When I regained consciousness again, my ears were buzzing and my head hurt as hell. I tried to move and, unsurprisingly, I found my arms and feet tied down, and a cloth inside my mouth.

"Please, Doctor Watson... May I call you Doctor Watson now, or do you prefer to keep your treatment as Sergeant Watson? As you and me both are aware that you have been awake for some minutes, you might wish to open your eyes..."

I knew that voice. Oh, yes. So the moment I have been dreading since my relationship with Sherlock started was already there. Well, then. I opened my eyes.

I was sitting in a dark room, with a solitary and naked bulb hanging from the ceiling, exactly above me. I blinked twice. Furniture: two chairs, one for me, and one for Mycroft Holmes, who was sitting in front of me. Windows: none to be seen. Doors: one, on my right, ten feet from me. I started to discard different ways of freeing myself from that room. I was starting to run out of ideas, when suddenly the door slammed open. The frame was occupied by two armed men... and Sherlock.

My friend was shaking with rage, but I saw how he struggled to rein over it and tried to appear calm.

"My dear Sherlock, you are late!", exclaimed my kidnapper, amused. "I thought you would come sooner to say goodbye to your friend."

Sherlock closed the door behind him with a loud slam; the guardians stayed outside the room.

"If this is one of your practical jokes", said Sherlock through clenched teeth, "let me say that you have a twisted sense of humour."

Mycroft's tight smile disappeared. He didn't look at all like Sherlock: both were tall and slim, and had an aristocratic air in their behaviour, in their movements and accents, but the similarities ended there. Mycroft Holmes was older than Sherlock, and his fair hair was starting to recede. His eyes were misty grey, the same colour that Sherlock's had sometimes, but they were colder than my friend's; and his mouth was thin instead of the full lips that I loved.

"What were you expecting, Sherlock? My congratulations? I have already heard rumours! Amongst our men! This is not a moment when we can afford to be seen as weak, and you know it perfectly well!" After that outburst, he seemed to calm down a bit, staring at Sherlock disapprovingly. His brother was silent, hands curled, and didn't look at me. "I knew that this was going to happen since that summer at our country house, when I caught you with that stupid little Lord, whatwashisname?"

"Doesn't matter now", Sherlock hurried to answer, shooting me a quick glance from the corner of his eye. "I told you it wasn't important, and I stopped it."

"Yes, I know. But this was meant to happen. You should have married then, Sherlock, I warned you! I hope you reconsider the question now; in fact there are some interesting candidates that would be useful for our family... A title would fit so lovely with our name..."

Sherlock started to pace the room.

"I told you that I will never marry, Mycroft; if you want a title you will have to manage to get one yourself."

"Well, then. Do you want a minute alone to say goodbye? My men don't have all day."

"You are not going to kill him!"

"You don't leave me any other option, Sherlock! If I leave him alive, you and he are dead man walking. As soon as the rumour spread... and you know it will... well, accidents happen. Our men are loyal, but I don't want to test their level of loyalty with this. And Johnson's supporters will take the chance to claim revenge; this will be simply too easy for them. We. Can't. Spare. Him."

"I wouldn't have that letter against Johnson without his assistance, Mycroft! He's loyal, he can be my new right hand man; nobody has to know anything else about him: rumours can be fought."

Mycroft sighed loudly.

"I'm tired of repeating myself: rumours will be fought, yes. As soon as he is dead, your reputation will be clean again. We are cleaning up our ranks, so everybody will think that it's the right thing to do. And don't make me laugh pretending that John 'Honest' Watson would join us; it's the most ridculous idea I've ever heard. I'm really sorry, brother, I wish things were different. Perhaps in the future, but not now."

Sherlock looked at me then, and it was one of his intense gazes, the ones that pierced you and read your body and your soul and left you naked and defenceless. I still felt too shocked to say anything; I wasn't afraid of death, I had been so many times at a touching distance that it had become an almost familiar presence for me. But I wanted to see the end of all of this. And I wanted to ascertain Sherlock's level of implication with me. After a long silence, with his eyes still fixed on mine, he whispered:

"I am going to keep him, Mycroft, don't matter the consequences. I'll leave the organisation; I'll leave London if it's necessary."

"You leaving the organisation wouldn't make any difference, Sherlock. You two would be dead in less than a month. I'm not going to allow that, I promised mummy that I would keep you safe and sound."

Sherlock turned again towards his brother, frowning and huffing.

"What do you suggest, then?"

"Will you and your doctor comply with what I decide?"

Sherlock hesitated. I nodded, making a humming sound. My friend looked at me as if he had forgotten I was there, startled. I felt relieved, at last seeing an end, and one that didn't imply my death or Sherlock's.

"Sherlock? I need your word", asked Mycroft.

He nodded, torn between defeated and hopeful.

"Alright, this is my plan: you two will go to Switzerland. You know that mummy needs help to run the hotel since our father died; she's starting to be too elderly to do that job on her own. I'm sure she will appreciate your going there. She misses you a lot, how many years have passed since last time you went to Reichenbach?"

Sherlock grunted and lowered his eyes, as if his shoes were the most interesting thing in the world. But I already knew him enough to tell that he was secretly pleased, even when he didn't want to show it in front of his brother. He approached me and untied me. Mycroft opened the door and whispered a long string of orders to his men, while I stood up and supressed the urge to hug Sherlock. He looked at me with the same contained emotion that I'm sure was painted on my face, and then simply turned away with a twirl of his coat and left the room with fast strides, corridor away. I hurried to follow him, glad to abandon that grim room. When I passed in front of Mycroft Holmes, though, I stopped to thank him.

"Why are you thanking me?"

He didn't seem surprised, in fact. I started to answer all the same, but he raised a hand to stop me.

"Don't. You do think that I have provided a way out, don't you? Well, I have spared your life, this is true. But, what do you think is going to happen when Sherlock gets bored of the life in a little village in Switzerland? The Reichenbach Falls were once included in most of the Grand Tours of the British, but times are changing… Sherlock knows perfectly well that this way out is, in fact, a punishment. Good luck with that, Doctor Watson."

I clenched my hands and followed Sherlock without a word.

ONE YEAR LATER

The door at Sherlock's office opened slowly and the head of his secretary poked from behind.

"Mister Holmes, you've got a visit", said the young man in English, but with a strong German accent. Sherlock barely raised his eyes from his notebook. "Inspector Geißler and Inspector Kurzmann."

Sherlock nodded and the two policemen stepped in the small but elegant office. He kept on writing into his notebook, consulting his books once on a while, as the Inspectors sat down on the leather armchairs in front of his desk. Geißler looked concerned and serious, as always; Kurzmann, on the other hand, seemed extraordinarily annoyed. Sherlock knew well that the latter didn´t trust him, but he usually didn't seem so belligerent, so something related to Sherlock had happened since the last time the policemen had consulted him. Obvious.

"Holmes, we need your insight in a case", said Geißler, in his fast and careful German. "A girl has appeared this morning, dead. Her room was closed, the key was inside the door; and the bedroom is on a third floor. All the evidence points to a suicide, but her mother disagrees and has asked for a formal investigation."

"And you have accepted, of course," said Sherlock, in German as well, "because said mother is a distant relative of yours, or a close neighbour". Inspector Geißler nodded. "I'm sorry, Inspectors, but as you can see, I'm burdened with work: it's almost the end of the term and we are expecting a huge group of students from Cambridge. These young men have to be entertained, you know, so I don´t think I will be available to help you with that poor girl…"

"Oh, come on, Holmes!", exploded Kurzmann at last, his wide face red and contracted. "I have investigated you, and this morning I had a long phone call from Scotland Yard. Does the name Lestrade sound familiar to you? Because he had a lot of things to tell about you…"

"I was never found guilty of any charge, I'm sure he had remembered to tell you… It's barely my fault that the Inspectors from Scotland Yard have too much free time to gossip around."

Geißler hurried to repair his colleague's harsh words.

"We are not here to discuss petty details, especially if they are old and even set in another country… I'm sure this case will be of your interest, Mister Holmes. There are some details about the girl's body that you will find most interesting. I assure you they are quite unusual."

Sherlock closed his notebook and smiled at them.

"Well, then, give my secretary the address and I will try to drop by when I have a moment."

Geißler gleamed and stood up to shake Sherlock's hand. Next to him, Kurzmann kept frowning and said nothing.

Mrs. Barker squeezed my arm on her way out, her other hand grabbing a flowery and huge handbag.

"You don't know how grateful I am to have found you, Doctor Watson", she said. "My sister and I come to Switzerland every year since she became widowed; her doctor at Edinburgh suggested the Reichenbach Falls because of its clean air and the beautiful walks that we can take here. But I was very concerned about finding the right doctor, because these Swiss people are nice and charming, but of course I prefer to put my health in the hands of a British doctor..."

I smiled and thanked her, sending my regards for her sister. As soon as I was alone again, my telephone rang. I smiled: it could only be one person.

"Sherlock?", I answered.

"How do you know it's me?", he sounded almost annoyed.

"You are the only one who phones me; the patients prefer to pop in". My smile turned wider in pride.

"True. Pack your things for a night off; we are going to Interlaken; I'm almost sure that we will pass the night there."

"Hold on, Sherlock, I still have one patient to see…"

"Grave?"

"I don't know; I still haven't seen him!"

"This girl is dead; that sure exceeds the possible gravity of your patient, don't you think? I'll see you at the station in one hour."

"But Sherlock…!"

Unsurprisingly, he had already hung up. I shook my head and laughed. Sherlock. I was going to follow that crazy bastard until the end of time. But if there were better lives to be lived, I couldn't imagine any.

...And here it ends Gangsters in London. I really hope that you have liked this AU; for me it has been truly fun and rewarding to write.

Thank you again to Possessmemore: without her help and encouragement, none of my fics would have been written.
And thank you, of course, to everyone who has found the time to leave kudos, comments or simply read the full story!

A little note about the timeline: when World War I began, in 1914, Sherlock was 19, on his second year at Oxford, and John was 23, a young unexperienced Doctor, fresh from Uni. So when this story starts, in 1930, Sherlock is 35 years old and John 39; more or less like on series 2 of the show.