HOME | DD

Description
Douglas and Carolyn stared at Sherlock. Arthur's expression fell miles. The silence was so thick one could cut it with a knife. The gentle tick of a clock's hands became louder. In the other room, Sally had stopped shuffling about, opting to listen in.

Then Douglas scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous Martin. You're going around pretending to be a fake detective who committed suicide three years ago? And this man and woman; did you put them up to this? How low can you sink, Martin, going to such immense lengths to make us think you're not incompetent? To think you'd pretend to not exist and then say you're another person—a dead person, at that?" A pathetic little whimper erupted from Arthur's throat, following Douglas's miniature monologue.

Sherlock's shoulders bristled just a bit, but he calmed himself down. He couldn't allow himself to get worked up. He was counting on his original personality to keep him sane and reasonable in these moments. "I'm not lying, Douglas. Don't tell me you can't see the resemblance."

"Of course I can," Douglas growled. "But surely that's just coincidence."

Sherlock sighed. Dealing with idiots attached to a lie was always the most difficult part. "Sally, come in here, would you?"

Sally hesitated before approaching Sherlock, standing stiff and a bit nervous. "What do you want?"

Sherlock eyed her, millions of things flashing through his mind, in front of his eyes, blinking in and out of existence as his brain raced with thousands upon thousands of things to say. "You've stopped seeing Anderson, for nearly all three years I've been gone, now. You have a new boyfriend, one that treats you nice and loves you dearly, though you're still not sure whether or not it will work. You've been promoted a few times at the Yard, but you still go to Lestrade for help on cases because you don't think the officers at the Yard can solve them half as well as Lestrade. How's Anderson's marriage doing, by the way, or are you not talking to him anymore?"

Sally looked surprised. Lestrade's palm attached itself to his face and he sighed heavily. Douglas fixed Sherlock with a disbelieving look, not sure any human should be able to talk that fast, especially not Martin of all people.

"You're right about everything, as usual, Freak," Sally stated. Douglas turned to look at her, expression a mix of disbelief and horror. "I stopped talking to Anderson when Greg got sacked. Anderson had been ecstatic, but I couldn't believe it. I still go to Greg because he can solve them better than anyone else at the Yard, and he's got more experience than me in the field. I do have a new boyfriend—well, not completely new. Been dating him for a bit over a year now," she shrugged. "Anderson divorced his wife. She found out he was cheating."

"And did I know any of this knowledge prior to seeing you today?"

Sally lowered her head. "No," she growled.

Sherlock turned to Douglas and Carolyn, who looked pale, the latter a bit faint. Arthur's jaw had dropped to the floor and he made no attempt to pick it up off the ground. Douglas seemed a bit overwhelmed.

Sherlock made to say something, but stopped at the sound of a file being knocked over. Everyone's attention was diverted to the fallen papers. Sherlock stepped forward, gaze sweeping the room for any sign of life. He spotted something and bent down to get a closer look.

"Lestrade, you don't have any pets, do you?"

"No, course not."

"Sally, you don't have a pet you bring here when you visit either, do you?"

"No…"

Sherlock picked a long black hair off the carpeted floor. He straightened and inspected it more closely. It was about as long as his index finger, black and tinged an oily green. He sniffed at it and wrinkled his nose. It smelled of dirt and there was a hint of chemical substances.

"No animals that could have gotten in either?" he asked.

"Of course not, Sherlock," Lestrade sighed, exasperated.

Sherlock's eyes swept the room. He just noticed the paw print like shapes dotting the carpet and crouched down to look at them. They weren't large, instead more like the size of a house cat. Multiple tracks led from behind the small sofa to the table, then back again taking a different path. He straightened, taking cautious steps towards the sofa. He moved to look behind it.

A creature jumped out at him. It had scruffy, black fur and a cat's tail. But its face was disfigured, like a spider's mouth. The fangs opened and its fur stood on end. Long claws poked out from its toes. It had no eyes and its scrawny body showed its bones, all angles and sharp edges. Its skin clung to the flesh underneath it, as though it would snap off.

Sherlock stumbled back when it leaped for his face, just narrowly dodging it. Everyone else seemed to have frozen, except for Lestrade, who acted quickly.

"Catch!" the man shouted, throwing an object at Sherlock. He caught it with coordinated hands and, realizing what it was, pressed down the button and touched the creature with the end of it.

A bolt of electricity went through it and it went limp. Sherlock flipped the weapon in his hand. "Taser. Nice touch, Lestrade, though why do you keep one around?"

Lestrade shrugged. "Just in case, y'know? Emergencies, and all that."

Sherlock hummed in reply, bending down to get a closer look at the animal. Still breathing, he noted as he picked it up by the scruff.

"W-what is that, Skip?" Arthur squeaked, hiding behind Carolyn.

Sherlock turned to him and cast him a small smirk. "No idea," he answered. "It looks like a mutation of some sort," he continued, taking a look at what seemed to be a collar around the creature's neck. "Hum! I would say Baskerville has a hand in it, but I doubt it. This is something else. The government isn't careless with their productions, so this is separate. It's got an owner, no doubt, and…" Sherlock trailed off, unhooking the collar and scrutinizing it.

"It appears we're being watched," he continued, handing the mutant animal to Lestrade, who grimaced. He held it away from his body.

Sherlock fiddled with the collar and unhooked a tiny black round object. He inspected it, holding it up to his eyes and looking at it in the light from the window he stood by. "Lestrade, get your laptop," he ordered.

"Right," Lestrade answered, handing the creature off to Sally, who repeated the action done by her former superior, and held it away from herself. Lestrade shifted files around and tried to keep the mess from getting larger (and failing). He grabbed his laptop, which had been hidden under masses of paper and handed it off to Sherlock.

Douglas dared to approach Sally to look at the mutant, his face scrunching up in disgust. Sherlock sat on the sofa, opened up Lestrade's laptop, and booted it up, staring into the camera. Once the computer had finally booted up, he rerouted the signal of the camera until his face appeared onto the screen, being captured by the small lens. Someone was using an old trick, and it was working.

"Damn," he muttered, closing the laptop and setting it aside. He leaped up from his position and paced around the room. "No, no, no, Mycroft said we'd gotten them all. He said we were done and he's thorough—he's always thorough," he rambled to himself, earning a concerned look from everyone.

"Sherlock, what's going on?" Sherlock froze.

"Stupid, stupid!" he hissed.

Douglas furrowed his eyebrows. "What?"

"There's still one left," he said, heading towards the door. "Lestrade, Sally, follow us in your car. We need to get back to Baker Street. I made a mistake leaving Mrs. Hudson alone," he explained without making anything clearer.

"Sherlock, tell me right now, please, what's happened?" Lestrade asked in a tone Sherlock recognized well—it was the one he would use whenever he wanted Sherlock to explain; it was the one he used when he was pretending to not know even though he probably did, but wanted to hear Sherlock say it. As much as he'd love to, though, there just wasn't enough time.

"Just do as I say, Lestrade," he snapped once they'd all filed outside. Sally still held the creature.

"What do I do with this?" she demanded, shoving the animal towards Sherlock.

Sherlock paused for a moment, thinking. His mind raced with all sorts of things to do with it, one of them being killing it and keeping it to dissect later. Then another thought came to him. He took it from Sally and set it on the ground, nudging it until it woke up. It hissed at him but was quelled by his icy glare. "Go on then," he urged it. "Go back to your owner." He shoved it with his foot. It snarled at him, but began to look (despite not having eyes) in a certain direction.

Lestrade stared at Sherlock before laughing. "You're using a method from Doctor Who? Didn't even know you knew what the show was."

Sherlock snorted and gave the animal another shove with his foot. "Go on. Lead me to master, why don't you?" It took a few steps towards the street, turning its head up to the roofs of the buildings across the road. Sherlock followed its head's movements and fixed his gaze on the location it paused at. And there he saw it.

The silhouetted figure of a man and a gun knelt atop the building, aiming for someone, but who, he wasn't sure. They didn't have the time to find out.

"Go, go! Get in the car, the lot of you! Hurry; there's no time to waste." Douglas and Carolyn stayed in their spots, while Arthur jumped and dashed to the automobile. Sally and Lestrade were making their way to Lestrade's car, but Lestrade handed off the keys to her and turned around.

"Douglas, Carolyn, get in the car!" Sherlock barked, grabbing Carolyn's hand and pulling her towards the open door. Douglas didn't move.

"I want an explanation, Mar—Sherlock."

Sherlock gave an exasperated sound from the back of his throat. "Not now! I'll explain in the car. Get in."

Douglas looked unsure. That's when Lestrade tackled the man at the same time a gunshot rang out across the area. Both men fell to the ground heavily. Lestrade rolled off Douglas and clutched his left shoulder with a stifled moan. "Bloody hell," he ground out between his teeth.

Douglas was on his feet within seconds and inspecting the wound. "Douglas, get in the car and drive!" Sherlock yelled, shoving the keys into the taller man's hands and crouching down to help Lestrade. "I'll be in the car with Lestrade, just follow us to Baker Street. Don't hesitate, move! Unless you want another one of us shot."

Sherlock pulled Lestrade to his feet and guided him to his car. Douglas rushed to the rental, getting in and shutting the door. Sherlock snatched the keys from Sally once he'd gotten Lestrade into the back carefully and switched on the ignition.

And they were on the move without any other incident. Sherlock was secretly thankful to Lestrade for keeping Douglas from dying, since the other three weren't supposed to be a part of this whole mess in the first place. The other side of Sherlock wanted to demand of the other man what the hell he had been thinking.

He glanced at the mirror. Lestrade had his left shoulder in a death grip, knuckles white, while he tried to stem the blood flow. "We'll get Douglas to take a look at your injury once we reach 221B," he reassured the private detective. Lestrade nodded mutely, jaw clenched tight as he tried to ignore the pain. Sherlock forced himself to pay attention to the road again.

Half an hour passed before they had reached Baker Street again. Sherlock had jumped out of the car without taking out the key and rushed to the front door, giving it a few loud and frantic knocks.

He waited as patiently as he could. He let out a sigh of relief when the door opened and Mrs. Hudson's familiar face appeared in the doorway. She was unscathed.

"Mrs. Hudson, we've had a bit of trouble. Lestrade's been hurt," he explained coolly.

"Oh dear," she managed when she saw the blood soaked sleeve of the other man's shirt. She ushered them all in. They laid Lestrade on the couch. Douglas took the space next to him to inspect the gun wound. Sally waited in the doorway. Carolyn and Arthur stood in the kitchen, the latter fidgeting. Sherlock stood next to Douglas.

"You're an idiot, Lestrade," Sherlock said.

Lestrade merely grinned. "Yeah, I know." Sherlock scowled, while Lestrade flinched when Douglas made him remove his hand from his shoulder.

Sherlock heard the front door open. He looked over his shoulder at a familiar voice. "Mrs. Hudson, I'm back." John's voice floated up the staircase. Sherlock froze up like a rabbit that had heard the predator following it.

John hobbled through the flat door with his cane, staring at all the people occupying the space. His jaw fell open and he dropped the bag he was carrying when he spotted Sherlock. "H-how…"

Sherlock approached John. "Don't doubt what you're seeing, John. I'm here."

John looked away. "No, no, I'm hallucinating. That's got to be it, because there's no way I'm seeing you standing here now. And why's your hair ginger?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'm real, John. Look, I'm alive. See?" He touched John's shoulder. "And why I'm ginger is a frightfully long story. Please John, believe me," he begged. "Or do I have to prove it by insulting everyone in the room?"

He felt arms wrap around his back and a face bury into his shoulder with a shuddering sigh. He enclosed John within his own arms immediately and held him in a tight hug. "I'm sorry I had to leave like that, John," he murmured. John released him from the hug, though it felt reluctant. John's face was still dry and he showed no sign of crying any time soon.

"You idiot. You bloody idiot. You left me alone all this time without even a hint that you were alive. You bastard. You're a complete and utter bastard," John stated plainly without much malice to his words. A small smile had wormed its way onto his face, however. Sherlock returned the smile with his own tiny smirk.

John looked Sherlock over, frowning. "So, ginger," John mused. "Doesn't look too bad; certainly not that great either," he said in a dry tone.

A cough interrupted their brief yet heartfelt reunion. "I'm sorry to intrude on your tear wrenching reunion, but we do have a bleeding man on the sofa."

John's face pale went pale and he uttered a surprised "What?" while Sherlock's mouth fell into a frown. John pushed past Sherlock to kneel by the wounded Lestrade. He shooed Douglas away. "Sherlock, grab my medical bag, will you? It's by your foot."

Lestrade flashed John a bright and pained grin. "Nice of you to finally show up. How've you been?"

John ignored Lestrade's question, instead berating him. "What the bloody hell are you doing getting yourself shot, Greg? How did this happen? Oh, don't' tell me, it's because of Sherlock, isn't it?"

"How's Mary doing?" Lestrade asked.

"Greg, stop ignoring my question—"

"You should stop ignoring mine then, yeah?"

John frowned and grumbled as he got out his medical tools. "I don't have any medication, so you're going to feel this," he warned.

"It can't be worse than the damn thing currently lodged in my shoulder. Just, I don't know, distract me with something. Tell me about you and Mary," Lestrade requested.
So John did exactly that. He talked while he worked on taking the bullet out of Lestrade's flesh.

"Mary and I are getting married," he said.

Lestrade grinned through the throbbing in his shoulder. "Finally got the gall to ask her? Good man."

The conversation went on for a while, Lestrade asking questions to give his mind something to think about, and John explaining recent events of his life for him, and for Sherlock as well, who even joined in, recounting to them some of the flights he'd been on and what he had been doing during his time gone. He explained that he had been travelling around the world taking out Moriarty's men, using MJN as a hideout, while Mycroft sent them clients in order to get him to the location he needed to be in.

At that point in Sherlock's story, Carolyn interrupted. "What? You mean to tell me all our customers weren't even real customers?"

Sherlock cocked his head to the side. He furrowed his brows. "My brother was behind that part of the plan. It was much more discreet. Don't worry though; most of the clients were genuine in looking for transportation. Mycroft just directed them towards us depending on whether or not they were going to the same location I was required to go." Carolyn's expression became relieved upon receiving the new information.

John stood up, wiping his hands on a cloth. "Right, well, I've sewn up the wound, but it'll take some time to heal. I don't want you doing anything strenuous, doctor's orders." He beckoned to Mrs. Hudson, who hurried over. "Does Sherlock's old room have sheets on the bed? I think it'll be safer for Greg to stay here in 221B where a few of us can keep an eye on him."

John turned to everyone else in the room. Sherlock did not speak up, deciding it better to let John talk. The shorter man was the military man, after all. "None of us should go anywhere alone, if what Sherlock has told us is correct. If there is still one more man hired to kill us, we need to tread carefully. Got that?" Collective nods from the crew of MJN answered him.

Ready to disregard John's new 'rule', Sherlock stood up. "Now that that is settled, I have work to do. Just get Douglas to text me if you need anything important." With that statement, Sherlock disappeared through the door with a flutter of his coat.

John watched open mouthed. Lestrade's voice piped up from the couch, groggy and slurred. "I never did get to ask him how he faked his own suicide."

Description
Douglas and Carolyn stared at Sherlock. Arthur's expression fell miles. The silence was so thick one could cut it with a knife. The gentle tick of a clock's hands became louder. In the other room, Sally had stopped shuffling about, opting to listen in.

Then Douglas scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous Martin. You're going around pretending to be a fake detective who committed suicide three years ago? And this man and woman; did you put them up to this? How low can you sink, Martin, going to such immense lengths to make us think you're not incompetent? To think you'd pretend to not exist and then say you're another person—a dead person, at that?" A pathetic little whimper erupted from Arthur's throat, following Douglas's miniature monologue.

Sherlock's shoulders bristled just a bit, but he calmed himself down. He couldn't allow himself to get worked up. He was counting on his original personality to keep him sane and reasonable in these moments. "I'm not lying, Douglas. Don't tell me you can't see the resemblance."

"Of course I can," Douglas growled. "But surely that's just coincidence."

Sherlock sighed. Dealing with idiots attached to a lie was always the most difficult part. "Sally, come in here, would you?"

Sally hesitated before approaching Sherlock, standing stiff and a bit nervous. "What do you want?"

Sherlock eyed her, millions of things flashing through his mind, in front of his eyes, blinking in and out of existence as his brain raced with thousands upon thousands of things to say. "You've stopped seeing Anderson, for nearly all three years I've been gone, now. You have a new boyfriend, one that treats you nice and loves you dearly, though you're still not sure whether or not it will work. You've been promoted a few times at the Yard, but you still go to Lestrade for help on cases because you don't think the officers at the Yard can solve them half as well as Lestrade. How's Anderson's marriage doing, by the way, or are you not talking to him anymore?"

Sally looked surprised. Lestrade's palm attached itself to his face and he sighed heavily. Douglas fixed Sherlock with a disbelieving look, not sure any human should be able to talk that fast, especially not Martin of all people.

"You're right about everything, as usual, Freak," Sally stated. Douglas turned to look at her, expression a mix of disbelief and horror. "I stopped talking to Anderson when Greg got sacked. Anderson had been ecstatic, but I couldn't believe it. I still go to Greg because he can solve them better than anyone else at the Yard, and he's got more experience than me in the field. I do have a new boyfriend—well, not completely new. Been dating him for a bit over a year now," she shrugged. "Anderson divorced his wife. She found out he was cheating."

"And did I know any of this knowledge prior to seeing you today?"

Sally lowered her head. "No," she growled.

Sherlock turned to Douglas and Carolyn, who looked pale, the latter a bit faint. Arthur's jaw had dropped to the floor and he made no attempt to pick it up off the ground. Douglas seemed a bit overwhelmed.

Sherlock made to say something, but stopped at the sound of a file being knocked over. Everyone's attention was diverted to the fallen papers. Sherlock stepped forward, gaze sweeping the room for any sign of life. He spotted something and bent down to get a closer look.

"Lestrade, you don't have any pets, do you?"

"No, course not."

"Sally, you don't have a pet you bring here when you visit either, do you?"

"No…"

Sherlock picked a long black hair off the carpeted floor. He straightened and inspected it more closely. It was about as long as his index finger, black and tinged an oily green. He sniffed at it and wrinkled his nose. It smelled of dirt and there was a hint of chemical substances.

"No animals that could have gotten in either?" he asked.

"Of course not, Sherlock," Lestrade sighed, exasperated.

Sherlock's eyes swept the room. He just noticed the paw print like shapes dotting the carpet and crouched down to look at them. They weren't large, instead more like the size of a house cat. Multiple tracks led from behind the small sofa to the table, then back again taking a different path. He straightened, taking cautious steps towards the sofa. He moved to look behind it.

A creature jumped out at him. It had scruffy, black fur and a cat's tail. But its face was disfigured, like a spider's mouth. The fangs opened and its fur stood on end. Long claws poked out from its toes. It had no eyes and its scrawny body showed its bones, all angles and sharp edges. Its skin clung to the flesh underneath it, as though it would snap off.

Sherlock stumbled back when it leaped for his face, just narrowly dodging it. Everyone else seemed to have frozen, except for Lestrade, who acted quickly.

"Catch!" the man shouted, throwing an object at Sherlock. He caught it with coordinated hands and, realizing what it was, pressed down the button and touched the creature with the end of it.

A bolt of electricity went through it and it went limp. Sherlock flipped the weapon in his hand. "Taser. Nice touch, Lestrade, though why do you keep one around?"

Lestrade shrugged. "Just in case, y'know? Emergencies, and all that."

Sherlock hummed in reply, bending down to get a closer look at the animal. Still breathing, he noted as he picked it up by the scruff.

"W-what is that, Skip?" Arthur squeaked, hiding behind Carolyn.

Sherlock turned to him and cast him a small smirk. "No idea," he answered. "It looks like a mutation of some sort," he continued, taking a look at what seemed to be a collar around the creature's neck. "Hum! I would say Baskerville has a hand in it, but I doubt it. This is something else. The government isn't careless with their productions, so this is separate. It's got an owner, no doubt, and…" Sherlock trailed off, unhooking the collar and scrutinizing it.

"It appears we're being watched," he continued, handing the mutant animal to Lestrade, who grimaced. He held it away from his body.

Sherlock fiddled with the collar and unhooked a tiny black round object. He inspected it, holding it up to his eyes and looking at it in the light from the window he stood by. "Lestrade, get your laptop," he ordered.

"Right," Lestrade answered, handing the creature off to Sally, who repeated the action done by her former superior, and held it away from herself. Lestrade shifted files around and tried to keep the mess from getting larger (and failing). He grabbed his laptop, which had been hidden under masses of paper and handed it off to Sherlock.

Douglas dared to approach Sally to look at the mutant, his face scrunching up in disgust. Sherlock sat on the sofa, opened up Lestrade's laptop, and booted it up, staring into the camera. Once the computer had finally booted up, he rerouted the signal of the camera until his face appeared onto the screen, being captured by the small lens. Someone was using an old trick, and it was working.

"Damn," he muttered, closing the laptop and setting it aside. He leaped up from his position and paced around the room. "No, no, no, Mycroft said we'd gotten them all. He said we were done and he's thorough—he's always thorough," he rambled to himself, earning a concerned look from everyone.

"Sherlock, what's going on?" Sherlock froze.

"Stupid, stupid!" he hissed.

Douglas furrowed his eyebrows. "What?"

"There's still one left," he said, heading towards the door. "Lestrade, Sally, follow us in your car. We need to get back to Baker Street. I made a mistake leaving Mrs. Hudson alone," he explained without making anything clearer.

"Sherlock, tell me right now, please, what's happened?" Lestrade asked in a tone Sherlock recognized well—it was the one he would use whenever he wanted Sherlock to explain; it was the one he used when he was pretending to not know even though he probably did, but wanted to hear Sherlock say it. As much as he'd love to, though, there just wasn't enough time.

"Just do as I say, Lestrade," he snapped once they'd all filed outside. Sally still held the creature.

"What do I do with this?" she demanded, shoving the animal towards Sherlock.

Sherlock paused for a moment, thinking. His mind raced with all sorts of things to do with it, one of them being killing it and keeping it to dissect later. Then another thought came to him. He took it from Sally and set it on the ground, nudging it until it woke up. It hissed at him but was quelled by his icy glare. "Go on then," he urged it. "Go back to your owner." He shoved it with his foot. It snarled at him, but began to look (despite not having eyes) in a certain direction.

Lestrade stared at Sherlock before laughing. "You're using a method from Doctor Who? Didn't even know you knew what the show was."

Sherlock snorted and gave the animal another shove with his foot. "Go on. Lead me to master, why don't you?" It took a few steps towards the street, turning its head up to the roofs of the buildings across the road. Sherlock followed its head's movements and fixed his gaze on the location it paused at. And there he saw it.

The silhouetted figure of a man and a gun knelt atop the building, aiming for someone, but who, he wasn't sure. They didn't have the time to find out.

"Go, go! Get in the car, the lot of you! Hurry; there's no time to waste." Douglas and Carolyn stayed in their spots, while Arthur jumped and dashed to the automobile. Sally and Lestrade were making their way to Lestrade's car, but Lestrade handed off the keys to her and turned around.

"Douglas, Carolyn, get in the car!" Sherlock barked, grabbing Carolyn's hand and pulling her towards the open door. Douglas didn't move.

"I want an explanation, Mar—Sherlock."

Sherlock gave an exasperated sound from the back of his throat. "Not now! I'll explain in the car. Get in."

Douglas looked unsure. That's when Lestrade tackled the man at the same time a gunshot rang out across the area. Both men fell to the ground heavily. Lestrade rolled off Douglas and clutched his left shoulder with a stifled moan. "Bloody hell," he ground out between his teeth.

Douglas was on his feet within seconds and inspecting the wound. "Douglas, get in the car and drive!" Sherlock yelled, shoving the keys into the taller man's hands and crouching down to help Lestrade. "I'll be in the car with Lestrade, just follow us to Baker Street. Don't hesitate, move! Unless you want another one of us shot."

Sherlock pulled Lestrade to his feet and guided him to his car. Douglas rushed to the rental, getting in and shutting the door. Sherlock snatched the keys from Sally once he'd gotten Lestrade into the back carefully and switched on the ignition.

And they were on the move without any other incident. Sherlock was secretly thankful to Lestrade for keeping Douglas from dying, since the other three weren't supposed to be a part of this whole mess in the first place. The other side of Sherlock wanted to demand of the other man what the hell he had been thinking.

He glanced at the mirror. Lestrade had his left shoulder in a death grip, knuckles white, while he tried to stem the blood flow. "We'll get Douglas to take a look at your injury once we reach 221B," he reassured the private detective. Lestrade nodded mutely, jaw clenched tight as he tried to ignore the pain. Sherlock forced himself to pay attention to the road again.

Half an hour passed before they had reached Baker Street again. Sherlock had jumped out of the car without taking out the key and rushed to the front door, giving it a few loud and frantic knocks.

He waited as patiently as he could. He let out a sigh of relief when the door opened and Mrs. Hudson's familiar face appeared in the doorway. She was unscathed.

"Mrs. Hudson, we've had a bit of trouble. Lestrade's been hurt," he explained coolly.

"Oh dear," she managed when she saw the blood soaked sleeve of the other man's shirt. She ushered them all in. They laid Lestrade on the couch. Douglas took the space next to him to inspect the gun wound. Sally waited in the doorway. Carolyn and Arthur stood in the kitchen, the latter fidgeting. Sherlock stood next to Douglas.

"You're an idiot, Lestrade," Sherlock said.

Lestrade merely grinned. "Yeah, I know." Sherlock scowled, while Lestrade flinched when Douglas made him remove his hand from his shoulder.

Sherlock heard the front door open. He looked over his shoulder at a familiar voice. "Mrs. Hudson, I'm back." John's voice floated up the staircase. Sherlock froze up like a rabbit that had heard the predator following it.

John hobbled through the flat door with his cane, staring at all the people occupying the space. His jaw fell open and he dropped the bag he was carrying when he spotted Sherlock. "H-how…"

Sherlock approached John. "Don't doubt what you're seeing, John. I'm here."

John looked away. "No, no, I'm hallucinating. That's got to be it, because there's no way I'm seeing you standing here now. And why's your hair ginger?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'm real, John. Look, I'm alive. See?" He touched John's shoulder. "And why I'm ginger is a frightfully long story. Please John, believe me," he begged. "Or do I have to prove it by insulting everyone in the room?"

He felt arms wrap around his back and a face bury into his shoulder with a shuddering sigh. He enclosed John within his own arms immediately and held him in a tight hug. "I'm sorry I had to leave like that, John," he murmured. John released him from the hug, though it felt reluctant. John's face was still dry and he showed no sign of crying any time soon.

"You idiot. You bloody idiot. You left me alone all this time without even a hint that you were alive. You bastard. You're a complete and utter bastard," John stated plainly without much malice to his words. A small smile had wormed its way onto his face, however. Sherlock returned the smile with his own tiny smirk.

John looked Sherlock over, frowning. "So, ginger," John mused. "Doesn't look too bad; certainly not that great either," he said in a dry tone.

A cough interrupted their brief yet heartfelt reunion. "I'm sorry to intrude on your tear wrenching reunion, but we do have a bleeding man on the sofa."

John's face pale went pale and he uttered a surprised "What?" while Sherlock's mouth fell into a frown. John pushed past Sherlock to kneel by the wounded Lestrade. He shooed Douglas away. "Sherlock, grab my medical bag, will you? It's by your foot."

Lestrade flashed John a bright and pained grin. "Nice of you to finally show up. How've you been?"

John ignored Lestrade's question, instead berating him. "What the bloody hell are you doing getting yourself shot, Greg? How did this happen? Oh, don't' tell me, it's because of Sherlock, isn't it?"

"How's Mary doing?" Lestrade asked.

"Greg, stop ignoring my question—"

"You should stop ignoring mine then, yeah?"

John frowned and grumbled as he got out his medical tools. "I don't have any medication, so you're going to feel this," he warned.

"It can't be worse than the damn thing currently lodged in my shoulder. Just, I don't know, distract me with something. Tell me about you and Mary," Lestrade requested.
So John did exactly that. He talked while he worked on taking the bullet out of Lestrade's flesh.

"Mary and I are getting married," he said.

Lestrade grinned through the throbbing in his shoulder. "Finally got the gall to ask her? Good man."

The conversation went on for a while, Lestrade asking questions to give his mind something to think about, and John explaining recent events of his life for him, and for Sherlock as well, who even joined in, recounting to them some of the flights he'd been on and what he had been doing during his time gone. He explained that he had been travelling around the world taking out Moriarty's men, using MJN as a hideout, while Mycroft sent them clients in order to get him to the location he needed to be in.

At that point in Sherlock's story, Carolyn interrupted. "What? You mean to tell me all our customers weren't even real customers?"

Sherlock cocked his head to the side. He furrowed his brows. "My brother was behind that part of the plan. It was much more discreet. Don't worry though; most of the clients were genuine in looking for transportation. Mycroft just directed them towards us depending on whether or not they were going to the same location I was required to go." Carolyn's expression became relieved upon receiving the new information.

John stood up, wiping his hands on a cloth. "Right, well, I've sewn up the wound, but it'll take some time to heal. I don't want you doing anything strenuous, doctor's orders." He beckoned to Mrs. Hudson, who hurried over. "Does Sherlock's old room have sheets on the bed? I think it'll be safer for Greg to stay here in 221B where a few of us can keep an eye on him."

John turned to everyone else in the room. Sherlock did not speak up, deciding it better to let John talk. The shorter man was the military man, after all. "None of us should go anywhere alone, if what Sherlock has told us is correct. If there is still one more man hired to kill us, we need to tread carefully. Got that?" Collective nods from the crew of MJN answered him.

Ready to disregard John's new 'rule', Sherlock stood up. "Now that that is settled, I have work to do. Just get Douglas to text me if you need anything important." With that statement, Sherlock disappeared through the door with a flutter of his coat.

John watched open mouthed. Lestrade's voice piped up from the couch, groggy and slurred. "I never did get to ask him how he faked his own suicide."