Hey everyone, long time no see! I want to apologise wholeheartedly for the (year long) absence I took from this fic. I can't really explain what happened, I just sort of walked away from it. I always intended to come back, but I really didn't think it would be over a year later. I want to thank everyone who continued to read this fic over time and send me encouraging words to finish it. I have always had this fic all planned out, so I really think it is time to do so.

Hope it is worth the wait... Enjoy.

0o0

Sebastian Moran sat calmly, watching the world around him. The sunshine warmed his face, heating his cheeks. He loved this time of year. The seasons were changing, putting everything in a constant state of activity. He enjoyed constant activity.

He had been a busy man of late. Business was finally starting to boom. The small hobby that he had developed over time was beginning to bring in money, which was good, as it was time he started looking after his family.

"Daddy!" The cry from the little girl on the swings in front of him made him look up. His daughter, Jenna giggled as she was pushed, higher and higher by her mother, who was also laughing. Sebastian grinned, and pushed himself to his feet carefully, reaching for his walking stick.

Coping with his injury had taken the better part of three years. The hardest part about recovering from a head injury was, well, everything. Molly hooper had struck him with a tire iron, doing quite a deal of damage. He now walked with a limp, spoke with a slight stutter, was slowly recovering his long term memory and had a great deal of issues with small intricate tasks. He was lucky to have his life, but he knew that he had deserved everything that woman had given to him that night.

Moran had a long list of things in his life he regretted. Number one with a bullet was his involvement with Jim Moriarty.

He had been young and weak when Jim first sought him out, under the impression that his work as a gun-for-hire was a service to society. And for a while he had loved the work, killing and torturing the way he always had. It was an art form.

When he had woken up in some unknown hospital after his head injury, all he could feel was guilt. Countless names that had been on his kill list. Gallons of blood literally on his hands. He awoke in the hospital, remembering only fractions of his past, but that small amount he did remember made his stomach turn. Sebastian vowed to leave the business then and there.

His name wasn't technically Sebastian any more. He had awoken as a John Doe in the hospital, his memory issues resulting in him not remembering his name. He had given himself a new name then, David, and although over time he remembered more and more of his past life as Sebastian, he had kept the new moniker. It was helping him rebuild his life, to be a different, better person.

Jenna jumped off the swing, running as quickly as she could on her tiny little legs. She was 18 months old, and by far the best thing that had ever happened to him. (Only barely beating his girlfriend, Jenna's mother, Annie.)

Annie was a hospital volunteer with a local church group when they met, and while Sebastian had drawn the line at actually attending church, she had spoken with him at length about the importance of forgiveness in society. She had visited him every second day, sensing that the injured man in bed needed guidance, spiritual or otherwise, to deal with his substantial injuries. Over time, she fell in love.

He had turned her away at first, telling her he was unworthy of her attentions. While it was true, Annie had stayed by his side. She had assumed that someone so wracked with guilt and a need for forgiveness had had a terrible life, but she didn't care about his past. She persisted, not taking no for an answer. Within a year of his release from hospital, they were expecting Jenna.

Sebastian was getting better at being a better man. With the help of his family.

He leant strongly on his cane as Annie and Jenna crossed to him. It was getting later in the afternoon, and it was time to head back inside and start preparing dinner. The small family moved as quick as the limping patriarch could move and prepared for their nightly tradition.

Television on the news, the couple chatted with their daughter as they began chopping at up vegetables.

"...Police are looking for any information on this man, last known alias 'Sebastian Moran' for investigation relating to the London Slasher case. He is considered highly dangerous, so please do not approach..."

The knife fell from Annie's hand with a clatter. "David!"

David looked up at the television to see a picture of him, taken years ago, on the screen. Sebastian sighed. Annie knew his original name and very briefly what he had done in a past life. Surely it had been the name Sebastian Moran that had drawn her attention.

Sebastian was sure something like this would happen eventually. That his past life would catch up to him. He had just hoped that he would have a little more time with his family first. They had discussed what would happen when this day came, had a plan of attack, and now, as Annie shed her first silent tears, he knew what he had to do.

"I better go clear this up." He sighed. He was not the London slasher, but if they were looking for him they would find him, and he would more then likely be incarcerated for his other list of sins. He kissed Annie on the head, then did the same to Jenna before hobbling out of the house.

0o0

Dimmock knew that putting the picture of Moran out into the public was a risk, but it was time for desperate measures. Greg had been playing 'gently, gently' on this case for too long, and was now paying the price of the torture of his daughter. Dimmock's intention was to get this moving a lot quicker, before anyone else could get hurt.

It was a risk, that's for sure, but Dimmock knew it would pay off. It was no surprise to him when not an hour after the news broadcast first aired, he had several tips to people matching Moran's description in different areas.

It was a surprise to him, however, when one of the main floor receptionists called through to him to tell him there was a Sebastian Moran to see him.

He called Sherlock on the way to interrogation room three, meeting the breathless detective (from had run all the way from the evidence locker he had been in) outside the door. "You're not coming in with me Holmes."

Sherlock's mouth opened and closed like a goldfish as he searched for an adequate insult. "You watch from there, but I am not having you in the same room as someone who last time you saw him, attempted to kill your wife."

Sherlock didn't correct the detective's incorrect labelling of Molly, merely staring at him continuously. "Sherlock. I know you want at him, but we can't show our cards too soon. Go and watch the interview, take note of anything... You're still on this case, I just can't have you killing him before we get answers."

Sherlock ignored the fact that the other man was speaking down to him, nodded and entered the interrogation room. There was no point arguing that he would be able to keep his calm, for as soon as he saw Moran through the glass, he felt the need to smash through the barrier and kill him with his own bare hands.

Dimmock entered and began the interrogation, but Sherlock didn't even need to hear the first question before realisation dawned on him. There was no possible way Sebastian could be the slasher.

"For the record, please state your name." Dimmock began, looking down at his list of questions.

"Se-Sebastian Moran." He responded with a slight stutter. "Although I pre-prefer David Shillings now, if-if you don't mind."

"We'll stick with Moran." Dimmock replied. "Why would you turn yourself in?"

"I heard you were l-looking for me." Moran said casually. "I've come to prove that I am n-n-not the London Slasher. It will be quite easy to prove..."

Dimmock watched as Moran reached out with a shaking hand and to his pen and notepad. The detective watched as the retired master criminal in front of him struggled to hold the pen between his fingers. He had such difficulty that it was obvious that his ruined motor skills would make it impossible to be the slasher. If he was struggling this much with a pen, there was no way he'd be able to handle a scalpel.

"Ok." Dimmock dismissed, agreeing that he couldn't be the slasher. "But why turn yourself in? You have a previous wrap sheet as long as the Thames."

"David Shilling is a family man, Detective Inspector." Moran began. "I love my fa-family more than anyth-thing, but it is time that Sebastian Moran faces the crimes he committed in the p-past."

"I am sure you want some sort of bargain for turning yourself in?" Dimmock asked.

"That would be lovely." Sebastian began, then looked up, not directly at Dimmock, but over his shoulder to Sherlock on the other side of the glass. "But I am a realist. The l-last few years I've lived a life I don't deserve. A cliche, I know, but the love of a few g-g-good women made me want to be a better man. I will never be a good man with this over my head."

"You'll go to prison for this Moran."

"And maybe, if I am ever r-released, I'll be free." Sebastian said sadly. "I'll be a man that Annie and Jenna can be pr-proud of. I'll be the David Shilling I want to be, not the Se-Sebastian Moran I was."

Dimmock and Sherlock met in the hall outside of the interrogation room. "He physically can't be the Slasher."

"Do we still like him for an accomplice?" Dimmock asked. Sherlock shook his head everyone gently.

"He wouldn't turn himself in if he was an accomplice." Sherlock stated, then pushed into the main interrogation space before Dimmock could stop him.

Sebastian looked up at the Consulting Detective who stood over him. Sherlock didn't sit, merely looked down at the ex-mercenary. "Do you have any fans?"

"Fans?" Moran repeated, confused.

"Fans! Anyone in the last few years who tracked you down, as Sebastian Moran. Who maybe showed an interest in you, on your past life."

"No." He paused, looking lost in a recollection. "Possibly. About 8-9 months ago, I got an email. Ad-Addressed to Moran. It was from someone who claimed they ran a f-fan site about the criminal underworld I used to be involved in. I was shocked, I mean, no one else, even you had managed to find me, and I know you l-looked for a very long time. I deleted it and ignored it, and they never got in contact with me again."

"Do you remember any details?" Sherlock asked. "Name, location, gender, age?"

"Gender ambiguous. But they really s-s-sounded like they admired me." Moran sighed. "Signed it: Your fan."

Sherlock let the information sink in. This was brilliant. If there was a website, then there was an electronic paper trail. "The fan sites name?"

"Umm, it was something ridiculous." He thought about it for a second. "Sorry, I can't remember, I still s-s-sometimes have memory issues. Resulting from the head injury your pr-pr-pretty little pathologist gave me..."

"Keep talking and ill give you another one." Sherlock threatened. He had all the information he needed and knew that Moran wouldn't be released, so he turned his back and left back into the hall.

Dimmock was on his phone, ordering a police officer to Moran's house to collect his computers. Sherlock was glad he didn't have to fill in the blanks for him.

"We need to find the owner of this fan site." Dimmock said needlessly as he hung up the phone. "Do you think he's our man?"

"I don't know." Sherlock admitted carefully. "But it's a start."

0o0

Greg's attention was drawn to a muffled sob from the doorway.

Artie stood, ashen faced, staring at his girlfriend who was yet to awaken. Greg stood, guilt mixing with his grief. He had forgotten to call the boy. Sofia must have done it.

Artie took a stumbling step into the room and collapsed towards the bed. Greg caught the younger man just in time, holding him to his side. The young man took a few gasping breaths before straightening himself up and muttering an apology to the detective,

"No, mate, I am sorry." Greg muttered, shamed. "With everything going on, I forgot to call you."

"Understandable sir." Archie replied, eyes still locked on Ali's resting form. "I hope it's ok that I came... Sofia called. The nurses let me through. I should have checked first..."

Greg silenced him with a hand in his shoulder, "Its ok. She would want you here."

Artie stepped closer to the bed and took her limp hand in his, making a strangled sob sound again. "The slasher?"

"Yes." Greg whispered. Precise cuts covered his daughter's body under her hospital gown. His beautiful daughter would have to carry them for the rest of his life.

That was the least of Greg's worries, however. First, she had to recover from her injuries. With each passing hour, the doctors were losing optimism. Greg refused to give up on his baby girl.

The man stood in silence, on opposite sides of the bed, each holding the hand of sleeping girl. The silence, with the exception of the medical noise in the room, enveloped them in a companionable silence.

Said silence was shattered only minutes later as the door to the hospital room burst open, and several armed police officers entered, lead by Detective Insoector Dimmock.

"What? What's all this then?" Greg blurted, shocked by the commotion.

Dimmock didn't make eye contact with his colleague as he stepped closer to Artie. "Son, you have to come with me."

Artie looked confused lay from Greg to Dimmock. "Ok. But am I allowed to ask why?"

"Because I have reason to believe, Arthur..." Dimmock began quietly. "That you are the London Slasher."