7 chapter 7

L listened pensively as Sherlock explained that Carl Powers was a kid who drowned back in 1989 during a sports tournament. It was ruled a tragic accident.

"You remembered it though. Something fishy about it?" John asked.

"Nobody thought so; nobody except me. I was only a kid myself. I read about it in the papers. The boy, Carl Powers, had some kind of fit in the water, but by the time they got him out it was too late. But there was something wrong; something I couldn't get out of my head."

"What?"

"His shoes. They weren't there. I made a fuss; I tried to get the police interested, but nobody seemed to think it was important. He'd left all the rest of his clothes in his locker, but there was no sign of his shoes..." He leant down and picked up the bag containing the trainers.

"...until now."

Sherlock shut himself up in the kitchen the moment they made it to the flat. L got the feeling he would be unintentionally ignored if he tried to help so he didn't. He stayed in the living room and watched John pace back and forth. He stopped when his phone suddenly pinged. He pulled it out and glanced at it. He turned and slid open one of the doors.

"Your brother's texting me now." He frowned. "How does he know my number?" He mumbled to himself. Sherlock ignored him and kept looking at the papers riddling the table.

"Look, he did say 'national importance.' You can't just ignore it."

"I'm not ignoring it. Putting my best man onto it right now." Sherlock smirked to himself.

"Good." John relaxed, looking pleased.

L shook his head as it slowly sunk in just whom Sherlock meant. All protests were ignored though so John was soon walking out the door to meet with Mycroft.

L sat in the sitting room, staring into the kitchen. Sherlock was silently working again, completely shut off from any distractions. L knew that he wouldn't be noticed even if he stood right at Sherlock's elbow and called out. The thought made the quiet of the flat, broken by slight, sudden shifts of paper, suddenly unbearable and made L feel so alone. Normally, such a feeling wouldn't bother him, as it was comforting in its familiarity but not this time.

It wasn't a very wise decision in the long run and a rather impulsive one at that but L still hopped off the couch and slipped on his sneakers. There was no point in looking back into the kitchen but L still did before making his way down the stairs and out the door. Sherlock never looked up from his work.

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L easily walked down the street without anyone stopping to ask whether he was lost or not. It was familiar and reminded L of when he slept in alleyways and people walked by without stopping or even sparing him a glance. L did get some curious looks this time around but that was no doubt because his clean clothes meant he wasn't some homeless kid. However, even then nobody was willing to waste his or her time getting involved.

L had no destination in mind when he left the flat so he just kept walking. He felt his shoulders hunch more than usual the further he went as the numerous people and building-lined streets crowded him. He left the flat to escape the stifling silence and loneliness but now he just needed to get away from all the people. He sped up his pace but kept himself from breaking out into a run.

He found relief in the park not too far from the flat. The darkening clouds deterred people from lingering long in the park so L was able to find a nice place to sit alone. He was still able to hear the bustling of the streets so there was little fear of the silence coming back. It was a weird feeling, the need to not be alone but at the same time not wanting to be near anyone…or maybe he just wanted to be with someone in particular.

He shook his head at himself, disappointed in his dependence on Sherlock and John's attention. He couldn't be the center of their focus all the time; it was foolish and selfish of him to think otherwise, especially with Sherlock being the way he is. Honestly, L thought he had already accepted this but apparently not.

Soft footsteps L's way drew him from his thoughts. L looked up from the grass and found Jim standing over him with a smile. L's heart jumped in his chest and he scrambled to his feet without thinking. The pounding of his heart told L that his unexplained fear of the man that day in the lab wasn't a fluke or just nerves from meeting a stranger. The fear was made all the stronger as L was in a very vulnerable position in being practically alone with the man. L wasn't sure the small family near the other side of the park would be of much help to him if he needed it. He didn't know why the man unnerved him so but L wasn't about to ignore his instincts. He was sure his anxiety was visible on his face but Jim's smile only grew.

"Well hello there. We meet at Barts, remember?" L could only stare as his mind scrambled to find a means of escape. Jim looked around.

"Is Sherlock not with you?" L took a subtle deep breath and forced himself to speak.

"No." There was no point in lying, as he clearly was alone.

"And that other guy…? What was his name?" Jim cupped his chin as he apparently tried to remember John's name. It wasn't surprising that the man didn't remember it; he seemed pretty mesmerized by Sherlock at the time, barely paying John and Molly any attention.

"No…John's not here either." L responded, keeping his voice as steady as possible. Jim frowned.

"It's not very safe for a child to wander around by themselves." He softly scolded. L didn't feel the need to respond but didn't need to as the dark clouds finally owned up to their promise, drawing their attention elsewhere for a moment. Jim tilted his head back and watched the rain while L tensely watched him, barely noticing how his shirt was starting to cling to him.

"You better head home before something bad happens to you." The man said without lowering his head. L couldn't see his expression from his angle but he doubted it was a pleasant one. L nodded and started walking off at a casual pace that took all his control to maintain.

"Do you need an escort?" Jim asked as he fell into step with him.

"No. I'll be fine. I didn't go too far." L didn't like revealing even that much but it wasn't like Sherlock's location wasn't already known. Jim hummed to himself, grinning.

"If you're sure…" Jim stopped, allowing L to continue on his way alone. L resisted the urge to look back but didn't really need to. L shuddered as the weight of the man's gaze lingered on him during his trek out the park. L couldn't shake the feeling that he hadn't gotten away but rather Jim, whatever his intentions, had simply let him go.

The walk back was easier as there were no longer any crowds to maneuver through but now there was an added danger to it. L knew he could be easily kidnapped off the empty streets just like he may have almost been back at the park so he hurried back. Thankfully, the rain didn't last long so L wasn't too soaked when he slipped back through the door.

L lingered at the bottom of the stairs, listening to see whether John had returned yet or not. The silence didn't necessarily mean that the coast was clear but L knew he couldn't linger downstairs forever. He climbed the stairs and peeked into the sitting room. It was empty and Sherlock was still working in the kitchen so he climbed the remaining stairs up to his and John's room. He changed out of his wet clothes and into some fresh ones. He snagged a towel from the bathroom and sat back on the couch, drying his hair. His hair was nearly dry when John entered the flat.

The man looked weary; no doubt the meeting with Mycroft tired him out. John glanced his way as he removed his damp coat and stopped. Despite what Sherlock might say at times, the doctor was not an idiot. He clearly figured out what the damp towel in L's hands and his change of clothes meant. L said nothing, knowing no explanation would sufficiently excuse him. John's stern expression hinted at an upcoming scolding or lecture but Sherlock unintentionally saved L from such an experience.

"Clostridium botulinum!" The detective yelled, slamming his hands on the table. "It's one of the deadliest poisons on the planet!" He continued as John and L were drawn to the kitchen.

"Poison? Are you saying Carl Powers was murdered?" John asked.

"Remember the shoelaces?" John nodded. "The boy suffered from eczema. It'd be the easiest thing in the world to introduce the poison into his medication. Two hours later he comes up to London, the poison takes effect, paralyses the muscles and he drowns." Sherlock wandered over to his laptop as he spoke and started typing something.

"There were traces of the poison inside the trainers, which is why they had to go." Both men glanced over at the trainers.

"The killer kept the shoes all these years." John mumbled, piecing it together.

"Yes. Meaning..."

"He's our bomber." John finished, looking a bit pale. The pink phone rang, heightening the tension of the room. Sherlock hurried over to answer it. The woman's voice came clearly over the speaker.

"Well done, you. Come and get me." The woman started crying, relieved.

"Where are you? Tell us where you are."

Sherlock quickly relayed the woman's location to Lestrade. John leaned heavily against the table, no doubt relived that the woman would survive. L was also relieved but he didn't doubt that Sherlock would solve it in time; perhaps his faith fell into hero worship category but it wasn't like Sherlock didn't have the skills to warrant such worship.

L went to leave the room but a firm hand on his shoulder stopped him. He tensed at the initial touch but knew he wasn't in danger. He calmly turned to face John. The man's stern expression told him that the doctor hadn't forgotten his scolding.

"I won't do it again." L reassured as the man opened his mouth. L meant what he said and clearly John realized that, as he said nothing. He nodded and let L go. L left the room, thoughts on the bomber and just what he was hoping to accomplish.

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They went to Scotland Yard in the morning to see if they could get any clues regarding the bomber from the woman's account of what happened.

"She lives in Cornwall. Two men broke in wearing masks, forced her to drive to the car park and decked her out in enough explosives to take down a house. Told her to phone you. She had to read out from this pager." Lestrade informed them, placing the pager on the desk in front of John.

"And if she deviated by one word, the sniper would set her off." Sherlock said, glancing down at the pager.

"Or if you hadn't solved the case." John picked up the pager, looking it over. Sherlock walked over to the window of Lestrade's office, which provided a view of the main office.

"Oh. Elegant." The man said softly to himself.

L couldn't contain his flinch. It was a well thought out set up, L could agree to that, but even so…to hear Sherlock complimenting such methods was…disturbing. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary for Sherlock as shown by his prioritizing the case over the safety of the hostage but this time it just felt wrong…like the bomber was seeking approval and praise from him. The intimacy of the whole thing was very off-putting.

"Elegant?" John asked, looking disturbed himself. Lestrade seemed unaware of the tension as he kept on talking.

"But what was the point? Why would anyone do this?"

"Oh, I can't be the only person in the world that gets bored." Sherlock continued. The pink phone beeped, letting them know that there was a new message. They all focused on Sherlock as he pulled the phone out. Sherlock walked towards the desk as the pips came from the phone again but this time…

"Four pips." John pointed out.

"First test passed, it would seem. Here's the second." John and Lestrade crowded around Sherlock to get a look at what was on the phone. L was really starting to hate how vertically challenged he was. Donovan entered the office while the men were looking over the phone.

"Freak, it's for you." She said, holding up another phone.

Sherlock moved into the main office to take the call, leaving L and John to watch his expressions to get a feel for what is being said, which wasn't easy as he kept his back mostly to them. L and John both made for the door at about the same time as they caught a glimpse of Sherlock's sharp expression. John stood near Sherlock, looking concerned, while L strained his ears, trying to catch at least a smidgeon of what Sherlock was hearing.

"And you've stolen another voice, I presume." Sherlock said into the phone.

"…"

"Who are you? What's that noise?"

L hated not hearing the other end of the conversation. Whatever the response was must have been bad as Sherlock paled the slightest bit and L caught a quick flash of dread in the man's eyes. In a way it was nice to see that Sherlock was reminded, if he had forgotten, which L hoped he hadn't, that this bomber was putting peoples' lives at risk, he wasn't to be admired.

"We've found it." Lestrade said as he exited his office. Sherlock lingered a moment with the phone to his ear before following.

The next case that the bomber gave Sherlock to solve started with a car with blood-smeared seats. The blood belonged to a man named Ian Monkford. However, there was no body to be found. L tried to keep up with what Sherlock was investigating but kept getting distracted and offended by Donovan's attempts at convincing John to stop hanging around Sherlock. L was happy to leave her behind as they went on to investigate Janus Cars, whose business card was found in the glove box. They questioned the owner about Mr. Monkford then Sherlock went and analyzed the blood from the car seats at Barts.

Sherlock easily pieced it all together after that. Turned out that Janus Cars helped Mr. Monkford to relocate to Columbia and his wife was in on it. L grinned as Sherlock explained all the little details that he caught while speaking with the owner and how he discovered that the blood had been frozen at one point, meaning it had been taken beforehand and wasn't at all fresh.

"I am on fire!" Sherlock triumphantly cried as he left the scene. L couldn't help but agree.

The hostage was safely recovered but no new information was gotten about the bomber but that wasn't surprising. The next morning they managed to have a bit of a breather from the whole thing, well at least John and L did. Sherlock was impatiently drumming his fingers on the café table while staring at the phone. L looked up from his jammed toast and frowned. John spoke before he could.

"Has it occurred to you...?"

"Probably." Sherlock cut him off impatiently. John shook his head and continued anyway.

"Has it occurred to you that the bomber's playing a game with you? The envelope, breaking into the other flat, the dead kid's shoes…it's all meant for you." L nearly had a Sherlock moment but just barely kept his eyes from rolling at John's stating the obvious.

"Yes, I know." Sherlock said with a smile that was once again off-putting to L.

"Is it him, then? Moriarty?" John asked. L had heard from the two about Moriarty and was pretty certain that he was involved if not directly responsible.

"Perhaps." Sherlock said simply, not really paying much attention.

Any semblance of peace was broken as the phone beeped. Sherlock swiftly picked it up. There were three pips this time, confirming that it was indeed counting down. L didn't want to think about what would happen when they reached the last pip.

The next case was the death of television celebrity Connie Prince and this time the hostage was a blind, old woman. L was just as horrified as John but once again Sherlock put the case at the forefront of his mind. L liked to think that was Sherlock's own way of caring; solving the case as quickly as possible in order to save the old woman. Prince's body was laid out on a table at Bart's morgue for them to look at. L hated to admit it but he needed a small footstool to get a proper look but he was determined to be of some help this time around.

"According to one of her staff, Raoul de Santos, she cut her hand on a rusty nail in the garden. Nasty wound. Tetanus bacteria enters the bloodstream. Good night Vienna." They looked at said wound.

"Something's wrong with this picture." Sherlock declared. "Can't be as simple as it seems, otherwise the bomber wouldn't be directing us towards it. Something's wrong."

L agreed. He scanned everywhere his eyes could see, trying to find anything of importance. There were several scratches on her arm and these tiny pinpricks in her forehead. His instincts were telling him to focus on the pinpricks. He turned to point them out to Sherlock and John. Sherlock had probably already noticed them but L still felt the need to say something and contribute in some way. John was already heading for the door though and Sherlock was close behind with eager steps.

L reached out and tugged on Sherlock's sleeve. His weak grip on the fabric was broken as Sherlock continued on without stopping; the man was so caught up in the whirl of his own thoughts that he didn't notice him. L silently stared after him then deflated with a quiet sigh. Sherlock's constant disregard of L's existence since the start of the case, unintentional or not, was really starting to wear on him; it made L feel like a waste of space. L said nothing though and just scurried to catch up. He passed John as the man lingered in near the door, watching him. He acknowledged the man's troubled frown but still kept his silence; he wasn't the type to go spouting his problems to others and would instead keep it all bottled up. Not very a very effective solution perhaps but it was still his way.

John went to speak with Connie Prince's brother. Sherlock ran off to do his own thing without stopping to wait for L so L was stuck sitting awkwardly on the brother's couch, actively ignoring the man's attempts at flirting with John. The man wasn't at all discouraged that a child was present; the man probably thought him too naïve to understand all the implications in his body language and speech. Oh how L wished he were. John was clearly uncomfortable and not at all interested but still stuck it out for the sake of the case.

The cat that refused to leave John's lap seemed to spark something in the doctor. L remembered the scratches on Prince's arm and understood what John was thinking. L had also caught the smell of disinfectant that lingered on the cat but didn't really think it was the actual method of murder. John still called Sherlock though. Despite how the man had been earlier with L at the lab, he still came running to check out what John had found. L was a bit envious of that but it didn't last long. Turned out that Sherlock had already solved the case.

The culprit was Raoul de Santos and the method was botulinum toxin, same with Carl Powers. Raoul used Prince's Botox injections to get the toxin into her system, which was what those pinpricks on her forehead were from. Sherlock was once again on a high from solving the case but John didn't share his joy.

"How long?" John tensely asked as he stopped Sherlock just outside Lestrade's office. L lingered just before the door, unsure whether he should leave them or not.

"What?" Sherlock asked, apparently unaware of the anger emanating from the doctor.

"How long have you known?"

"Well, this one was quite simple, actually. The bomber repeated himself. That was a mistake." Sherlock explained as he always did, unaware of how that only angered John more. Sherlock moved past John but the doctor stopped him once again.

"But Sherlock the hostage, the old woman…she's been there all this time." John elaborated, getting right to the heart of his upset since Sherlock wasn't getting it. Sherlock leant close to the doctor and gave him an intense stare. He spoke quickly and forcefully.

"I knew I could save her. I also knew that the bomber had given us twelve hours. I solved the case quickly and that gave me time to get on with other things Don't you see? We're one up on him!"

Sherlock stepped back and entered Lestrade's office, leaving John to silently purse his lips in frustration. John spotted L then, who couldn't bring himself to move during the whole thing. John gave L a slightly helpless look but L could only shrug; if John couldn't change Sherlock's ways then he doubted he could. Besides, there was some logic to what Sherlock said, cold logic maybe but logic nonetheless. John sighed before slipping into the office with L close behind. Sherlock was just finishing typing into his website. The pink phone rang not even a second later. L was still unsettled by how it seemed the bomber was sitting around just waiting for Sherlock to solve his little puzzles.

"Hello?" Sherlock carefully answered. "Tell us where you are. Address." Sherlock instructed the old woman, looking a bit disinterested as if he was just performing a necessity that he cared little for. All disinterest died in a second. Sherlock now spoke urgently into the phone.

"No, no, no, no. Tell me nothing about him. Nothing." He paused. "Hello?"

L didn't need to see Sherlock's pinched expression to know. Sherlock slowly lowered the phone, staring silently forward. Lestrade sighed and John braced a hand on the back of Sherlock's chair. No one said anything…what could they say?

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The next morning they all solemnly sat and watched the news. The explosion hadn't just killed the old woman but also twelve other people as well. The sight of the explosion was hard to look at.

"He certainly gets about." John said, sending a pointed look Sherlock's way. It proved futile though.

"Well, obviously I lost that round, although technically I did solve the case." Sherlock insisted coolly, but there was a slight shakiness to his voice that L managed to pick out. It was a relief to hear…despite what Sherlock said, he did care; it's a shame that L needed so many reassurances of that fact. Sherlock picked up the remote and muted the volume.

"He killed the old lady because she started to describe him. Just once, he put himself in the firing line."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, usually, he must stay above it all. He organizes these things but no-one ever has direct contact." Sherlock explained.

"So people come to him wanting their crimes fixed up, like booking a holiday?" John asked, a bit blown away by the idea.

"Novel." Sherlock whispered softly, face full of admiration and L suddenly couldn't take it anymore. That old woman and those other people had been killed and Sherlock was still talking as if the bomber was a wondrous marvel. He stormed from the room and up the stairs to his room, slamming the door behind him. It wasn't at all satisfying since he was sure only John understood why he was so upset.

Sherlock watched L leave but made no move to go after him. He turned his gaze back onto the television but what it was showing didn't really interest him. John also didn't move to follow but for a different reason. He was just as furious as L but wasn't about to hold it in. John stood up and turned a fierce glare on Sherlock.

"There are lives at stake, Sherlock, actual human lives. Do you care about that at all?"

"Will caring about them help save them?" Sherlock asked tensely, giving John an irritated look.

"Nope." John admitted, too angry to be saddened by that fact.

"Then I'll continue not to make that mistake." Sherlock said, voice firm.

"And you find that easy, do you?" John asked, slight contempt seeping into his words.

"Yes, very." Sherlock gave John a snidely cynical look. "Is that news to you?" John smiled but it was more bitter than anything else.

"No."

They silently locked eyes as tension hung in the air. John spoke again when Sherlock turned away.

"And what about L?" John asked, voice still tense and heated.

"What about him?"

"You took him in because of his intellect, I understand that but you've barely looked at him since this case started. Now that someone just as smart comes along you just toss him aside. Do you not care about him either?"

"No…I don't." Sherlock said, staring unwaveringly at John. He could hear Akishi calling him a liar in his head but didn't take back his words. John turned away, clenching his fists. Sherlock watched him. His voice softened slightly as he finally realized something.

"I've disappointed you." John turned with an angry smile.

"That's a good deduction." He retorted sarcastically.

"Don't make people into heroes, John. Heroes don't exist, and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them." Sherlock coldly declared. John stood, unable to respond. The phone took the opportunity away from him anyway.

"Excellent." Sherlock whispered softly, happily picking up the phone. There were two pips left and this time a picture of the Thames.

"You check the papers; I'll look online-" He started to say but stopped when he looked up and saw John standing with his hands braced on the back of his chair and his head lowered.

"Oh, you're angry with me, so you won't help. Not much cop, this caring lark." John sighed heavily at Sherlock's mocking tone but still moved to help.

Getting in touch with Lestrade revealed that a body had been found at the Thames. L reluctantly followed to the scene. The victim was a security guard for the Hickman Gallery by the name of Alex Woodbridge. Woodbridge was killed by asphyxiation with strange bruising around the nose and mouth. Sherlock deduced that it was a hit done by the killer Golem, who squeezes the life out of his victims with his bare hands. From all that Sherlock deduced that the famous painting about to be unveiled at the gallery was a fake. John, L and Lestrade were all amazed that he was able piece everything together so quickly. Sherlock still had to find Golem and prove that the painting was a fake.

John and L looked into Woodbridge and discovered that he didn't know much about art but loved stargazing. There was also a voice message left for him by a Professor Cairns that seemed pretty important. John received a message of his own and, judging by John's grimace, L decided it was probably from Mycroft. Sherlock still hadn't solved that case for him after all. John figured bringing L along to such an important case would make it hard for Westie's fiancée to take him seriously so he had L wait back at Baker Street. L did so without complaint since John was right. It didn't make waiting around any easier.

John was very late in coming back as he met with Sherlock after meeting with Westie's fiancée to look for Golem. Sherlock got a clue of the man's whereabouts from his homeless network. Golem initially escaped them but they found him again. Unfortunately, they were not in time to save Professor Cairns. The forming bruises on Sherlock's face let L know that it had been a rather close call for them. Golem got away but there was no point dwelling on that then. Sherlock instead focused on proving the painting false.

"It's a fake. It has to be." Sherlock muttered, standing in front of the painting at the gallery. The phone finally rang after remaining silent throughout the whole case.

"The painting is a fake. That's why Woodbridge and Cairns was killed." Sherlock stated a bit tensely into the phone. Only heavy breathing came through the speaker

"Oh, come on. Proving it's just a detail. The painting is a fake. I've solved it. I've figured it out. It's a fake! That's the answer. That's why they were killed." Sherlock insisted, annoyed. The breathing continued. Sherlock took a calming breath.

"Okay, I'll prove it. Give me time. Will you give me time?" A trembling voice finally responded.

"Ten..." Sherlock spun to look closely at the painting.

"Oh, God, it's a kid!" Lestrade covered his face, horrified.

"Nine..."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he scanned every inch of the painting.

"Eight..."

"This kid will die. Tell me why the painting is a fake. Tell me!" Sherlock demanded Miss Wenceslas who was running the gallery. He quickly held up a hand though when she went to speak.

"Seven..."

"No, shut up. Don't say anything. It only works if I figure it out." John started pacing as Sherlock turned back to the painting.

"Must be possible. Must be staring me in the face."

"Six..."

"Woodbridge knew, but how?" Thinking of Woodbridge, L figured it out but had to hold it in; Sherlock was right…it had to be him that solved it.

"Five..."

"Oh!" Sherlock gasped, eyes wide.

"Four..."

"Oh, that is brilliant! That is gorgeous!" Sherlock gave John the pink phone and took out his own phone for something.

"Three..."

"This is beautiful. I love this!" Sherlock finished typing into and turned back to them, laughing in delight. L felt his anger stir. Without thinking, he swung his leg out and kicked Sherlock in the shin. The man flinched and looked down at him, meeting his glare head on. It worked to remind the man of the situation. He grabbed the phone from John.

"Two..."

"The Van Buren Supernova!" He said into the phone. There was a pause.

"Please. Is somebody there?" The boy said. They all sighed, relieved. Sherlock gave the phone to Lestrade to get the boy's location. He pointed at the painting.

"The Van Buren Supernova, so-called Exploding star, only appeared in the sky in eighteen fifty-eight." Sherlock explained, holding up his phone so Miss Wenceslas can see the screen. He threw her a triumphant look as John finished for him.

"So how could it have been painted in the sixteen forties?" John stood amazed as usual.

They questioned Miss Wenceslas and managed to confirm that Moriarty was involved in this, which meant he was involved in all the others and was in fact the bomber. It was of no surprise at this point.

John went back to the Westie case, this time looking at the tracks Westie was found on. L was allowed to come this time. There was very little blood on the tracks even though the victim had his head bashed in. He pieced it together a couple minutes before John did but kept quiet. It was really John's case at this point so he felt it was only right to let John have the satisfaction of solving it. Of course Sherlock had them both beat, which he revealed when he showed up on the scene just as John figured it out.

"Knew you'd get there eventually. West wasn't killed here; that's why there was so little blood."

"How long have you been following me?" John asked, a bit annoyed but not much.

"Since the start. You don't think I'd give up on a case like this just to spite my brother, do you?" He walked off.

"Come on. Got a bit of burglary to do." John followed without question.

John and L followed Sherlock to the house where the brother of Westie's fiancée lived. The man showed up while they were snooping and they managed to get a confession from him. He stole the plans from Westie to get out of debt and accidentally killed Westie when he later confronted him over it. He pushed Westie's body on top of a train car, which the street outside his place overlooked. Westie's body fell off the train later at Battersea Station when the switching of tracks jostled him off. The brother gave them the missile plans and they went on their way.

That night they sat around in the sitting room. Sherlock, strangely enough, was watching telly, yelling at it too. The Moriarty case was still hanging over their heads but the tension that had accumulated during the case seemed to have left as John teased Sherlock like normal again. Sherlock even smiled at the teasing. Everything almost seemed right again but L couldn't shake this ominous feeling. John got up and started putting on his coat.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, keeping his eyes on the screen.

"I…uh…accidentally let it slip the other day that I was taking care of L to Sarah and she wants to meet him." John clearly regretted the slip but was also relieved that it didn't turn Sarah off; apparently she liked children.

"There's leftovers in the fridge." John reminded him as he called L over. "Right we need milk." He muttered to himself.

"I'll get some." Sherlock offered.

"Really?!" John asked, disbelieving but still smiling at the idea. Sherlock nodded, eyes still glued to the screen. John took a moment to stare but then nodded. Sherlock could feel L's eyes on him but kept his eyes forward, knowing how sharp the boy is. John left with L in toll.

Sherlock waited a few minutes after they left before grabbing his laptop. He typed a quick message on his website for Moriarty to see then grabbed his coat. He quickly left, eager to reach the finale.

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The pool was almost eerily quiet and the lighting added to the ominous feel. Sherlock calmly walked along it though. He looked around, knowing he wasn't alone. He held up the memory stick with the missile plans.

"Brought you a little getting-to-know-you present. Oh, that's what it's all been for, hasn't it? All your little puzzles, making me dance…all to distract me from this." He turned slowly as he spoke. A door opened behind him when his back was to the pool. Sherlock looked over his shoulder and froze.

"Evening." John said. Sherlock slowly lowered his arm, shocked nearly speechless.

"This is a turn-up, isn't it, Sherlock?"

"John? What the hell…?"

"Bet you never saw this coming."

Sherlock couldn't believe it. He was Moriarty? No, it couldn't be. His brother's caution regarding sentiment came back and he regrettably thought once more that maybe he was right. Had sentiment clouded his judgment? Was that why he never saw the truth behind John Watson? Or-

Such thoughts stopped dead as John opened the bulky jacket that made him look all the smaller in stature. The explosives strapped across the man's chest filled Sherlock with cold, heart stopping dread. There was the truth right there.

"Stop it." He barked out, interrupting John's forced ramblings, which he hadn't really been listening to.

"Nice touch, this: the pool where little Carl died. I stopped him." John continued to say. He nearly cringed at the next words. "I can stop John Watson too. Stop his heart."

"Who are you?" Sherlock asked, looking around. A door opening on the other side of the pool drew his attention. He couldn't see who opened it though as they lingered in the shadow of the doorway.

"I gave you my number." A man with an Irish accent spoke in a tone that was a bit hard to take seriously. "Thought you might call."

The speaker stepped from the doorway and into the light of the pool. Sherlock hated to admit it but it took him a second longer than it should have for him to recognize the now sharply dressed man. Jim casually walked along the pool towards them with his hands in his pockets.

"Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?"

"Both." Sherlock replied tensely, pulling the gun out. He aimed it right at Jim but the man was unfazed.

"Jim Moriarty. Hi!" He introduced himself as he stood across from Sherlock. Sherlock said nothing.

"Jim? Jim from the hospital?" Moriarty continued. Sherlock brought up his other hand to better support the gun. Moriarty bit his lip as if disappointed.

"Oh. Did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then, I suppose, that was rather the point."

"I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I've got going on out there in the big bad world. I'm a specialist, you see...like you!" He looked surprised at the end, as if he just realized it. Sherlock finally spoke.

"Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister?" Moriarty grinned, walking forward. "Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America?"

"Just so." Moriarty stated as he stopped.

"Consulting criminal. Brilliant." Sherlock complimented softly. Moriarty smiled, proud.

"Isn't it? No-one ever gets to me." His tone turned serious. "And no-one ever will."

"I did." Sherlock protested, cocking the gun.

"You've come the closest." Moriarty agreed, shrugging. "Now you're in my way."

"Thank you."

"Didn't mean it as a compliment."

"Yes you did." Sherlock grinned slightly but his aim never wavered.

"Yeah, okay, I did." Moriarty shrugged exaggeratedly. "But the flirting's over, Sherlock." His voice became high-pitched and sing-song like. "Daddy's had enough now!" He strolled closer as his voice went back to normal.

"I've shown you what I can do. I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even thirty million quid just to get you to come out and play. So take this as a friendly warning, my dear…Back off." He stressed the last two words.

"Although I have loved this, this little game of ours." Moriarty smiled.

"People have died." Sherlock said, disapproving.

"That's what people DO!" Moriarty screamed the last word furiously. Neither said anything for a few seconds as it echoed.

"I will stop you." Sherlock swore, voice soft but serious.

"No you won't." Moriarty had flip flopped back to calm. Sherlock glanced over at John then held out the memory stick.

"Take it."

"Huh? Oh! That!" Moriarty strolled past John as he went to take the stick from Sherlock. He grinned at it then suddenly tossed the stick into the pool.

"Boring! I could have got them anywhere."

John suddenly lunged forward and grabbed hold of Moriarty, using him as a shield against the sniper.

"Sherlock, run!" He yelled but Sherlock could only stand there dumbstruck. Moriarty laughed.

"Good! Very good."

"If your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr. Moriarty, then we both go up." John said calmly but savagely.

"Isn't he sweet? I can see why you like having him around. But then people do get so sentimental about their pets. They're so touchingly loyal." Moriarty said calmly to Sherlock. He grinned back at John then looked to Sherlock.

"You've rather shown your hand there, Doctor Watson." John froze as a laser point appeared in the middle of Sherlock's forehead. John stared in horror for a moment.

"Gotcha!" Moriarty cheered with that sing-song tone again. He chuckled as John reluctantly released him. He turned to Sherlock while brushing down his suit. He calmly stood there even though Sherlock still had the gun aimed at his head.

"D'you know what happens to you, if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock?"

"Oh, let me guess. I get killed." Sherlock answered with a bored tone.

"Kill you?" Moriarty grimaced "N-no, don't be obvious. I mean, I'm gonna kill you anyway some day. I don't wanna rush it, though. I'm saving it up for something special. No-no-no-no-no. If you don't stop prying, I'll burn you." He ran his eyes briefly down Sherlock's body then met his eyes again. His voice was now vicious.

"I'll burn the heart out of you." He snarled as he said heart but ended the sentence with an almost regretful tone.

"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one." Sherlock softly replied.

"But we both know that's not quite true." Sherlock raised the pistol higher and extended it closer to Moriarty's head.

"What if I was to shoot you now, right now?"

"Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face." He opened his eyes and mouth wide, mimicking surprise, then grinned at Sherlock. "'Cause I'd be surprised, Sherlock; really I would." He screwed up his nose.

"And just a teensy bit disappointed. And of course you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long."

"Ciao, Sherlock Holmes." He slowly turned and walked to the door John entered through. Sherlock slowly stepped forward to keep him in his sights.

"Catch...you...later."

"No, you won't!" Moriarty replied, high pitched and sing-song again. The door closed behind him.

Sherlock waited a few seconds before putting the gun down and dropping to his knees in front of John. He quickly started unfastening the vest to which the bomb was attached.

"Are you all right?" He asked urgently.

"Yeah-yeah, I'm fine." John reassured him but his voice was still a bit unsteady.

Sherlock ripped the bomb, vest and jacket from John and hurled them as far as he could. They landed and skid across the floor to rest near the end of the pool that Moriarty had entered on. John's knees could no longer hold him so he sat back against the wall nearest him. Sherlock started pacing with the gun back in hand. John worriedly watched the man scratch his head with it, clearly too distracted to realize how dangerous that was.

"Are you okay?" He asked, voice still breathless.

"Me? Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine. Fine." Sherlock quickly responded but he clearly wasn't. He gave John a wide-eyed look and spoke, just as breathless.

"That, er...thing that you, er, that you did that, um...you offered to do. That was, um...good." It was a far cry from the man's usual eloquence, which showed just how shaken he was. Whatever shred of calm they managed to gain was shattered as two sniper lasers returned to John's chest. Moriarty came back through another door at the other end of the pool. He clapped his hands.

"Sorry, boys! I'm soooooo changeable!" He said, cheerfully. John grimaced in disbelief. Sherlock kept his back to Moriarty for a moment, looking to see if he can get a glimpse of the snipers.

"It is a weakness with me but, to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness."

Sherlock turned his head and looked down at John, who lifted his own head to meet his gaze.

"You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't. I would try to convince you but ..." Moriarty laughed and used his sing-song tone again. "...everything I have to say has already crossed your mind!" John nodded in respond to the silent request in Sherlock's eyes, giving him full permission to do whatever he deemed necessary.

"Probably my answer has crossed yours." Sherlock turned, aiming the gun once more. Sherlock slowly lowered the gun so that it was aiming at the jacket. Moriarty watched with dark eyes glinting with amusement.

"You sure you want to do that?" He asked. Sherlock's eyes jumped to his but he said nothing.

"Very noble I admit…sacrificing yourself to take me down. Of all the clichés really." He sighed then shrugged.

"I'm sure Johnny Boy wouldn't mind you taking him with us but…" The malicious spark in those eyes unnerved Sherlock. He tightened his grip on the gun. Moriarty looked to one of the curtained cubicles next to him and cheerfully called out.

"You can come out now."

Sherlock didn't need to see to know who would be joining them but he hoped to be wrong this time. L's unruly hair was the first thing he saw as the boy stepped out from behind the curtain.

"My god." John cursed softly, horrified by the many explosions strapped all over L's small body. When he didn't see the boy when he woke up in Moriarty's grasp, he had desperately hoped that meant L had somehow managed to escape. He knew it was a false hope though.

Moriarty reached over and snagged L by the collar, drawing him close. L didn't resist and easily stepped to the man's side.

"Would you really kill him too?" Moriarty asked, grinning. L remained calm as the man cupped his chin and roughly dug fingers into his cheeks. The dark, ugly bruise on the right side of his face showed that he hadn't been handled with much care while in Moriarty's custody.

"He's pretty cute and sooooo smart." Moriarty increased the pitch of his voice, sounding like a young girl fawning over a small animal. "He knew from the start not to trust me. Not even you deduced that, Sherlock."

"It'd be a real shame for him to die here…don't you think, Sherlock?" He asked, forcing L's face in Sherlock's direction. Sherlock and John both glared at him but he remained unfazed if not more amused. He released his grip on L's face and instead slipped his hand into the boy's hair, combing through the strands in an almost tender motion.

"I'd love to keep him really. Just imagine what I could do with that brain of his. He'd make a great protégé."

He sighed, yanking suddenly on the strands. L winced but remained quiet.

"Sadly I know his type. Stubborn, set in his ways…much like Johnny Boy here." He spared John a scathing look that lasted only a second.

"If only I had gotten to him first…but no…you did Sherlock. And you're letting him go to waste. Teaching him to do good." He grimaced as if the very word left a bad taste in his mouth. "How boring."

"You're welcome to join me anytime. I assure you, we'd have such fun." Moriarty was grinning expectantly at Sherlock.

"I believe I already gave you my answer." Sherlock responded, shifting the gun slightly. Moriarty shrugged, unconcerned.

"Couldn't hurt to ask again." There was a long pause as the devilish grin returned.

"Well Sherlock…what are you going to do now?"

No one moved as the tension turned stifling. The gentle lapping of the pool filled the silence but was barely heard by Sherlock over the thumping in his ears.

What could he do?

His mind raced but couldn't find a way out of this. The only option was to go through with his plan to kill Moriarty but that would kill them all. Though he regretted it, with just John it wasn't so hard of a decision but now…

L stared unwaveringly at him, silently urging him with his eyes. Sherlock almost smiled. He could really see John in him. He knew then that he couldn't do it.

Sentiment. He heard his brother chide in his mind but ignored it. He started moving his finger off the trigger when suddenly music started to play. Sherlock glanced around confused. Moriarty closed his eyes and sighed.

"D'you mind if I get that?"

"No, no, please. You've got the rest of your life." Sherlock assured him nonchalantly. Moriarty moved his hand from L's head back to his collar and pulled out his phone with his free hand.

"Hello? Yes, of course it is. What do you want?" He mouthed 'sorry' to Sherlock, who sarcastically mouth 'it's fine' back at him. Moriarty rolled his eyes and turned away while keeping his hold on L as he continued to listen to whoever was on the line. He suddenly spun back around, his face full of fury.

"SAY THAT AGAIN!" He yelled into the phone before speaking lowly, almost venomously into the phone. "Say that again, and know that if you're lying to me, I will find you and I will ssssskin you." He lowered the phone and looked at Sherlock.

"Sorry. Wrong day to die. You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock" Moriarty patted L on the head as he left and strolled back to his initial entrance. He lifted the phone back to his ear.

"So if you have what you say you have, I will make you rich. If you don't, I'll make you into shoes." He snapped his fingers right as he went through the door, making all the lasers disappear.

Both John and Sherlock raced forward to free L from the explosives. Their movements were frantic but effective. The explosives were flung as far away as possible. John looked L over for injuries. He crumbled forward onto his knees, limp with relief, when he found none and placed his hands on L's shoulders. He said nothing, he simply held on tightly. L had tensed at the initial contact but slowly relaxed under the doctor's firm grip. John breathing was still slightly panicked and L could feel his rapid pulse through the palms on his shoulders. The immense relief on his face showed just how scared he had been for L…how much he cared.

L finally allowed himself to succumb to his own fear. He stepped forward and buried his face into John's shoulder and gripped John's shirt as hard as he could as his body was wracked by shudders and tremors. He didn't cry but he breathed unsteadily as if he were. John's hands slowly slipped from his shoulders and rested softly on his back, not pulling him closer but still providing comfort.

The fear didn't last long though as he was overcome with a warm feeling that he didn't recognize at first as he had never felt it before. It was a feeling of belonging. That's what he felt as he was held and he felt it even more as a warm, large hand gently rested atop his head. The spidery fingers awkwardly but gently smoothing down the strands there told him who it belonged to. It was a bit surreal but he gladly accepted the uncharacteristically caring movement from the self-proclaimed sociopath.

It was in that moment that he knew for sure that there's nowhere else he'd rather be. It wouldn't always be easy, especially with Sherlock's moods but he wouldn't give this up for anything.

Sherlock and John explained what happened to Lestrade but didn't linger long as they really just wanted to get back to the flat and call it a day. It was a huge relief that the whole thing was over for the time being. L immediately went to bed but John found himself unable to sleep quite yet so he sat in the sitting room. He was unaware of Sherlock watching him from the doorway.

Sherlock still hadn't managed to shake off the dread he felt when he saw John and then L strapped with explosives. He almost lost them both today. They could have died without knowing how much he…how much they…

Caring is not an advantage, his brother had always said but clearly not caring wasn't working.

"I want to keep my heart alive for his sake…not my own. So he won't be hurt caring for someone who can't do the same. He doesn't deserve that. And I don't think L and John do either."

Remembering Akishi's words and what had happened only a couple hours ago, Sherlock suddenly couldn't stand keeping up the façade anymore.

Sherlock stepped into the room, drawing John's attention.

"Hey." John greeted, smiling. He frowned at Sherlock's hesitant expression. "What's wrong?"

"I heard you talking with L that one night he had a nightmare." Sherlock forced himself to start.

"Bloody hell." John groaned, burying his face in his hands. He was clearly embarrassed that Sherlock had heard all that.

"Listen to me before you try to suffocate yourself with a pillow or something."

John sighed but did sit back to listen. Sherlock took a deep breath to calm his nerves before speaking.

"You know me John. You know how I am with people so you know I don't make friends…I can't make friends. I was fine with that for a long time but then…" Sherlock hesitated, not wanting to finish that particular sentence.

"Anyway, the point is I was alone…until I met you, John Watson." Sherlock smiled at the man, who was looking rather baffled and embarrassed by the conversation.

"You tolerated me. You worked with me. You tried to make me a better person instead of just deciding that such a thing was hopeless. You…stayed." Sherlock trailed off as he found himself overwhelmed again by emotion. He pushed on though.

"You stayed even though I gave you numerous reasons to leave. That means a lot to me, John." Sherlock found he couldn't look John in the eye anymore; he was just as mortified by this as the doctor. He turned away as he finally finished.

"What I'm trying to say is...I'm grateful that I met you, John." He paused a minute.

"You can go suffocate yourself now." He said, trying to end the awkwardness with humor. John chuckled, appreciating the effort. He couldn't think of anything meaningful to say in response but got the feeling that Sherlock didn't want him to.

"Sure you don't want to join me? I could lend you a pillow." He asked instead, grinning. Sherlock chuckled.

"I hope you're not planning on making this a habit…I don't think I can handle you talking like that on a daily basis. It's too surreal." John said with a teasing grin.

"Oh don't worry. I promise it was a one time thing."

"Good."