Valiant {Book Two of the Incandescent Trilogy}

Chapter Ten: Violence Solves All Problems

"Moriarty's men." came his reply. "If they didn't see me fall, they would've killed you. All of you. John, you, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, and probably Molly in the end, as well." He ran his tongue over his lips. "We need to stand together, John. Mycroft can protect Mary, and your..." he trailed off, then, tentatively, added, "child."

He laughed. Bitter. "It's only the first trimester."

Amelia held her hands to her mouth as though she was praying. "John, please." she said. "We can do this."

John bit his lip. "Promise me that Mary will come out of this."

She hesitated, then shook her head. "I can't. None of us might come out of this. We're at war, John, and war produces casualties."

And then Sherlock was on the pavement, and John was on top of him.

Out of context, it could've sounded like the beginning to an explicit film, but when John's fist collided with Sherlock's nose, all trace of humour dissipated into thin air. "Why couldn't you have just stayed dead?" shouted John between swings. He sat back on his heels, punches slowing as he began to sob. "Why... Why couldn't you have just stayed...dead?"

The space below Sherlock's eye was beginning to swell, and his nose was bleeding profusely. "I'm sorry." he said. "I didn't want it to be this way."

"None of us did." Amelia leaned against the café window, much to the irritation of the owner. "But things happened. We have to move on, or we'll be playing right into his hands." She paused. "I don't think he's doing it alone. He can't possibly be doing it alone." She eyed Sherlock. "John, can you please make sure that we don't need to take Sherlock to a doctor?"

"You're a doctor." John glowered.

"Yes, of the mental kind," she hissed. She clenched her fists, trying to control herself. "Now, for the love of God, can we sit down and talk like civilized people?"

♠

John gritted his teeth as Sherlock rambled on about how he'd faked his death, using his hands to demonstrate his point. John's fingers wrapped around the edge of the desk as he tried to control his anger. "So that's it, then?" he snarled.

Sherlock stopped mid-sentence. "I'm sorry?"

"You're just back." he continued in a low voice. "You don't even apologise. You just show up out of the blue, then tell my sister that you're alive, and order her to not tell me." He paused, tilting his head. "And then you still don't tell me that you're alive, even after Amelia told me you were." He laughed. "How very typical of you."

"Moriarty was going to kill you."

"Jim threatened to do a lot of things that he never got around to doing." Amelia murmured, scratching at her tattoo. "He never could keep a promise. We could have handled him, Sherlock. Together."

He laughed, sounding sad, and ruffled his hair. "I didn't want to risk it."

"Yeah, well, I didn't want you to die either." John hissed. "But we don't always get what we want, now do we?"

"I suppose." Sherlock murmured, swallowing. "I am sorry."

"I can imagine." said John. "He has something to use against Mary. I don't know what, and don't know how or why, but he does."

"What he knows, I'm not entirely certain." Amelia leaned into the rickety wooden chair. "How is quite simple. He has connections, and he pays his connections' connections for information. That's how it works in that world. Everything has a price. As for why, that's not hard either. Charlie imagines that Moran wants to get his revenge on Sherlock, and you confirmed that.