I decided that decided it's mad at me for not posting for so long and is taking it's vengeance by screwing up the format of everything I post. I am not amused. Fixed.

xxx

Being away from John was harder than Sherlock could have ever guessed. He didn't know how he had managed to survive without his John. He often found himself laying back and just remembering, wishing he could at least see him. But he fought it. He knew that if he allowed Mycroft to bring him even a photo of his mate, let alone of their child, he would abandoned everything and his time away would be for not. He didn't even let his brother tell him when is child had been born. He had expected to be gone for a year, two at most.

Their child had to at least be four by now.

'All you have to do is call Mycroft,' his spirit animal said. 'You can be home by tomorrow.'

Sherlock looked over at the dragon who appeared to take up the entire room, the ends of his wings disappearing into the walls.

'You think I don't know that?' Sherlock grumbled. 'I'm almost done. Once Moran is captured, I can go home.'

The dragon huffed and rested his head on his front claws. Sherlock rolled over on the caught. He really didn't want to sleep, he wanted to be out searching for Moriarty's right hand, but he had gone too long without and it was beginning to effect his ability to think. He hated sleeping, especially now. Now, when he closed his eyes, all he could see was John. Was he happy? Did he miss him? What was their child like? Was it a boy or a girl? Did the child look like him? As smart as him? Or was the child more like John? He hoped the child was like John. Like John, but with his intelligence. The perfect child.

The last three months had been particularly hard on Sherlock. Finding Moran turned out to be harder than he had anticipated. The man wasn't as smart as he and Moriarty, but he had what little was left of Moriarty's empire at his command and years of experience. Sherlock had spent the last year just chasing him across Asia, and had yet to lay eyes on the man. His military record had the picture erased (Moriarty's doing, of course.)

Finally, Sherlock managed to catch up to him. They were in Siberia, where Moriarty used to have a underground lab. Sherlock had put it out of commission early on, but apparently they had missed a secret room (how had Sherlock missed that?) and Moran wanted whatever was in it. Sherlock never did find out what was in there. Moran got there and got what he wanted and was half way out the door when Sherlock got there.

For a second, it felt like the pool all over again. Moran looked just like his John. He could have been John's twin. Of course, it only took Sherlock a second to realize it was definitely not his John. There were differences, they were slight, but they were there. Small differences in proportions and dimensions, no more than a couple millimeters (Sherlock and Mycroft would probably be the only tow who could tell). What confirmed it for Sherlock were his eyes. They were too hard and cold to be his John's.

Sherlock only hesitated for a moment, but it was long enough. Moran took him out and was gone. Sherlock chased after him the moment he got back to his feet, but Moran was quick and knew the base like the back of his hand. Sherlock didn't have a chance.

Sherlock was more bothered by Moran than he should have been. Or maybe he was right to be as disturbed as he was. They could have been brothers. The similarity was so close, anyone else would think it was him. It sent chills down his spine. In all those years away, he hadn't wanted to be home and holding John in his arms more than then. He came closest to crying then.

It was another month before he found Moran again. They were running through the streets of Hong Kong. Sherlock, who had memorized as many maps as he could, found a shortcut through the alleys and cut him off. He tackled the man to the ground, pinning him to the ground. His scent hit him like a bulldozer. It was one that was all too familiar.

It was just like John's.

It was different in that it definitely belonged to another person, but he definitely smelled the scents from three different secondary genders. He grinned up at Sherlock, obviously knowing what Sherlock was thinking.

"Your little play thing isn't the only one who's special," Moran growled, and Sherlock was relieved to find that Moran at least didn't have his John's voice.

Moran's smile faded at he focused in on Sherlock with an intensity that almost made Sherlock flinch. Sherlock screamed as a piercing pain seared through his head. Sherlock barely registered Moran throwing him off. The moment Moran was on his feet, the pain faded, but Sherlock was too out of it to give chase.

Moran was a guide.

It took him almost three hours to get back to the hole in the wall he had been staying at. He collapsed on the bed and was out almost immediately, his mind and body irritatingly exhausted. He woke late in the night, jumping awake as though he were expecting to be attacked. He was filled with a sense of dread that nearly overwhelming. He looked around, trying to find anything that could be a possible danger, but all he could see was his spirit animal, his pale eyes wide with alarm.

'Call Mycroft,' the dragon said urgently.

'But-'

'Call Mycroft. You must go home. Now.'

Sherlock looked out the window, considering. He cursed under his breath and went to his bag. It was a small bag with the few items he brought with him. He rooted through it's contents: a gin, ammo, a few articles of clothing, a picture of him and John... there. He pulled out the phone, meant only for contacting Mycroft. Before he could even flip it open, it began to ring. Sherlock's heart bega nto pound in his chest as he opened it and put it to his ear.

"What's happened?" Sherlock demanded.

"Sherlock-" Mycroft began.

"What's going on?"

"John's missing."

Sherlock didn't hear the rest of what Mycroft said. His hand went limp at his side as the phone slipped from his hand. The sound of it hitting the ground was like a bullet in the silence of the room.