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Chapter Text

After a really exhausting morning, doctor Watson was heavily climbing up the stairs from 221B Baker Street. He frowned at his flatmate, who was half running, half hopping through the stairs.

Sherlock had not slept for three days straight, and he had nothing on his system but a couple of sandwiches John had made him eaten last night, and of course a couple of nicotine patches. And yet, it was John the one crawling up the stairs!

They were having lots of work lately. Since Sherlock had became the Reichenbach hero people came daily with many cases. It didn't matter how many would Sherlock reject, there were always more of them. The worst part of it, at least for Sherlock, was that the cases were too easy, and too ordinary. And there was the media to deal with, too. The last three days, for example, they had solved three different cases, but they had to attend to four different public ceremonies.

And Watson had his hospital shift too.

"No! NO! NOOO!" Sherlock's voice came down the stairs, making John hurry.

"What? What happened?" he asked, slaming the door and getting to the kitchen.

"Ten minutes, John!" his flatmate answered reaching him with two striders and putting a small plastic container under his nose "TEN MINUTES!"

John stepped back glaring at the little container, then turning to Sherlock looking confused.

"What. is. that?"

"Oh come on! It's been on your fridge over 36 hours now," he answared impatianly "Those are the tissues I was supposed to embed. Even you must had noted them!"

John rolled his eyes "What about them?" he asked returning to the living room. Sherlock start pacing around the room without answering. After a while, he started to slow down until he finally stopped and flopped down onto his couch.

"Nothing," he answered barely raising his voice and throwing the container away "They can't tell us anything now. The samples had to be in xylene exactly 12 hours otherwise they get decolourised and shriveled. Making the cuts and the observations inaccurate," he covered his face with both hands "I will need more proofs for the Durham case."

"Am I interrupting?"

Mrs. Hudson enter the room with a big tray full of food wich smelled wonderfull! John realized he was starving.

"Not at all Mrs. Hudson," smiled John

"I thought you might be hungry," their landlady smiled back setting the tray on their coffee table "Now you're always busy with all the people coming here looking for you," she said slightly shaking her head as she disliked having too many people around. Then she turned and walked to the door "But as you keep finding little time to enjoy yourselves, you'll be fine." She said closing the door after leaving.

John rolled his eyes for such a comment, and looked at Sherlock. He hadn't moved at all, so John started eating in silence.

"You need to eat, Sherlock!" He snapped at him, after a while.

His flatmate just ignored him.

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock lowered his hands and gave John a questioning look.

"You haven't eaten anything but the two sandwiches I gave you yesterday," John scolded him.

The doorbell rang. Sherlock jumped out the sofa, taking John by surprise, and ran to the window.

"Who is it?" John asked

"Mycroft," Sherlock whispered, watching his car.

They first heard Mrs Hudson quick steps, hurring to answer the door. Then the heavy and firm steps from Sherlock's big brother climbing up the stairs.

Sherlock returned to the sofa, reaching for the food tray. He was determined to ignore him.

"Sherlock," aknowledged Mycroft, staying at the door frame.

Sherlock looked up immediately and raised an eyebrow.

"From one to ten?"

"Nine," Mycroft emphasized the word

Sherlock looked interested for a moment and then he returned to an indifferent expression.

"I'm eating."

Mycroft glanced at the food tray.

"You can hear the details while you eat,"

"No."

Mycroft stepped in "I've got no time to your little caprices." He snapped at him

John decided to interfer watching Sherlock's venomous look.

"It's been three days since your brother had any sleep or a proper meal," he said trying to sooth the conversation.

"You. are. not. getting. me. into your little political scandals." Sherlock interrupted him with his eyes fixed on Mycforft's.

"Two individuals broke into the Ministry of Defense; killed at least 30 people, put a bomb and stole a helicopter to escape," burst out Mycroft "The helicopter was brought down (into the Shad Anderson bank, I must add) and yet, their bodies were not to be found. They got away somehow."

"Two?" John was skeptical "Just two?"

"Sounds like you've got a big problem to solve," Sherlock sounded bored "There's the door."

Mycroft grined inwardly. Sherlock was interested.

"I can get you thirty minutes to eat." He said and turning around he left the room.

Sherlock kept looking at the empty door with vacant eyes.

"We're going, aren't we?" asked John

"Nine," Sherlock muttered, more to himself than to John. Then he looked up "Nine's serious,"

"But, you already knew it was something serious," John was looking him questioningly

"When was the last time my brother waited for my permission to enter the room?" Sherlock said "If you have already finished eating, turn on the TV and watch the news. I need you to know everything there is to know about the attack," he said standing up and taking his coat.

"¿And where are you going?" asked John

"I'm getting more patches," answer Sherlock turning around

John gave a little snort "You need food!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes "Digestion is a waist of energy and time. And I need both to solve a case," he said as he got his scarf

John shook his head "Before," he remarked "You could afford... torturing your body for a difficult case, because they didn't happen very often," Sherlock head to the door with John at his tail "But now the cases are piling up. And if you keep on doing this," Sherlock turned amused, waiting for John to finish his threat. John frowned "You know better than anybody what you are doing to your body."

"Exactly John," he said "I know. And although I am somehow flattered with your concern on my eating habits, you must know my body answers perfectly well to the needs of my job. DO NOT forget watching the news. If you need to write something important down do it."

And with those final words he walked out the room.

Chapter Text

Thirty minutes later, John and Sherlock were heading to the Ministry of Defense.

During the drive doctor Watson told Sherlock what the news said about the attack. And it wasn't much, they didn't even say the number of assailants. They only named the deceased and showed some comments of the people who saw how the helicopter had crashed. It seemed there wasn't an official version of the facts yet.

The car Mycroft had sent them stopped one street away from the place. The driver got off the car and opened the door for them.

When they got off the car they saw that the whole block had been closed. There where two fire trucks and at least five police cars.

Before getting in, Sherlock beckoned John to follow him.

They surrounded the building. Sherlock had his brow slightly furrowed.

On the right side of the building he pointed John all the broken glass and the numerous cartridge cases that covered the sidewalk. Sherlock took one of them watching it carefully and then he put it into his pocket. They arrived to the building's front again and Sherlock bent over a small stain on the stairs and silently pointed it out to John.

They continued their way to the main entrance, where Lestrade was waiting for them. He looked nervous.

"I wasn't expecting you here, Lestrade," greeted Sherlock coldly.

"Apparently my team just drew our chief superintendent's attention for our many solved cases," he told them with a look of amusement on his eyes "So, this baby's mine." He finished with a worried tone on his voice.

"Congratulations," said John raising and eyebrow

Lestrade half smiled. Without another word he turned and the three of them entered to what used to be the lobby.

John couldn't help but to remember the assaults in Afghanistan as he saw the burned bodies of at least 20 people lying down the ground. An unpleasant smell of burned flesh was all over the place. All walls and columns were covered with holes of all sizes. He had never seen so much destruction inside one building.

"Security cameras show a woman and a man entering to the lobby and just how they start shooting all of the security guards," Sherlock started rounding the room carefully observing the walls, then he started walking through the bodies as the inspector gave them the details "They called for backup," Lestrade paused, watching the dead bodies covering the floor "Then they went to the elevator... and the last thing we see is how a bomb explodes from within. We think they went up the elevator's hatch and cut off the cables 'cause they somehow got to the building's roof as the elevator crashed down with the bomb."

"Are there any other elevators in the building?" asked Sherlock

"Yes, the service elevators," he answered "But they are not safe to use yet... we still don't know the damage the bomb made on the building, we will have to take the stairs,"

"And those are safe?" ironized John.

"We'll go on the elevators." Said Sherlock pointedly

"The building. is. not. stable" the inspector remarked

"Of course it is," said Sherlock watching the room "Main support structures weren't damaged,"

Lestrade seemed uncertain.

"Are you sure?" He didn't like the idea of climbing up all those stairs again either

Sherlock looked back at him impatiently.

"All right" he accepted leading them to the service elevators.

"Once in the roof they stole the helicopter," Lestrade were saying as they came out the elevator "Overflew the right side of the building and shot at one of the offices on this floor," he lead them to another destroyed room where there were three other bodies, some tables and chairs dumped on the floor.

Sherlock paced the room observing the bodies and the things on the floor, then he got to the window turning his back and watching the room from that point.

"Let's go to the roof," he said.

On the roof there was a forense's group of specialists who were checking 10 more bodies there. John couldn't believe only two people had cause all that disaster. At one sign of Lestrade they stopped their work and watched all Sherlock's moves.

Sherlock studied the bodies for a while.

"Where did the helicopter crashed?" he asked standing up and heading to the exit door.

"6 blocks from here" answered the inspector, as John and him followed Sherlock to the elevators.

When they got out of the building Lestrade lead the way to his police car.

"I'll get a cab, thank you." Said Sherlock

"Not if you want to arrive before Christmas," answered Lestrade opening the back door for them.

"I'm walking, then." He replied stubbornly

"Six blocks?" John frowned "I'm going with Lestrade," he said getting into the police car.

"Get out of there, John," Sherlock ordered him

"Start walking, Sherlock or we'll have to wait ages for you," he replied from within the car.

Lestrade started the engine

Sherlock clenched his fists in anger, then took a big breath and without any other word got into the car with John.

Even then it took 10 minutes to arrive to the Shad Anderson bank where the helicopter had crashed.

The place was unrecognizable. They had evacuated the building and closed the streets. The front part of the building was totally destroyed with black smoke raising up the sky.

The helicopter had crashed into the building, so they could only see the tail of it from the street.

When they arrived to the building's gates John looked up "Any casualties?" he asked

"13 people were injured... 4 of them badly wounded," answered Lestrade "And... one dead,"

They got into the building and headed to the elevators. Lestrade pushed the 13 button and waited untill the doors got closed.

The helicopter was totally destroyed.

Sherlock only gave a quick glance at it, and walked to the window, where a firefighter was still bombing water to the smoking remains of the floor.

John approached slowly and carefully to the helicopter.

"How could they possibly survived to... this?"

"Oh John," Sherlock rolled his eyes "They weren't on the helicopter when it crashed." He said impatiently taking his mobile out from his coat.

Lestrade looked surprised

"Where were they, then?" he asked

Sherlock just pointed out to the building across the street and kept typing on his mobile. John and Lestrade got closer to the window to have a better look; they only saw a cracked window on the tenth floor, just at the middle of the building.

"Sherlock...?" start asking Lestrade

"There is no time for questions," Sherlock interrupted him keeping his mobile on his coat "You need to go to that building and ask for the security record of the rooftop or the lobby if they don't have it. You are looking for three suspects, not two. Identify each dead body and VERIFY their backgrounds, there are bodies which shouldn't be there. Send me the security video from the Ministry of Defense-"

He was interrupted by an erotic moan coming from his coat pocket.

John rolled his eyes.

Lestrade raised his eyebrows "You haven't changed it yet?"

Sherlock got his mobile again and read the message.

"We have to go, John."

"Wait!" said Lestrade

Sherlock turned "What?" he asked impatiently

"What did you m...?"

"That shouldn't be there!" he interrupted him "You'll know when you see it. Come on, John."

They got off from the elevator and ran to the street where Mycroft's car was waiting for them.

"Are we going with your brother?" asked John frowning

"I need answers and his office is not far from here." He said.

Chapter Text

Mycroft wasn't in his office when they arrived. So thay had to wait for him on a little waiting room with comfortable chairs and a coffee table.

He didn't take long, They had barely waited for 7 minutes when Mycroft entered the room. Sherlock didn't look up.

"Do you know what I hate of all the cases you give me?" asked him Sherlock, once he sat down.

Mycroft rised an eyebrow

"You never give me all the facts" Sherlock glanced at him.

John huffed and couldn't help but smile. Both brothers looked at him.

"Sorry," he said quickly turning to Sherlok apologizingly "It's just... I know the feeling," he was about to say I don't even know why we are here but he thought it better to remain silent

Sherlock looked back to Mycroft ignoring John.

"It was a rescue mission," he said leaning forward on his seat "Who could they possibly kept captive on the Ministry of Defense itself?" he asked, watching carefully for his brother's reaction

Mycroft folded his arms.

"My minor position-"

"No," Sherlock burst out "Don't lie to me! Why would you even bother? I want the truth!"

They stared at each other.

"I can't help you," Sherlock finally said breaking the eye contact and standing up "Even if I wanted to, I don't have enough data,"

"You've got more than enough to find them, I'm sure."

"Who was interrogated on the Ministry of Defense?" Sherlock esked harshly

Mycroft remained silent.

Sherlock headed towards the door.

John got on his feet.

"There are so many things you don't need to know," Mycroft finally said "Not even the Prime Minister knows them,"

Sherlock rolled his eyes

Mycroft sighed and closed his eyes for a moment "You have heard of Morpheus, I pressume," he looked back at Sherlock

"Considered by many authorities the most dangerous man alive," immediately recited Sherlock with a smirk "A... hacker. I always thought they were kind of joking with the title,"

"It isn't a joke," said Mycroft completly serious "Just look what two of his men did to rescue him,"

None of them said anything. John remembered the awfull scenes in both buildings.

"Why would they take him into the Ministry of Defense's offices?" asked Sherlock after a while getting back to his seat, making John sitting down too.

"Morpheus is just the current leader of a very dangerous criminal organization that has existed for a long time now," Mycroft went on "There is a special team on the Ministry of Defense whose only purpose is bringing them down. They had been after them much before I got here," he said with a wave of his hand.

"Well, you should fired them," smiled John "They are not very effective, are they?"

Mycroft didn't say a word.

Sherlock fixed his eyes on him and then frowned "You have no... power over them," he said slowly "How is that... possible?" he asked slightly confused

"They are completly... independet of the state," Mycroft explained calmly

"And yet, they are on the Ministry of Defense?" asked John astonished

"They have served the country well capturing those terrorists and, like I said, they've been around long before us," he said clearly uncomfotable "They don't get into our way and we don't get into their's,"

"Until now," Sherlock replied.

"Two destroyed buildings and about 45 dead people?" said Mycroft rising his eyebrows "I think it's time for our people to get involved,"

"So, you want us to catch those three terrorists before the... special team?" asked John with a smirk

"No, John," Sherlock was staring at his brother "He wants us to finish off the criminal organization so the special team becomes useless, and my brother regains full control of the Ministry of Defense."

Chapter Text

Back in Mycroft's car, they were getting back to their apartment.

Sherlock had his hands together, with his chin resting on them. John remained silent most of the time. He knew his friend didn't like it when somebody interrupted him while he was thinking. But when Sherlock finally opened his eyes he had to ask.

"How did you know it was a rescue mission?"

"It was obvious," He said without looking at him.

John sighed.

"It was for you,"

"It's an easy deduction, John," Sherlock said with a smirk "What would you say was their priority?"

John was about to say he had no idea. But, Sherlock looked back at him intently. And he decided to make an effort, trying to think as Sherlock would.

"The office," he finally answered

Sherlock smiled.

"Correct. They had already attacked the lobby, and had gotten to the rooftop," he said "They could've easily gotten away with the helicopter. But instead, they overflew the building and shot at one of the offices. Can you see it?" he asked "Can you see that office in your mind?"

John slowly nodded

"Can you see the bullet holes on the wall opposite the window?" John frowned, he hadn't paid attention to the wall.

"The holes covered all the left and right part of the wall," Sherlock went on "But the middle was intact, as if for some reason they had avoided shooting there. What was on the middle of the room? The chair. It was on floor together with the tables and everything that was on them," Sherlock took a plastic bag from his pocket and passed it over to John. It had an electrode and a broken syringe "There was also the little bloodstain on the main entrance of the building. It was recent, from this morning,"

The car stopped and the driver opened the doors for them. They both got out of the car and into the 221B Baker street

"So, we can safely deduce that today at noon a wounded man was taken in to be interrogated and after a little less than an hour two of his men came to rescue him. The helicopter couldn't get too close to the window because of it's blades, so the wounded man had to jump. The distance was too big though. So one of his men, secured by a harness, had to jump too and hold him in the air,"

John sat on the sofa and Sherlock took a big and old book from his bookshelf. It was full of newspapers clippings along with personal notes about them.

"They both jumped and hold each other in the air?" asked John skeptical "It sounds too far-fetched. They could simply throw him a rope or a harness,"

"You forget they were being pursued, John," answered Sherlock turning the pages of the book "Somebody got to the office and was shooting at them. They hit the helicopter causing its eventual crash. It was two of them. One was flying the helicopter. And the other? If he had been free he had shot the ones chasing them,"

"So, the prisoner and one of his men were hanging from the helicopter," said John trying to imagine that, and then he suddenly remembered Sherlock's instructions to Lestrade "And you think they fell on the building in front of the bank, right?"

Sherlock threw his book away and took John's computer from the desk.

"We have three solid facts. We know the helicopter was about to crash, two of our suspects were hanging from the helicopter while the other was flying it and nobody died. So, we can deduce that those hanging from the helicopter landed on the rooftop of a building. The one on the helicopter had to jump from it holding on to the rope which had saved his partners. And judging by the cracked window on the building in front of the bank, there's where the impulse drove him. His partners pulled the rope carrying him up the roof and so the three of them could get away,"

Sherlock closed the computer, got on his feet and put his scarf on.

"Where are going now?" asked John confused. It was almost six o'clock and he didn't feel like going out again. That day was just getting longer and longer...

"I need you to stay here and receive Lestrade's videos and files. I have to gather information." And with those last words he got out the room.

Next morning John woke up with a start. He had listened Sherlock's bedroom door getting closed and so, he jumped out of his bed, putting on the first thing he saw and ran towards the kitchen, where his roommate was preparing himself a cup of tea.

"Sherlock!" cried John "Lestrade brought the security videos, you have to see them!"

John had watched them yesterday. And he couldn't believe his eyes...

"You stayed late watching them, I see," said Sherlock

"I was waiting for you," answered John fast "What time did you get back, anyway?"

"After midnight,"

"Have you got information?"

"Of course. They have been busy. There was plenty of information out there. I just had to find somebody who knew where to look,"

"A hacker?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Show me the videos,"

"Oh! You have to see them!" said John excited walking to the sofa, where he had left his laptop "Everything happens just too fast!" his eyes were wide open "I had never seen such skills!" He played the video and passed on his computer to Sherlock.

John wanted to see Sherlock's reaction. But he watched the security video from the lobby just slightly frowning. When it stopped Sherlock replayed it twice, and then he watched the security video from the rooftop of the building in front of the bank.

"One," he hissed angrily "It was just one person who saved his partner from the helicopter,"

John rolled his eyes. That was it? That was everything he wanted to say?

"Where are the other videos?" Sherlock asked

"What other videos?"

"The ones from the office and the rooftop of the Ministry of Defense,"

"Lestrade said there weren't videocamaras there,"

The detective, put his hands together staring blankly to the wall.

John watched the videos one more time.

He slightly shook his head in disbelief. It was just amazing the speed, the strength and the agility. He had never seen something like that.

"Look! Look, Sherlock how she took the shotgon!" They moved so fast!

Sherlock pushed away impatiently the laptop John was handing him

"Actually, I had expected nothing less," said Sherlock barely moving his lips.

"What?!" snarled John frowning "How could you have expected something like this? This is amazing!"

Sherlock took a memory stick out of his coat pocket and handed it over to John.

"This isn't the most incredible thing they've done. It's merely the most public one,"

John put it in his computer and opened the files. They were a lot of news about cyber attacks, clashes, gunfights and robberies in which the suspects escaped with incredible skills. In most of them the suspects were unknown, but in the others the names that kept repeating themselves were Morpheus and Trinity as prime suspects.

Sherlock was right, they had been busy. And not just on the UK, or even Europe. It seemed they had been all over the world.

John looked back at Sherlock. He was still staring at the wall.

How on earth would they finish this criminal organization?

Chapter Text

Neo, Trinity, Morpheus and Tank were sitting silently at the table. None of them had spoken for at least half an hour. Neither had they touched their breakfasts. They didn't feel hungry at all.

Just the previous day they had been at that same table with Tank's big brother Dozer, Apock, Switch, little Mouse and Cypher. They had eaten and joked together. Not knowing that in just a few hours Cypher was going to betray them all.

He would cause Morpheus' capture, little Mouse's murder, and he would personally kill Dozer, Apock and Switch.

Just before he could kill Neo, a badly wounded Tank had managed to kill the traitor. Neo and Trinity could rescue Morpheus from the Agents. Discovering that Neo was actually The One. He destroyed agent Smith and went out of the Matrix just before the sentinels could destroy the ship.

They had achieved the impossible!

But it was a bitter victory.

In just one day, they had lost half of the Nebuchadnezzar's crew.

Now, they sat in silence. Each one of them knew that they had to get to Zion immediately, so they could attend Tank's wounds, to give an account for the 5 bodies which now laid on the main deck and to tell everybody that the search for The One was finally over.

But the sentinels attack had left them stranded with no radio and no hover jets. And as they had already used their electromagnetic pulse they were vulnerable to another possible attack.

Morpheus watched his men. They were all tired and sad. He felt himself that way.

Morpheus shook his head. He couldn't let sadness to came over him. Not now that he had found The One.

They owe it to Apock, Switch, Dozer and little Mouse. They had to get out of there.

"We have to get back to the Matrix," said Morpheus breaking the silence.

The others just looked at him.

"We must contact the Logos, so they can get us out of here,"

"We don't even know if they are in the Matrix," said Trinity

"Even if they are, we have no communicators. It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack," said Tank with a hoarse voice "It could take days, weeks even,"

"We will have to look for them and... wait," said Morpheus lowering his voice "It is our only option."

"The Logos?" asked Neo to nobody in particular.

"It's another hovership," answered Trinity who was sitting in front of him "Commanded by captain Niobe. If they are indeed in the Matrix we can give them our current location so they can come here and help us repairing our ship,"

Neo nodded and looked at her.

Looking into her eyes he realized they hadn't been alone since they kissed the day before, because they all had to check over the ship, what worked, what could be fixed and what needed to be replaced. He felt a warm sensation that ran through his body, comforting him.

"Very well," said Morpheus "Two of us will enter the Matrix, each one in a different section. The other will stay with Tank to monitor the sentinels. We'll change places every three hours," he said. And after a short pause he added "Do not draw attention to yourselves, we have to go unnoticed by the agents"

The others nodded feeling better now that there was a plan.

Chapter Text

It was almost 11 o'clock. The morning was running late, and Sherlock was still on the sofa with an absent-minded look on his face. John was looking at him, fully dressed now. He was determined not to leave Sherlock by himself on this case, so he had phoned the hospital, right after breakfast, to tell them that he might not be able to attend his shift in the next few days. They were very understanding. John thought it was due to the many times his name had been on the papers lately. The little hospital was getting a lot more patients since doctor Watson became a celebrity. They all wanted to meet the famous detective's PA. Well, live-in PA.

But minutes, became hours, and Sherlock was still laying on the sofa.

Not knowing what else to do, John started reading the 3 files, Lestrade had brought yesterday. Writting down the most important parts of them.

Aaron Lodge, aged 30. Member of the Metropolitan Police Service. He was working yesterday morning in Northampton. He had reported a disturbance at "The Barratt boot and shoe company", an abandoned factory. His body was found on the rooftop of the Ministry of Defense a couple hours later.

Randall Wells, aged 37. Taxi driver. He was also working around Northampton, his car was found at the abandoned factory entrance, his body on the Ministry of Defense's office.

Cedric Murray, aged 28. Security Guard. He worked at the factory. His body was also found on the Ministry of Defense's office.

John reread his notes frowning. None of them had any relation with the Ministry of Defense...

"And all of them were at the Barratts factory," interrupted him Sherlock

John looked at his flatmate with a start.

"How did you...? Oh, never mind,"

Sherlock was smiling at him, and John recognized that spark on his eyes.

"Have you got a plan?" he asked. It still surprised him the speed on which Sherlock turned from apathy to full-activity  detective mode.

Sherlock jumped out of the sofa.

"Come on, John," he said, heading to the door "We'll have a busy day,"

John hurried after him, down the stairs and outside the street door. There was a young man already waiting for them, leaning over a Land Rover. At the sight of Sherlock the young man quickly straightened and handed him the car keys.

"Thanks, Scotty," said Sherlock, getting into the driver's seat. The young man saluted him and rushed away.

"Scotty?" asked John, watching the young man leave.

"He works at the Enterprise," said Sherlock, as he started the engine.

"The Rent-a-car agency? We'll pick you up?" John smirked

"I made the reservation yesterday,"

"Where are we going?" asked John frowning.

"Northampton," answered Sherlock with the obviously implied.

"We're going to the factory?"

Sherlock nodded "It's where Morpheus was imprisoned,"

"..."

"..."

"What are you expecting to find in there?" John finally asked

"Information." Sherlock answered flatly.

John rolled his eyes.

Sherlock watched him from the corner of his eyes and sighed.

"I want to know what the civilians were doing at the Ministry," he answered reluctantly "Those agents, that my brother seems unable to control," he said with a smirk "Brought them there but, to what purpose? We must find out, before getting to the terrorists,"

John rised a questioning eyebrow "Getting to the terrorists?"

Sherlock's eyes moved away from the road to John's face, and back again.

"You are nervous." It wasn't a question. John frowned. He didn't want to admit he was. So, he chose to ignore the comment.

They finally arrived to Northampton, after a nearly 2 hour trip. Sherlock pulled over one block from the abandoned factory and studied the surroundings. John could hear him mumbling as he stared at the walls and the sidewalk with a frantic gaze. John half expected to find the abandoned taxi in front of the factory, but it wasn't there. Perhaps Soctland Yard had taken it. They would have to ask Lestrade about it.

When they entered Sherlock grinned at the dusty floor. He liked dust. Dust was eloquent.

He stooped to study the various and numerous traces and footprints on the ground. However, a sudden cloud of confusion passed over his eyes. He advanced a few steps and then back again with his eyes nearly touching the floor.

John was right behind him watching carefully his movements.

Suddenly, Sherlock stood up and turned to John in bewilderment. For about two seconds he just stared at him. And then, ignoring John's questioning look, he crouched again.

"John," called Sherlock, barely raising his voice "Come and see these footprints,"

A little bit worried for his friend's attitude, John leaned forward, watching the trail on the floor Sherlock was pointing at.

"See? The marks on the sole?" Sherlock was pointing at the floor "The heels? The slight inclination of the tip of the shoe, and the same rounded tip?"

John slowly nodded. He couldn't see the marks on the sole, but at least he had distinguished the rounded tips of the shoes.

"Now, follow the trace," Sherlock instructed him, pointing at the trail. For a moment, John didn't know what his friend wanted him to see. But then, he noticed that the tips of the shoes were now remarkably square. He frowned and back away a few steps. He followed the footprints and realized that almost from one step to another, the tracks had changed from having a rounded tip, to a square one. And even more, with a second look he noticed that the distance between the footprints also changed. It was first short, like in a nervouse and cautios pace. And then considerably long, like in a sure and hurried way.

John looked up to Sherlock

"What does it mean?"

Sherlock stood up again and closed his eyes just for a moment.

"I am almost certain the first footprints belong to the security guard, but-" he frowned.

After a brief moment of doubt, Sherlock slightly shook his head and beckoned John to continue in their route trough the factory.

They found evidence of a struggle in one of the bathrooms, like smashed walls and debbris everywhere. John guessed there was the very spot were Morpheus had been ahprehended.

In one of the offices, they found enough evidence to conclude at least somebody had died in there.

Sherlock was examinatig everything, paying particular attention to the traces on the floor.

Only after they had already seen all the factory, they returned to London.

John didn't want to distract Sherlock with his questions, so the return trip was made in silence.

Chapter Text

They got back to London, but to John's amazement they didn't head to Baker street, but to the New Scotland Yard instead. Once there, they went straight up to Lestrade's office. They knew the way to it all too well now.

They found the Inspector buried in folders, files and documents piled on his desk. They were the reports of the last closed cases Sherlock had helped with. It was always a pain in the back filling out forms trying to explain how the cases were solved while avoiding mention of the curious methods the consulting detective had used. But, his paperwork was literally piling up, so Lestrade had decided to at least finish the ones from last week.

He looked up when the door swung open, and seemed surprised to see them there.

"Lestrade," said Sherlock skipping courtesies "I need ten spy cameras."

Both the Detective Inspector and John just stared at Sherlock for a few seconds. Lestrade's mouth slightly opened. Then he cleared his throat. He was well aware Sherlock wasn't kidding, so he didn't even bother asking him.

"I am sure you know the kind of trouble I would get into just for trying to authorize you one," he said completly serious "Ten?" he shook his head in disbelief "They're all the cameras we've got in here,"

"I know," said Sherlock bluntly

...

"And you're not telling me why you need them,"

It wasn't a question.

Sherlock watched briefly Lestrade's face.

"I am giving them back to you in 48 hours," he assured him

Lestrade looked doubtfully at him

"I can get you five," he finally said "And it would be extraof-"

"I need ten," interrupted Sherlock

Lestrade let out a heavy sigh and closed his eyes for a second. Then he stood up and distractedly started to sorting out the papers on his desk.

"Ok," he said when he made up his mind "I would spend weeks wondering what had you done with them If I don't give them to you," he said with a smile

"Five minutes," He said and left the office

John turned to Sherlock.

"What's all this about?" he asked folding his arms

The consulting detective took his time before answering

"There are two things I need to understand, John," he finally said without looking at him

"The mysterious footprints," nodded John toughtfully

Sherlock turned to him with an annoyed look on his face

"The Mysterious Footprints?" he asked scornfully "Really?"

John blushed a bit. Right, it was perhaps a little too soon to think about a title for his blog.

"What... what are you going to do with the cameras?" asked John a little too fast. Sherlock remained silent. John rolled his eyes.

"I won't interrupt you again," he said with a smirk

In that moment Lestrade got back with two black plastic bags.

"Cameras," he said lifting the small bag on his left hand "Monitors," he said now lifting the bag on his right "I've got to get them back in 24 hours, Sherlock,"

Sherlock nodded, took the bags and left the office.

John sighed and followed.

He turned to Lestrade when he was at the door.

"Thanks," he said, and watching all the paperwork on his desk he added with a smile "Have fun,"

Lestrade half smiled.

"You too," he said after listening the well known called from below

"JOHN!"

The doctor smiled and with a goodbye wave of his hand he hurried down to meet his impatient friend.

"Where are we going now?" he asked once again in the car, as Sherlock checked the contents of the plastic bags.

"We are getting backups," he said, apparently satisfied with the cameras and monitors.

He fastened his seat belt, and drove towards the poorest parts of London.

"Nice," remarked John raising his eyebrows.

They pulled over in front of an abandoned house. The door was open. Sherlock entered confidently, with a bit tense John following him. They got to a large room that could have been the living room if it had had any furniture.

They suddenly listened hurried steps aproaching to the room from the door in front of them.

"It's me," said Sherlock barely rising his voice.

The door swung opened immediately and to John's surprise, a 13-year-old-boy came in runnig. He was all dirty and ragged, but visibly excited.

"Sherlock, sir!" he exclaimed, skidding to a stop in the center of the room where he stood at attention and saluted.

"At ease," exclaimed Sherlock, and the boy lowered his arm "Where is Joe?"

"He put me in charge, sir. Just for today," said the boy with a firm voice, and after a little hesitation he added "He had to see someone, you see,"

Sherlock frowned and looked at the boy intently, dreading that his best man could have gotten on drugs again. The boy hold his gaze, although he blushed a little.

"Your sister?" said suddenly Sherlock, a little confused. The boy only smiled.

"Oh," Sherlock returned to his emotionless expression, taking out of his pockets a little notebook and a pen.

"I could have sworn he wouldn't have the courage to talk to her," he stated while writting neatly 10 different addresses on the notebook.

"Yeah, well. She was the one who talked to him," answered the boy shrugging

Sherlock ripped out the sheet of paper and gave it to the boy.

"I need them to go to these addresses, in pairs and without risks," Sherlock gave him the small plastic bag with the cameras "These are spy cameras. They can wear them like brooches or pins. They have to hide them as best as they can,"

Jhon watched frowning. In the very instant that the boy closed his hand around Scotland Yard's only 10 cameras, John had the horrible impulse to snatch them away. But the moment passed, and the doctor suddenly felt bad for not trusting his friend's helpers. They had certainly proved their loyalty countless times now, and the fact that Sherlock trusted them should be enough for him.

"Here," Sherlock gave him an envelope, which John suspected had their payment "Congratulate your sister for me," he said with such a cold and emotionless voice that made John smile.

The little boy salute him once more, turned around and splint out of the room. The fear of him stealing Lestrade's cameras was quickly replaced for a weird uneasiness.

"This is really dangerous, Sherlock," John was still watching the door where the boy had left "You should had warned them,"

"I did. They just go in pairs when the situation is dangerous,"

John still looked nervous.

"We'll be watching them," added Sherlock grabbing the big plastic bag with the monitors.

Again in the car John asked "What are those addresses?"

"Posible meeting points for the terrorists,"

"And how on earth did you get them?"

"Looking for patterns on their lasts incursions. They've always avoided highways and principal avenues, for example. As well as rural provinces... the prefer abandonded places within large cities,"

"The Ministry of Defense is on the White Hall," John remembered him

"That's an obvious exception, John, they had to rescue their leader,"

John remained silent for a while

"And do you think we can find them in 24 hours?"

It was Sherlock's time to remain silent now.

"So," John was leaning on the kitchen table watching Sherlock's fast and precise movements. He was accomodating the monitors and cables in which they would observe the homeless network movements

"You really think they are still in London?" he asked "They did attack one of the most secure buildings of this city. And they just rescued his boss from a questionable syringe-type interrogation... and they are after all an international organization, I would have left this place as soon as possible,"

Sherlock nodded "That would be logical," he said "However, there are some indications that at least one of them remains in London. Remaining here was perhaps the best option they had."

Sherlock smiled at John's confused face

"The agents," he explained "They operate internationally too. And right now they are probably wasting all their time and money looking for them in the remotest corners of the world, while they just wait here until it's safe to leave England,"

John thought about that theory for a moment, then he frown.

"What indications?"

"People talks," he said "Their clothing is not very common, and it specially draws attention within the slums,"

"Ready?" asked him Sherlock conecting the last of the monitors

"Of course," answered John and pulled up a chair...

Chapter Text

The boy ran off with the little plastic bag in one hand and the addresses on the other. He had kept the envelope inside his shirt.

He hurried down to the park, where he knew his sister would have dragged Joe, no matter what plans he had made for their first date.

When he was getting closer to the lake he started calling.

"JOE! Hey, Joe!"

He didn't want to find them... kissing. He shuddered at the thought.

"Joe!" He called waving a hand when he saw the figures of two people who turned to him; as he had supposed, seated at the edge of the lake.

"What the hell are you doing here Tim?!" Joe yelled jumping on his feet. He was in his mid twenties, but he wasn't much taller than little Tim.

"It better be important," Nena glared at him.

"Mister Sherlock's orders," said Tim immediately handing Joe the sheet of paper. Joe looked at it avidly.

"We go in pairs, he said."

"We?" snapped his sister.

Joe looked up and raised his eyebrows, they only worked in pairs if the situation was really dangerous.

"And bugged," added Tim disregarding her sister's remark and showing them the little cameras. Joe almost snatch them from his hand.

"Wow," he said as he looked over them.

"We can wear them as pins, he said."

Nena came closer and looked over into the plastic bag too. Tim took out the envelope from his shirt and handed it to Joe, who opened it and frowned.

"This must be important," he said, turning to the boy. "Tell Pete to bring his men. And then go back to the house."

Tim frowned, "But I want to go," he said.

"No," said his sister. "You go to the house."

Tim opened his mouth to protest, but his sister grabbed him firmly by the arm and gave him the look.

Tim shut his mouth and he just walked away grumbling. His sister was much older than him, like for 15 years or so. And he knew from personal experience it was better to listen to her. She had always taken care of him; it was just... sometimes he felt it like a little too much.

Joe watched silently as little Tim shuffled away from them, and then turned to Nena with a forced smile on his face. "Could you tell Theo?" he said, trying to sound excited for the job and not sad for the end of their date. She nodded, smiled and kissed him on the cheek as a goodbye.

They all gathered rather quickly, considering that they had never gotten all together at the same place before. It took them 10 minutes to be paired up and to get their directions, but they took another 20 minutes to get their freaking little cameras all set up.

Sherlock was staring at the monitors.

John was laying on the sofa with the computer on his lap, typing about their last solved case.

He would look at Sherlock, and then at his watch every now and then, thinking how Sherlock was always complaining about how he was constantly dying of pure boredom, and there he was! Spending countless hours in front of those monitors. He hadn't even moved.

John had made an effort to stay alert during the first 3 hours of surveillance, but then, his tea breaks had become longer and longer, until he stopped pretending and fetched his laptop and went straight to the sofa.

It was 9 o'clock already. John put the computer aside and went to the kitchen looking for something to eat. Sherlock was still watching the monitors on the table. John glanced at him while making sandwiches for them.

"You should give them a break, don't you think?"

Sherlock ignored him. John sighed and put a plate with a couple of sandwiches on the table.

He was about to return to the living room when he was stopped by a sharp inhale.

"What is it?"

Trinity was walking quickly through the streets of London. The clock was ticking, they had to contact The Logos immediately.

However, its Captain Niobe -unlike Morpheus, who had spent many years looking for the Chosen One- did not enter to the Matrix if she could help it.

And even if she did, the odds were they wouldn't find her in time. There were at least two dozen safe houses in London; not to mention those in the UK -or the rest of the world, for that matter-

And this was Trinity's section to look for.

Suddenly her phone rang.

"Yes?" she asked immediately.

Morpheus voice answered her "Go to your exit."

Trinity tensed and stopped walking.

"What happened?"

"Do not worry. You just... have to see something."

Trinity hang up and ran. When she got to the corner she entered to the house that was momentarily empty. The kitchen phone rang. She hurriedly answered it and unwittingly closed her eyes the moment she felt herself fading out of the Matrix.

When she opened her eyes Morpheus was removing her headplug and then helped her to stand up.

"What happened?" she asked again.

Morpheus smiled without a word, and just pointed to the monitors. Trinity got closer, frowning. She was watching the encrypted code of the Matrix without really knowing what they wanted her to see. Both Morpheus and Tank were watching her carefully for her reaction. Then she saw him. Neo was in a large wasteland somewhere in Asia. But, what was he doing? Was he... flying?

Chapter Text

Sherlock?"

John didn't get any answer. Sherlock was staring at the first screen on the left, and did not look away. He started smiling. John went over to the monitors and following his friend's gaze he saw the figure that had drawn his attention. John frowned as she ran into the house that was right in font of the camera.

Joe was sitting at the corner of Ainger Road and Meadowbank street, with his back to the park. He was in a very uncomfortable position, but none the less he remained that way, fearing to fall asleep if he relaxed a little.

He had chosen that shadowy spot because from there he could watch without being seen not only the house, conveniently illuminated by the streetlights, but its side streets as well.

He had just sent his partner some minutes ago to get something to eat, when he noticed a woman silhouetted against the light of a street lamp who came running with a leather trench coat billowing behind her. Joe tensed in his place not daring to make a move. He quickly looked down to make sure the little camera was well positioned to capture the woman, who had just entered the empty house

No light came on. No sign of life of any kind. And nobody came after her neither. Suddenly, Joe didn't know what he was supposed to do. He didn't want to lose Mr. Sherlock's good opinion. Was he supposed to get closer and spy on her? to see what she was doing? or to just remain sitting there until she came out again?

Hesitating, he got slowly to his feet.

It was after all a surveillance job, wasn't it? It wouldn't do any good having seen her entering the house, if he couldn't see what she was doing in there, now, would it? And yet, he did not dare to take the first step.

Perhaps he would only make things worse if he got closer.

But, would all that trouble with the little cameras be just to have a video of a woman running and entering the house? It was hard to tell. In the detective's jobs you never knew.

He remained perfectly still for a moment. Then he took a quick look around. His partner hadn't returned yet. He bit his lip.

He didn't want to cause any trouble.

But that would only happen if they caught him, right? He decided to get a little closer to the house. Maybe he could surround it and enter from behind. What would Mr. Sherlock say? Do strive he'd say

Sherlock took out his phone the moment Trinity had gotten inside the house, and started typing with fast and agile fingers.

"Sherlock" called him John, when he noticed that the one with the camera had stood up.

Sherlock turned. John tensed when the camera started moving toward the house.

"Joe." Muttered Sherlock watching the screen intently, frowning. He got quickly to his feet, grabbed his coat and ran out the door.

"Keep me informed," he shouted as he ran down the stairs.

John sat in Sherlock's empty chair and moved closer to the screen. The camera kept approaching to the house.

At least it was doing it through the shadows, he thought. Staying prudently away from the light of the street lamps.

John typed a quick text to the detective.

[he is surrounding the house down Meadowbank st]

John kept watching carefully. Forgetting that he was miles away, he tried to regulate his breathing to make as little noise as possible.

Joe silently slipped through the garden fence. The lights were off, and no sound was coming from the inside. This made him even more nervous, not knowing what part of the house would she be in, or just how many people could there be.

He got closer, however, and watched through the kitchen window. No one was there.

He opened the window as quiet as he could and entered.

His heart pounding hard, he stood still for a moment.

Everything was quiet, so he walked across the room and through the dining room. Nothing. He moved from room to room slowly and cautiously. But apparently the house was empty.

He suddenly feared that she had seen him and now she was hidden. Or perhaps the woman had not even stayed in the house, but she had gone out trough the garden. What if she wasn't the one he had to spy on!

His head full of doubts, he climbed up the stairs. He had to make sure no one was there before leaving the house.

John kept a close watch on his movements. Or at least he tried to, as those weren't night vision cameras.

His texts were brief.

[at the garden. no movement]

[into the kitchen. nothing there]

[ground floor secured]

[nothing on the first floor]

[small attic. no one there]

[seems to look for something]

[oh the basement. there isn't any]

[he is coming out]

[got back to his corner. his partner was looking for him. he looks angry]

Sherlock halted and thought. She was definitely the one on the video. One of them. What was she looking for? Where had she gone?

He quickly typed a new text and sent it to his brother. His men were no longer needed.

His response was almost immediate.

[I do not appreciate false alarms. Please don't do that again. M.H.]

Sherlock gritted his teeth. He had expected a text like this. And yet, even though he hated asking his brother for... support, he had to remind himself it was either him or Lestrade. And he wouldn't let the Detective Inspector to get any closer to these so-called terrorists if he could help it. Nor John, of course.

The reason... he carefully locked it in his mind palace for further inspection.

Neo landed softly on the top of a tree and smiled. He was well aware he was still on the Matrix. That none of this existed, but he couldn't help getting excited with the wind blowing and the birds singing below him.

His phone rang.

"Yes?"

"What are you doing?"

Trinity

Neo's smile widened.

"Asia is too big to walk."

"So you just... flew."

"I thought it would take me longer," he mused, "but once I decided it, it was ridiculously easy."

There was a little pause.

"So... will you finish Asia before you come back?"

"I still don't know how fast I can go, but I'll see what I can do."

Trinity smiled.

"Good. I'll keep searching on the UK, then. Hopefully you'll attract all agents to you, so I can take a motorcycle, or something."

"Sounds like a plan."

"I gotta go. Be careful."

"You too."

Trinity hung up. She watch together with Morpheus and Tank the way Neo slightly flexed his legs before flying away at full speed towards the blue sky.

She said it teasingly, but she was indeed worried about Neo. Flying over the city in broad daylight... attracting agents would be inevitable.

But of course, Neo was the Chosen One after all, he could handle them, right?

At least in London it was night already. She might just get a motorcycle without drawing to much attention after all.

"Trinity," Morpheus interrupted her thoughts. "Why don't you take a break? Your shift is almost over."

She nodded thankfully and helped him plug into the Matrix...

Chapter Text

Sherlock decided to take a look to the house to see what evidence he could find, despite Joe's unfortunate intrusion. He had just gotten into a cab when a moan came from his mobile drawing the eye of the cabbie. Rolling his eyes, and making a mental note to change that ridiculous text alarm, he opened a new message from John.

[a man just got out of the house]

John had followed the camera all along until it had finally returned to the street. He felt relieved when it headed to its dark corner. There was the camera guy's partner, already waiting for him. He looked angry. John turned the volume up. Their names were Joe and Edd, apparently. They were in the middle of a discussion when they suddenly fell silent.

When the camera turned, a very surprised John was able to see an extravagantly-dressed man coming from the supposedly empty house.

"Where the heck have you been, Joe?!" shouted Edd the moment he crossed the street. He was sitting on the floor with a plastic bag on his hand. Joe's stomach roared for the delicious baked potato smell that came from it. He hadn't eaten anything since 11 a.m.

"I saw a woman entering the house. So I went to have a look," he said sitting next to him and grabbing the plastic bag.

Edd snatched the bag away. "You got into the house?!" he asked eyes wide.

"There was nobody in there, Edd. Don't worry, ok? What did you bring?"he asked looking eagerly at the bag.

"Damn it, Joe! Why the hell didn't you wait for me?! We're supposed to be partners!"

"Calm down! It was a waste of time, anyway," Joe snatched the bag from his hands and opened it. When his partner didn't say anything he looked at him. Edd was staring at the house, so he turned and looked in amazement as a man was getting out of the house he knew empty.

"You said that nobody was there," Edd whispered angrily.

"Nobody was there," answered Joe whispering as well, watching as the man was quickly getting away.

"What do we do?" asked Edd glancing to the house.

"We must not lose him."

"So, we follow him? But... what about the house?"

"You stay and keep an eye on it," said Joe getting to his feet.

"No, we have to stay together," said Edd, he was getting nervous.

"We cannot both go after him," replied Joe, getting nervous as well.

He really didn't know what to do. But he had already searched the house and he didn't see anything strange in it. But these people, where did they come from? And where were they going?

"You stay, then. I haven't got any of those little cameras," said Edd getting up.

Joe ran a hand through his hair... What were they supposed to do?

The man had just turned a corner. If they were going to follow him they had to go NOW. But it was too dangerous.

"You stay," commanded Joe and walked hurriedly down a side street.

[Joe will follow. Ed will watch the house]

John had just sent the text when his phone started ringing. He quickly answered it.

"Sherlock?"

"Do not take your eyes off the screen. Tell me where they're heading and describe what is it that you see."

"Okay... the man went the opposite direction to the park and took the first left. Joe didn't go after him... he walked down the street just behind them."

"Meadowbank street?"

"Uh... I'm not sure, I can't see the name of the street, it's too dark," John overheard the little snort of impatience from Sherlock.

"He wants to intercept him in Oppidans Road. But he... he won't follow the street. He will go through the housing units to the railway tracks... and from there...? where to?" Sherlock was muttering to himself, John could barely hear some of that.

"I could follow their movements on my computer..." said John glancing at the couch, where he had left his lap.

"No! Do not take your eyes off the screen! What do you see?"

"Well... he is running now."

Sherlock gave the cabbie a new address urging him to hurry up.

It was really distressing to see everything that was happening and yet not being able to do anything about it. John was on the edge of his seat, watching as the camera got closer and closer to the intersection. It then started to slow down and then it stopped. John assumed Joe was catching his breath.

"He stopped at the corner," he informed Sherlock.

"He is waiting for the man, to follow him," Sherlock sighed.

After a few moments the camera started moving again turning right and walking down the street.

"He should have been here," Joe thought, walking slowly... "Unless..." and then he walked faster.

"I think he realized just now that the man didn't follow the street," said John as the camera started running again.

Sherlock smirked. Joe was indeed one of his best men.

He stopped in the middle of the street, watching some large residential units with large green areas, wondering if the man had escaped through them, when suddenly he saw him in the distance disappearing into the shadows of a building.

"He saw him, Sherlock. He is going after him. Although much slower now."

Joe was walking trough the shadows. Not getting too close, but not losing sight of him either.

Morpheus was heading to one of the possible safe houses where he could find Niobe... Captain Niobe, he corrected himself.

He slightly shook his head. Deep down, he didn't want to be one who found her. He didn't want her to see him so... helpless, with no ship and with half his crew dead. Would she believe he had found the chosen One? After all, she had never believed in the prophecy. He took a big breath.

This cold London nights helped him to clear his thoughts. Even when he knew it was all a fake.

He got to the railway tracks and turned left. He hid in the shadows and waited. He needed to take the train to get to the next safe house, he didn't want to risk it stealing a car.

Joe waited, not taking his eyes off the strange man before him. However, when the train arrived something weird happened. The man jumped without making any effort onto the train neatly landing on its roof.

Joe opened his mouth. It was impossible!

"Sherlock..." John didn't know what to say. He had seen the security footage, he shouldn't be surprised, and yet he was speechless.

"John?"

...

"What is it, John?"

"He jumped. He jumped on the train! More than 4 meters high in a jump! And..."

"And...?"

"We lost the signal of the camera."

Sherlock stiffened in his seat.

"What do you see? Static?"

"No. There's nothing! Right after his jump it ran black!"

...

...

...

"Sherlock?"

"How do you feel, John? Do you feel anything unusual?"

"I? No..."

"Turn off all the monitors and keep them in the bag. There must be a man just outside our house asking for money, tell him to get his men and to return their cameras."

"Okay," said John frowning "Where are you...?"

Sherlock hung up.

John hastened to follow his orders, not understanding what has just happened.

Sherlock sent a message to his brother.

[cut the phone line within east london]

Chapter Text

Agent Jones who was at the time in Spain, and agent Brown who was watching over some exiled programs in South America, received at the same time a great disturbance signal from the Matrix.

Neo, the anomaly that had destroyed agent Smith, was flying over eastern Asia.

Flying.

After a brief hesitation both agents pressed their earpiece searching in the Matrix for the couple that had just seen him.

They were sitting at the shadow of a tree, staring open-mouthed to the flying man who had just passed over them. Suddenly, they felt a painful cramp all over their body. They closed their eyes, and when they were opened again it was the agents who were now sitting on the park with their arms entwined.

They stood up, and silently stared at the flying figure that was getting far and far away. They tried to follow him, but they weren't fast enough.

They research the Matrix.

A pair of police officers had just seen him landing, getting into a house, getting out in a matter of seconds and taking flight again.

They took their bodies, leaving a very confused and terrified couple wondering how the heck had they left the park, and started the pursuit in the patrol car.

They were following him at full speed waiting for Neo to land again to get him. When he did, however, the agents couldn't come close to him on time. He landed, entered a house and went out again. What could possibly be his purpose?

When he got away for the fifth time the agents glanced at each other. They had to change their strategy.

Or at least their vehicle.

It was at that moment when they received a second disturbance signal. Someone in London had seen a man jump onto a train in full motion. With a look, Agent Brown indicated he would take over it and pressed the communicator in his ear.

In London, Joe had not yet recovered from the shock when he felt a painful cramp that ran trough his entire body. He closed his eyes and everything went black.

Agent Brown opened his eyes and looked at the man in the train. Despite the darkness around him he could easily recognize the man who had escaped from them in the middle of an interrogation.

Morpheus.

Morpheus' mobile rang. He answered it immediately.

"What is it?"

"An Agent," snapped Tank with a hint of desperation in his voice "He's chasing the train!"

Morpheus turned just in time to see the agent jump onto the train and walking towards him.

Where had he come from? Who could have been watching?

"Nearest exit?" he asked, walking backwards, getting ready for a quick escape.

"37 Primrose Hill Road, ground floor, first room on the right."

Morpheus hung up and jumped off the train, with agent Brown running after him.

Bullets started whistling in his direction, Morpheus zigzagged, running even faster.

"Trinity!"

Trinity jumped up and ran to the monitors.

She had laid down her head beside Morpheus's chair after plugging him into the Matrix, just to close her eyes for a moment. But she had almost fallen asleep.

"What happened?" she asked quickly.

"An agent is chasing Neo with a helicopter, but he's not even close to get to him. But the other one's after Morpheus," Trinity tensed.

"Where is he?"

"He's about to get to his exit. I'm making the call."

Trinity nodded and approached Morpheus' body, waiting for him to answer the phone to unplug him from the Matrix.

"Shit!"

Trinity turned.

"I can't! I can't make the call!"

"What?" Trinity got to the monitors while Tank called Morpheus on his mobile.

His mobile rang just as he reached the first room on the right.

"What?"

"The exit is blocked, there's another one at 55 Eton street."

Morpheus hung up. He could not go back, the agent's steps were in the corridor behind him so he threw himself out of the window. And kept running.

"Make the call." Ordered Trinity staring at the monitors.

"He's not even close-"

"Do it!"

Tank tried to connect the call to the land line of the new exit... in vain.

"There's no connection," said Tank frowning.

"Can you get me in?" asked Trinity worried.

"No. Without the connection, nobody gets in or out."

Trinity closed her eyes thinking.

Tank was typing, looking for information.

"They haven't cut the cable, why doesn't it work?" he asked puzzled.

"Call him."

"What do I tell him, that there are no exits?"

"No. Call Neo."

Neo hung up. His forehead furrowed in concern.

An agent was chasing Morpheus and he had no exits.

How long would it take him to get to London flying? He had spent three hours scouring the east coast of China.

He paused for a moment, thinking. With the corner of his eye he saw the helicopter that had been after him for a while.

He smiled, he had an idea.

Agent Jones squinted. He kept his eyes fixed in front of him and slowed the helicopter until it was suspended in midair.

The target was approaching. He was approaching fast.

The agent pulled out his gun and started shooting.

The anomaly, however, did not even flinch. With an outstretched hand, he stopped all the bullets without even slow down.

In a second he was on the pilot's side of the helicopter.

The agent stiffened in his seat.

Ignoring the deafening noise of the blades, Neo raised his hand and pointed to the agent, then to himself and then to the ground beneath them. Without another word he swooped down to the busy street.

Agent Jones frowned.

He slightly looked out of the window. He straightened up, and after a moment he slowly took his hand to the communicator in his ear.

A few seconds later the helicopter was plummeting while the agent, who had taken the body of one passerby was looking face to face to Neo, the once called Mr. Anderson.

People around them started running and screaming when they noticed that a helicopter was coming down. And when the first shots rang everything became chaotic. People threw themselves to the floor hysterical. But there were no stray bullets, they had all been stopped in midair.

Neo raised an eyebrow at the agent and haughtily smiled.

The agent dropped his gun and threw himself to attack. The few people who were able to observe the fight couldn't have said who was winning or what was happening. The movements were so fast that the arms of both opponents seemed blurred.

To agent Jones, however, it was clear from the beginning he was no match for the anomaly. Despite his extremely fast and strong swings, none had made contact. And while he was getting the worst of the fight he could sense that Neo wasn't using his full force or speed.

He threw himself off as he could and pressed his communicator, sending a sign.

Agent Brown stopped short, his gun still pointing at the man running in front of him. He frowned.

His colleague had managed to catch their main target, but he needed help.

Without hesitation he put his hand on his earpiece and took the body of one of the frightened witnesses in China.

Sherlock was shouting directions to the cabbie when he caught a glimpse of a running man, dressed all in black with a leather trench coat...

Chapter Text

"Stop! STOP!"

The cab came to a halt with a jerk.

Two blocks away from them, the man with the long leather coat crossed the street at full speed getting into what Sherlock knew was a dead-end.

But of course, he also knew that a solid brick wall five meters high would not stop him.

Sherlock waited a moment to see his pursuer, but no one else appeared.

He shut his eyes. What was behind that wall? Housing complexes, a square, some shops. It was dawn, the streets would soon be full of early risers on their way to work, to the gym, or returning home from a night shift. One block, two blocks, three... Buildings with security guards. He would find nothing if he ran that way. The detective opened his eyes immediately.

"The Post Office on Eton street!"

The cabbie scowled. "It's closed for-"

"For renovation, I know! Now, speed!"

The cabbie gritted his teeth and started the car.

"What are you doing? Don't turn around! Take the next left."

"But-"

"Just do it!"

Taking a deep breath and gripping the steering wheel, the cabbie followed his directions driving at full speed.

His shift was over and he was heading home when the detective had hailed his cab. The only reason for having accepted him was that he recognized the famous Consulting Detective. He didn't have his hat nor his faithful companion, but his figure was unmistakable. He was now, however, mentally cursing the moment he had let him in.

"Give me your mobile." The detective suddenly blurted out, taking a notepad and a pen from his left jacket pocket.

"What?" The cabbie didn't look away from the road, they were going too fast.

Sherlock ripped a pair of sheets and hastily wrote a few lines on them.

"You know who I am and what I do. I need your mobile."

"No," said the cabbie a little too fast, frowning. Sherlock looked up.

Mid-thirties. He has a girlfriend. No children. He enjoys his job. He is saving as much money as he can. His mobile must be expensive.

Sherlock ripped another sheet from his notepad and quickly scribbled down a phone number and handed it to the driver.

"It's not like you wouldn't know where to find me," he said with a cold stare. "Call this number, you'll get a refund."

The cabbie glanced at him trough the rearview mirror and took the little paper.

"Now, your mobile."

He handed it to the detective.

Morpheus could see the Post Office now. He kept running. There weren't any gunshots, but that didn't mean he wasn't chased anymore. He was so close.

He suddenly stopped short when a taxi came to a halt with a loud screech in front of the building.

He was about to turn and run away, thinking there was an agent in the vehicle, but then he saw it was only a civilian who came out the car. The man bent down in front of the door of the building and went back to the taxi in less than three seconds. With a groan of the engine the car sped off.

Morpheus frowned and with a few strides he reached the door of the building.

There were some torn sheets and a cell phone on the floor, it rang and vibrated the moment he got close. It was an incoming call. Morpheus turned around, pull out his own cell phone and called Tank.

"Operator."

"Are there any agents nearby?"

"No, sir. Neo made a big enough distraction to attract them both."

Morpheus smiled, and ignored the phone on the floor. "When were you gonna tell me this?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I was trying to connect the call to get you out," Tank bit his lip, "but I can't,"

Morpheus frowned. "Did they cut the cable?"

"No, they didn't. I don't understand how... I'll try in other exits. I'll call you when I get something."

"Wait, did you see the taxi that stopped in the entrance of the building? Was there any program on it?"

"No, sir. They were civilians."

"Alright. Call me when you can get me out of here." Morpheus disconnected the call and forced the door open. If he had to wait, he would better do it inside.

However when he looked down at the ringing phone a word caught his eye. He quickly bent down and took the torn sheets. He read them frowning. He stood and turned around. The phone rang again, he picked it up but didn't answer it.

Morpheus took a deep breath, and realized it was dawn, people were starting to come out their houses. He entered the building and close the door behind him quickly. Then he reread the papers. One of them had his name on capital letters only, the other one had one question.

MORPHEUS

What is the Matrix?

John had carefully put the monitors in the plastic bag and delivered Sherlock's message to the man at their door, and now, he was in the living room thinking about the case.

The more he thought about it, the less it made sense.

Terrorists with incredible skills, fought against some secret agents, who weren't under Mycroft's command. Some civilians were involved. Their footprints changed almost from one step to the other. And a camera had just turned off with no reason at all.

It didn't make any sense!

Was it really so hard for Sherlock to explain just once what was going on?

Okay, he had to admit that in most cases it was exciting to follow Sherlock in complete darkness, pursuing the bad guys and protecting his partner, only to be enlighten at the end with his deductions.

It was fun.

But it stopped being funny when the bad guys were part of a really dangerous international terrorist organization with incredible killing skills!

He took a deep breath and pressed his face on his hands.

With each tick-tack of the clock the armchair was becoming more and more comfortable. When he started nodding he stood up and decided to make some tea. Should he get some sleep, or should he wait for Sherlock? He was making up his mind when he noticed Joe's monitor had an image on it.

He had left it on the kitchen table to try to fix it, but he couldn't do anything with it.

He observed it carefully. The only thing he could see was the sky. Joe had to be lying on the ground, somewhere.

He took his mobile and dialed Sherlock's number, but he didn't answer. The line was busy. He watched closely the monitor but there was nothing there more than the sky. John turn up the volume, there were some metallic noises and a bell.

He was trying to identify those sounds when the doorbell rang. John jumped out of his seat and hurried down the steps. It was nearly five in the morning and Mrs. Hudson shouldn't miss a few hours of sleep. The man at the door had a long, dirty brown hair and a small plastic bag in his hands.

"Is Mr. Sherlock at home?" He asked tense.

"No, he isn't," replied John, "but you can leave the cameras with me."

"I need to talk to Mr. Sherlock, I'll come back later." The man turned to leave.

"Is it because you can't find Joe?"

The man stopped and turned. After a moment of hesitation he nodded. "We don't know where he is, his partner left him... and he had one camera."

John nodded and the man handed him the bag.

"We'll keep looking," he said.

"I might help," said John and beckoned him in.

The man followed him somewhat uncomfortable through the stairs and into the kitchen. John showed him Joe's monitor.

"He must be in an open area," said John, "there are no buildings around him."

The man stared at the screen. "What happened to him?"

"We're not sure."

They could hear the metallic sounds and the bell. The man looked up.

"He's in the train tracks!" He said with wide eyes.

John looked at him. "Of course," he mumbled and then, "let's go!" He said taking his coat, the keys, and ran to his room for a first aid kit, just in case. Then he headed toward the door trying to decide wether or not to call the emergency line from his phone.

Sherlock got out the cab four blocks away from the Post Office and dismissed the cabbie, who happily went home to finally rest, and to call the telephone number to ask for his refund, of course.

Sherlock frowned. Why were they taking so long to answer the phone?

"Hello?"

Sherlock smiled. The voice was deep and it denoted authority, but it was full of doubt and confusion.

"What is the Matrix?" Asked Sherlock bluntly.

"How do you know my name?"

Sherlock's smile widened. He hadn't been sure that man was Morpheus, he only thought that name wouldn't fail to draw the attention of anyone within his organization.

"I did my research," he said, "it was the least I could do, after the mess your men caused at the Ministry of Defense to rescue you."

Morpheus tensed on his place. How was this possible? He tried to calm down, breathing deeply.

"What do you know about the Matrix?"

Sherlock frowned a little. "Only the small clues your men leave on the net. It's a control system, isn't it? But, I'm quite sure that's not what you really wanted to ask."

Morpheus narrowed his eyes. No, it wasn't what he wanted to ask. But, how did he knew?

"Who are you?" He said, calling Tank with his own cell phone.

"I'm the person who's supposed to stop you," he said. And then added, "that's why I cut the lines of east London."

Sherlock knew he was taking a risk talking about the phone lines. He had no idea what the phone calls meant. There was a strong possibility that they were important for their escape. He had reviewed each one of the cases they were involved and there was always a phone call from the houses they were in to a private number, just before slipping from the place. But he had no idea what were they for.

Morpheus had held his breath without realizing it. He covered the phone with his hand.

"Tank?"

"Sir?"

"Trace the call." He said quickly.

Tank frowned, he was about to ask what he meant with that, when he saw that Morpheus was having a phone conversation in the Matrix. Who on earth could he be talking with? And, where did he got the new phone from?

"You cut the phone line, because you thought it would stop me?" Morpheus asked slowly.

He isn't angry. His tone isn't derogatory nor mockingly. He is... skeptical. He can't believe I know. Sherlock then knew it was true. Without the phone line he couldn't escape. But why? How?

"I needed to talk to you. You see, very few things impress me, but an international organization with unique combat skills focused only in getting information is one of them."

Morpheus was silent for a moment. He just couldn't believe it.

It was true. In his search for the Chosen One he had looked all over the Matrix, collecting data, names, dates... Trinity had to hack into the Department of Treasury of many countries to get all the information of their taxpayers. Until they had found Neo. His real name was Thomas A. Anderson, a programmer analyst at a respectable software company, who had also committed all possible computing crimes there were.

The Chosen One.

"172, Woodworm street," said Tank watching the tall man with the coat and scarf who was leaning against the door of a house.

"Is he a...?"

"He is a civilian, sir."

Morpheus shook his head incredulously. He had to meet this guy. He opened the door, left the building and walked briskly.

"You seem to know a lot about us," he said. "What do you want?"

"Your whole organization seems to focus on the Matrix, what is the Matrix?"

Sherlock was genuinely curious. With their skills they could easily overthrow one or two governments, and yet, they acted discreetly. Seeking only information. He had noticed that all the battles they fought were to escape. They never attacked. With the obvious exception of the rescue of their leader. And boy, they knew how to attack.

"You want to know what the Matrix is?" Morpheus couldn't imagine a more unexpected turn of events. "You must tell me first how did you know where to find me, and how did you know about the phone lines. Who told you?" Could it be a trap from the Agents?

"How did I know where to find you? How to trap you? There was no need to be told. I deduced it."

"You think it wise to lie to me?" Snorted Morpheus trying to regain a little control over the conversation.

"I'm not lying." The cold and angry tone surprised Morpheus

"By the way," added Sherlock, "you shouldn't get too close to me."

"And why is that?" Asked Morpheus narrowing his eyes, one street away from Woodworm st.

"You could attract... those who are after you." Sherlock wasn't sure how to call them.

"Who you mean?" Asked Morpheus with a dry mouth. "Are you talking about Agents?" The skeptical tone again.

"Agents." What an original name thought Sherlock, "how do they control the body of the civilians?"

Morpheus stopped short "What?"

"Back in the factory, where you were made prisoner, there were three civilians. A cabbie, a security guard and a police officer. Their bodies were found in the Ministry of Defense. There were no signs of being coerced in any way, but surely they didn't go there willingly. These... agents brought them there, but how?"

There was a brief silence, in wich Morpheus quicken his pace.

"All this that you know, or suspect... you figured it out by yourself?"

Sherlock didn't answer.

Morpheus reached the street. Three houses away there was a tall man with a long coat and a scarf who was showing him his back. He held a cell phone to his ear. Morpheus didn't get closer.

"Why don't you turn?" Asked him confused, still talking on the phone. He didn't like to shout.

"Apparently, those who see you doing something unusual end up being controlled," replied Sherlock. The experiment with the little cameras had yielded such results. Joe had been completely fine until he saw Morpheus jump onto a train.

Morpheus finished the call and came closer.

"They are busy now," he said, "and I won't do anything unusual," he wanted to see this man's face. "Who are you?"

"My name is Sherlock Holmes," he said turning.

They both kept their phones, and just stayed there staring at each other.

"So, what is the Matrix?"

Morpheus took out his own phone.

"Tank? Find out everything there is about Sherlock Holmes."

"You could as well ask me," said Sherlock raising an eyebrow.

"I have to make sure you're clean before answering any of your questions."

"Will you answer them?"

"Of course," if this civilian had indeed discovered all of this by himself he would be an excellent addition to his crew, "but not here," he said glancing around.

"We can get into the house," said Sherlock pointing it out with his head. "No one's inside. And they'll return late."

Morpheus nodded. Sherlock forced the door and they broke in.

Chapter Text

Neo was now fighting with two agents at the same time.

A couple of days ago he would have believed it impossible, but now it seemed... easy.

His first attack was fast and brutal. The moment he saw them together, he stopped holding himself back.

With a well-measured blow to the sternum, one of them hit the floor again.

When agent Jones stood up, he didn't approach the combatants. He stood there watching the anomaly fight.

It was clear they didn't stand a chance against him.

He made up his mind in a fraction of a second. They would find a more suitable target.

He pressed the communicator in his ear to let agent Brown know of his resolution.

At the same time Neo turned around to look for him. Agent Brown seized that opportunity to kick him in the stomach. It knocked Neo down. When he turned, he noticed the slightly-surprised looks the agents exchanged. He then realized they were about to give up.

When they resumed the fight Neo let the agents hit him a few more times, which made both agents gain confidence.

But it was incredibly frustrating not being able to use all of his strength and, even worse, letting the agents hit him.

So, when he found himself lying on the floor again, Neo decided to keep them busy in another way. He got up quickly, and ran away, climbing to the rooftops, making incredible jumps, making sure the people in the Matrix noticed him.

The agents went after him.

Neo took out his phone and dialed Tank, hoping they had already found another exit for Morpheus. But the line was busy. So he kept running, occasionally fighting the Agents just to keep them at his tail.

Sherlock and Morpheus entered the house. They went to the living room, while Tank, not really knowing what was going on, searched the Matrix for the information.

"Sherlock Homes, aged 37. Private detective who occasionally helps Scotland Yard. His brother controls most of the British government. He shares his flat and works with an army doctor called John Watson. He's had troubles with cocaine, morphine and cigarettes. His social activity is almost nil... although he's become rather famous because of his job... he's had no previous contact with agents or with any other program-"

"That will do, thank you, Tank."

Morpheus stared at the man sitting across from him.

Sherlock kept his face unreadable.

"Will you answer my questions now?"

Morpheus was still a little stunned by the man in front of him, but he kept a serious expression and his brow slightly furrowed.

"Do you want to know what the Matrix is?" he slowly asked.

Morpheus knew the prospects' first impression was important. That's why he had always prepared beforehand what he would say to them. He didn't like to improvise, but in the present situation he had no other option.

"Unfortunately no one can be told what the Matrix is," his voice was low as he said this. "You have to see it for yourself. And once you do, there is no turning back."

Sherlock frowned and pursed his lips.

Morpheus tilted his head. Sherlock Holmes could be an important member of the resistance. But, there was no way they could free him now. Not with a broken ship and five dead bodies in the main deck.

"We don't have much time, Sherlock," he said leaning forward, "this is actually not a good time for us. But, in a few weeks, if you are still interested, we could arrange a meeting."

Sherlock chuckled.

"I am afraid, Morpheus, that I'm not making myself clear," he said leaning back in the couch. "The British government hired me to capture you as a terrorist," Sherlock paused for a moment, choosing carefully his next words, "I decided to contact you since, as far as I'm concerned, getting information is not a terrorist act by itself, and because your people don't seem to attack unless they're provoked," Sherlock then looked intently into his eyes. "What worries me, is what you want the information for... so, I am giving you the opportunity, here and now, to tell me what the Matrix is... or I can make a call and get you arrested."

Morpheus remained silent, watching intently at the man before him. After a moment a little smile came to his lips.

"All right."

John and the homeless man had found Joe lying on the ground next to the train tracks.

For a moment John thought he was dead, but then he realized the man was only unconscious. After a quick medical examination they carried him on their shoulders to the main street, where they tried to get a taxi.

After several attempts they finally arrived at 221B where they found Mrs. Hudson already awake. She help them with opening the apartment's door and laying him onto the sofa.

The man who had helped John left almost immediately to tell the rest of the homeless network that Joe had been found.

John called Sherlock again, but the detective didn't answer. He nervously ran a hand through his hair, turning to see Joe's body on the sofa.

He slowly got closer to him, and after a little hesitation he tried to wake him up. He gently moved his shoulder, and when it didn't work he shook it slightly. But he didn't wake up.

John dropped heavily onto his couch, one hand on his face.

He suddenly felt very tired.

He began to yawn, and not really knowing how or when he fell asleep, snoring lightly.

Tank leaned back in his chair and pressed a hand in his abdomen. He could not help the moan that came out of his mouth. His wound was large and deep. Morpheus had cleaned it. He had to bandage his entire torso to cover it. That had been the first time Tank sat in the medical ward of the ship as a patient.

He knew he shouldn't touch it, but the wound was itching as hell.

Trinity looked worried.

"You should rest."

"I'm fine," he said quickly, dismissing the idea with a wave of his hand.

He couldn't afford to rest. Not now anyway.

He had to keep an eye on Neo and Morpheus.

He didn't understand what was happening, and it made him nervous.

Morpheus had been talking with a civilian for nearly an hour. A civilian! What they could be talking about... he had no idea. Nor did Trinity by the looks of her.

And there was Neo, who was now in a car chase on a highway. He had managed to keep both agents busy this whole time.

Tank had enjoyed watching him. After all these years of waiting and searching, he could finally see what the One was capable of.

Keeping two agents at bay was something amazing. But Tank knew, after seeing him fly, that he could do much more.

He got a call from Morpheus.

"Operator."

"Tank, try to make the call to Eton Street's exit."

Tank frowned. "The only exits I could connect with were in the other side of London, sir. I still don't know why."

"Yes, well, that would be because Sherlock cut the landlines of all east London," said Morpheus.

Tank raised his eyebrows in surprise. "He cut the landlines?" He asked in disbelief.

"But he had them connected again. Try to make the call."

Tank was already used to obeying Morpheus' orders without questioning. But it had never been as difficult as now.

He tried to make the call. And to his surprise the line connected.

"It works now," confirmed Tank frowning.

"Good. I'm on my way. Call Neo. Tell him to go to his exit, we need to talk."

"Yes, sir."

When the call ended, Trinity looked at him with questioning eyes, but Tank only shrugged as he dialed Neo's number.

John woke with a start.

Joe was facing him.

"Hello," said John slowly, sitting up straight.

The man didn't reply.

John rubbed his eyes and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was eight o'clock. He had slept an hour at the most.

"How're you feeling?" he asked.

Joe didn't answer. He didn't look scared nor angry, but terribly tired and a little anxious.

"Where is Mr. Sherlock?" he finally asked.

John let out a sigh, "I don't know," he admitted. "He's been out all night."

Joe then extended his hand and gave the doctor the last of Lestrade's little cameras.

"A woman entered the house I was watching-"

"Yes, I know," John nodded. "We saw you last night."

The man nodded.

After a little hesitation, John asked, "what happened?"

Joe shook his head and then shrugged.

"I'm not sure. After I saw him jump, my whole body suddenly hurt"-A chill ran through him at the memory-"And then," he frown, "I was lying on the ground. It was dark, and I felt so weak I couldn't move. Next thing I knew, I was here."

John absently nodded his head. They both kept silent for a moment. Each one of them immersed in their own thoughts.

"You must be hungry," John suddenly said getting on his feet, remembering that his guest didn't have dinner last night.

"I'm fine," said Joe quickly and standing up as well, "I can't stay. I have to make sure the others are alright."

"They are," said John soothingly. "You were the only one who's missing."

It was Joe's turn to nod absently. "Yeah, well. Thanks for everything, Doctor Watson, but, hum..." Poor Joe was looking so lost. It was obvious he wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

John put tentatively a hand on his shoulder.

"It's all right," he said slowly.

Joe took a deep breath and nodded again.

"I have a couple of sandwiches from last night," said John with a casual tone, heading to the kitchen...

After lunch, Joe left, feeling a little better.

When John heard the front door close, he sighed.

Where are you Sherlock?

Sherlock walked to Baker Street. It took him nearly two hours to get there, but he needed to think. He needed to think about so many things.

He had forced Morpheus to explain what exactly the Matrix was. At first, he tried to explain it in a very romantic way (The Matrix is all around us. Even now in this very room. You can see it when you go to work, when you go to church...) But Sherlock had interrupted him, asking him to skip the preface. So he explained in another way, (It is a prison you cannot smell or taste or touch. A prison for your mind...) It was a nice start, but Sherlock needed data, What? How? When? Why?

After several attempts, he understood.

He finally understood what Morpheus had tried to explain. And his whole world collapsed.

Nothing. NOTHING he knew was real.

His entire world was fictitious.

A computer program made to imprison him.

The human race was enslaved by machines, without them even suspecting it.

Once the initial shock wore off, and after two hours of thinking it over, Sherlock allowed himself a small smile. He had to admit that the machines' scheme had been brilliantly smart.

That same day a little after eleven in the morning, Sally Donovan entered D.I. Lestrade's office.

"Sir, there's been a break in," she said.

"Not our division," answered Lestrade.

"You'll want it."

Chapter Text

Trinity trusted Morpheus. As simple as that.

He had freed her. He told her the truth about the Matrix and the machines.

When her own world turned out to be a deception and a lie, she found a strong support in Morpheus' convictions and beliefs. The victory of the mankind over machines and his faith in The One.

She decided to join his crew a short while after being freed.

People had warned her against it. The Nebuchadnezzar was the most dangerous hovercraft of them all, because of the many incursions Morpheus did into the Matrix. However, Trinity had ignored their advice.

Zionists didn't like to think about the war. They lived day by day fulfilling their obligations and routine chores, and she couldn't stand that. Not when there were others who were constantly risking their lives to protect them.

Her trust in Morpheus only increased when she joined his crew. But now...

Morpheus looked at her. She had remained silent during his story.

They were in the dimly lighted dining room of the hovercraft, sitting at one end of the long table.

Morpheus had gather them to tell them about the rare conversation he had held with Sherlock Holmes.

He had reached the point where Sherlock had tried to intimidate him.

"Arrested?!" exclaimed Tank raising his eyebrows. Morpheus nodded suppressing a small smile. He still found the idea of Sherlock believing he could arrest him funny.

Trinity didn't take her eyes off him.

"What did you say?" asked Neo, frowning a little.

Morpheus cleared his throat.

"I told him... what he wanted to know."

Three pairs of eyes stared at him, astonished.

"You... told him? But... Why? We... never..." Tank was speechless. They had never told anyone what the Matrix was if they were still inside it. Ever.

Neo didn't know what to say.

He'd been free for about nine months now. Well, five, removing the four months he'd spent in the medical ward. So he had very little experience in freeing minds and interacting with civilians.

But even he knew that talking with civilians was considered highly irregular, not to say telling them what the Matrix was!

"You told him, what? Everything?" Finally asked Tank, leaning forward with his eyes fixed at Morpheus. He nodded.

"What did he say?" asked Trinity, speaking for the first time. "Did he believe you?"

"He caught up pretty quickly," said Morpheus frowning. "At first, he kept asking lots of questions, but when I told him about the war and the machines... he remained quiet." Morpheus paused, recalling the exact moment when something seemed to click in the other man's eyes. "I told him about the machines using us as an energy source, the construction of the Matrix, the fields, the resistance and Zion." Morpheus had talked for a whole hour. There had been a point where Sherlock had closed his eyes while listening to him, immerse in deep thought. It had felt weird. "When I finished telling him about the agents we stayed silent for a while."

"If I'm being honest," said Morpheus after a pause, "I have to say I half expected him to leave after declaring me insane. But he just stayed there thinking. The first thing he asked afterwards was about how we could move in and out the Matrix."

Neo and Trinity glanced at each other. Both knew they were thinking the same thing. When they had been freed they had seen the ship and the Matrix with their own eyes, and yet, they had a hard time taking it all in. Could somebody really understand their world after just one chat?

Tank let out a heavy sigh and ran a hand through his hair. This was getting messy. They would have a hard time explaining all this in Zion.

"So, what do we do now?" He asked.

Morpheus took a deep breath.

"We're taking him out," he said.

Tank raised his eyebrows. "But... he's thirty-seven. The age limit is twenty-five."

"I know," said Morpheus calmly, "But I'm convinced he'd be an important member of the resistance. He's very intelligent."

"We can't free him now," said Trinity frowning, "we have no ship, we couldn't possibly-"

"We would take him out after finding Captain Niobe," said Morpheus and after a little hesitation he added, "actually, he could help us finding her. I gave him my phone so we could communicate."

"You gave him your phone?" exclaimed Trinity incredulously "He is a civilian. And even if we are going to free him he knows way too much, now."

"Yes he does," agreed Morpheus, "and you're right, he is just a civilian," if they had only heard him talk, "but we can use his... detection skills to find The Logos a little faster."

"Did you tell him we're stranded?" asked Trinity, "because that is potentially dangerous information, if the agents know it-"

"I haven't told him, yet," said Morpheus soothingly, "I gave him the phone so we wouldn't have to enter the Matrix to talk to him."

Trinity stared at him.

Neo and Tank remained silent, watching them.

Trinity thought about it and then asked, "you really think he could help us?"

Morpheus nodded.

Trinity nodded as well. "Alright," she agreed.

She knew Morpheus had already made the decision to trust Sherlock. And she was going to support his decision as always.

However, for the first time Trinity wondered if Morpheus couldn't be, after all, making a huge mistake.

John was worried.

He was pacing across the room with his mobile in hand. He had called Mycroft twice, hanging up just before the call connected.

Sherlock hadn't answered his calls nor to his texts. He had been out all night, and now it was nearly nine o'clock in the morning.

He was mentally kicking himself for letting Sherlock go all by himself. Something he had promised he would not do in this case.

He suddenly heard the front door close, and recognized the fast and agile pace of the detective climbing up the stairs. He turned to the door in the exact moment his flatmate was opening it.

"What kept you from answering you bloody mobile?!" exclaimed John angrily.

Sherlock glanced at him but remained silent. He couldn't tell John the truth until he knew for sure what to do. He headed to his bedroom.

"Sherlock?" John followed him, "what happened?" The detective closed the door and locked himself in.

"Sherlock!"

John stood there, staring at the closed-door. Trying to figure out if it was concern or pure anger what made him want to break down the door.

"We found Joe," he said through the door, but there was no answer, "he was lying unconscious on the train tracks. We brought him home, he ate something and left. He's fine but he can't remember what happened."

John paused. He couldn't hear anything from the other side of the door.

After a few moments John let out the breath he had been holding.

"I'll be in the dining room!" he exclaimed stomping down the stairs. In case you feel like sharing some damn information for once!. God, he needed a good cuppa.

When Sherlock was sure John couldn't listen to him, he took off his scarf and coat, placing them on the back of his chair, took out the mobiles he had in his jacket pockets and sat on his bed.

He had three. The first one belonged to the cabbie, wich he had use to get Morpheus' attention. The second one was Morpheus', they were supposed to keep in touch. And the third one was his.

He had turned it off after asking Mycroft to reestablish the landlines in east London.

He turned it on again and realized he had received six new messages. Five of them were from John, the last one however was from a blocked number.

He opened it.

Come and play.

Tower Hill.

Jim Moriarty x.

Chapter Text

Sherlock stared at the message.

James Moriarty.

His antithesis.

The Consulting Criminal who could easily arrange the murder of a TV star or the forgery of a famous painting had tested Sherlock's abilities a couple of months ago.

Sherlock had enjoyed the excitement of the hunting until it resulted in John Watson's kidnap.

Come and play.

If he had received that same text the day before he had gone without a second thought. But right now, he had more important things to do. He erased the message and put the phone on his bed.

Now that he had gathered his thoughts about the Matrix he had many more questions about it. He took Morpheus' mobile, dialed and waited.

"Sherlock," Morpheus greeted after a moment. "I was just talking with my crew."

"How many are they?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your crew. How many are they?"

Sherlock had an overall picture of the situation. He knew the resistance's prime objective was to free minds, and that the Agents were very powerful computer programs who hunted them down across the Matrix.

But, it made him wonder. If the Agents were as deadly as he was told, why had they sent only two people to rescue Morpheus from them? They almost die in that helicopter.

Morpheus looked across the table in the dimly lit room, where Neo, Trinity and Tank were looking at him.

"There are usually six to eleven people in a ship. Mine had nine." He said.

"What happened?"

"One of them betrayed us," said Morpheus trying to keep his tone casual. But Trinity was able to see the little twitch in his hands and jaw.

"That's how you ended up in the custody of the Agents," said Sherlock nodding to himself, "so, that means only three others survived. The one who connected them into the Matrix, and those who rescue you, am I correct?"

"Yes." said Morpheus curtly.

Four. Not a very promising number, thought Sherlock.

"What are you looking for in London?" He asked.

"We have some troubles with our ship," said Morpheus glancing at his men.

Trinity's hands tensed, but she gave a little encouraging nod to their captain. Tank pursed his lips, but said nothing. Neo's eyes were fixed in the phone, he couldn't believe there was a civilian in the other side of it, who already knew all about them.

"We need to contact the other members of the resistance, so they can help us fix it."

"Do you usually meet in London?" Asked Sherlock frowning.

How was it that he hadn't noticed?

"No. There is no pattern. When necessary, we contact another ship on the radio and we set a meeting in a random place in the Matrix. But, right now, our radio isn't working."

"So, they can be anywhere in the Matrix or not at all."

"Pretty much, yeah."

"You are stranded," concluded Sherlock with a smirk, glad he was finally understanding their situation.

Morpheus kept silent.

"How many ships are there?"

"We have thirty-six active hovercrafts," he replied, "but only The Logos is near our area. Only they could assist us."

"But, if you find any other ship they could send him a signal, couldn't they?

"That's right," said Morpheus.

"How often do they get in the Matrix?"

"It's hard to say. Each captain lays his own timing. Most of them, however, get in at least once a month."

"What is the official language in Zion?"

Morpheus frowned, what the language had to do with anything?

"What language?" asked Sherlock impatiently.

"English," answered Morpheus, "being the language of the first-freed, it became the official language."

"Does any captain still retains his native language?"

Morpheus remained silent for a moment, trying to recall.

"Captain Ice speaks german." He said. "Captain Kali speaks hindi and Captain Soren speaks danish." They were often mocked for it.

"Good," said Sherlock, "send two of your men to Denmark. Tell them to look for Captain Soren. And meanwhile monitor India and Germany. Call me when you have something." He said and hung up.

He stood up and started pacing across the room.

There was little else he could do right now. He still had a lot of doubts, of course, but Morpheus had clearly other priorities at the moment.

As long as his ship was damaged and his crew was in danger, (he hadn't said that, but it was obvious) he wouldn't fully answer to his questions. He'd have to wait.

With the skills they had they would find the resistance as soon as they get into the Matrix. Four weeks at the most.

He had more than enough time to think about what he should do.

Morpheus had hinted about the chance of getting him out of the Matrix...

This train of thought was interrupted when Morpheus' mobile started ringing.

Sherlock answered it.

"Yes?" He asked confused.

"What made you think the conversation was over?" Asked Morpheus.

"I'm sorry?"

"Why Captain Soren? And why Denmark?"

Sherlock frowned. Wasn't it obvious?

"Every captain has one primary goal, you said so yourself: To free minds." Started Sherlock. "I'd think it logical if confronted with his reality being a lie, a man would turn his back to their past. The fact that some captains still retain their native language, even if no ones else uses it, could be due to a rooted sense of nationalism or perhaps an unwitting yearning for their past. Anyhow, in the Matrix they are most probably freeing the minds of their fellow countrymen. Now, Germany has eighty million inhabitants, India has one thousand million, while in Denmark there are only five. The chances of finding the danish captain are considerably higher. If they get into the Matrix at least once a month, you'll find him in four weeks at the most."

Morpheus considered this for a moment.

"I think... you might be right." He finally said.

Before Sherlock could do anything but to raise an eyebrow, there was a knock at his door.

"Sherlock? Open the door." It was John, but he sounded nervous.

"I gotta go," said Sherlock quietly.

"We'll be in touch," answered Morpheus before hanging up.

The detective hurried to open the door.

John looked at him worried.

"Someone's looking for you," he said in a hushed voice "There are two agents from the MI6 in the living room. What's going on, Sherlock? Should I call Mycroft or something?"

Sherlock almost shivered.

There were two Agents looking for him.

What to do?

He could call Morpheus but, weren't they watching him already? Why didn't they warned him? Perhaps they weren't monitoring him now, and he should call him.

But John was there, he'd lose precious time convincing him to get out.

He could run away through the window and take John with him.

No. Lousy idea, he dismissed it immediately.

There was nowhere to go.

And maybe they would take John's body if he took longer to come down.

He would have to go with them.

But he could still save John.

Sherlock grabbed his coat and scarf.

"They are late," he said with an angry sigh.

"You were expecting them?" asked John a little calmer.

"They are taking me to their archives, I need some confidential files." He said walking down the stairs, with John behind.

When he reached the living room, he had to make an effort not to flinch.

They were standing there, not a single mark or crease on their suit. They didn't have any dirt on the outsole of their shoes nor a callosity on their hands.

The little hope he had that those were actually MI6 agents sent by his brother vanished.

Sherlock wonder whose body they were using right now. Would one of them be Mrs. Hudson? She was the closest to his apartment.

"Sherlock Holmes?" asked one of them with a too cold and impersonal voice.

The detective nodded.

"You will have to come with us." Said the other one, taking his arm and putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey!" said John frowning, as Sherlock was firmly guided towards the door.

Something was wrong.

"It's alright, John" said Sherlock as he was forced down the stairs.

It's alright? IT'S ALRIGHT?! What the heck was going on?

John followed the two agents and Sherlock down the stairs.

"Sherlock?"

"It's. all. right. John." he said.

The doctor stopped. What did that even mean?

Something was going on. Something important. And John didn't know what was it. Nor what he should do.

When they got to the ground floor Sherlock called "Mrs. Hudson!"

The door on their left opened, and his landlady came out.

"Yes, Sherl...?" Mrs. Hudson's eyes opened wide when she saw Sherlock being escorted by men-in-suits and John looking so confused behind them.

Sherlock felt relieved when he saw her.

"I am on a very important case," he said but he didn't stop walking, he didn't want her to know they were forcing him out, "Could you help John, here, with some of your biscuits? He was up all night."

Mrs. Hudson looked at John, who didn't take his eyes off Sherlock.

Oh, Sherlock. What did you get into this time? She thought. But she only smiled.

"Of course, dear." She said. As the detective got out the house.

Sherlock was shoved into a black car, and before John and Mrs Hudson's worried eyes they drove him away.

Sherlock smirked to himself thinking about his brother. He would be so hot under the collar...

Chapter Text

Gregory Lestrade woke up with a start when he heard his mobile rang. He grabbed it in the dark with a sigh and squinted at the bright light of the screen. He let out a little snort. It was four in the morning! Who could possibly be calling him at this hour? He didn't recognize the number.

Slowly and reluctantly, he answered the phone.

"D.I. Lestrade." He said with a hoarse voice making an effort to keep his eyes opened.

"Yes, hum… Good morning. Sorry to wake you… I would like to have a refund for my mobile." Said the voice in the other side of the line.

Lestrade frowned; and suppressing a yawn he covered his face with his other hand.

"A refund?" Repeated the Inspector rubbing his eyes. "For your mobile?" He wasn't sure he had heard correctly.

"That's right. Mr. Sherlock Holmes took my mobile and gave me this phone number to get a refund for it."

"…"

"…"

"…"

"Are you there?"

Lestrade sighed.

"Wait a moment, please," he said, fully awake now. He got up, turned on the lights and took a pen and some torn sheets from his night table.

"I'll need your full name and address." He said, mentally cursing the Holmes brothers and their childlike rivalry. How had he ended up between them two? He had no idea.

"All right," he said writing it all down. "Somebody will contact you soon," he said before hanging up. He then grabbed his wallet from his trouser's pocket and took a neatly folded little piece of paper. With a little angry click of his tongue he dialed the phone number it had written on it and waited.

"Inspector," greeted him a woman's voice. Mycroft's secretary he assumed, "what happened?"

The moment Lestrade had joined forces with Sherlock, some time ago now; he had received a very strange visitor who happened to be Sherlock's big brother who occupied a "minor position" in the British government. He had provided him with that phone number, for emergencies, he'd said. And apparently Sherlock was well aware of it.

Lestrade finished the call after giving her the subject's name and address and thanking her for her time. He looked at his watch and realized with a groan that it was already time to get up and to get ready to go to the Yard.

In his way to work, Lestrade decided to buy his favourite coffee and some pancakes to brighten his day a bit.

He arrived early to his office and read the last-night reports. Then he made some phone calls.

A little after eleven, with a pancake in one hand and his coffee in the other Lestrade thought that it could still be a good day… that is until a startled Sally Donovan burst into his office and blurted out that there had been a breaking and entering in the Tower of London.

Morpheus remained silent after his conversation with Sherlock Holmes.

It was a good plan, even if he disliked the I-know-it-all tone that civilian had when they talked.

He looked up to see his men watching him intently; his eyes fell on Neo and Trinity's hands. They were entwined. That little gesture almost made him smile.

He knew they would do what he told them to do. They trusted him.

But now… he wasn't sure he was doing the right thing.

None other captain would have followed a civilian's advice. That's for sure.

But not many captains believed in The One either.

Morpheus took a deep breath and with a little shake of his head he made up his mind. He decided to trust his instinct.

"We don't know where the Logos is, nor where Captain Niobe and her crew usually enter the Matrix," he said, "and even if we knew, we don't know when they are getting in." He looked them in the eye. "Our chances to find them are low."

Tank nodded pursing his lips. Neo and Trinity didn't make any movement waiting for him to continue. They already knew that the moment they'd started searching the Logos.

Morpheus continued. "Sherlock came up with an idea that just might work…"

"How could somebody break through the Tower of London?!" exclaimed Lestrade gripping the steering wheel and gritting his teeth.

They were driving at full speed, the siren barely helping them to avert the wave of city cars around them.

Donovan's mobile rang and she answered it immediately.

"Donovan. Yes… What?!"

Lestrade saw her frowning with the corner of his eyes.

"Tell them we're on our way," he urged her accelerating the car.

"There's been another break-in," she informed him, trying hard to listen over the siren of their car to the man in the other side of the line, "the Bank of England?!" She exclaimed incredulously turning to Lestrade who let out a big swearword and felt a headache coming.

Lestrade's mind was racing. An attack on the Ministry of Defense… a breaking in the Tower of London and the Bank of England, these could not be a coincidence, not in the same week.

The last straw however was the third phone call they got when they had barely gotten to the Tower of London. It was about Pentonville Prison this time.

Pentonville Prison!

Three of the most secured buildings in London and somebody had broken into their security systems in the same day, approximately at the same time.

They might not be related to what happened in the Ministry of Defense, after all. That had been a massive attack, full of dead bodies, but in these last three cases there hadn't been any casualties. They had been discreet, and… absurd.

The heavy vault doors of the Bank of England had been opened but nobody took the money.

The cell doors of the most dangerous convicts had been opened in Pentonville, but the gates remained closed, so none of them really escaped the prison.

And the crown jewels, which were exhibited in the Tower of London hadn't been stolen either.

The security guards told Lestrade they'd found a man sitting comfortably on the throne using the royal scepter, robes and even the crown on his head. His eyes were closed as he listened to music on his headphones and chewed gum.

That man was already in custody. Lestrade caught a glimpse of him through the window of a patrol car as he listened the observations of the police officers who had arrested him.

Lestrade entered after them to the crime scene along with Donovan.

The "unbreakable glass", which was protecting the crown jewels exhibition, was shattered all over the floor. The crown, the scepter and the royal robe were on a little table, marked as evidence.

There was also a fire extinguisher; its base was all dented.

It didn't take Sherlock Holmes to know the man had used it to break the glass. 

Lestrade however wondered what else would the detective see in that room.

After a little hesitation he dialed his number, but in vain. He then sent him a message hoping he wouldn't be busy with the Ministry case.

The chief superintendent had phoned Lestrade to tell him these security breaches had priority.

"After all," he'd told him, "the Ministry case will most certainly pass to higher authorities by the end of the day"

Deep in thought Lestrade asked the security guards to take him to the surveillance room; he wanted to see the security video.

"The whole plan is based on the fact that some captains still speak their native language," said Neo shaking his head. "I mean. They used it their whole lives. It doesn't have to mean anything..." Morpheus, Trinity and Tank exchanged a look. "…or does it?" asked Neo frowning.

"The minds we free," started Morpheus, "they're… young. Most of them are so eager to accept our ways as theirs…" he made a pause. "Nobody retains their native language." He finally said.

Neo still looked confused so Trinity said "Imagine you are inside the Matrix, and you see an old school mate, or a close friend, and he greets you… would you be glad to see him?"

Neo thought about it and pursed his lips. All those memories of his childhood, his youth… that never really happened, an induced dream… no, he wouldn't be glad to see him.

"The Matrix is a hoax." She continued quietly. "Nobody wants to revive it. Those few who keep their old traditions are really rare."

"I think…" said Tank after a pause, "it's a good idea."

Three pairs of eyes turned to look at him.

He talked fast, running his eyes over them. "If that man could find out about us, and," he said turning to Morpheus raising an eyebrow, "earn your trust, I think we should follow his advice."

Morpheus looked at Trinity.

"It might work." She said. Neo nodded.

"Very well," said Morpheus getting to his feet and heading to the dispenser. "We need to eat something before going back…" his eyes then set on Tank's bandaged torso and Trinity's tired eyes. How long have they being awake?

In pairs, he thought, one who enters the Matrix and the other to watch over him.

"You two," he said gesturing Tank and Trinity, "when we finish dinner I need you to go to sleep, and try to rest as much as you can. Neo'll do the first round, and I'll watch him."

Tank and Trinity did as he said and retired to rest after eating the proteins, vitamins and minerals agglomeration they had everyday for breakfast, supper and dinner.

Morpheus was connecting Neo to the Matrix in complete silence. Both of them avoided looking the five dead bodies resting at one end of the main deck.

"We'll find them," said Neo with a confident and serious tone.

It comforted Morpheus a little.

As Neo searched in Denmark Morpheus would monitor Germany, as the detective had told him.

He didn't think it necessary to watch over Sherlock Holmes.

He didn't see who had him prisoner.

Chapter Text

Sherlock was taken to a small and impeccably white room, with only one door, no windows, and a single security camera pointing to the metal table and the two chairs in the center of it.

With a sign, the agents indicated him to sit down and left with no other word, closing the door behind them.

Sherlock did not sit down immediately. He stood there for a moment, watching the room.

The detective was not at all surprised when he failed to notice marks on the walls, on the table, and even in the floor; besides those of his own soles. He assumed that room did not even exist a few moments before they'd gotten there; for he knew the building they had taken him to, and there were only government offices in there.

Sherlock sat on the chair facing the door, after a final glance around him, and began drumming his fingers on the cold surface of the table.

It was the first time in a long, long while, in which he had no idea whatsoever of what was going to happen next.

His eyes fell on the door. He snorted. How predictable. How unoriginal. It was textbook to leave the suspect alone for a moment to instill fear and insecurity. It seemed somewhat disappointing yet intriguing that the machines would use such human procedures.

The door opened again and the same two agents walked in. One of them circled the detective and stood behind him as the other, who was carrying a folder under his arm sat across from him in the metal chair.

"As you can see, Mr. Holmes," said the agent in front of him with a too cold and impersonal voice, opening parsimoniously the folder, "We've had our eyes on you for some time now." He paused flipping through the pages of the file on the table.

When Sherlock realized that the agents were trying to appear human, he did not change positions and made no move, but felt a lot more calmed. They didn't know that he knew. He kept watching his interlocutor's movements and straining his ears to monitor the agent's behind him.

"When we look at your file," began the agent speaking in a very slow and clear way, "setting aside your complete contempt for our laws and institutions, as well as you eccentric job and the wobbly way in which you practise it in the edge of legality," he said slightly raising his eyebrows; "what immediately draws our attention is your addiction to certain illegal drugs." After a pause, the agent took off his glasses, placed them on the table and looked straight into his eyes. Sherlock kept his expression blank, although his brain was working full speed.

His addiction? Why did they want to talk about it?

He could not see what they were getting at, and that made him feel nervous.

"It wouldn't be something so unusual," continued the agent, looking at the detective's face for signs of guilt, or fear, but finding none, "had it not been for the way your brother, Mycroft Holmes, strives to cover up all traces of evidence of your... unhealthy habit." The sharp eyes of the agent did not overlook the barely noticeable twitch in the detective's hands at the mention of his brother's name. "Getting so far as to delete an official report of the Police Department in which you had been arrested in a state of intoxication as a murder suspect."

The night he'd met Lestrade… Sherlock almost frowned, that speech had taken a completely unexpected direction for him.

What do they want?

"In fact," continued the agent, "it is inconceivable the great deal of inconveniences that your brother takes because of you. He uses the influential position he is in to embezzle public funds to keep you constantly watched and protected. He, selfishly and capriciously, wastes time, money and human resources allowing and covering up all the little irregularities in your... cases."

The agent leaned over and in a lower tone of voice he added, "It must be considered as an obligation for a responsible citizen to remove from office any capricious party, however clever he may be, don't you think?"

Sherlock stayed still, eyes still locked with his interlocutor.

Oh.

"Of course," continued the agent leaning back a little, "we understand there are certain exceptions to the rules."

After a short pause he said, "I'm going to be as forthcoming as I can be, Mr. Holmes. You're here because we need your help. We know that you've been contacted by a certain... individual. A man who calls himself Morpheus. Whatever you think you know about this man is irrelevant. He is considered by many countries to be the most dangerous man alive. My colleague," he said making a small gesture towards the agent standing behind him, "believes that I'm wasting my time with you, but I believe that you wish to do the right thing. We could overlook the irregularities in your cases and even allow Mycroft Holmes to thrive in his important and comfortable position as the British government. All that we're asking in return is your cooperation in bringing a known terrorist to justice.

Sherlock was silent for a while. He didn't have to think twice. He knew those computer programs could do much more than just make his brother lose his job if he refused to cooperate. But he had to act as if he didn't know that.

"If I chose to," began Sherlock quietly, "cooperate with you. What would I have to do?"

The agent behind him approached and put a little black box on the table. Sherlock opened the little box and pulled out a silver object that fit in the palm of his hand, which resembled a screw with two antennas.

Some kind of transmitter.

"You wouldn't have to do anything, Mr. Holmes," said the agent before him, "this transmitter will indicate your position at all times. The moment you meet those terrorists again we will capture them and you could return then to your daily routine."

Sherlock quickly weighed his chances.

"Very well." He agreed. And he could see a tiny hint of smile in the agent's lips.

"Unbutton your shirt, please." Said the agent in front of him, standing up.

Sherlock untucked and unbutton his shirt as fast as he could, while the second agent took the transmitter and put it in an injector. He hated to feel exposed in that way.

"Take a deep breath." The first agent advised him, as he walked to his right side and grabbed his shoulder tightly. The second agent placed the needle of the injector an inch above the detective's belly button while with his other hand he held his left shoulder.

In one swift motion he injected the transmitter.

Sherlock gasped as he felt a sharp pain in his abdomen. He closed his eyes, but when he opened them again the white room and the agents had vanished. He could only see pink, all pink and blurry, wherever he was he was lying down. He thought he felt a needle coming out of his belly, but he could not be sure of anything, his eyes hurt. He tried to move something… his hands, legs, his head, but a griping pain kept his body in its place. He tried to breathe but then he noticed that something was obstructing his nose and throat. A blind panic spread over him as he realized he could not move. He shut his eyes again and when he opened them he was back in the white room sitting on the metal chair.

He got up with a start, coughed a couple of times and gasped for air, looking around for something that could explain what had happened. But there was nothing out of ordinary. He looked at the agents, they both were staring at him. One on each side of the metal chair. He glanced at his body, his hands. He took a hand to his abdomen and remembered they had just put a transmitter in him.

What had just happened?

It had been so fast.

Both agents were watching him carefully.

After a moment he slowly button up his shirt.

Concentrate

"That's all for now, I suppose." He said, breathing deeply to calm himself down.

"Drink." Said one of the agents pointing out the glass of water, Sherlock was sure, hadn't been there before. "You'll wake up safe and sound in your house."

With a stride the detective reached for the glass of water, and with no hesitation he drank it all, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible.

Chapter Text

"Where is he?" asked John, barrelling into the office.

Last couple of days had been really stressful for Doctor John Watson. Had it been only the day before yesterday he'd seen for the first time a two-incredibly-skilled-people attack on a security video? The assailants, who were members of the international terrorist group Mycroft wanted Sherlock to get rid of, of course, had rescued the Head of their organization from a fishy-looking interrogation within the Ministry of Defence itself.

He'd been more than ready to help his friend and colleague. He'd called in his boss at the Hospital, for goodness sake! And for what? Sherlock Holmes, as usual, had ignored him completely and left the apartment alone and had spent last night doing who-knew-what, only to return home at 9 in the morning without any explanation, none at all... and now, he was gone, again! Escorted out by a couple of too-perfect-looking guys in suits.

John had remained with Mrs. Hudson for a while, not paying attention to what she said, but taking gratefully the snacks she offered him (he was hungry after all). Nothing was making any sense. Sherlock hiding information from him wasn't anything new, but the dread he felt in the pit of his stomach was, and it kept growing... He almost welcomed the familiar black car that came looking for him.

Mycroft was reading some sheets of papers sitting at his desk, when John came in. He raised an eyebrow.

"Good! John. Do take a seat, please," he said unperturbed, with a movement of his head towards the comfortable chair in front of him.

"Where is he?" Insisted John, approaching the desk. "Who were those people looking for him?"

Mycroft watched the good Doctor's shadows under his eyes, the eye bags were recent. Ignoring his question, he asked instead "Did Sherlock find out anything useful on the case I gave him?"

"On the case?" Repeated John with a frown, and shook his head. "What's going on?"

Mycroft only looked at him.

And that made John angry.

"Where is your brother?" He asked slowly with his teeth clenched. He hadn't slept more than an hour since yesterday. He was tired and worried. He really wasn't in the mood to play Mycroft's little games.

"I am afraid," said Mycroft without emotion, "we do not have time for pointless explanations-"

"Then you better explain it to me quick," John interrupted him.

Something was wrong. Sherlock could or couldn't be in danger. And neither him, nor his brother wanted to tell John anything!

Mycroft kept silent, glancing at the doctor's hands. John didn't have to follow his gaze to know he had clenched his fists.

It would be a waste of time arguing with "The British Government", and he knew he had to calm himself down; so he took a deep breath and relaxed his hands.

After a moment Mycroft continued reading the memorandums on his desk. John sighed and sat down on the comfortable chair in front of the desk.

"Those men," asked John with a calm voice, "were they MI6?"

"Of course not," answered Mycroft condescendingly.

"Who are they, then? Where did they took him?"

John saw Mycroft pursing his lips lightly. And he realized...

"You do know where he is, don't you?"

The answer came after what appeared to be ages.

"No."

"Damn it!"

Sargent Donovan watched as D.I. Lestrade paced the room, holding his mobile to his ear.

"C'mon! Answer your damn phone!"

Immediately after watching the Tower of London's security videos Lestrade had tried and tried to communicate with Sherlock Homes in vain. He had been forced to call Sherlock's partner, John Watson, but with the same results.

He hung up and turned to her. Sargent Donovan knew what he was going to say before he even opened his mouth.

"We have to go and get him."

It wasn't a secret Sally Donovan disliked Sherlock Holmes. He was conceited, insufferable, he always thought himself better than Scotland Yard. Sally really hated working with him.

But now... she turned to the monitors and remembered what they just saw. Although it pained her, she nodded. They had to go get him.

They got into the patrol car and drove towards Baker Street.

Unfortunately the only one home was the landlady. Brisk and noisy, she didn't know were "her boys" had gone.

Lestrade wave her off with half a smile, and when the door finally closed he sighed.

"Go back to the station," he told her after a short pause, "we need to know everything there is to know about our suspect. His life, his affiliations. Maybe we can find out what on earth did he want to accomplish by breaking into the Tower, the Prison and the Bank. And if it has any relation with the attack on the Ministry."

Donovan nodded and walked towards the car, but her curiosity took the better of her and turned, "what are you going to do? Are you going to look for him?" She asked Lestrade with a smile and her eyebrows up her forehead, "look for Sherlock Holmes, in London?"

Lestrade passed his hand through his hair and down his face.

"Nah, I just need to make a phone call."

When Sally realized he wasn't going to add anything more she nodded and went back to the car. Whe she was leaving though, she could see the Detective Inspector reaching for his wallet and taking out a piece of paper.

"But, how is that possible?! You don't know who took him? I thought you had him under surveillance 24/7!" John realized the situation was more serious than he had thought.

"They are obviously perfectly capable of tampering with the -"

"But, the car!" John interrupted him alarmed. Mycroft had been his last hope. "You can track it if -!"

"Rest assured," Mycroft cut him off sternly, "I have my best people looking for him, John."

John pursed his lips.

"Why am I here?" He finally asked.

Mycroft fought down a sigh.

"There is a large amount of people with good enough reasons to kidnap or interrogate my brother," said Mycroft as if speaking with a little child, "but none of them has the power to make Sherlock go with them willingly. The only reason my brother has ever risked his life recklessly has always been-"

"Solving a case." John shook his head scowling. Typical of Sherlock; although it didn't explain why he hadn't told John anything. He usually made something hasty but counted on the doctor to save his neck. Mycroft nodded.

John snorted softly, "I'm going to kill him."

"It is likely that his captors are the same terrorists you've been searching for... or the Security Agents from the Department of Defence. Either way, I need to know everything my brother knew about the case."

John hesitated. If Sherlock was working the case in his usual crazy way, he wouldn't like it if his brother interfered in one of his plans. After all, he'd kept insisting that everything was "alright" when they were taking him away, hadn't he?.

John had barely opened his mouth when Mycroft's mobile rang. He frown a little before answering.

John couldn't hear what the person in the other side was telling him, but Mycroft's frown deepened and after a short pause he replied with a "Have an IRU ready," and "Monitor known lairs."

John waited for Mycroft to end the call to ask anxiously, "is it about Sherlock?"

Mycroft sized him up and then nodded.

"What happened?" asked John immediately, "what's an IRU?"

"Immediate Response Unit," answered him Mycroft absently. And with a little shake of his head he added more to himself than to John, "Moriarty couldn't have chosen a worst day to make his move."

John felt his hearth speed up. "Moriarty? What's he got to do with this?"

Mycroft pursed his lips. It was unlikely Moriarty could have anything to do with Morpheus' terrorists, their M.O.'s were completely different, their goals as well, not to mention a subservient position would be impossible for either of them, at least in the long run... but it couldn't be dismissed.

Mycroft put together the tips of his fingers under his chin, thinking. John felt a jab of nostalgia at the sight.

"It can't be a coincidence," Mycroft said firmly.

"What happened?"

"Today of all days, he chose to evade the Pentonville Prison, the Tower of London and the Bank of England's security systems."

"What?!"

"Detective Inspector Lestrade has got... what is the expression? Oh, yes, his knickers in a twist. He called Anthea to get her to trace Sherlock."

John pinched the bridge of his nose; he could feel a headache coming.

"God, if Moriarty took Sherlock..."

"It's still one of many possibilities."

Mycroft looked him right into his eyes. John tried not to shift under the intensity of his glare, "what do you know about the case?" his usually calm voice had a note of steel that couldn't be ignored.

John held his gaze. It was intimidating but Mycroft was only worried for his brother. That was evident.

The doctor made up his mind. He would rather face Sherlock's anger after they found him than risk the detective's life for being overprotective of his pride.

"Morpheus' people are in London, or at least two of them are..."

John was trying to remember important things that could help Mycroft, but all the information he had was vague to say the least. He cursed the detective for not sharing vital details with him.

"Hum... He knew 10 possible safe houses where the terrorist would meet. His homeless network has the addresses. But they usually are empty buildings within large cities. Yesterday, we watched a man and a woman coming out of one of these houses near a park in Meadowbank Street... Eh... they all have great physical abilities and killing skills... and they all seem to dress extravagantly, with big leather black coats, and black glasses..."

Mycroft had his eyes on him, but his face was like set on stone, he wouldn't move a muscle. And John was now grasping at straws. What did he really now about the case?

"Sherlock was out all night last night, but I have no idea where he go."

What else had Sherlock told him?

"He said the Agents of the Ministry could control civilians, but I don't know if he knew how... or why..." would Mycroft deemed important the mysterious footprints in the factory? The camera malfunction? "Morpheus was captured in an abandoned shoe factory called Barrats in Northampton..." It would sound stupid, but maybe Mycroft could learn something important from that?

"In the factory, there were footprints in the dust-covered floor, and they seemed to change from one step to the other," John Watson was not blushing, he definitely wasn't. "And a camera malfunctioned when one of the homeless network called Joe was following one of the terrorists..." he grew silent when he realized he wasn't making any sense.

Mycroft kept watching him for a second and then he went back to his memos. "I'll keep you informed in case of any eventuality." He said without looking up in a clear dismissal.

John nodded and stood up. He would go straight to talk to Lestrade...

"And... John?"

The doctor turned when he was already at the door.

"You must be cautious," Mycroft looked over his papers, "if Moriarty is really behind all this. Contact me immediately if you have any information regarding my brother. You must not risk yourself going after him, it would only turn you into another weapon against my brother," John nodded and left.

"John! I've been trying to contact you for ages! Is Sherlock with you?"

"Greg…"

"Tell him he needs to come here immediately. I told his brother, but-"

"Greg!" John interrupted him. "Sherlock's gone."

"Couldn't you-?"

"Two men came for him and took him away."

"What? What do you mean took him away?"

"Well, he, for some unknown reason, left with them. But no one knows where he is now. Mycroft said you're in Moriarty's case?"

"Yes," was the answer, "That's the name he gave me. But, wait a second, what did you just say about Sherlock? He left? Like willingly, or not?"

"We don't know. He didn't say anything."

A short pause followed that statement.

"John, Moriarty left a message," his voice had suddenly turned flat, "I thought it was for Sherlock, but... it may not be for him..."

"Greg?"

"I'll keep you informed, ok? I have to go."

"No! Wait! What message? Where?"

John could practically picture Lestrade shaking his head.

"I'll call you later."

"Greg! I may not be Sherlock Holmes, but you cannot let me out of this! What was the message?"

After a little pause, Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade chose to tell him what the police found in the Tower of London's security tapes.

"The suspect wrote a note in the glass that protected the Royal Jewls before shattering it with a fire extinguisher, it said Get Sherlock with a smiley face painted beside it."

"I'm on my way."

John could hear the little sigh on the other side of the phone.

"Fine. Come to the Tower of London."

John returned to his flat a couple of hours later. He had used his trip to the Tower of London to give the spy cameras back to Scotland Yard, too. It wasn't late but he wanted nothing more than to lay down to sleep. Adrenaline had kept him going for far too long now. Maybe sleeping would help with his headache.

The security tapes he'd seen with Lestrade had only demonstrated what he already knew to be true: James Moriarty was a psycho, sickly infatuated with Sherlock. John had no doubt Moriarty had the detective, having left that message to make Mycroft, Scotland Yard or himself chase their tails looking for Sherlock everywhere, as they will surely would.

What John could not understand yet was why the hell Sherlock had gone with them without fighting. They were only two of them. It would be a fair fight; even if they had guns... they could have... oh!

John opened his eyes almost comically, he could have kicked himself. Of course!

Unless... they had special abilities to fight and kill... Why hadn't he seen it before?

It all made sense now! They were terrorists! Sherlock had known they both couldn't possibly win against them.

Shit! That only meant the terrorists worked for Moriarty! The deadliest men alive under the orders of the most evil and intelligent man in England! With Sherlock Holmes as hostage...

John forgot his tiredness. He ran to his coat where he had left his mobile and dialled Mycroft's number. It was almost sure Mycroft had already thought about it, but none the less, he needed to tell him.

As he had thought, Mycroft assured him he had already considered the possibility…

"Mycroft, they haven't tried to communicate with us… what do they want with Sherlock?"

"At the moment, John. I am only certain of one thing. My brother wouldn't let them take him without leaving some kind of message."

"A message?" repeated John glancing at his friend's bedroom door. It was the only place where he could have left one.

"What were his exact words, what did he say to you when he was leaving?"

John walked towards Sherlock's bedroom.

"He kept saying It's alright."

Mycroft was saying "I'm on my way to Baker Street." When John opened the door and saw the unconscious figure of Sherlock Holmes laying down on his bed.

"He… he is here Mycroft!" he said almost chocking out the words. He ran towards the bed and took the detective's pulse forgetting all about his cell phone.

Chapter Text

John experienced a sudden relief at the sight of the limp form of Sherlock Holmes lying in his bed. But it was hastily followed by sheer panic. He ran forward and drove his hand towards the detective's neck to take his pulse. However, the instant his fingers grazed his skin Sherlock woke up with a start, his eyes opened wild and pushed away the intruder's hand with a sudden movement. John backed away from the bed when he saw his friend standing up in a daze.

"Sherlock!" He exclaimed startled by the detective's behaviour.

It took the detective a couple of seconds to become aware of his surroundings. He was in his room; a tired and worried John Watson was at his side looking at him anxiously; it was late in the afternoon, he couldn't have been away for more than a couple of hours, he could listen to the light traffic outside Baker Street... nothing seemed out of place.

"John," he mumbled.

The doctor heard him speaking his name but somehow he knew Sherlock wasn't talking to him. He watched helplessly as his friend sat down in his bed, making a conscious effort to control his breathing.

"Are you okay?" John asked him keeping a calm voice.

His doctor voice. Thought the detective vaguely, and gave him a little nod.

Once he had regained his usual composure he closed his eyes. He focused on remembering down to the last detail of his little encounter with the Agents. Specially everything he had felt, heard and seen the moment they had injected him with the transmitter.

At once, John recognized the posture and the little preparations his flatmate always did when he was going to meditate lengthily and exhaustively. He always did it when he felt particularly disoriented in complicated and difficult cases.

In such state he'd become for all intends and purposes blind and deaf to the world around him. John knew once the detective entered the deep places within his mind he would blatantly ignore him. And this time, he would not allow it. So he grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him.

"Sherlock!"

The surprise in his friend's eyes would have been hilarious in any other circumstances.

"Where you've been? Where did they take you? Are you hurt?" He asked the detective grabbing him firmly and enduring his stare.

Sherlock had a little frown etched on his face as he studied John Watson's own set features. It was clear the doctor wouldn't let him go until he gave him some kind of answers.

"I was at the MI6 headquarters," said Sherlock slowly as speaking with a child, a maddening habit he shared with his brother as John had been able to attest. The detective mocked John's bad mood even more by raising his eyebrows in pretended confusion, "I told you I had to take a look at some classified files as you might recall."

"No," John shook his head barely restraining his anger, "tell me the truth."

They looked into each other's eyes measuring their resolves in an uncomfortable silence.

Sherlock could not tell him anything.

Even if he wanted to, which he wasn't sure he did, he couldn't talk at the moment. He had a transmitter implanted in his belly, now. He had a direct connection to the Matrix's guardian programs. Machine made programs who could move at incredible dodging-bullets speed and breaking-through-walls strength. He might like a good thrilling challenge but he knew his limits. He wouldn't endanger Doctor Watson like that.

Sherlock shook his head not taking his eyes off his friend.

John frowned.

They remained in silence in a fight of wills of sorts, a very one-sided fight of wills, anyway.

And then Sherlock stood up ignoring his flatmate.

His first priority was to warn the human resistance, to warn Morpheus about the transmitter he was carrying. There was no other way. He would have to risk it and make a quick phone call. He knew the Agents would hear him and then they'd know. They'd finally realize he knew about the machines and about the Matrix, about the on-going war and their control over the human race, and they would come and get him. Another good reason to stay as far as possible from the doctor, he thought.

"John," Sherlock had a faraway look which was getting into John Watson's skin, "I am aware of the innumerable occasions I have abused of your trust in me."

John scowled even more.

"What?" He asked troubled.

"And once again," continued the detective putting on his coat, "I need you to trust me, my friend."

John's eyes widened in surprise, and he didn't know what to say.

"There is something I need to do," Sherlock turned around and picked up a couple of cell phones from his nightstand, "but I need to do it alone."

"Where do you think you're going?" asked an exasperated John, who couldn't believe the detective's sheer nerve! He was leaving with no explanation, none whatsoever, alone! Again!

"John-"

"No, Sherlock!" Doctor Watson walked towards the door and got on the way of his friend, "You're not going anywhere, not by yourself! The last time you faced Moriarty alone, we almost ended up blown up! He is dangerous, and even in jail he is-"

"What?" Sherlock stopped short, looking wide eyed at John, with the Consolting Criminal's early text message in mind, "Moriarty? In Jail?"

"You didn't know?" John was astonished.

Sherlock paused for a moment.

"What did he do?"

"He breached the Tower of London, Pentonville Prison and the Bank of England's security this morning, and yet he didn't take anything and he didn't offer any resistance when he was arrested," said John quickly, "he did leave a message though, in the Queens jewellery exhibition glass: Get Sherlock."

Sherlock turned his back on John, deep in thought.

Moriarty...

John watched warily the back of the detective's head shake.

It doesn't change anything. Sherlock repeated it to himself. He couldn't do anything about it in his current predicament. Priorities. There are priorities.

And yet...

If Sherlock was right, which was almost a given, the Matrix's Agents would come after him the instant he let Morpheus know about the transmitter he was carrying. What they'd do to him afterwards he didn't know. But nonetheless it meant Sherlock would be gone from the picture and John would be at the Criminal Consultant's disposal.

A bored, maybe angry, undeniably maniac and obsessive Moriarty teasing the good doctor... only Moriarty wouldn't play games with him... No, he would-

John and Sherlock both started when they listened to their apartment door getting closed.

Sherlock turned apprehensively to the bedroom door.

"Mycroft," told him John reassuringly pinching the bridge of his nose, after the initial shock of having found Sherlock had worn off, his headache returned, "he was on his way here."

Sherlock nodded and led the way to the common room.

It was indeed Sherlock's older brother who came strolling towards them with his usual firm strides. He looked -would Sherlock dare acknowledge it?- relieved and worried at the same time. Be that as it may, Mycroft Holmes regained his composure rather quickly, masking his true feelings and relaxing his facial expression.

"Sherlock," he greeted with his usual paused voice, "I'm glad to see you back. I need to talk to you, but not here though, I need you to come with me."

John, who was half expecting a biting comment from his friend, was surprised to hear him reply in a calm voice.

"Actually, Mycroft, it is I who needs to talk to you this time."

Mycroft Holmes raised an eyebrow at his comment.

"I have a car waiting outside."

"I'm not going anywhere," said Sherlock pointedly, and sat down in the armchair, indicating his brother the seat in front of him with a nod, "I need to talk to you now. Would you mind, John?"

John frowned and bit his lip, as he looked from one brother to the other undecided.

"Please?" Added Sherlock as an afterthought not once looking at him.

"Eh..." had Sherlock really said please? "Sure," he said and headed for the kitchen.

"There's nothing eatable there, unless you intend to prepare sandwiches again?" Sherlock said in a barely louder voice, stopping him on his tracks, "no offence John, but you look terrible. Go to the family dinner at the end of the street, you need a good home-cooked meal and some sleep."

John re-entered the room appalled.

"Do you want me to eat out?"

"Aren't you hungry?" Asked the detective raising his eyebrows in an innocent way, which didn't fool John Watson at all. Unfortunately for him his stomach chose to enter the discussion with a loud grumble. He was hungry.

"Sherlock..." John tried to convey the warning in those two syllables; he wasn't in the mood for his usual tricks. Sherlock half-smiled at him briefly as Mycroft sat opposite his brother resignedly.

John Watson sighed and closed the door on his way out of the apartment. He felt bad for being left in the dark, but at least Mycroft would have Sherlock's back. He knew their relationship was difficult at best, but he also knew Big Brother would always be there if needed.

Once in the dinner, John sent Lestrade a quick message to let him now the good news: Sherlock had turn up in their apartment apparently unhurt.

When he came back to Baker Street, he found their flat deserted. Who knew where the Holmes brothers had gone after their little chat. But after a good meal and a couple of days without sleeping he couldn't physically worry too much.

He dragged himself to his bedroom and lay down on his bed, after a little sigh he took out his mobile and texted the detective with his last strength before drifting off.

[You better be here when I wake up]

Sherlock waited until the good Doctor had left their quarters to address his brother, who was patiently waiting for him to talk.

"Mycroft," he started, piercing his brother with a serious look. He wanted to be firm and unambiguous about this, "you cannot, under any circumstance, let John Watson fall prey to Moriarty. He must not get near him, nor be in deals with him of any kind."

Mycroft raised his eyebrows, too shocked to reply right away. Sherlock used this to his advantage and stood up; he couldn't stay there any longer, he had made his choice and speaking with his brother wouldn't help any of them. It was too dangerous.

"Be careful… blad," Sherlock turned walking towards the door, "somethings are not to be meddle with."

Mycroft frowned in confusion. Sherlock hated asking for favours. And even if he did, his brother would never admit to be above his head, not to him. And now, he was doing both.

Moriarty must have been involved somehow, after all. Had he been behind his abduction? What about Morpheus? Were they working together? What are you so afraid of little brother?

"Are you so certain of you imminent failure, brother mine?" He asked tantalizingly before Sherlock could reach the door, making an effort not to let his worry show, "you're giving up?"

Sherlock turned to him with a haunted look.

"I'm not," he said opening the door, "I'm merely choosing my battles."

Mycroft stood up, for once, alarmed.

"I cannot let you go," his voice, surprisingly even and slow, did not betrayed his fear, "You know that Sherlock."

I can help you. Was the hidden message both he and Sherlock could pick up from his words.

Mycroft didn't know what had happened to Sherlock during his absence, a dozen possibilities overlapping themselves in his mind, but his brother was definitely scared, and he was leaving, this time for good. What had they threatened him with? He knew his self-appointed sociopath of a brother really cared for too many people around him. Liabilities. He thought with contempt.

"I know you could try to withhold me, Mycroft, but it would only make things worse, trust me." After glancing one last time to his brother, Sherlock left, closing the door behind him.

His mind racing through different, possibilities, vantages, disadvantages, scenarios and theories, Mycroft took his cell phone out.

"Damn it," he mumbled inadvertently, pushing the one touch dial in his phone.

"I want all eyes on Sherlock, now."

Sherlock walked away from Baker Street in the opposite direction of the Café he knew John would be in. He walked as fast as he could without drawing any attention to himself. Avoiding security cameras wasn't easy, not in London, but he knew the National Parks had the least amount of them so he chose the nearest one to make the phone call. He had to make sure Mycroft didn't see who went looking for him.

Making sure no one was in the immediate vicinity he stilled himself and called Morpheus.

"Sherlock," a low-paced and deep voice greeted him.

"I've got a transmitter," the detective interrupted him quickly, "it's not safe to talk anymore," he said and hung up.

Now that he thought about it, making that call in the park hadn't been a good idea after all. Those Agents could take the minds of a family nearby to come and get him, maybe the minds of a couple of children.

He shook his head, there was nothing he could do about it now… unless he hurried to the nearest dark alley he could find and hope they possessed a couple of low-life thugs. Would he risk Mycroft to see something like that?

His thoughts were interrupted when Morpheus' phone rang. What was he doing? Maybe he didn't understand what he'd said?

"Morpheus-"

"It's ok, Sherlock."

"I've got-"

"Relax. They cannot hear what you say."

"But-"

"They use those bugs to pinpoint your position within the Matrix and to detect if a free mind… huh, someone unplugged, comes near you, not to listen to what you say."

Sherlock felt an overwhelming wave of relief coursing throughout his body and only then he admitted to himself how nervous… no, scared, he had been.

He suddenly felt like he could breathe again and audibly sighed.

"Sherlock?" The worry was easily heard from the other side of the line.

"I'm fine," was the immediate response, "I guess… everything remains the same then?" asked the detective.

"Not… entirely," Sherlock gripped his phone a little tighter, he could hear the other man worry and doubt, "you are already in the Agents' radar, we cannot allow you to remain in the Matrix now. You are the bait, but if nothing springs the trap…"

"I get it."

"I'm sorry Sherlock; they must have got you-"

"They came soon after our phone call ended."

There was a little pause in which they both contemplated the meaning of their current situation.

Morpheus had spoken with Sherlock barely the day before, how'd the Agents know they'd been in touch so soon? It worried the Captain; more so, because of all the information the civilian possessed. It was potentially dangerous for him and what remained of his crew if the Agents chose to enter the detective's mind now.

But they couldn't afford to split his efforts and protect Sherlock; the first priority was to find a ship to help them all. Maybe they could take out the bug from the detective even if he remained in the Matrix? It could be arranged easily, but he would have to stay hidden until they could unplug him for good. And there was no precedent as what would the Agents do to him if they find him a second time without the bug. No, it was better for all involved if they didn't act on it, yet…

Sherlock was 80% sure he would have chosen to leave the Matrix anyway. Nonetheless having the choice taken from him felt wrong somehow. They would free his mind as soon as they could; as soon as they find the other members of the human resistance.

Helping save the human race from machine enslavement was worth the sacrifice of his current… life. But there were so many variables to take in count…

"Morpheus… I… when they injected me the transmitter, there was a moment in which I opened my eyes and couldn't see the room I was in, but felt a soft, semisolid pink substance all around me… I was hurting and it was all blurry. I couldn't move or breathe. It barely lasted a couple of seconds but it felt real."

There was another short pause before the Captain talked again.

"It was real. Tell me Sherlock, when was the last time you slept?"

"I just woke up. They gave me something to knock me out after the interrogation."

"And what about before the drug-induced sleep?"

Sherlock had to think for a moment, and opened his eyes in shock. No wonder why John had been almost hysterical, "Five days," he whispered, frowning. He'd never stayed awake that long; he was well aware of the risks of sleep deprivation, after all, "I've been awake for five days straight."

"And the last time you ate?"

Sherlock's frown deepened.

"The day before yesterday," Sherlock's mind was racing, "Do you think I could wake up by myself?"

"Are you hungry? Tired?"

"No." Maybe he was emotionally tired, but physically he felt good.

"It's not unprecedented," said Morpheus, and wasn't surprised at all when he felt the beginning of a headache forming, "but let's hope you don't. You don't feel hunger because you mental projection needs no food, or rest. You are unconsciously rejecting the program."

It was clear Morpheus wouldn't add anything else, but Sherlock had to ask.

"What is waking up like? I need to know Morpheus, in detail."

In detail? Morpheus knew only a few people would join the resistance if they knew in detail what they'd suffer after being freed. But he also knew the detective wouldn't be at ease with nothing short of the truth.

"Your body is currently connected to life support machines within a viscous liquid resembling a placenta. The moment you wake up, intentionally or unintentionally, the machines will, in a very literal sense, throw you away, releasing your body through the pipes. If we have our ship at the ready, we can pull you out from it. And you'd spend four months more or less in intensive care to restore your atrophied muscles. If not… well, you haven't used your body in 37 years, so even if your mind knows how to swim, you wouldn't be able to. You'd drown irremediably. "

"Oh. It doesn't sound very encouraging."

"It isn't. Right now, your only choice is to anchor yourself in the Matrix as firm as you can, until we come for you. Eat, sleep and avoid great disturbances. Allow yourself to feel as much as you can and," Morpheus chuckled darkly, "think less and live in the moment."