(Sherlock’s POV, BART’S)

Molly came out of a small side room in the lab, switched off the lights and walked across the darkened lab, sighing tiredly. As she reached the door to the corridor, I was standing in the darkness behind her with my face turned away from her. She didn’t see me and reached for the door handle.

“You’re wrong, you know,” I said clearly. She gasped and jumped, spinning around towards me. “You do count. You’ve always counted and I’ve always trusted you,” I continued. I turned my head towards her. “But you were right. I’m not okay,” I said flatly.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” She said immediately.

“Molly, I think I’m going to die,” I said sadly, slowly walking towards her.

“What do you need?” She asked.

“If I wasn’t everything that you think I am – everything that I think I am – would you still want to help me?” I questioned, still slowly approaching her. She gazed up at me as I stopped close to her.

“What do you need?” She repeated.  I stepped even closer, my expression hopefully conveying the intensity of the situation and my need.

“You.”

(THE DIOGENES CLUB, Alice’s POV: )

Mycroft came in the room that John and I were in, reaching for the door handle to close it the door, but he stopped as he realized that John was sitting in one of the armchairs with his back to him, and I was sitting on the arm. We were both looking through Kitty’s file.

“She has really done her homework, Miss Riley – things that only someone close to Sherlock could know,” John said, hinting at the obvious.

“Ah,” Mycroft sighed, closing the door behind him.

“Have you seen Sherlock’s address book lately? Three names: yours, John’s and mine, and Moriarty didn’t get this stuff from me or John,” I said sadly. I was sad because I had been friends with Mycroft, and I trusted him more or less. Mycroft walked across the room to face us.

“John...” He began, almost reluctantly.

“So how does it work, then, your relationship? D’you go out for a coffee now and then, eh, you and Jim?” John asked snarkily. Mycroft sat down in the chair opposite and opened his mouth but I interrupted.

“Your own brother, and you blabbed about his entire life to this maniac,” I snapped, my voice was full of controlled anger.

“I never inten... I never dreamt...” He attempted to speak again.

“So this... th-th-this...” John interrupted once again. He looked through the papers again “...is what you were trying to tell me, isn’t it: ‘Watch his back, ’cause I’ve made a mistake.’” He asked. He slapped the papers down on the table beside his chair and sat back, clearing his throat as he tried to stay calm.

“How did you meet him?” I demanded flatly. Mycroft drew in a long breath.

“People like him: we know about them; we watch them. But James Moriarty ... the most dangerous criminal mind the world has ever seen, and in his pocket the ultimate weapon: a keycode. A few lines of computer code that could unlock any door,” Mycroft explained a bit.

“And you abducted him to try and find the keycode?” John questioned.

“Interrogated him for weeks,” the British Government sighed.

“And?” I asked expectantly.

“He wouldn’t play along,” he said bitterly, looking into the distance as if he was remembering it. “He just sat there, staring into the darkness. The only thing that made him open up... I could get him to talk... just a little, but...” He trailed off. John grimly finished the sentence for him.

“...in return you had to offer him Sherlock’s life story. So one big lie – Sherlock’s a fraud – but people will swallow it because the rest of it’s true.” He leaned forward in his chair. Moriarty wanted Sherlock destroyed, right?”

“And you have given him the perfect ammunition,” I muttered.  John smiled bitterly at him. Mycroft lowered his eyes. John pulled in a sharp breath and then got to his feet, turning towards the door. I quickly followed.

“John...” John turns back. Mycroft looked up at him.

“I’m sorry,” He said softly.

“Oh, please...” I scoffed. John shook his head in disbelief and turned away. I was laughing humourlessly as we walked to the door.

“Tell him, would you?” Mycroft requested, almost sheepishly. John opened the door for me and waited for me to walk out then followed me, leaving the door open behind him.

(BART’S LAB, Third-person POV: )

The lights were now on. Sherlock sat alone on the floor with his back against the bench. He was bouncing a small rubber ball off the floor and cupboard in front of him and catching it before repeating the movement constantly. John and Alice came in.

“Got your message,” John began. Sherlock caught the ball and held on to it.

“The computer code is key to this. If we find it, we can use it – beat Moriarty at his own game,” Sherlock explained.

“What d’you mean, ‘use it’?” The doctor asked.

“He used it to create a false identity, so we can use it to break into the records and destroy Richard Brook,” Alice clarified, staring at the ball in Sherlock’s hand.

“And bring back Jim Moriarty again,” John said.

“Somewhere in 221B, somewhere – on the day of the verdict – he left it hidden,” Sherlock started, standing. He turned and faced the bench, putting both hands on the work surface. John walked to stand beside him, unconsciously mimicking his stance. Alice noticed and smiled the smallest bit before leaning against the door and watching.

“Uh-huh,” John acknowledged. All of them stared ahead of themselves, thinking. John pursed his lips, and then looked at Sherlock. “What did he touch?” He asked.

“An apple. Nothing else,” Alice told him. He briefly drummed his fingers on the bench.

“Did he write anything down?” John asked again.

“No,” Sherlock answered quickly- too quick for Alice to say, ‘I. Owe. You.’ John hissed in a breath and looked away, racking his brains and again unconsciously mimicking his friend by drumming his own fingers on the bench. After a moment, he turned and walked across the lab, blowing the breath out again. Sherlock lifted the fingers of his right hand, hesitated for a moment, then began to drum them again but now he was beating out a specific rhythm as, in his mind, binary code begins to stream out from his fingers. He lifted his head as John sighed heavily, unaware of Sherlock’s sharpened expression. Alice saw it though. She narrowed her eyes a bit as Sherlock, straightening up, turned his back to John and her, and took his phone out of his pocket and began to type a text message:

“Come and play.

Bart’s Hospital rooftop.

SH”

He paused for a moment, then added:

“PS. Got something of yours you might want back.” Sending the message, he tucked his phone away into his jacket and then turned back towards the bench. His eyes caught Alice’s and she looked at him with this rare look of both worry and suspicion she almost never used. He waved her off and turned to the bench again, his eyes full of thought.

Some hours later, dawn was breaking. Sherlock was still in the same place, although he was now sitting down with his feet up on the bench. He was rapidly rolling the rubber ball from side to side across the bench, his fingers flickering rapidly over the top of the ball. John had sat on a stool at a nearby bench and has his head down on his folded arms, asleep. Alice was next to him leaning on his shoulder but was awake, though just barely. John’s phone rang. Lifting his head tiredly, he groaned and answered the phone.

“Yeah, speaking,” He answered. He listened for a moment. “Er, what?” He asked, clearly shocked. He got to his feet, waking Alice from her drowsiness. “What happened? Is she okay?” He listened. “Oh my g*d. Right, yes, I’m coming,” He finished, switching the phone off.

“What is it?” Sherlock asked.

“Paramedics. Mrs. Hudson – she’s been shot,” John answered. Alice got up quickly, pulling her coat on in a hurry.

“What? How?” Sherlock asked, sounding calm but worried.

“Well, probably one of the killers you managed to attract ...Je***. Je***. She’s dying, Sherlock. Let’s go,” He said frantically, obviously irritated at the detective’s calm. He turned towards the door.

“You go. I’m busy,” Sherlock replied disinterestedly. John turned back towards him, his face appalled. Alice looked at him as well, but more suspicious than angry like John was.

“Busy?” John snapped.

“Thinking. I need to think,” Sherlock answered.

“You need to...? Doesn’t she mean anything to you? You once half killed a man because he laid a finger on her,” John nearly shouted.

“She’s my landlady,” He shrugged.

“She’s dying...” the doctor began furiously. He flailed a hand in front of himself in utter disbelief at Sherlock’s attitude and glanced at Alice for help, but she was still trying to analyse Sherlock. “You machine,” John finished. He looked down, shaking his head. “Sod this. Sod this.” He headed towards the door. “You stay here if you want, on your own. C’mon Alice.”

“Alone is what I have. Alone protects me,” Sherlock retorted.

“No. Friends protect people,” John corrected darkly, opening the door and looking back at him angrily. Alice went out and John followed, storming furiously.

Sherlock lifted his gaze towards the door. A moment later his phone trilled a text alert. He reached into his pocket and looked at the message:

“I’m waiting...

JM”

Taking his feet off the bench and standing up, he walked across the lab buttoning his jacket. He picked up his coat, opened the door and left the room.

Hey! There's a word counter thingy now. Cool. Anywho, another update. Sorry it took a week. Dumb school and work. Why must I be responsible? *sighs* Yeah, so... Enjoy, vote and comment patient wonderful peoples =)