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Chapter Text

John gave Sherlock the nod to shoot the vest. He was afraid once again, but his brain would only let him think about how to save Sherlock, and how shooting the vest of explosives was the only way to save any future victims of Moriarty's. Jim Moriarty tilted his head, calculating and snake-like, watching Sherlock point the gun at the bomb. John wondered if it was all some psychopathic plan. He couldn't read people as well as Sherlock, couldn't predict what Moriarty felt or was thinking.

All he could do was act.

The second Sherlock's finger clenched on the trigger, John sprung up, launching himself forward and into Sherlock as the bomb exploded. In a heartbeat, John felt Sherlock tense up in surprise, and John's momentum shoved Sherlock into the pool, John following a spilt second later. Something struck him in the back of his head and he felt dazed, seeing red as he entered the pool.

In what felt like seconds, Sherlock's arms were around him, supporting him, holding his head above the surface of the water and he was coughing, looking blearily into Sherlock's face.

"Alright?" John blinked and Sherlock's voice became more clear. "John, Are you alright?"

John blinked again. There was fire around the sides of the pool, Sherlock was gently treading water trying to keep both their heads above. "Yeah..." He looked around, ignoring the pain in the back of his head. Moriarty was gone.

Back to Sherlock, seeing blood running freely from under the curls. "You're bleeding." Somehow it seemed enough to say that.

"Yeah. We should get outside; I doubt the building is very steady after this." Somehow, Sherlock's voice was less shaken than he looked.

John hoisted himself out of the pool, reaching a hand to stop Sherlock from swaying as his friend stood too quickly after doing the same. "Is it just your head?" John asked. The explosion didn't seem to have been as devastating as they'd both expected, although John knew they would have been seriously injured had they not leapt into the pool.

"Just a graze. Not a problem," Sherlock said dismissively. He put his hand on John's back and the two of them headed outside.

By the time several police cars and Lestrade's familiar car pulled up, John had a strip of his cardigan pressed to Sherlock's forehead and Sherlock had his coat wrapped around them both for warmth. Lestrade hurried over to them as soon as his feet hit the ground, looking more concerned than John had ever seen him.

"You'll never guess what happened," Sherlock said sardonically, standing slowly and shrugging his coat off onto John. John stood after him.

"You told me that was the final 'puzzle' from Moriarty, that you'd stay out of it and stay safe while we figured this out." Lestrade put his face in his hands. Then looked up at John. "I at least expected more sense from you."

"Kidnapped," John said, keeping his voice light. "What can you do, eh, Lestrade?" He saw Sherlock smirk out of the corner of his eye.

"Not get kidnapped, probably," Lestrade said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Alright, give me what you got." He looked at Sherlock, pen and paper at the ready.

20 minutes later, after getting checked out by an ambulance (sherlock now sporting three stitches near his hairline) John checked his mobile to find 4 missed calls from Mycroft Holmes.

"Your brother," John said, showing Sherlock the screen. Sherlock snorted.

"Moron."

John flicked to a text and sent, "Swimming lessons went fine, sherlock bumped his head," to Mycroft. He then pocketed his phone, prepared to ignore any calls for the next twenty-four hours, determined "not to see" any mysterious black cars if any were to pull up next to him.

"Stop here." Sherlock had his hand on the door handle as the cabbie slowed. John looked around. A couple buildings, a phone booth, and a 24-shop.

"What are you--?"

"Just wait in the car," Sherlock said. "Won't be a moment."

John sat back, fumbling for his phone as his ringtone went off, realizing he'd forgotten to silence it. Mycroft's name flashed on the lock screen; John hit ignore call, silenced the phone and repocketed it, mulling over the difference between the Holmes brothers. At least Sherlock's texting didn't tend to be so annoying.

The door to his right opened again and Sherlock got in with a plastic bag that looked heavy. The cabbie began driving again. Sherlock looked over to John and winked, pulling out a bottle of milk and two cans of beans.

"I did say I would." John watched as Sherlock put the groceries back into the bag, feeling something tighten in his chest. He wasn't sure how to respond, other than to grin. The rest of the cab ride was spent in silence, John thinking about the milk and beans.

"Oh, we're home," Sherlock breathed faintly, sounding relieved a little while later. John looked out at 221b, the boarded up windows letting out little light.

"Gonna pay Mrs H extra to replace those windows." John shook his head as they exited the car.

"She was more concerned to see if she would find me alive after the explosion," Sherlock muttered. He shook his head. "If she'd been in that flat..."

John put his hand on Sherlock's back. "C'mon. We can visit her tomorrow for lunch."

Sherlock nodded. Then he stopped, hesitating on the step before unlocking the door. "Moriarty escaped."

John couldn't judge the tone of Sherlock's voice. "Yeah."

"Things are going to change a bit now."

"They don't have to," John said. "You'll get him in the end, anyways. We'll get him."

Sherlock shot back a grateful look, some light in his eyes that made John smile faintly. "Well then, let him come." And John followed him into the flat.

Chapter Text

The next two weeks passed fairly quickly, Sherlock taking on several short cases and solving them quickly. John made notes on his blog, avoiding comments asking after Moriarty.

Lestrade and Sherlock started keeping in more frequent contact, the two bouncing ideas off one another as to how to best find Moriarty. But Sherlock's website remained without any activity or comments, and Lestrade was running out of resources to use to find the man. At the end of the second week, it seemed they would both resume their intensity if anything interesting came up. Lestrade asked them both to go for a pint sometime in the next week; John agreed, Sherlock was hesitant.

John was awoken early Monday morning by Sherlock shaking him.

"What time is it?" John muttered, turning and reaching for his phone. 9am.

"You were muttering in your sleep." Sherlock frowned, a slight crease between his eyebrows. But he didn't go on to say if he'd understood what John was saying.

John tried to remember what he'd been dreaming about. "What's going on?" He dug around for a clean shirt, reminding himself to get laundry done soon."

"Client coming up at ten." Sherlock moved to lean against the well, idly watching John pull on socks.

"Interesting?"

"Mostly," Sherlock smiled at John. "Man who's a very important businessman in Germany. And his son. He used a fake name on the website though."

John shook his head, standing and following Sherlock downstairs to where he heard the kettle whistling. "You boiled water for tea?"

"Someone had to do it."

John shook his head, sitting down at the kitchen table with a mug, stirring milk into his tea. "How did you know who it was then?"

"Mmm? Oh, name of his son. It'd been in the paper's earlier this year that the son of Derek Fischer was graduating. Top grades, wants to do medicine or something." Sherlock waved his hand. "William, his name is."

Shortly after, the doorbell rang.

"Sherlock! I am not answering your doorbell anymore!"

Sherlock grinned to John as he stood, taking long strides across the room to hurry to the front door. "She will," he said lightly.

"Don't be an ass," John muttered, smiling faintly. He stood as a tall man with blond hair and a young man with similar features were led in by Sherlock. "hello, John Watson."

"Fischer and Son," Sherlock said. Fischer senior shot a look back at Sherlock.

"How the hell did you know?" he sputtered. Sherlock smiled.

"By the same reasoning abilities that you expect from me when I take on your case. You said it was a delicate matter?"

The son, William, shook John's hand. Fischer ignored it. "Yes. Delicate enough that I don't want it told to more than one pair of ears."

John sighed, exchanging a look with Sherlock, who motioned for everyone in the room to sit.

"Well, it's a good thing that John and I act as a unit. As a unit, it's as if we have one pair of ears." Sherlock smiled at Fischer until he grudgingly took a seat on the chair next to his son. John and Sherlock reclaimed their usual chairs and John pulled out his pad to take notes.

"My son was due to be married a year ago." Fischer shifted. "His junior year in college, he met a woman his age that he was quite enamored with." William blushed. "He asked her to marry him, and she said yes. This year she disappeared. Came to London, supposedly on a gap year. She's American, although she'd been in the UK for quite a while."

"Is that the problem?" Sherlock frowned. "Maybe she doesn't want to be found."

"She doesn't," William said. He exchanged a look with his father. "She said she had a photo of...of me..."

"Of my son engaging in activities that are not becoming of him." William's face reddened and he ducked his head. Fischer shook his head. "And has the word of the others in the photo that they would swear to the reality of it if we were to come after her."

"I don't care what she does, Mr Holmes--"

Fischer cut his son off, "But as long as she has that photo and is prepared to use it as blackmail, I fear my son is not safe. We want the photo back. And any existance of it wiped from whatever hard drive it's on."

Sherlock took a breath in, closing his eyes. "Difficult. What's her name?"

"Irene Adler," William said softly.

"The actor?"

John blinked. "What, you know her?"

Sherlock frowned. "She'd gained some press as an actor, I believe playing lady Macbeth at her university. She was trying to get into films. I kept an eye out; the stage interests me."

"She was really good," William said. "Sang too; Broadway was her backup plan." He looked devastated.

Sherlock smiled reassuringly. "Email me details as to how to contact you further. And where you will be staying. I hope this won't take long to work out."

"Did you try to get it back in anyway before coming to us?" John asked, as they stood.

"Two attempts. One to find her, then she relocated. I sent someone to, ah, break into her flat. She's sharing with a friend and the idiot didn't notice the other young woman was home." Fischer shook his head. "I don't trust many people, Mr Holmes."

"No, I don't either." Sherlock met the man's eyes. "Good Morning."

John watched as the two filed out.

"What do you think, John?"

John shook his head. "Not sure what to think." He looked up at Sherlock, who was googling Adler's name. "You?"

"I think there's something not being told." He shook his head. "Not sure whose secret, or if it will be relevant, but for now let's focus on Adler." He turned the laptop to John and John begin to read.

Chapter Text

Sherlock frowned, tying his scarf around his neck. "Are you ready, John?" he called.

John's familiar tread hurried down the stairs from his bedroom and then down to the front hall. "Sorry. Definitely need to do laundry." He looked at Sherlock. "Remind me again why you think simply talking to her will be any good?"

"Because it's the one thing that didn't seem to cross Fischer senior's mind," Sherlock said, tilting his head. He led the way out the door and hailed a cab.

Soon later they were knocking on the door to a student flat. John looked around at the empty street, contemplating how he hadn't thought of talking to Adler face to face either, assuming Sherlock would plan an elaborate and genius break in.

The door creaked open and a young woman with red hair poked her head out.

"Hello," Sherlock said, smiling. "Sherlock Holmes, John Watson. We're hoping to talk with an Irene Adler?"

She looked curiously from him to John. "You're the two from that blog, aren't you?" She looked at John again and John shifted. "His blog. Love that stuff, it's brilliant. Irene's not in trouble is she?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Let's hope not!" The young woman hesitated for a brief moment, then opened the door fully to let them pass.

"I'm Nell," she said, leading them into a room and gesturing to the small couch. "Nell Huxleigh."

"You two the only ones who live here?" John asked. Nell nodded.

"We...got on well and this flat was for two people. Initially, I think Irene had plans to move in here alone, but then we met in the campus library when I was still looking for cheaper rent." Sherlock shifted as she shrugged. "It all worked out." Nell gestured to the door. "I'll just call her down. Feel free to sit."

Sherlock and John sat on the small couch and John looked to Sherlock. "They couldn't steal a laptop or whatever from here?" he said under his breath.

"Well, I'm assuming Miss Adler is smarter than them by a whole lot. And probably more competent than Fischer gives her credit for." Sherlock was scanning the room. "She also, I'm assuming, doesn't keep the files on her laptop, that would be an obvious spot."

"So you are here because of Mr Fischer," a dismayed voice came from the doorway. John and Sherlock both turned to see a young woman, taller and thinner than Nell, with dark hair and startling brown eyes.

"Irene Adler. It's a pleasure to meet you," Sherlock said. "We might be here because of Fischer, but your reputation as a young actor proceeds you."

Irene rolled her eyes, slowly walking into the room and sitting in a chair opposite Sherlock and John. "Oh, please tell me you aren't trying to flatter me into giving up those photos."

"Sherlock would be incapable of that," John said, smiling faintly as Sherlock opened his mouth to argue. "We did come to ask you about William Fischer, though."

Irene sat back in her chair and sighed. "He's making a huge deal out of nothing. Will's father expected me to come back and marry Will, I'd said yes as a joke, I honestly thought Will was joking when he asked." She shook her head. "That was the day I came out to him."

"So you were never in love with him?" Sherlock asked, cocking his head.

"No, I'm bisexual. But Will's only ever been my best friend. That's why I thought he was joking, I thought he'd figured out I mostly liked women." She looked at Sherlock. "I sent the photo to Mr Fischer because I didn't want him to pressure me into actually marrying Will. Will doesn't want it either. If I have that photo, and Mr Fischer thinks it will get Will into some sort of trouble, it's protection."

"Protection you intend to use?" John said, narrowing his eyes at her.

"No!" Irene looked unhappy. "Will's been one of my best friends. I would never do that to him. Or Godfrey, for that matter."

"Godfrey?" Sherlock asked.

Irene looked at him, flushing a little. "Godfrey Norton. Sort of a heartthrob at the uni he and Will are still at. He's in the photo to. It would be real shit of me to get him into trouble as well."

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but the loud blare of a fire alarm cut him off. John and Irene leapt to their feet, and Sherlock stood slowly. John looked over to see Sherlock watch Irene pull a memory stick out of the cushion of the chair she was sitting on. He briefly made eye contact with Sherlock and turned away, poking his head out the door to see Nell rushing down the stairs.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Nell rushed into the kitchen and John followed, seeing black smoke pour out of the oven as Nell opened it. "It's my brother's birthday, I was baking for him when he comes over later. Totally forgot."

John helped her fan out the kitchen. Sherlock strode in. "Can we turn off the alarm?" he shouted above the noise. Irene poked her head around Sherlock's tall body.

"Um yeah!" Nell looked to Irene. "Irene you know where--" Irene nodded and hurried off.

Sherlock entered the kitchen and surveyed the remains of the cake. "Maybe with enough icing you could salvage it?"

Nell laughed and shook her head. "Burnt cake wouldn't make a good birthday gift."

"Shame about it," John said. He looked over to Irene, who re-entered the kitchen, thumbing something in her pocket.

"I'll pick up one from the bakery when I do a food run," Irene said. Nell nodded.

"No harm done." Nell smiled. "Hope my stupid baking didn't interrupt anything important?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Nope. We actually finished up, I think." He looked over to Irene. "We may be back again. We have to ask Will some questions still."

Irene nodded. "I'll do my best to help with anything, as long as it's not getting involved with Will's father." She smiled. "Nice to meet you both, Mr Holmes, Mr Watson. Nell and I read your adventures quite a bit."

John smiled at Sherlock and Sherlock scoffed. "Have a good day," John said.

Once outside, Sherlock turned to John. "You saw the memory stick?" John nodded.

"Are you planning on stealing it?" John paused. "She seemed like she's not a bad person; I doubt Mr Fischer has anything to worry about." Sherlock hummed.

"It was good to know in case we need to steal it, for some reason. But, no. I think you're right." Sherlock looked up as a light ran started to spatter on the ground. "I'm looking forward to what William Fischer has to say about it all."

"You think there's something he wasn't saying in front of his father." John didn't phrase it as a question. It seemed likely.

Sherlock nodded. "I didn't get the impression that there was someone Will knew well in the photo, but if Irene was friends with this Godfrey Norton..."

"You think there's more going on because a friend of Will's is in the photo?" John asked. Sherlock kept his face turned toward the clouds.

"I'm wondering what exactly the photo has in it," Sherlock said firmly. "Three friends who for all intents and purposes seem like good uni-age kids involved with it, and yet Fischer senior says it would tarnish Will's reputation. And Irene at least thought it might hold her friends back."

"Drugs?" John asked. Sherlock blinked and tiled his head. "Or some kinda weird hazing ritual? I'd know some things about the latter."

"And I some about the former," Sherlock said softly. He then looked at John, a slight smirk on his face. "Can't exactly see you as annoying jock boy at uni," he said playfully. John chuckled.

"And what were you? Leather jacket bad boy?" John grinned at the thought.

Sherlock smirked and flagged down a cab. "Unassuming rule-breaker of a nerd." He looked to John. "And right now we're dealing with one theater kid, and two unknowns."

"Theater students always seem like trouble," John said, shaking his head. Then, with a glance at Sherlock, added, "And now I know to be suspicious of the nerds..."

" 'I represent to you all the sins you never had the courage to commit,' ” Sherlock laughed. "Fitting for both parties, maybe."

Chapter Text

William Fischer opened the door to the hotel room where he and his father were staying.

"Oh...hello. My Father isn't here right now, I can tell him you came-" Sherlock cut him off.

"We were actually looking to speak with you," he said. William looked from Sherlock to John, who smiled friendlily.

He held open the door for them hesitantly. "Alright."

Sherlock walked in and stood by the window, John not far from beside him.

"What can you tell us about Godfrey Norton?" Sherlock asked, without preamble.

William went white in the face, then flushed heavily red as he sat down. "Did Irene show you the photos?" he whispered.

John made a step closer. "No, we haven't seen them," he said comfortingly, wondering what could be so worrying about the photos.

"My father has only seen one of them, and told there were more," WIlliam said in a shaky voice. "If you do see them, please don't let my father see them as well."

"Please, William, who is Godfrey Norton?"

"My boyfriend," William said in a small voice. John blinked and looked up at Sherlock, whose mouth was open slightly, eyes halfway narrowed, in thought as he listened. "We took photos together, Irene took the photos of us, I thought they'd be private, between us. Godfrey's looking to go into criminal law and if those got out, I'm afraid someone would blackmail him with them. He's out and he's comfortable but..." William's voice grew more shaky.

"And what about you?" Sherlock said, his voice soft and kind.

William's voice finally broke and he sounded teary as he ducked his head down. "I'm doing medicine, but... my father, he's so homophobic, he doesn't know. I've never come out to him, any mention of that stuff and he just..." William looked up, his eyes red and wet. "Irene and I were supposed to be friends, I can't believe she would ever-!"

Sherlock took a step forward and laid his hand on William's shoulder. "Are you safe while your father knows the photos exist?" He asked, his voice firm, but gentle. John had only heard him sound even close to this while rescuing Sarah in the bank case they'd handled. It made something in his stomach feel cold and hard when he realized the validity of Sherlock's concern. William nodded slowly.

"He thinks I was set up. Asked if they were real, I said no. He was... f-furious when he saw the first photo." He wiped his eyes in his sleeve and John swallowed heavily.

"We won't let him see any of the other photos," John said, and Sherlock looked up, meeting John's eyes, the clear grey ones cold and hard with resolution. "We'll get them away from Irene, and we'll keep you safe."

"Can you see Irene doing this to hurt you?" Sherlock asked.

William spoke in a more steady voice. "I don't know. We're supposed to be friends. Or were. I know she was really upset and scared when father came after her to marry me." William looked up at Sherlock. "I was, too. He's... forceful when he sets his mind on to something."

Sherlock nodded, setting his face. "We'll get the photos from her; she keeps them on a flashdrive. We'll destroy that and wipe her laptop. I'll report back to your father sometime tomorrow, and make my own excuses for why the drive will not be in his hands." He looked at William. "Don't worry. How soon until you're able to move away?"

William followed them to the hotel room door. "Next summer. Godfrey and I are planning to study in America for our masters level stuff. Once we're there, we're figuring out where to live and work."

"You both are lucky to have each other," John said. William smiled. "See you soon."

Sherlock was silent in the cab ride, staring out the window moodily, his face still serious. John wondered about him, thinking back to a couple incidents previous. Mrs Hudson thinking they needed two bedrooms, Angelo assuming he was Sherlock's boyfriend... Sherlock insisting women weren't his area.

"What?" Sherlock asked in a low voice, looking out the sides of his eyes at John. John would never know how Sherlock could read people to tell when they were about to ask a question.

"Are you...?" John trailed off, looking into his friend's eyes, thinking to the hardness in them when he'd heard of William's father's homophobia. Would Sherlock trust him? They hadn't known each other for very long, considering. "Nevermind," John muttered, looking away and out his own window. Sherlock huffed.

"Are you wondering if I'm worried about William?" Sherlock asked and John looked over to him. "Because I am."

"Yeah, that's all," John asked. He took in a breath as he realized what Sherlock had said. "Not long ago, we were working on a case, people with bombs strapped to them, and you admitted to not caring," he said carefully.

"I've been reliably informed that I don't have a heart," Sherlock said, pointedly. "But as someone said quite recently, while threatening a friend of mine, it isn't quite true." He looked at John. "We need to clean this up neatly so that kid doesn't have to fear from his father. If not, I'll find a way to keep him safe."

"You would do that?" John said. Sherlock nodded. "Even though you're just in it for the puzzles?"

"Well..." Sherlock flushed slightly. "I'm not." And was quiet until they pulled up at Baker Street. "You get out, I need to go shopping for some things for tonight."

John thought of the burglary they would have to commit. "You're including me too, right? Because I care too, and I want to see this resolved properly."

Sherlock smiled warmly. "Of course, John. See you later."

John poked his head into Mrs Hudson's flat on impulse, smiling faintly as he saw her pulling some kind of bakery out from the oven.

"Oh, are you boys back already?" she asked. "I was planning on asking you both to have dinner with me." She smiled at John.

"No, just me, I'm afraid, for now," John said. Mrs Hudson huffed.

"Just you is alright, you know." She smiled, sitting opposite him at the kitchen table. "Sherlock's been much happier since you've come."

John looked at her. "About Sherlock, has he ever had any... girlfriends, boyfriends... romantic partners?"

Mrs Hudson smiled at him, but said nothing. John put his head back and groaned.

"Oh, please, Mrs Hudson, out of all of us, you've known him the longest. You even met him before Greg Lestrade, and he seems to know alot about Sherlock..."

"He knows some important things, but not a lot, John." Mrs Hudson smiled. "Sherlock and I are very different; he's very private."

John laughed, reflecting on how often Mrs Hudson shared about her husband's drug ring over the past months.

"But," Mrs Hudson said, standing. "He's no where near as private as that brother of his. Mycroft Holmes is upstairs at the moment, waiting." Mrs Hudson rolled her eyes. "Can't stand the man much."

John sighed. "Great. Supposed I couldn't avoid his texts forever."

He started up the stairs to their flat and Mrs Hudson called after him, "You both come for dinner when Sherlock gets home!"

"Ah, John," Mycroft said, as if John had walked into Mycroft's place and not his own. "How are you?"

"Why are you in my flat?" John asked, as Mycroft busied himself by peering at some of Sherlock's sheet music. "You didn't bug the place, did you?"

"We both know that would never work with Sherlock. He'd sense them the moment he arrived." Mycroft smiled bitterly. "I trust you're both doing well."

"Did you come here to ask after our health?" John asked. He still wasn't sure what he thought of Mycroft. Something about him put Sherlock at edge whenever his brother was around, and John knew he didn't like that.

"Yes, in fact. It seems two people weren't answering their texts after escaping a bomb in a swimming pool." Mycroft shook his head. "Anyways, we have leads on Moriarty.

John blinked. "Leads?"

"There as an affair, quite recently, a thief caught red-handed in a theft of some expensive software," Mycroft looked John in the eye. "Perhaps you would've titled it the Affair of the Red-Handed Man on that blog of yours."

John snorted. "Important software?"

"Very," Mycroft said icily. He then took to inspecting his fingernails. "I talked with the man, turns out he was the wrong sort for the job. Blathered on about Moriarty for ten minutes. Which wasn't much useful."

"That's it then?" John asked. "Just that some software was almost stolen?"

"No," Mycroft said sharply. "Early hours of this morning, the thief was murdered in his cell. Moriarty has ties into the police force," Mycroft said in a warning tone. "So you two had better take care with your connections?"

"Do you mean Greg?" John asked. There was no way.

Mycroft frowned. "Greg Lestrade is an honorable man, if annoying in how he refuses to cooperate with me." Mycroft looked at John pointedly. "That's two too many people like that." John smiled. "I'm merely suggesting to take care. My brother tends to poke his nose into problems everywhere. Doubtlessly, he will have learned about this affair without me. And gone bursting into Scotland Yard, no doubt demanding who would dare side with injustice."

"He just likes the puzzles," John said. "He's not stupid."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "If I believed that, why would I have to check in on him so often?" John looked away. "My brother," Mycroft said in a softer voice, "Could be a scientist, a brilliant chemist, or a philosopher. With that brain of his. But he's a detective, running around solving problems; goes to America with an acting group, ends up saving your landlady from her abusive husband." John blinked, unaware that Mycroft was privy to that knowledge. But he assumed it was in some file somewhere. "Makes friends with the best, least corrupt detective on the force." Mycroft shook his head. "He wanted to be a pirate as a child, but a pirate in the early 1800s, swooping in on various ships and liberating slaves from their captivity."

John laughed and Mycroft smiled fondly.

"Once I told him that was more in line with being a superhero, but Sherlock insisted that superheros were inferior to pirates, because pirates were ordinary people, without powers." He looked away, still smiling faintly. "Never fully understood my brother."

"I don't think anyone ever will," John said softly, smiling. Mycroft looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Your detective friend and landlady come close sometimes, I feel." Mycroft blinked slowly, smoothing his face out. "Do keep me informed, if you're able. Otherwise, please keep my brother safe."

John nodded, watching him leave. It was about ten minutes before Sherlock got home, during which time John sat in his armchair, trying to compose an email, but instead ended up trying to imagine a mini version of Sherlock dressed as a pirate.

"Mycroft was here," Sherlock said, sitting down opposite John. "You never look that bothered unless you've spoken to him."

"I'm not bothered." Sherlock raised an eyebrow and John laughed. "He had some information for us, but it can wait. Mrs Hudson wants us over for dinner, and then we've got those photos to sort, right?"

Sherlock nodded. "She baked, didn't she?" he asked, sounded like he was forcing exasperation. "We'll have leftover desert food for the coming week, knowing her."

John smiled and followed Sherlock downstairs.

Chapter Text

John looked at the black ski mask in his hands as Sherlock loosely held his own, staring out at the cab window into the London night. Both were silent for the duration of the ride; any discussion would probably have put their cabbie off and ruined them for the night. Once they were a few blocks away from Irene Adler's flat, they payed their fee and exited the cab. Sherlock looked over at John, uncertainly, as they made their way to the back of the flat.

"You look nervous, what's wrong?" John asked. Sherlock looked down.

"Concerned that having you with me might compromise us," he muttered, pausing beside the wall of the flat next to Irene's.

"You'll just have to put up with that risk, then," John hissed at him. "We agreed; I'll be a look out."

Sherlock looked at him. "And you're sure you're ok with breaking the law?" John met his look with one of definite resolve.

"If it means helping that young man, I don't mind breaking the law at all," John said firmly. His mind went back to Sherlock's face when he had asked if Will Fischer was safe from his father and the cold hard feeling that had settled in John's stomach. Something in his face made Sherlock nod, looking more at ease.

They made it to the back of Adler's flat and Sherlock gently picked the lock on the back door, opening it without making any sounds. John followed him into the kitchen, soundlessly, and John was reminded of the burnt cake. Sherlock wordlessly gestured to the hallway, motioning for John to stay put beside the staircase. John gave a thumbs up and took up his post.

Sherlock crept into the room where they had first met Irene Adler, and made his way over to the chair she'd sat in, reaching for the cushion and scowling when he found nothing there. He looked up a fraction of a second too late and Irene Adler's foot collided with his face.

John hurried in silently when he heard the muffled sound from Sherlock, and found his friend, bleeding from the eyebrow, laying on his back on the floor, and fending off Irene's firsts. John grabbed her from behind, quickly dragging her away from Sherlock and she screeched, biting his fingers. John swore loudly, shaking his hand, as Nell rushed into the room, and saw Sherlock rising to his knees. The four of them locked gazes with one another, waiting for a movement.

"Well, Miss Adler, let me compliment you on that martial arts kick," Sherlock muttered lightly, pressing the heel of his hand to his eyebrow and wincing. "Let me guess, your girlfriend was hiding by the front door."

Nell's eyes narrowed and Irene looked from Sherlock to John. "After Fischer's previous attempts to trespass, there hasn't been a night we haven't been ready for another attempt to steal the photos."

"We didn't think there would be one from you, though," Nell said, her voice icy. "How did you know we're seeing each other?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Please." He turned to John. "Well, it seems we're stuck at the moment. What do you suggest, John?"

John turned to Irene. "If you're gay as well, you must realize what you're doing to Will."

Irene frowned. "I took the pictures of him and Godfrey. He's always been a little shy and Godfrey and I respected that. But he also said he wanted me to be safe from his father."

"It isn't hurting him," Nell said softly.

Sherlock gave a cold laugh, standing to his full height. "You mean you didn't know Will's father is horribly homophobic or that he might be in danger if those photos were proven real to his father before he's able to move out?"

Irene paled. "What? He never told me! I thought he was against his father for being so strict and thinking we would marry. I assumed he was just too nervous to come out..."

"And for good reason," John said darkly. Nell and Irene relaxed themselves, looking each other in the eye.

"We would've never wanted to hurt him," Nell said.

"You nearly might have," Sherlock muttered. "Let me pose this in a way that's actually helpful: what can we do to assure your safety, but also guarantee Will's?"

Irene hesitated. "I destroy the photos under the condition that you guarantee my safety." Nell looked like she was about to protest. "It's the only thing we can do at this point."

"We tell Will's father that you were gay, and that he rejected you as a friend once he found out," John said. "Fischer breaks contact with you, and we tell him we destroyed the photos. You and Will are free to keep in contact, just behind his father's back."

"And you should to explain yourselves," Sherlock said seriously.

Irene nodded. "If you're sure that will work, I'll destroy everything on the drive tomorrow morning." Sherlock smiled faintly and stuck out his hand.

"Pleasure meeting you, Miss Adler." She shook it, and then John's. Nell nodded to both of them.

"Not one for the blog, I would think, Mr Watson?" Nell said, smiling softly. John shook his head.

"No, this one stays out."

Sherlock received an email from Irene and Nell the next day, reporting the destruction of the drive. They both filed into a cab.

"So, Moriarty has police ties?" Sherlock asked, bringing up yet again their breakfast conversation. John nodded.

"Supposedly not Lestrade, though."

"It would..." Sherlock paused and then looked out the window. "It would hurt if it were Lestrade."

"Do you think we should talk to him about it? He probably knows and works with whoever it is." Sherlock nodded slowly.

"We'll probably have to. Or else next time it might catch him off guard if it's someone closer to him." They pulled up to where the Fischers were staying. "For another day, though."

John followed Sherlock into the Fischer's hotel room, and they both stood before Mr Fischer, Will Fischer sitting in the corner, nervously.

"I'm assuming good news?" Fischer asked, looking from Sherlock to John.

"We found the drive, late last night," John said.

"Had a scuffle with Miss Adler and her flatmate." Sherlock gestured to the healing cut through his eyebrow. "In the midst of it, as she tried to wrench the harddrive from my hands, it broke."

Fischer sat forward. "Really?"

Sherlock nodded. "Saved me some time, although I was hoping to test a new corrosive on it." He looked from Fischer to Will. "I would also advise you to stop asking her about marrying your son, Mr Fischer. Miss Adler's roommate turned out to be her girlfriend."

John watched as Fischer's face turned quickly to disgust. "Well, that definitely ends that problem, then. Will'll just have to find himself another nice young lady. Maybe while doing your studies in America, eh Will?"

Will smiled weakly.

Fischer rose and shook their hands. "And you're positive no more harm will come of this?"

"Absolutely none," Sherlock said firmly.

"I think if you keep away from her she'll definitely keep away from you," John said.

As they started down the hall to exit the hotel, Will Fischer caught up with them.

"Irene emailed me last night," he admitted, sticking his hands in his pockets. "She told me the full story. I should've been honest and trusted her, just told her how my dad was but..." he shook his head, smiling bitterly. "It's embarrassing to admit you're scared of what someone might do."

"You're sure you're safe?" Sherlock asked gently. Will nodded.

"Soon I'll be in America, with Godfrey." Will pulled something out of his pocket. "Here, this is for you, as my thanks. It doesn't mean a whole lot to you, probably, but..."

John looked at the photo Sherlock was holding and saw Will and a young man who could only be Godfrey on a balcony of a building, behind them the sun setting over what must be their campus. Will was smiling, bright and happy, and Godfrey had a long, lanky brown arm thrown over Will's shoulder.

"Handsome guy," John said, smiling at Will.

"This does mean a lot, thank you, Will." Sherlock held up the photo. "I hope you two end up very happy together, and I wish you both the best." He smiled. "If he gets into criminal law and ever needs someone like me, well, you know how to contact me."

Will grinned. "For sure. Thank you, Mr Holmes, Mr Watson."

John took off his coat, hanging it on a hook in the hall before following Sherlock into the front room and watching his friend carefully prop up the photo on the mantle.

"I hope they'll be happy together," John said softly. Sherlock turned to him.

"Yes."

John felt something was loaded in that statement, but the fact that Sherlock had been so silent since they left the hotel meant something was up, and something he wanted to close off from John.

"It's all fine, you know," he found himself saying, heading into the kitchen and putting the kettle on the stove. "Whatever it is."

"I know." Sherlock's soft voice preceded him into the kitchen. "Just not as fine as it should be, yet."

John turned to Sherlock, every thought in his mind telling him his friend must be gay. He wondered why it mattered so much to him, to know what his friend was, what sort of people Sherlock was attracted to. Maybe he just worried for Sherlock, and wanted him to have some kind of human connection.

Sherlock could've done science or philosophy, and wanted to be a pirate, but not to cause harm to others. No matter how cold Sherlock pretended to be, John knew his friend had a good heart, and one Sherlock was obviously dead-set on protecting.

Today wasn't the day John would be let in, or the day John would pry his friend to open up. He figured, as he passed Sherlock a mug of tea, that that would come naturally, like John's breakup with Sarah recently. He knew Sherlock had probably figured it out, but held back from asking, just as John was now.

"Sarah and I broke up last weekend," John said slowly, watching Sherlock. Sherlock blinked.

"Oh really?"

"Don't act surprised, you probably worked it out the same day."

"You weren't beat up about it." There was a curious tone in his voice.

John shook his head. "Just wasn't right. I think you need a certain person to be with you while you're a colleague and friend of a detective." John smiled slightly. "Dangerous work, odd hours, and all that."

"It's why I'm married to my work," Sherlock said calmly. John smiled.

"You make a good pair."

Sherlock looked at him. "And we make a good team."

John blinked. And then smiled. Bit by bit, he was understanding his friend more.