My thanks to all of you who are reading this. Thank you, Sherlockreader for the review. It is very rewarding and appreciated. Thanks also to YouLoyalBlogger, Rouge Singer, damson1,Danni-Sherlockian-Ireland, nagla11, and ErinLindsey524 for taking such an interest in this story of mine. This chapter takes up where Chapter 4 left off. Major spoilers for Sir A. C. Doyle's "The Adventure of the Empty House" Hope you enjoy it.

Some may think it strange that Mrs. Hudson would fly into such a rage. But in the "Adventure of the Empty House" Sherlock tells Watson that when he had turned up at Baker Street, sans disguise, she had "violent hysterics" This is just my take on that scene.

As always, I do not own Sherlock Holmes and Co.

Lestrade just set where he was even after the doctor had left. Before going, the surgeon had given strict instructions that John could not be told about Mary until they were satisfied that John's concussion was not going to cause any kind of crises.

So it was that Gregory Lestrade had gone back to New Scotland Yard and saw to it that someone who was trained in grief counseling was dispatched to inform Mrs. Dearbourn's to break the sad news. He grabbed another counselor and headed for Baker Street. He couldn't face the thought of sending strangers to her door with this. Over cups of tea they shared many tears, some laughter and simple remembrances. When Lestrade finally left Mrs Hudson was teary eyed but in as good a spirit as circumstances would allow.

It was another 48 hours before John's primary health care provider gave the ok to him to be told. Lestrade had gathered up Mrs. Dearbourn and Mrs. Hudson on the way to the hospital. He had stood numbly gazing out the window seeing nothing as John wept. Martha and Roksana had done their best to give what little comfort they could. A simple funeral would be held three weeks after John's release from the hospital.

It had been a very busy three weeks for New Scotland Yard. Anderson was scared to death and was cooperating fully with police. He may have been a very small fish but the information was paying off in big dividends. Moriarty's involvement in narcotics, extortion rings, blackmail schemes, illegal arms sales and everything in between was being exposed. With the help of Mycroft's network, solid evidence was gathered. There would be no slip ups this time. No jury tampering, no threats, veiled or otherwise gotten to witnesses. Jim Moriarty's web of crime was being unraveled, thread by delicate thread.

But at their last meeting with Mycroft Holmes, Lestrade had gotten the impression that the powerful man was not fully satisfied. They had gone over names of captured criminals and their particular illegal operations making sure of their ties with Moriarty's name. At the end Mycroft had huffed and moved to on the large windows. After a moment or two he spoke.

"Are you sure this is complete?"

"As far as it goes on our end." Lestrade had frowned at the papers on the desk.

Mycroft gave a wave of dismissal. "No no, Inspector. You and your people have done remarkably well. Very well indeed. You are truly to be congratulated. But, it has been a long day, for the both of us. Let us end it for now."

Lestrade had risen and been shown out of the room and led through the maze of the power plant to his car. As soon as he was out of the room Mycroft had reached for his phone.

"Threat to Lestrade neutralized. MH"

"Moriarty's empire crumbling nicely. How ever, Cargill and Moran still avoid detection. MH"

"Mary Watson has passed away. MH"

"Cause? SH"

"Aneurysm on the brain. MH"

"You must attend funeral. SH"

"Send flowers. SH"

"Now see here. I hardly knew the woman. MH"

"Really. But you do know John. You must admit he has rendered invaluable service, to the both of us. It is impossible for me. You have no such restrictions. I must insist. SH"

"Do not forget flowers. SH"

Mycroft had known it to be useless to send another text as Sherlock would have turned off his phone.

"Anthea"

"Yes, sir?"

"Find out when Mrs. Dr. John H. Watson's funeral is. Order some flowers."

"Right away. Sir"

OOO

The cavalcade of 7 cars followed the hearse to the cemetery. Lestrade opened the door for Mrs. Hudson. John had slipped out of the front seat and let Mrs. Dearbourn out. Lestrade did a double take as he caught sight of the sleek black vehicle towards the back of the line of mourners. But found he was glad that one Holmes was able to make it.

Doctor's and nurse slipped solemnly into a knot around John and the hearse as the home attendant opened it and slid the coffin forward. Lestrade moved to act as pallbearer as did Mycroft( which shocked everyone, including himself, no doubt) and two of his people. A vicar stepped beside John as they led the silent procession to the green cloth draped over the casters that would support Mary during the service. Setting the coffin gently in it's place, the bearers stepped back as the vicar moved to her head to read some of her favorite passages. After he was finished, John stepped forward and read one of her favorite poems. Then taking two roses, one white for her and the red for himself, he twined the stems together and placed on the coffin. Each mourner followed suit until Mary was covered in a blanket of twined vibrant color.

Lestrade watched as the mourners gave John hugs or firm handshakes. The man responded to each but just barely. He looked totally washed out. It would be back to Kensington for him and soon.

Mrs. Dearbourn had laid out a light lunch. Lestrade joined John in his setting room. John had flopped onto the sofa, head back and eyes closed.

"Drink, John?"

"Oh, yeah. Oh, please."

John sat up straight and took the offered glass. Lestrade took the over stuffed chair across from him.

"I can't tell you..."

John's face registered pain. "No, no more. Let's talk about something else. Anything else. But not..."He waved a hand. "Not this..."

Lestrade tossed a folded news paper into the other man's lap. "I think maybe you might like to see this then."

John put the drink on the coffee table then picked up the paper and opened it. In big bold letters the headline read. "Moriarty real. Sherlock Holmes was right!" John scanned the article. It listed many of the arrests that had been made, the illegal activities and how the name of Jim Moriarty was linked to many of them. And a trial date.

John looked at at the man sitting across from him. "When did this all start to happen?"

"When we got our hands on someone who knew enough and would talk... Anderson was working for Moriarty."

John almost dropped his drink "You've got to be kidding."

Lestrade merely sipped his drink.

"You're not kidding. How did you find him out?"

"He confessed it in front of 5 witnesses who just happened to be police officers."

"When?"

"The day...the day of your accident. He called someone. Said that you should have died. That it would have been poetic justice for Moriarty. First Sherlock, then you."

"Then the suicide note..."

"Pretty much a lie...yeah."

John got up and moved around the room ending up at a window. But it wasn't the scenery he was seeing. "But why would he do that? Why say Moriarty wasn't real then when it has been proven that he was. Sherlock knew he was."

Lestrade wrestled with his conscience but in the end he said nothing about the phone call. If the caller had wanted to let John in, he would have. He hadn't so maybe Lestrade shouldn't meddle in this. He only shrugged and shook his head.

000

"Cargill has been taken. Tried to carjack a woman with a child in the car. She had a bottle of perfume and she sprayed it in his face. Called the police, of course. That leaves only Moran. Will you be coming home soon? MH"

"Heathrow tomorrow. 10:45 arrival time. SH"

000

Mrs. Hudson cleared away the lunch dishes. Her new boarders were pleasant enough. A young couple who laughed often. They had filled the flat upstairs full of life but it had been three years since John had moved out. She missed her two boys... She shook her head. No, there was no sense going there. She sighed and moved towards her living room. A little tele might help pass some time.

She hadn't anymore then sat down when someone knocked on the front door. With a humph she got up and moved down the front hall. "Just a moment. Who is it?"

"A friend of Mr. Mycroft Holmes. He asked me to deliver a package for him. You can call him if you don't believe me."

She hesitated.

"It's alright Mrs. Hudson. You can trust him."

Mrs. Hudson looked up into the smiling eyes of her female boarder who had come down to the landing. Mrs. Hudson nodded as she moved to the door and opened it

"Hello, Mrs. Hudson."

At her stunned silence the tall man gently moved into the hall, forcing her to step back until he could reach behind him to close and latch the door. Her hands moved trembling to cover her lips, her eyes wide. Then her grief and anger erupted and she slapped him open handed across the face. Her hands tightened into fists and she pummeled his shoulders and chest.

"How could you do this! That awful funeral and hideous grave! John grieving so. All of us!"

After her anger was spent she came to realize that the figure before her was solid and warm with life. Her fists opened to grip the lapels of his coat as she studied the calm face looking down at her. Her hands moved to bracket his cheeks.

"Oh my boy. My dear, dear, wonderful, beautiful boy."

She leaned into him, her forehead pressed against the black wool of his coat and gave herself over to tears. Sherlock wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on the top of her head content to simply hold her until she could gather herself together.

000

Lestrade slumped on the sofa as John offered to take his coat. "Nothing new in the Adair case?"

"No. You are right, of course. Only a sniper could make a shot like that. Problem is, we can't find anything in the offices across the way that would make such a shot possible. The trajectories just don't seem to fit. I should have asked this before, but would you mind taking a look, John?"

"I'd be glad to. Any kind of motive? Adair never served in the military, did he?"

" No, he didn't. No motive yet. He was a gambler but he was careful with his money. No bad debts. No links with any loan sharks that we can find."

John grabbed his jacket and Lestrade moved towards the door. In a few moments they were on their way to 427 Park Lane.

The house where the young man died was residential. Owned by his mother. There were still thrill seekers about. Everyone talking, pointing, not adding anything remotely new or interesting. Lestrade had called him into the case it being just a short walk from his flat so he had seen the body. The ruined head, the single bullet that had snuffed out a life, so he had some idea where the shooter would have had to be to get the shot. He walked up the opposite side of the street until he directly across from the window of the room where Adair had died.

In a blink he was no longer on Park Lane, but standing by an indoor swimming pool. Sharp red dots trained on a vest of explosives, on a forehead.

"John...John...are you all right? You've gone white as a sheet."

John blinked slowly taking a deep breath. "I'm fine, really Greg. Just a flashback I guess."

"Ok, we're done then. This can wait. You get yourself home."

"Greg...I'm..."

"Your obviously not fine. So shut up and go home. Look, the last few weeks have been tough for you. It's ok. We'll try again in a few days. Alright?"

"Alright, yeah."

Greg moved off with a wave. John, disgusted with himself, spun around. He was aware of loosing his balance and stumbling into someone, of books hitting the sidewalk. He stooped to help pick them up but a gloved hand grabbed at them. John looked up to see an elderly man badly bent with arthritis turning hurriedly away from him hobbling as fast as the old legs could carry him, a cracked voice muttering angrily.

John huffed and made his way back to his flat. It seemed like he had only hung up his jacket and put a kettle on for tea when there was a knock at his door. Opening it he found the same old man he had just bumped into.

"I've come to apologize, young man. You showed kindness and I was gruff and, if I may say so, rude. So I hobbled after you, you see."

"There really is no apology needed. But I was about to have tea, would you like some?" John turned away to head back to the kitchen."

"I would love some. You know how I like it." The voice had gone from high and cracked to rich baritone.

John stopped dead in his tracks and with a deep sigh began to crumble to the floor. With a muttered oath Sherlock jumped to catch him before he hit.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

John was deposited on the sofa and covered with the light blanket that graced the back of it. Sherlock hunted through kitchen cupboards. Finding a bottle of ammonia and a soft cloth, he poured a small amount of the pungent liquid on the cloth and waved it slowly under John's nose. When he showed signs of reviving, Sherlock moved out of arm's reach. If he had thrown Mrs. Hudson into violent hysterics, John's reaction might be even stronger. Why hadn't he considered that before?

John slowly blinked then sat up. Took a few deep breaths and slowly looked around. When his eyes fell on the tall, dark haired figure he gave a small groan and moved as far away from Sherlock as possible. Sherlock remained silent. He had given Mrs. Hudson her space, he would do the same for this man as well. But John had pressed the heel of his palms over his face and remained still and silent.

Sherlock watched then took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. "John...I owe you an apology. I didn't think. It was...I was...unnecessarily melodramatic. I also didn't take into consideration your recent bereavement. I am sorry about Mary."

John's head came up. He had never heard Sherlock apologize to anyone...for anything. Except maybe Molly at that Christmas party. But he was angry. So very angry.

"You want to try to explain this then? I watched you die, because you asked me to! I saw you jump and I saw your bloody broken body!"

"You saw what I needed you do see. What you needed to believe. Because if I hadn't stepped off that roof, you would have died that day. You, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, that was Moriarty's trade off. My life for yours. And you had to believe it with all your...heart..."

Sherlock paused. John could only look at him, mind numb at this bit of news.

"But the papers. They called it a murder suicide. You killed the actor, Richard Brook, and then yourself. Proving you were a fake. No investigation, nothing.

"It was needful. Moriarty's people would feel safe that way. They would start making mistakes."

"Don't you see, John. It didn't matter what the papers said. What anyone said or thought for that matter. I knew the truth. Mycroft knew. And by the looks of the spray paint used in my defense, the Irregulars knew. And this is what matters. It's the only thing that does matter. What you yourself know to be the truth."

"I believed in you." John's voice was soft. Barely a whisper.

Sherlock sat on the low table that fronted the sofa. "I know. That is why, of all people, you had to believe me dead. Because if you had the slightest hint that I was alive the whole world would have known it. They would have read it on your face. In the way you walked...talked. Your conviction of my death was your greatest shield. It kept everyone safe."

John leaned forward, elbows resting on knees, chin cupped in twined fingers. "You knew Moriarty wanted you dead."

"He kept saying it. Kept alluding to me as "the final problem"." He knew that I would never stop hunting him. Trying to expose him for what he truly was. I was the threat that had to be eliminated. He learned...that I might not die for myself...but for..."

"For others?"

Sherlock merely nodded. Then he dug out his phone opened it and held it out to John. John took it.

"Open "Unsent texts"."

John found several tagged with his name with dates. He found his anger had been ebbing away, bit by bit.

Sherlock held out his hand and John placed the phone in it. After the slightest pause Sherlock pressed "delete" and slipped the phone away.

"But all this time. You didn't stay in England."

"Africa, Turkey, India, Iran, Arabia, and Iraq. The State Department has all the reports."

"Meaning Mycroft of course. Is the danger over then, is that why you were able to come home?"

"No, and that is why the disguise, especially on Park Lane. Some how young Adair ran afoul of him and paid for it. The shooter is still there watching the course of the investigation. You and Lestrade where in great danger today."

"Us...sniper. I remembered the pool. The sniper scopes..."

Sherlock nodded. "No doubt one and the same. If he thought you and Lestrade was getting to close he would not hesitate this time. There is no Moriarty to stop him. His name is Sebastian Moran and he is the most dangerous man in London. But Mrs. Hudson and I have baited a trap. With any luck at all we should be able to take him tonight. I must be back before nine this evening."

John sat up straight. "Mrs. Hudson...you've been to Baker Street."

"Yes, and sans disguise. I'm afraid I threw her into violent hysterics but she recovered nicely."

John frowned. "Mrs. Hudson...violent?"

"She actually slapped me, across the face. Then hit with her fists. Tears I expected."

"But...oh...you wanted to be seen. You wanted this Moran to know you were alive and back in London. Is Mrs. Hudson safe?"

"If she does as is planned, there is no risk to her at all."

John groaned, dropping his head in his hand. Some things never changed. Especially with this man setting in front of him.

Sherlock stood up and straightened his coat. John watched from where he sat. Sherlock hesitated then looked down at him.

John felt the smile growing on his lips. "Oh yeah. Oh bloody hell, yeah"

"Bring your gun. Moran is good at what he does and he takes it very seriously."

Sherlock let a smile touch his own features as he headed for the door and opened it,

holding it while John grabbed his coat and pistol . Then he stepped through and waited for John to close and latch the door behind them. They both sprinted down the walk and into the street to hail a cab.

Instead of driving to Baker Street Sherlock gave directions to Cavendish Square. There they got out . After paying the cabdriver, Sherlock led John through a maze of back alleys to Manchester then to Blandford. A gated fence faced the back of a row of stores on the street. Placing a small flashlight between his teeth, he trained the beam on the lock of one gates. Fishing out a set of lock picks, he deftly opened the gate and slipped inside motioning John to follow. Sherlock closed and locked the gate then made for the back door of the building. Another session with the flashlight and lock picks and they were inside. Sherlock led the way up two stories and down a hall. He opened a door motioned John inside. Followed him in and left the door slightly ajar. The room was dimly lit by windows and the two men moved towards them.

"Do you know where we are, John?" Sherlock spoke in a soft whisper.

John glanced out the window to the street below then up to the building across from them. Lights glowed from the windows. In one was a silhouette of a man. "Baker Street. Across from 221 B." John whispered back.

"You know, someday you are going to get so busted for breaking and entering."

"Perhaps, but this is not the day...or night...as the case may be. Lestrade knows we are here."

"Wonderful. Now you're aided and abetted by New Scotland Yard."

"It has it's uses. Now, hush. Hopefully it will not be to long a wait."

But it was a longer wait then Sherlock had hoped. The time had gone from nine to almost midnight when a noise made him grab John's arm. Moving back to the door, he opened it and listened. Some one was moving through the store down stairs. He spun and around and searched the walls finding another door. It led into another storage room and he pushed John into it then closed the door slightly.

Sherlock leaned close whispering as quietly as he could. "Text Lestrade. Let him know that Moran is in the building across from 221 B with us. It is imperative that he does not text or call back. Tell him to come up barefoot, if need be. Being silent is utmost."

They stood in the dark hardly daring to breath. The soft sound of foot falls was heard as the door to the outer storage room was opened. As the figure approached the window a shadow fell across the door. The sound of a window being eased up was then heard. Then a long stretch of silence, a faint tinkle of glass and the shadow moved.

Sherlock flew across the dark room. John heard the sound of impact, two bodies colliding. John was out and hunting near the main door of the storage room hunting for the light switch. Finding it he he hit is revealing Sherlock struggling with a man in fatigues. The man was down but was trying to flip Sherlock onto his back, trying for a strangle hold. It almost worked until John touched him behind the ear with the barrel of his service pistol.

"Give me a good excuse. Just one..."

The man went still and Sherlock scrambled to his feet.

"It's alright John, you can stand down."

John turned his head slightly, hand never flinching as he looked up. He found himself and Sherlock standing in a half circle of Yarders all with guns drawn. John took a step back and lowered his weapon giving Greg Lestrade room to cuff their prisoner. Lestrade yanked the man up and handed him off to another officer.

"Take him down. And what ever you do, don't loose him."

Three officers formed up and grabbing hold of Moran, marched him out of the room.

Lestrade turned to Sherlock. "This is the man you were telling me about? Moriarty's pet sniper? Quite a coup for you."

Sherlock shook his head. "I am not to be connected with this affair in any way, Greg. Not my name. Not a mention of John or 221B. This is to your credit, and you alone."

Lestrade looked perplexed. "But we have him on your attempted murder. If you don't give us that then what have we to hold him on?"

Sherlock glanced towards the window. "Come around to 221B later this morning, say, nine thirty? I think I will be able to provide the ballistics evidence you need to tie this weapon to the Ronald Adair murder."

Sherlock indicated the leather case sitting under the now closed window. Lestrade put on latex gloves and moved to open it. Inside was a state of the art sniper rife. Greg looked up at John.

"You did tell me that the shooter of Park Lane was most likely a sniper."

Lestrade took up the case then held out his hand to Sherlock who took it.

"Welcome back to London. It's good having you here."

"It's good being back, Lestrade." Sherlock released the hand and started to turn away.

Lestrade kept his hand out and wiggled his fingers. "Oh...and Sherlock..."

Sherlock glanced at the wiggling fingers then up at Lestrade. "No. I still have need of them. Your paparazzi have arrived by now. John and I are going to have to retreat the same way we came. I'll return them when you come later."

Lestrade let his hand drop with a warning look to Sherlock. "See that you do. Goodnight you two."

Greg left, turning out the light. Sherlock and John made their way back down stairs and out the back once more. Sherlock led the way to Mrs. Hudson's back door. Once in they were up the stairs and opening the door to their old flat. John stepped in and it was like going back in time. Everything was pretty much as he remembered it. The skull on the mantle, the bullet pocked marked smiley face, test tubes and microscope. The only real difference was that it was much cleaner and Mrs. Hudson stood in the middle of the room at almost one in the morning smiling like he had never seen before.

She came and gave John a big hug and he returned it warmly. Sherlock had moved to inspect a damaged bust.

"Do you have the bullet, Mrs. Hudson?"

She moved to drop something into his hand. "It hit the wall after ruining your beautiful bust I'm afraid."

"No matter. It is as I expected it to be."

John moved to inspect the damaged piece. "Really, Sherlock. Couldn't you have used a mechanical head. Something that moved on it's own?"

"Actually the thought did cross my mind, but I deleted it immediately."

"You dele...why, for pity's sake! It would have kept Mrs. Hudson out of it."

"I came to realize there were three points to the negative."

"And they were, pray tell?"

"1). A bullet like this, striking metal parts, would have caused shrapnel to fly everywhere. Who knows what damaged would have been done."

John rolled his eyes. "Right, bullet holes in the wall, test tubes and such blowing up right and left and your worried about shrapnel. Yeah?"

"Point number 2). This bullet hitting solid material may have very well rendered it useless for Lestrade's needs."

Sherlock moved to stand in front of Mrs. Hudson, eyes smiling down at her.

"You were expounding on the third point?"

Sherlock took her chin and gently moved her head. "Look at this face. The sun on a clear summer's day could not beam so bright. She could not be prouder if she had been asked to chair parliament with the guarantee that every proclamation she issued would be signed immediately and permanently into British law. Who am I to deprive her of that?"

He drew himself up to full stature and took one of her hands. With one arm smartly tucked behind his back he executed a perfect courtly bow, kissing the back of it. She blushed and performed the most perfectly graceful curtsey that John thought he had ever seen bad hip or no. And John laughed. And it felt wonderful. He moved and offered his hand to Sherlock who took it warmly.

"Welcome back to Baker Street, Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

"Might I expect my faithful blogger to return as well?"

"You might. Yes, I think you very well might."

"Most excellent."

There. It is done. Finished. Complete