team there." He said. "Call Mycroft. I think we found another way to enter the house."

Mary was already inside the house. She had found the tunnel on her third time around the estate boundary. It had been very cleverly disguised. It had been pure luck that had led her to the entrance. She had utilised every bit of her skill to pick the lock. The tunnel had been dry and well maintained. She had made her way down the tunnel and into the house without anyone noticing. The tunnel had exited in an old pantry. Obviously not in use anymore and probably the reason for the escape tunnel.

She was careful from there. Utilising all her experience to try and think where Moriarty would have put John and Sherlock. Well, John. He had clearly shown an interest in conversing with Sherlock and what she knew of the man, he wouldn't let the opportunity pass him by.

So, she found herself in the lower levels of the house. Moving stealthily from room to room.

It gave her prime view when she saw a door further down the hallway open and John Watson slipping out of the room. As he closed the door and turned to leave, she saw the guard that had been left, stepping from a hidden alcove behind the doctor.

He turned with surprise when she took him out with her silenced gun, his body slumping and then slowly sliding down the wall, leaving a blood trail. John looked at her with surprise as he straightened.

Smiled.

She walked up to him. Eying the rest of the hallway. "Sherlock?"

"My guess is he's still with Moriarty. Upstairs."

"Okay." She riffled through the dead man's pockets. Pulled his handgun from his hand and gave it to John. "You know how to use this?"

"Yes." He leaned in. "Did Mycroft share his plan with you?"

"You want to go hunting?" She asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Hell yes."

She chuckled. Seemed impressed. "Fine. Let's see what we can do to make things a bit easier for the teams breaching in …" she looked at her watch. "…thirty minutes."

Sherlock groaned. Curled up and stayed where he was. His nightmare was complete as he listened to Oliver and Moriarty converse. He tried to get back on even keel. Tried to will his intellect to fight against what he was experiencing.

Oliver is dead. This isn't Oliver. This is Moriarty playing him.

But his body and reactions that had been moulded and pushed and brutalised by this man for five months didn't want to believe him. He was reacting. His triggers are as vivid now as it had been back then. It was the cellar all over again.

Sherlock, what can you control?

Well, thanks Giles but right now it was bloody well nothing, he thought. Fat lot it was helping him. He concentrated on Molly. Tried to focus back on her while he tried to ride out another wave of terror and pain.

"Mr Holmes, are you with us?"

He grunted. Opened his eyes when Oliver asked him too. Found it hard to ignore the other man. Even his aftershave brought back memories of the couch and his eyes drifted to the one that was plush against the one wall of the room they were currently in.

"I had it brought from the estate," Oliver said when he noticed where Sherlock was looking.

"Not real." He managed to say this time. "I killed you."

"Did you now?"

He pushed up with his arms. Got himself into a half seated position. Looked up as Oliver easily squatted down before him. The man reached out and carded his hand through Sherlock's hair. He moved his head away, anger marring his own features as he growled his displeasure at the actions of the other man.

"Now now, Mr Holmes. I know it's been a couple of years but surely you haven't forgotten all the rules I taught you."

"You're not him." He sneered. Looked him up and down deliberately. Focused on Moriarty. "You certainly have outdone yourself this time. Where did you find him?" He asked.

"Really Sherlock. I'm shocked that you think I would stoop so low. And a little disappointed." Moriarty said, standing with his hands in his pockets and riding on the balls of his feet.

He chuckled, to his own discomfort. To fight against the panic attack that was threatening to undo him. Briefly closed his eyes as he again reminded himself that his brother was on his way. That all he and John needed to do was make sure that they stayed alive and relatively injury free until that happened. "So now what? Another couch session…"

"That will come." The pretender said. Sherlock swallowed. Knew that it wasn't hard to read his fear and anxiety those words provoked. Willed everything inside him again to focus on anything but here. On what these men intended for him.

"If you think this is going to work…" He started. Got interrupted by Moriarty.

"Oh, I know it's going to work…because it already is." The criminal consultant smirked. "What do you think was the whole point of Oliver, Sherlock?"

"Fresh air." He quipped. Tired of it all. Moriarty laughed.

"Oh. That's good. Very good, Sherlock. Really. I should remember that one." Dead eyes met his. Flicked to the couch and he didn't like the nasty smirk that settled on the other man. He indicated to one of the two men who stood right behind him and was responsible for most of his aches and pains that currently had made their home in his body.

"I think it's time for Sherlock's medicine. Don't you agree, Oliver."

"No!"

He rolled away. Rose to his feet and faced the men. Tried to step away from the two guards while keeping an eye on the man pretending to be Oliver and Moriarty. Could see exactly what the other man was planning.

He wasn't going to make it easy on them. Moriarty raised both eyebrows. "No?"

"That's what I said."

"Okay. How about this, Sherlock. You play nice and we forgo the drugs for today."

He eyed the other man. Tilted his head while he kept the other man in his peripheral. "Play nice, how?"

"You're going to phone big brother and ask him nicely for my money back."

Mycroft had been expecting the call. It had been one of the scenarios that he and Sherlock had discussed. Had anticipated it earlier as he had now closed almost all of the current accounts that they had found.

"Brother mine." He was succinct. Read from the playbook they had worked on. "Are you okay?"

"Been better."

He made a noise in the back of his throat. "I'm assuming this isn't a private conversation?" He asked the obvious.

"No."

He glanced at his watch. It was almost time. "Can we skip past the pleasantries and just let me know what it is Moriarty wants. I'm in the middle of something at the moment."

"His money."

"Ah. That might be a bit hard."

Silence came over the phone. For a moment he wondered if his brother had hung up and then it changed. He heard a grunt and a brief struggle. And then his brother's voice returned, this time strained and he was clearly in pain.

"You have twenty-four hours."

"I'll see what I can do." He said. Rang off and immediately returned his attention to the screen. His men were in place. Waiting for him.

"Lestrade. It's a go."

The DI acknowledged him and he watched as everyone moved in.

Sherlock was moving, ignoring his aches and pains when he heard the first sounds filter through that Mycroft's attack had started. It was obvious from the look on Moriarty's face that he hadn't anticipated the attack. He turned, grabbed the gun from the man that had just a short time ago tried to kick the guts out of him. The goon reached for him but he calmly pulled the trigger centre mass, watched dispassionately as the man fell away from him. Even before the man had tumbled to the ground, he had pulled the trigger again, killing the second guard. When he turned, Moriarty was already at the door, slipping through before he could get a shot off.

That left him alone with the man that pretended to be Oliver.

"Mr Holmes…you know what will happen if you don't put that gun down."

He raised an eyebrow. "Do tell."

The man gulped. Clearly not comfortable. "Shall we talk about despair." He rallied.

He laughed. "You have no idea, do you on who it was that Moriarty wanted you to be?" He got interrupted when the door opened. His gun lined up before he saw who it was. He dropped his gun as John and a woman he didn't know entered the room. John's eyebrows shot up in the air when saw the other man in the room with him, his gun immediately up. "What the hell."

"It isn't him." He said. "Although I would say whoever did the surgery did a good job. It took me all of ten minutes to realise what I was looking for before I saw the minute scars."

"Ah yes. You okay?" John asked, stepping closer while Mary pushed the pretender onto his knees.

"Been better. You?"

John looked him up and down disbelievingly. "I'm fine. Bleeding anywhere important?"

He chuckled. "No. Nothing worse than bruises."

"Fine. Where's Moriarty?"

Sherlock shrugged. "He should've walked right past you. He went out the same door."

Mary nodded. Was speaking into a headset. "Lestrade wants us to stay put until they clean up."

They settled, Sherlock keeping the gun in hand as he walked to the window and moving the curtain, looking out. Lights were playing over the grounds. Highlighting the controlled chaos of his brother's agents and soldiers.

The gunshots had settled and all that were left was the movement and shouts of men doing their jobs. Rounding up those of Moriarty's men that were still alive. Even through all that, Sherlock heard the shot when it rang out. He looked to Mary, who had her gun still trained on the kneeling man before her as she tilted her head, listening to whatever was coming over the headset.

She looked up at him and smiled.

"You sure?" he asked, almost unbelieving that it could be over.

"Lestrade confirmed. He asked if you wanted to see."

He nodded. John stepped up to stand next to him. He looked at his friend. It wasn't long before two soldiers joined them, one leading the way out of the room towards the tunnel that left the estate. The walk wasn't that long before they exited the tunnel and entered the grove. Moriarty was on his back, staring up at the sky that was barely visible between the branches. Lights were on, shining on the body.

"It's over?" John asked, staring down at the man.

He turned away. Felt the last three years shed off his shoulders. John seemed to understand. Gave him space as he walked away. He pushed the gun he still had in hand into one of the men guarding the perimeter and accepted the phone that was pushed into his hand. The darkness enveloped him as he steadily made his way out of the grove of trees, onto a small hill that sat outside the grounds. Even though it was cold, the stars were out. He sat down on a stone jutting out of the ground, barely noticeable in the dark. But having spent all that time outside, watching stars when he was at the bothy, he still retained a sense of his own surroundings. Of what things were.

He pressed buttons. Waited for the connection to be made.

"Hey." He said softly.

"You okay?"

He closed his eyes at those words. Reminded of all the times at the bothy when Molly had said it to him when he was outside, trying to cope with what Oliver was doing. Trying to survive. Those words had kept him alive. Had carried him to keep trying. To not let Oliver win.

"Been better." He finally said into the silence. "Bit sore. Bruised."

"Giles said you had a minor wound on your leg?"

He sighed. "John stitched it up. You know how mothering he's going to get after this, right."

She giggled. "Let him."

"Fine."

"Moriarty?" She asked softly.

"Dead. Sniper bullet as he tried to escape."

"You sure?"

"Yep."

"Good." He could hear a shudder. Knew her well enough to understand the rollercoaster of emotions.

"Molly." His voice was low. Soft.

"Mmmh."

"Can you see the stars?"

"Wait…" He heard her move. Looked up and tried to make out the constellations he could see. Tried to remember what she had told him.

"I'm outside. Peter wasn't entirely happy but Giles understood. Said it will be fine." She laughed breathlessly. "Damn, it's cold."

He chuckled. "A bit."

"Okay. Are you facing east?"

He orientated himself again. "Yeah."

"Okay…" It wasn't long before he heard Molly. "I'm facing west. Sorry, I just needed to find the right stars."

He felt peace steal over him. Even though they were currently on separate islands. Split apart by the Irish Sea. It didn't matter.

He smiled. "Tell me the story of Ursa Major."

He heard her giggle. "Again?"

He thought back to that night. The night when she had given him back hope. When he had realised that he could beat Oliver if Molly stayed by his side. When he realised how strong she was.

"Please."

"Fine. I can see Ursa Major. You know it means 'the great bear' right. There's been fascinating stories told throughout history. The Greeks associated it with the myth of Callisto…"

He let her voice steal over him. Relaxed as she continued with the story. John found him there later, breathing in the air, watching the stars. The phone dead in his hand.

"You nearly gave Lestrade a heart attack when he couldn't find you." His friend said, sitting down next to him.

"He'll get over it."

"Ah yes. I'm sure. You okay?"

"Bit anticlimactic." Sherlock stated. John gave a short chuckle.

"Yeah, I think Moriarty didn't really expect your brother to come out and play. Must've been a bit of a shock, that."

"You should've seen his face when the first shots came."

"So…this guy that was pretending to be Oliver?" John left the question open.

"A bit not good but I'll be fine."

John glanced his way. He shifted and then finally stood. Stretched out his hand. "I'm okay." He said. "Mycroft is looking for Jason. The rest of Moriarty's network is collapsing. Brad Vines is being picked up. But without Moriarty, there is no reason to focus on us and run the risk of exposure."

"That's good then." John said, standing. "There's still time to make it to your parents Christmas do. Can't bloody believe it's next week."

"Yes, I'm sure my brother would dearly appreciate that." Sherlock said. "Should we tell him the good news?"