This is the second part of my first story The Third Brother, so you may want to read that first.

None of the characters besides the unfamiliar belong to me. The rest belongs to BBC and Sir Conan Doyle. Hope you enjoy.

Just in case you didn't read the first one, think of Tom Hiddleston as the Sherrinford.

"Bored," Sherlock Holmes heavily sighed with boredom as he was laying on the couch like a dead fish, dressed for the day, while John Watson was making tea at midday. It was Friday and there were no cases for the past two days- which was incredibly annoying for the consulting detective.

"Like looking for Moriarty is boring," his friend called with sarcasm from the kitchen.

The detective rolled his eyes as his arms flopped over his head, trying to find something entertaining even though is was only a movement of both arms. "He's gone and that means waiting," he groaned.

Jim Moriarty and his right-hand man, Sebastian Moran, had gotten away again a month ago, nearly killing the detective's older brother, Sherrinford Holmes, and Molly Hooper, his own pathologist in a game of "Only One Will Be Saved". Both of them were saved, however, but barely as Sherrinford was shot and was pronounced dead with no heartbeat for nearly five minutes. If only the detective had paid attention to his brother's limp at the time, he wouldn't have gotten shot. Sherrinford, of course, didn't blame his little brother for the shooting, even though in the beginning, the detective was blaming himself as he left his already wounded brother in the dust. Not only did his brother get shot, but Moran got away.

John's beloved wife's killer.

"You will get your revenge," Sherlock called, knowing what was on his friend's mind as the thought entered his own.

"I'm not worried about revenge," John began as he walked out with two cups of tea, handing one to the detective. "I just want the bastard locked up forever."

Sherlock sat up correctly as he took the cup. "He will. And so will Moriarty." He took a sip of the tea with content. Just the way he liked it. Black with two sugars.

"I just want to know when. He not only killed my wife, but my daughter's mother." Anger and pain starting to leak through his voice. Three months had past since John had found his wife dead in their home. Thank God that their baby, who was only two-months-old at the time, was unharmed. "I'm just relieved that your brother didn't kill her," he sighed on a lighter note as he stood aside by the table.

Sherrinford's initials were found on Mary Watson's phone's text screen at the crime seen, but was framed by Moran, wanting the attention directed to the detective's brother, who believed in his brother.

"So am I," Sherlock muttered, then a thought returned to his mind as he bowed his head, not able to look at his friend. "John. I'm sorry that I broke my vow. I didn't pro-"

John shook his head. "No. Don't. Don't start that again."

Sherlock raised his head as pain filled his heart, looking at his friend. He would have this feeling come and ago since the death and wasn't sure if it would ever stop coming.

"You didn't break your vow." John looked him dead in the eye. "You didn't break your vow. None of us were there." He looked away, slowly nodding his head as he knew the truth that they weren't there to stop it.

The detective looked ahead of himself as he sipped on his tea in silence. A moment later, his phone got a text. "Hand me my phone," he coldly ordered to his blogger, who did what he was told, picking up the phone from the table and handed it to the detective.

Sherlock read the text, then handed it back to his friend to place it back where he found it. "Sherrinford is coming over."

"Is something wrong?"

"No. Just wanted to visit."

"He's nothing like Mycroft, is he?"

Sherlock sighed. "You met him."

John smirked. "He's more like you than anything."

"Indeed," he murmured, knowing that it was true. The two brothers were more like each other and it was amusing how it got on the eldest's nerves.

There was a knock on the door and just before Sherlock was about to stand up, it opened to a smiling Sherrinford, dressed in a dark suit. "Hello, little brother." He gave a nod to the blogger. "John."

John gave a small wave.

Sherlock looked at his brother with confusion. "I thought you-"

"I was already parked in front when I texted you," he broke in, closing the door.

The detective gave him a suspicious look, knowing that something had to be wrong. "So why this sudden visit?"

Sherrinford reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, flipped through it, then handed it to his brother on the text screen. "Someone sent me a death threat. Care to guess who?" It sounded in light mood. Probably trying to loosen things up.

Sherlock read it as he answered, "Moriarty?"

"Yes. And since they know where I live, they could come in and kill me when they get the chance." He gave the his little brother a unamused glare.

A month ago, Moran arrived at the Holmes brother's door and was about to kill him, until the girlfriend intervened. Lucky for both of them, Moriarty got an idea for a game for the detective, placing Sherrinford Holmes's and Molly Hooper's lives in danger.

"Did you tell Amelia?" Sherlock asked, handing him back the phone.

He placed the phone back in his coat pocket. "No, but I told her to come with me and wait in the car. I didn't want to leave her at home."

"Smart idea," John bitterly said, earning the older brother's attention.

"I'm sorry. I didn't-"

"No," he waved his hand, "just a mourning husband trying to give some tips on how to protect the girlfriend slash wife when there's a madman around."

"He's not going get away," Sherrinford promised, trying to look the other man in the eye. He was well aware of what the damage that Moran had done and nearly too kthe fall for it.

John just nodded as if he was trying to stay strong, sipping on his tea.

Sherlock looked at his brother as he drew his own tea to his lips. "You keep an eye on Amelia just in case he does decide to drop by for a visit." Then took a sip of the tea.

His brother sighed. "Of course. I'll be going. Got a girlfriend to watch over." He began to head for the door, then stopped and looked at his little brother with guilt. "Sherlock, I'm sorry that I blew my cover. Otherwise I would still be-"

Sherlock waved it off. "It's better that you aren't. Don't worry about it."

The former double agent gave a small smile, then placed his hand on the knob.

"That's it?" The detective asked, looking at him with wonder. "Just the text?"

"I figured that it was better telling you personally," he answered in a low voice, then opened the dark door and left, closing it behind him.

John looked at the door. "What did the text say?" He turned to his friend with curiosity.

"Moriarty wants to stop his heart permanently," he coldly answered, not taking his eyes off the door.