Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, that honour belongs to ACD and Mofftiss

He had seen the consulting detective with his own eyes – the man was supposed to be dead, yet he had seen him crossing Boston Place, making his way towards Baker Street, checking on the health and well-being of his friend.

A slow, almost feral smile crossed his face, his salt-and-pepper moustache bristling as his top lip curled. It would now be only a matter of time before Doctor Watson lay dead at his feet – Holmes too, if he played his cards right.

xXx

The empty house across from 221B was the obvious place, Sherlock knew, and the front window looked directly into the flat.

A half smile crossed the sharp chiselled features as he spotted once more from the corner of his eye the fair-haired sniper, the last of Moriarty's network. It would be surely be a close run thing but he was sure he could succeed; all he needed was his faithful blogger once more at his side.

xXx

What the hell did this text message mean?

'Your assistance is required at the rear of 218 Baker Street. 7pm. Come armed if convenient. If inconvenient, come armed anyway.'

Immediately John's mind flew back to that first night, and his decision to come to Baker Street. That night had changed his life forever, and despite the Fall he had never once looked back.