Oh My Gosh! I know! can you believe it?

First off... Happy New year everyone. Also Happy Sherlock Returns day. I was trying like heck this week to finish this. I wanted to have it done and up before the new series started but i've been sick since monday (Its my week off so of COURSE i was sick the wholllle timmmme!)

I'm sorry it took me so long. Honestly there were lot of parts i wasn't happy with and.. honestly.. still parts i wasn't sure if i should have left as is. And also it looks like theres one more chapter. Not gonna call it an epilogue .. but... sorta. But here it is folks. So sorry it took me so long. I hope you enjoy! and hopefully i can get the last Chapter done this week!

Sherlock didn't bother with his cell phone now.

He didn't talk or blink and some would have claimed he wasn't even breathing. He sat in the car next to Anderson, staring out of the front window and going through a few different scenarios in his mind. There was a strong feeling in the pit of his stomach that he'd only had a few times before. Butterflies... as they say. Nerves. The feeling didn't please him at all. Even in sticky situations he'd stayed as cool as a cucumber. For some reason this situation was different. He was still working it all out in his head as to why.

Anderson sat behind the wheel, chewing on his bottom lip from the bit of anxiety at having Sherlock in such close proximity and still looking very corpse-like. In his line of work he'd seen a lot of dead bodies. More than he'd ever wanted to see in his lifetime. But never before had they come back to life. This was all too much to comprehend at such an ungodly early hour in the morning. It also didn't help that Sherlock had stopped talking and all around moving after he gave his first set of directions. He would fully admit that Sherlock weirded him out. Always had… Always will. Dead or undead.

"Why would you want my help?" Anderson didn't look over at Sherlock. He kept watching the road like it was the most interesting thing in the world. It was almost like he didn't want to look and see an empty seat. It would solidify that he truly was losing his mind… or quite possibly… still in bed sleeping.

"Because you don't like me." Sherlock's response caused Anderson to at least glance in his direction with wide eyes. He forgot how blunt Sherlock Holmes could be.

"Well…" He squinted his eyes and made a slight wince at the comment. He felt the need to argue that statement but there wasn't much TO argue. It was true.

"No sense in denying the truth Anderson. I don't care if you like me or not. The bottom line is you won't give me an argument when I tell you to leave me somewhere. I need Lestrade, but at the right moment. He will force his presences. I don't have time to deal with that. Turn left here."

Anderson took the directive, turning the car down another dark and desolate side street. "I have no idea what you are talking about or what's going on."

"And you don't need to." Sherlock's tone was final on the subject.

"Great." Anderson rolled his eyes. It was the first normal action for him since the bullpen. "Ok… so I guess I drop you off, wait a bit and then call him?"

"Yes. Down there." Sherlock pointed down a dark road and the car soon went in that direction.

"I better not get in trouble for this." Anderson's tone was more of a complaint then a threat. Sherlock finally turned his head in the man's direction and give him a bored look as if to say 'I could care less if you do.' Anderson shook his head. "And you trust I can handle this? After all those smart remarks thrown my way?"

Sherlock had no interest in rehashing their dislike for each other. Especially not when he was trying to keep his mind focused on the task at hand.

"A five year old could handle it."

Anderson actually chuckled. "Thanks… I guess. Looks like I graduated up from infant."

"Possibly." Sherlock's tone was still very monotone but there was something in the way he shifted slightly in the passenger seat that made Anderson think the man had been slightly amused with the comment.

Sherlock directed him the rest of the way until they pulled up to a dark, destroyed building. Police tape fluttered in the slight breeze of the very early morning air. No lights glowed from inside. No cars were parked around the decimated building. It was like a scene out of a cheap horror film minus the terrible music.

"You sure this is where you need to go? This is where…" Anderson couldn't continue his sentence for some reason as he looked over the carnage. He'd stopped the car at about the same spot he'd last stood. Sherlock didn't need him to continue his sentence. The outside of the building gave him no emotion at all. He didn't remember much of it anyways. It was what was inside that gave him another flutter in his gut.

"This is it. It's the only obvious place within quick driving distance from where John was taken. No one would think to look here after what happened."

Anderson's head whipped around, a surprised expression on his face. He knew the absence of John Watson was quite odd but he'd been so caught up with Sherlock being alive that he'd dismissed it. "So that guy kidnapped John. The one that… almost killed you?"

Sherlock nodded slightly but Anderson still caught it in the dark car. He hadn't planned on giving Anderson any details. The words just sort of slipped out. That was not normal for him not to think through his choice of words before saying them. It was a clear sign that he was severely distracted. He would deny that it had anything to do with his worry for John… but it would be a lie. It was important that he stop the useless thoughts in his head or it would get him killed for real.

The two sat in silence. Sherlock did not provide any more information and Anderson was pretty sure he wasn't going to. He wasn't surprised. What did confuse him was that Sherlock had not moved from the car yet. He was caught up in his own mind. Anderson was sure that mind would be one scary place to get lost in.

"I thought criminals didn't like to return to the scene of the crime."

Sherlock inhaled deeply and exhaled loudly through his nose. "He is no ordinary criminal."

"Quite… If he got the drop on you he must be some sort of mastermind eh?" Anderson's tone was full of sarcasm and Sherlock looked at him from the corner of his eye.

"Clearly." His reply was serious but again Anderson saw that tenseness in his form melt a bit. They may not have liked each other and under normal circumstances they'd never be in the same car together or in each other's presence for this long but somehow he felt he may have been helping the tension. Even if just a small bit.

"Well. Good luck then." The man at the wheel blurted out, hoping to bring about some sort of next step and a close to this awkwardness.

"Luck." Sherlock mumbled. "No such thing."

"Right…"

Sherlock opened the door and pulled himself from the car without another word. Anderson watched as he walked confidently into the chard; open front doors of the building before putting the car in drive.

Mycroft closed and locked the big oak door behind him. He hung his key on the hook by the garage door and laid his jacket neatly on the back of a kitchen chair. Work had not been pleasant today and the last thing he wanted to deal with was another problem he had to solve. Normally he had a driver to bring him to and from work. He was a very busy man and it was extremely helpful when he needed to update himself on meetings and the goings-on in the morning. And he couldn't deny it was a great place to nap on the way back home. But with the current situation with Sherlock and the fact that he sent away his hired helpers for the time being, he'd just have to deal with it all. He was exhausted and could only think of one thing. His bed.

Unfortunately it would still be a while before he saw his pillow.

Mycroft made his way down the quiet hallways to the spare room his brother was using. He'd called Sherlock a couple hours ago just to check in and his brother didn't answer. Mycroft figured at the time that Sherlock had just turned in early from boredom or was quite possibly ignoring him. He should have known better than to think it were that simple. It never is.

The older Holmes crept into the dark bedroom and turned on the light.

What greeted him was a fresh nicely made bed that no one had slept in yet this evening.

"Of course." Mycroft mumbled. He wasn't surprised. He should have never left his brother to his own devices. After all that effort to keep him "dead"… God only knew what he was up to at this hour of the night. He didn't even bother checking the other rooms of the house. He just knew he wasn't going to find him anywhere on the grounds. Even as exhausted as he was he couldn't stifle the brotherly intuition. His younger sibling was off somewhere getting into trouble.

But he didn't have a chance to get mad or even turn the bedroom light back off. His pocket began to ring. It was a clear sign that he would be even LESS happy as the night went on. Mycroft pulled the cell from his pocket and wasn't surprised at seeing the name on the display.

"Lestrade?"

"Hello Mycroft. I hope I didn't wake you." The Detective Inspector's voice sounded tired and strained. Another indication that this wasn't going to go smoothly.

Mycroft closed his eyes and shook his head taking in a deep breath. "Not at all… There is no rest for the wicked."

"Quite so." Lestrade paused, gathering up his courage to ask Mycroft Holmes this next question. "Sherlock didn't happen to call you a few minutes ago did he?"

The older Holmes turned and plopped himself onto the neat covers of Sherlock's bed. He pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to staunch the throb of the massive headache developing. "My brother does not call me. Have you not learned that already?"

"I figured as much. He said he was going to call you. I suppose I was too distracted to think of how ludicrous that actually sounded." Lestrade's frustrated tone came through loud and clear.

"Is my brother with you Detective Inspector?" Mycroft knew the answer before he even asked the question. But if this conversation was going to go any further he'd have to push it along. He pulled his tired body from the comforts of the bed and headed in the direction of his jacket that he left in the kitchen. He was already under the impression he wouldn't be home for much longer.

"He WAS with me." Lestrade stopped, pausing a moment before continuing on. "John has gone missing so he came out of hiding."

"Wonderful." Mycroft's sarcastic tone was unmistakable. "I knew this would happen. So I assume if he skipped out on you that means he's found something. And in his unique moronic fashion he is going to try to rescue Dr. Watson on his own, not even considering that this is all a trap."

"Sounds about right. Though Sherlock believes it's not a trap but revenge."

Mycroft now resorted to pressing a fist into the soft tissue above his eye, feeling the pressure building. When he started seeing a kaleidoscope, he withdrew. Still not helping. "Do you have any idea as to where he may have gone?"

"Currently no. But your car is still in the parking lot here at the Yard so he got a ride from someone."

Mycroft closed his eyes and rubbed his face with his hands before he walked back over to the garage door off of the kitchen to peer into the 4-car garage. There at the end was a large vacant spot. He was so tired he didn't even notice its absence. "Fabulous."

"I assume he may be with one of my officers. I'm about to work on locating everyone on shift to see if he is. They may have been persuaded to give him a lift."

Mycroft picked up his jacket and his keys once more. "I am on my way."

"Hopefully he will contact us to let us know where he is." The poor Detective Inspector sounded apologetic for having to pull him back out into the fray.

"I wouldn't hold my breath on that Lestrade… though I was hoping that my little brother would have smartened up after the last time he went off on his own."

Lestrade nodded wordlessly just before his phone buzzed with a second call.

"I will see you soon Mycroft."

The man on the other end hung up and Lestrade flipped over to the other call.

"Lestrade."

"Hey Boss… It's Anderson."

Lestrade rolled his eyes and started searching the desk for his keys. He left his work car at the other crime scene to go off with Sherlock. Now he'd have to use his personal car. "Is it important Anderson? I am in the middle of a manhunt." Lestrade sighed as he sifted through some stuff on his desk. He had no time to waste.

"I believe it may help in your hunt."

That made Lestrade stop everything. Knowing instantly what the other man meant. "You're kidding… He got a ride with you?"

"I was still in such shock I'd have GIVEN him the keys."

The Detective Inspectors mouth was still open. He wanted to say 'But with YOU?' but he held his tongue.

"Yea sorry about that. No time to explain. Where are you?"

"I'm not with him any longer. He asked me to drop him off. He said he needed you but not just yet. I guess whatever he's there to do he needs time to do it before you show up."

Lestrade finally found the set of keys he was looking for under a couple of files and began heading towards the door. "Where'd you drop him off Anderson?"

"The Pool Hall."

John Watson's head lulled forward, twitching every once in a while in an effort to bring himself around. He'd been close to passing out from exhaustion for several minutes now but he was trying desperately not to. His body was fighting him though. He'd been up early for work, had a long day and then he was exposed to a sedative which clearly wasn't gone from his system. There were way too many things against him. Even the worry he had for the little girl in the picture didn't keep his adrenaline going enough to keep his eyelids from drooping. He just couldn't help it.

He tried thinking of Sherlock and how much he hoped his friend was on his way right now with the cavalry. He pictured in his head Sherlock busting through the doors in front of him with that sly Cheshire cat grin on his face, hands in his coat pockets, Lestrade behind him with his gun drawn. The guards passed out on the floor behind them.

Wait… guards? Had he seen a guard at all?

That question had him completely baffled. He couldn't honestly say if he saw a guard tonight. He'd only seen Moriarty. It was just enough to keep shaking himself back into consciousness to ponder on. Moriarty wouldn't have done all this by himself would he? He wasn't the type to get his hands dirty in the literal sense.

Suddenly the door did burst open. A cloud of dirt, dust and grime sifted under the door as it slammed into the cracked tile wall. John's eyes snapped open and sharp pains went up his arms into his back, neck and shoulders as he sat up straight in the chair on alert.

Moriarty stood in the doorway, his eyes were sharp daggers. His normally well-groomed hair now stuck up on parts of his head like he had been pulling at it in frustration. The man was breathing heavily and his teeth were clenched in anger.

And he gripped a knife tightly in his right hand.

"HOW DID YOU DO IT?

John blinked up at the enraged man in front of him. "Wha…"

"DON'T play stupid with me! HOW did you do it! I KNOW it was you!"

"Do WHAT!" John's voice spiked. He was so sick of these stupid games. His calm exterior was fading fast.

"The girl! That… that FAMILY!" The word "family" was laced in a hateful tone. "You tipped them off somehow!"

Moriarty stormed forward and pushed hard on John's shoulder, sending him and the chair he was tied to backwards to the dirty tile floor.

John gasped out in pain as his arms and hands were crushed under his own weight and pinned by the chair. Stars buzzed behind his shut eyelids from the unforgivable impact his head made. There was now one more cracked tile on the floor.

He forced his eyes open, finding Moriarty standing above him, one leg on each side of his head. The knife was now hovering uncomfortably close.

"Look what you made me do. You made me lose my temper!"

John was breathing hard from the pain. He couldn't even form words. All he could do was squint above, watching Moriarty's angry contorted face and try to control his breathing. He blinked rapidly to get rid of clouds in his eyes. His painful headache increased. A few moments ago he wouldn't have been sure that were even possible.

"Well you are no good to yell at if you can't even focus on me!"

John felt himself being hoisted back into the air. He opened his eyes wide enough to see Jim Moriarty's hands on the back of the chair, pulling it back into an upright position. His arms still burned but he was grateful to be off of them. A couple of fingers burned as he tried to flex and straighten them. Broken… Just wonderful. He was absolutely no help to himself tied up but he couldn't even verbally fight back with that blinding pain. Moriarty had yet to lay a finger on him to draw pain this whole time… until now. The line had now been crossed.

Once he was upright, John tried to focus on the situation. He noticed right away that he had been completely turned around. He was now facing what he believed to be the back wall. There was no door to his left or right. Moriarty paced the spot in front of him, placing the tip of the sharp blade slightly between his closed lips.

"You are talking to him aren't you?"

"Who…" John groaned out, still trying to shake the clouds away.

"Sherlock! It's the only explanation! I already took care of the moron that helped me kidnap you. Unless he told his new fish friends in the Thames…"

John remained quiet as he studied the wild features on Jim Moriarty's face. He didn't feel one ounce of sympathy for the man that helped kidnap him. He KNEW Moriarty wouldn't have done it alone. But what was with this Sherlock business? Did he know he was alive after all? No… there was no way. None at all. And until he knew for sure he'd still have to go about things like he'd been. "How can I talk to a dead man?" He laced his response with as much confusion he could muster. He needed to still play along. Moriarty was just the right amount of crazy. Anything was possible.

Moriarty stopped pacing and turned toward John. "You are right Johnny." An evil smile formed on his lips, the knife now rested on his teeth like a toothpick as he twisted it slowly around. His eyes were glowing as he started walking slowly in John's direction. He pulled the knife from his teeth and held it in his right hand as he leaned in to whisper in John's ear. "Would you like me to show you how to talk to the dead?"

Moriarty pulled back enough to grin in John's face as his right arm whipped forward.

John's eyes widened and a gasp escaped him as he felt the knife slice into his side. He took a large intake of air as the burning reached his sense.

"I wasn't planning on killing you just yet John. But since you seem so keen on talking to your dead friend… well I feel obligated to help you along. Maybe he will punish you for eternity in the afterlife for failing him."

John's eyes were still wide as saucers as he watched Jim Moriarty stand up straight again and exam the now red blade in his hand with more curiosity then was comfortable. He couldn't believe this was happening. A wet sensation coated his hip as his blood almost instantly began to run from the horizontal slash in his side. He couldn't tell how deep it was and he was afraid to move now. He could make the bleeding worse just trying to look at it. All he could do was look at the knife in Moriarty's hand in shock… covered in his own blood.

"I've given you a way to talk to Sherlock again John. You can tell him how you failed to save his life because you just didn't TRY! You can tell him how useless you were and that his life slipped away because of YOU!"

John looked up into those wild eyes. The burn was starting to intensify and he could have sworn he started hearing small drip sounds in his pounding ears. Great… if it was bad enough to already be dripping on the floor then he was in serious trouble.

The Ex-army doctor gritted his teeth at the pain as he shut his eyes. He was never one to beg. But right now he really really wished Sherlock would come through those doors like he'd imagined before. He'd do anything right about now for a little luck.

'Sherlock… where are you?' he wondered silently.

He had no idea just how close they actually were.

The tall dark-haired man watched with keen eyes as the headlights of Anderson's work car disappeared back down the dimly lit street.

He was now alone.

Sherlock looked up at the frame that was once a pool hall. The roof was gone... the right side where the bomb went off was missing. You could see right into the blackness.

A few memories of what happened that night flashed to the forefront of his mind. Seeing John in the bomb vest... holding a gun to Moriarty... Pulling John's unconscious form from the pool.

Sherlock shut his eyes for a few seconds to try and cut out the visions flooding in. He needed to focus. He was never one to dwell on the past and the last thing he needed to do at this critical hour was to change course.

Stealth wasn't needed...the darkness before the dawn did it for him as he walked straight through the halls that use to be the doors to the building. He knew they were here. It was the most obvious place. He took John to punish him. He knew that for sure. And bringing him back to the place where it all happened would be a hit of Psychological Pain. Besides which, who would think he'd go back to the "Scene of the crime" in a crumpled down building.

And of course… its what he would have done.

It was nice to have the confident feeling back as he walked quietly through the dark hallways. The only light that helped him were the red emergency exit lights that still glowed dimly. A generator must have been installed encase of an incident. It still had just enough juice to help him from walking face first into a wall.

Sherlock rounded a rubble-laden corner and stopped in his tracks. The room was dark and dusty but he recognized it right away. The large pool that saved their lives was now filled with bits of ceiling. He took a couple of slow steps in to take in the destruction. How anyone could have survived that blast he had no idea. Piercing blue eyes looked up, taking in the still starlit sky. It wouldn't be long until the haze of early morning light would start to take over to start the day.

Sherlock spun around on his heels and walked out of destroyed room. He was done with it. That part was over. He continued down the dark hallways in search of John. He was all that currently mattered.

Sherlock rounded another corner and stopped, listening carefully around him for any sounds he was being followed or that may tip him off to John's location.

And there it was… a voice! Hollow and impossible to make out but it was a voice! He took a few steps more down the dark hallway. The voice got louder and louder as he walked. It was helping guide him right to them. There were two voices now. Moriarty. The other voice... John's.

He couldn't help but feel relief as he heard his friend bite back at the criminal. It wouldn't be John if he didn't try and fight back. Sherlock followed it right to a rickety but lucky old door that made it through the bomb blast almost completely intact.

He stood in front of the door and scanned around. The building was almost in shambles so some holes in the walls and doors were not something out of the ordinary. And thankfully there was one just big enough to peek through and not draw attention to himself. On the other side of this door was another one down a hallway… and a light glowed from underneath.

He'd found them.

Everything was going according to his plan... All he had to worry about was if Anderson would be reliable and call Lestrade on time as planned. His hand reached for the doorknob.

A surge of adrenaline filtered through his body screaming for him to move his legs in the direction of the voice. But his brain left him glued and stone-like in one spot.

This was too easy.

Moriarty may not know he's alive… but he's not stupid. He'd have some sort of back up just like that night.

Oh this was way too easy.

He was expecting to run into someone. Moriarty did not get is hands dirty. But he expected there to be at least two guards.

There must have been. Sherlock was hardly ever wrong.

And this time was no different.

Sherlock was nowhere near his normal self. His muscles were still weak and his reaction time was way off but he ducked just in time as one of Moriarty's goons swung his fist hard at Sherlock's head. The momentum behind the punch had the larger man stumbling forward and catching Sherlock with his shoulder instead. It sent them both crashing into the wall a couple of feet behind them. The smell of dirt and grime on the tile walls filled his nose as the side of his face mashed up against it. It disorientated him enough to give the other man time to find his bearings and grab Sherlock by the back of the neck.

Sherlock bounced back fast though and before the goon could get a good hold, the dark haired man lifted his left leg and kicked back hard. The man behind him didn't yell out but a loud grunt of pain filled his ears. Sherlock turned just in time to see the man down to the ground on one knee before he was shoved across the hallway.

Sherlock stumbled backward and landed unceremoniously into a pile of rubble. The sharp edges dug into his lower back and knocked the wind out of him long enough for the man to regain his composure and land a swift punch to the side of his head. Sherlock sent a leg forward, clipping the man in the same knee and snapping it backward. The man let out a cry of pain this time as he landed hard to the ground.

Slightly dazed, Sherlock shook his head a bit and blinked hard as he got to his feet. The goon was not getting up quickly this time. But he growled at the Consulting Detective from his kneeling position.

"I'm afraid you were at a bit of a disadvantage. You see… It is true what they say." Sherlock lifted his right hand, revealing a good sized rock he'd nabbed while pulling himself out of the rubble. "The bigger they are…" Sherlock swung his arm with the perfect timing and precision, smacking the larger man hard in the side of the head and knock him out instantly.

"The harder they fall."

Moriarty leaned in sickeningly close again. His voice was just a whisper and John tensed up, worried that the madman holding him captive would slice into his body again. He hated showing such weakness in front of this psycho but his body just couldn't help it.

"There is no one coming to save you, John"

John leaned to the side as best he could to avoid the hot breath hitting him in the face. He regretted it instantly as the movement caused him to openly hiss. "How do you know?"

"Because there's no ransom. There's no alert you're gone. Your dear Mrs. Hudson is out of town and will not miss you." He growled and twisted the bloody knife around in his hands. "And there is no curly haired genius to figure it all out for them."

John stayed silent but kept an eye on that knife. The pain from the gash in his side was now spreading all over his body. He could feel the cut stretch as he breathed in and out. The reality was this… all Moriarty had to do was leave John here, tied to this chair locked in this dark room, to just bleed to death slowly. But John was pretty sure that wasn't his plan. If he even HAD a plan.

Moriarty picked up quickly at the pain evident on the Ex-Army doctor's face. "It's all your fault John." The knife dipped out of sight. And John shut his eyes trying to prepare for what came next. "You deserve the pain."

John waited for another burning slash to cut him open again… but nothing happened. John risked opening his eyes back up again to see Moriarty's big toothy grin greeting him. He'd known John was expecting it and his sick and twisted mind enjoyed the unease and fright oozing from the Ex-Army doctor. He was certainly enjoying the power over someone like John Watson.

"Did you tell his brother it was your fault?"

John stared at him with a glare. Was he really going to go there? This guy would stop at nothing! "Don't blame me because your game backfired. Do you think I wanted to lose a friend? Don't you think that I tried my damndest to make sure that didn't happen?"

"I thought you would have John! But if you had you would have accomplished what you set out to do. You always do." Moriarty was now walking slow circles around John's chair, staring at him with a hatred and fury that could have melted metal.

"Well I guess this time around you misjudged me." John shook his head slightly and looked down at the floor. He knew he shouldn't have said anything but his mouth got away from him. Now he was just egging him on. That wouldn't help gain him any time for Sherlock to get there and save the day.

"I'm going to be honest with you John. I've been completely baffled for days now. I don't see how I could have messed this up. I don't mess up. You should have easily woken him up." The knife dangled now by Jim's right leg loosely. If John were at all able and NOT tied to a chair this would have been his perfect opportunity to engage and tackle Moriarty. Damn ropes.

"So how would I have woken him up?" John asked, trying to work back into a conversation to distract the crazy person in front of him from thinking. The last thing John Watson needed was Jim Moriarty thinking!

"Now now I can't give you the answers to the question now. It was something you should have figured out already."

"Fine whatever."

"It was an important experiment and you completely ruined the results."

"Results?"

"But no worries John. I've just come up with another plan." Moriarty paused, staring over John's head before putting his hand into his inside pocket, pulling out a syringe. It was filled with a pale yellow liquid. "You ruined my experiment… So now I have to start all over."

John's eyes went wide.

"You underestimate me Moriarty." John mumbled, trying to keep him going. He needed more time! But Moriarty ignored him.

"You've disappointed me Dr. Watson. But that's ok… it doesn't matter now." Moriarty held the syringe up in front of John's face. He pulled off the top and tapped the sides to rid the tip of bubbles. "Now John… this wont hurt a bit."

"Wait… wait!" John tried to back up farther into the chair even though rationally he knew he couldn't move. Moriarty looked like he didn't even hear him, but he stopped anyways and took on an expression of deep thought. He stared hard at the syringe in his hand.

"I had immense faith that you'd figure it out but all you've done is ruin everything! I had plans! GREAT plans for Sherlock Holmes! It would have had him wriggling on my hook and now it's done!" Jim Moriarty's voice was full of anger and he started swinging the needle around as he talked. "You had 24 hours John! 24 hours and you couldn't figure out how to reverse a simple concoction?" The syringe was now pointing directly in John's face. "I gave you all the answers you needed! Did you even try? Perhaps I've been too sure of your connection. Maybe you wanted him dead after all. Is that it John? Have you completely baffled me? It would be the first time for sure. Or have you just lost your nerve…"

"No…"

Moriarty stopped and looked over John's head at the sudden voice. His eyes widened and John could have sworn he saw a twinkle.

"John just got bored with you…."

And then an ear-piercing bang went off behind him, sending Jim Moriarty reeling back and landing with a grunt on his rear end. The Syringe scattered on the floor behind him. Red liquid started to gush from his left shoulder.

Moriarty looked down in shock at his ruined suit before smiling widely as he looked up at Sherlock Holmes standing in the doorway. "You missed…"

"Obviously I didn't… John?"

"Fine…" Sherlock scooped up the bloody knife that landed near John's feet and took care of the rope with one fluid movement. He took a good look at the red drips on the floor and John's side.

"No. Not fine."

John's breaths were coming out roughly now with the combination of lowering adrenaline and pain. But his eyes closed in relief. "I will be now." He felt a surprisingly light and soothing hand on his shoulder and opened his eyes to see Sherlock leaning down to examine John's bleeding side. Sherlock's expression looked lethal.

"Well… you've tricked me. Congratulations. John… I stand correct. You've turned in an Oscar worthy performance." Moriarty smiled as he clutched his bleeding shoulder. The sight of that evil grin coupled with his oozing blood made him look certifiable.

"Why are you still talking to him?" Sherlock stood up straight and raised the gun to aim at the man's head as John still fumbled with the ropes, trying to get his half numb arms to cooperate again.

"Sherlock… don't…" John warned as he placed a hand over the bleeding wound on his side.

"Don't worry… he wont do it John! He's too intrigued with me!" Moriarty was trying to get to his feet but settled for at least being on his knees.

Sherlock hadn't taken the gun off of Jim Moriarty yet. "You kidnapped my friend… twice… I don't take kindly to that."

"I also had the world thinking you were dead! Aren't you mad about that Sherlock? No… no that interests you down to the core doesn't it! You want to know how! You want to try it again… experiment!"

Sherlock looked down at John who drunk all of this in. His face read like a popup book. John was scared that it was true… scared that Sherlock would mess with Death again… scared how it would make him feel.

Suddenly Sherlock's lust for information shriveled like a grape in the sun. If it hurt John… then it wasn't important to continue.

"I'm not interested in the least." With the gun still trained on Moriarty, Sherlock leaned down again to help John get to his feet.

"Oh but your lying Holmes! I know you!"

"You know nothing about me."

John groaned at the pain in his side as he slowly leaned forward to get to his feet. "Sherlock don't lose your temper." He whispered through gritted teeth.

"We're the same you and I! Your light and I'm dark. There's no living without the other. You can't hide from me!"

John looked up at Sherlock, those readable eyes pleading to make the right choice to end this… to get things back to normal or as normal as they could be. He wanted to leave. He wanted to go home…

"It's ok John." he whispered. He placed a hand gently on his friends shoulder again to relax him and didn't turn his eyes away as the doors broke open behind them and Scotland Yard filled the room, guns drawn. John's eyes darted around at the sudden arrival but came back to Sherlock's gaze, wide and doe-eyed. "We've come to the end."

Lestrade came up to them as his officers ascended upon Moriarty. They could hear him struggling and yelling but refused to acknowledge him.

"Do you think you can hold me? Sherlock…. SHERLOCK! Your weak! I weakened you! I still win! HAHAAAA I still WIN!"

"Just ignore him." Lestrade growled. "John I'm glad to see you are alright."

John nodded but didn't speak. He was starting to feel the affects of the blood loss and it didn't go unnoticed.

Sherlock glanced to the Detective Inspector. "EMT's?"

"Waiting outside."

"Thank You."

Sherlock helped John get all the way to his feet and threw an arm over his shoulders, bending down slightly to accommodate his friend's shorter stature. John concentrated on holding pressure on his side and ignored the ache in his body as he limped along side.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine… thanks… just a scratch. Not too deep." John's week limbs didn't agree with him and he stumbled over the dirty floor. If it weren't for Sherlock he'd be having a bonding moment with the pavement.

"You are lying. And I'd feel more comfortable once its been cleaned and the knife analyzed."

"Well if you knew I was lying why did you ask? You sound like me now… He didn't coat it Sherlock."

"John." Sherlock started to argue but for once he was completely shut down by John's tone.

"No… I know. It's Moriarty. But he was so enraged with sadness and hate at losing his favorite game piece that he didn't think of clever ways to torture. He just used what was easier. He wasn't in his right frame of mind… his eye's… they were wild. They didn't return to the cold and calculating ones till you walked in."

Sherlock was silent for a brief moment taking in the Ex-army doctor's words. Then a sly smile graced his lips in the darkness.

"That's good observation John."

John turned his head to look at the taller man. "Impressed?"

"Yes actually."

John smiled brightly and Sherlock actually caught it as they walked under a lit red Exit sign. "Well and also… he had it in his mouth."

"Hmmm. Maybe we should start giving you rabies shots then."

They both laughed lightly as they continued walking from the building.

Just before they reached the doors, John slowed down his weak legs, bringing them to a complete stop. Sherlock didn't push figuring John just needed a quick break. They both stood in the dark hallway looking out at the flashing lights from the police cars waiting outside.

"Sherlock?"

"Mmm…"

"I'm glad you're on my side."

Sherlock smiled in the dark pool hall at his own words from just last week.

"Likewise"

John nodded and put a tired foot forward, starting their efforts back up again. "So… How did you find me?"

"I guessed."

"Oh…."

Sherlock smirked as they stepped out into the night. The sudden brightness of the flashing lights from the emergency vehicles parked out front had them both blinking to adjust from the darkness. John shook his head with a small laugh on his lips.

"Liar."

"Do I ever guess?"

"I suppose not."

"I'll let that ridiculous question go this time since your injured."

"Thanks a lot."

"Of course."

They were almost to the ambulance when some officers started heading in their direction. Sherlock noticed that Sally Donovan was among the officers on her way over. This time it was Sherlock who stopped them cold.

"Speak John."

"Wha?" John was slightly confused as to why they had stopped here. The pain in his side was worse after the walking and not to mention he was slightly winded.

"You want to say something. Say it."

He did have something to say… but he was going to just wait till they got back to the flat. He didn't think it was something he should say here. There would most certainly be an argument. But he also knew Sherlock. And he wouldn't let them continue until he spoke.

"Oh … well… You aren't going to like it."

"That's never stopped you from speaking your mind before."

"Fine. You are a Hero."

John blurted it out fast and kept looking forward as he struggled to keep his feet underneath him. He knew Sherlock wasn't going to like that word referred to him.

"John…"

"I know you don't believe in it." John interrupted. "But I find it a matter of opinion. And in my opinion you are."

"There is…"

"Before you continue on saying there are no such thing as heroes… there may not be to you. But you are mine. Your my hero Sherlock. No matter what you say."

Sherlock didn't speak for a moment. He just stared at John's serious face before exhaling deeply into the cool night air.

"I suppose I should refrain from arguing with you while you are hurt."

"Smart."

"But I would never qualify as one. I think you are losing too much blood."

"Maybe… But you saved my life. So that qualifies you in my book."

Sherlock was quiet as they made their way again toward the waiting officers. John didn't expect the conversation to continue any farther. So he was surprised at what he heard next.

"If that is a qualification then you are mine too."

John was glad that it was dark out because he felt his cheeks turn a rosy shade of red.

Sally and a few other officers cut the distance between the Consulting Detective and the Ex-army Doctor. Sherlock refused to give up his burden but Sally took Johns other arm around her shoulders and helped the rest of the way to the Ambulance and the awaiting EMT's.

They'd gone right to work on John and his wound. Sherlock stood with his arms crossed watching and waiting when a loud voice from behind stopped everyone in their tracks.

"Are you Mad? You walk out unprotected… taking one of my cars?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked at John who was sitting on the back of the ambulance.

"It was necessary."

"Quite… but you still should have alerted me! I could have helped you."

Sherlock turned around to face his brother. "Yes maybe I should have but I have my own channels."

Mycroft grumbled. But before he could say anything else, the paramedics that were checking John started packing things up. It brought Sherlock's interested completely back on John.

"Sir we are going to take you in. That cut needs some stitching." A young paramedic said while his partner climbed in the back to get things ready.

John nodded and looked up at Sherlock "You coming too?"

"No"

The answer wasn't what John was expecting. The shock of it made him unsure of what to say. "Oh… ok... well… fine…"

Sherlock shook his head a bit and walked closer to John. "I have to go collect my things from Mycroft's. I'll be back in time to hail us a cab home."

John hoped Sherlock and Mycroft did see the relived breath he let out. "Sounds like a good plan to me. Though why don't you just drive us."

"Don't be silly John. I don't have a license."

John's eyebrows fused in very brief confusion. "But… Oh…"

Sherlock Smirked. "Don't worry John. I'll be back as soon as I can. I promise. Mycroft is even coming with you."

"I'm what?" Sherlock gave his brother a look not to argue and Mycroft grumbled but complied. He knew the reasoning behind it. Sherlock didn't feel comfortable letting John go with two strangers. "Fine little brother… but you owe me."

Sherlock ignored Mycroft. He was more interested in if John was ok with having his older brother as company.

John nodded his approval and let the paramedics help him up into the ambulance and onto the gurney. The Consulting Detective watched as the doors shut and the vehicle started makings its way down the road. John was safe now and Sherlock closed his eyes briefly in relief that this current hell was over with.

"I think I prefer this ending."

Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he turned his head slightly to his left. Sally Donovan stood along side him, also watching the ambulance make its way down the street.

"As apposed to…"

"Oh Sherlock Holmes. Don't be dense. Just a few weeks ago we all stood in this same spot and watched them load you into a body bag." Her hand raised and she pointed to the ambulance that was now turning a corner on its way to the hospital. "That man guarded your body. We had to talk him to into letting you go."

Sherlock blew out an exasperated breath. But he didn't bite back. Not this time.

"He didn't deserve to go through that. So for that reason i'm glad you are ok. I don't know how you managed it or how you got so lucky… but that is one loyal and dedicated friend you have."

"I know." Sherlock said without hesitation.

"Believe me... I know."