Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

John looked at the corpse in front of them and for the first time since he had been introduced to Sherlock Holmes he knew before the Consulting Detective who was behind the murder. Still, he remained calm and composed, years of keeping secrets –his own and others'- made easy for him to pretend nothings was different from every other scene they had been called to work into.

The victim was a blond man on his early forties; his body was found resting on a big double bed, his throat sliced from side to side. Once they were able to turn it around, Watson knew they would find the man’s back had been opened and most probably the lungs and kidneys removed from him. The fact that his old friend had chosen such uncomfortable and time consuming way to take the organs was a message in itself, but he would be surprised if anyone, even Sherlock, managed to get it: the man was traitor and had paid the ultimate price for his deception.

He wondered why his old mate Raymond had felt it was necessary to call and bring Hannibal from the other side of the ocean to deal with this issue when he was in the country and could have taken care of it. John decided he would find a moment to contact both men once it was safe for all and ask why neither had contacted him if they were in the neighborhood. Certainly he deserved at least a call from them after so many years!

Meanwhile, Sherlock moved around the room and suddenly turned to Greg and walked to him with a dark light in his usually clear eyes. John approached quickly to both of them. Since the Consulting Detective’s return and all the subsequent events that took place –Mary turning to be a spy, and the change in their relationship- the doctor seemed even more protective of the younger man. Watching him closer, Sherlock put one of his hands around the slim waist of the doctor bringing him to his body before releasing him, nowadays the younger tended to show more possessiveness than even before.

Every time he saw them, Lestrade tried to keep the smile out of his face, but it was close to impossible. They were back –part of John had died with Sherlock after the Fall, and he had suspected, the man had look at the abyss' face to face more than once before the detective triumphant's return-, together as more than just flatmates –most people were still paying bets to those who swore they would end up together- and helping the Yard –which Gregory thought impossible after all that had transpired between them-. But, maybe it was true that when it came to the Work the Consulting Detective was forgiving, or at least practical. Still, he hoped Sherlock had been truthful when he declared publicly he had nothing against the agents or there would be hell to pay and no one would ever be able to pin to him whatever he chose to do to avenge himself for the arrest, the lack of faith, and helping Moriarty to force him to jump.

John, of course, wasn’t so forgiving. He still went with Sherlock to every scene but the easy camaraderie he had been able to build with most of the yarders seemed to be lost for a long time if not forever. The former soldier only seemed to be on good terms with Gregory who had actually let him get a couple of right punches before going on a full fist fight with him before Watson could let go and cry for the man he had come to love and now would never be able to tell him. After that night, a new friendship had been forged between the disgraced Detective Inspector and the doctor, one that remained strong to that day.

“I think you shouldn’t lose your time here,” Sherlock said calmly before turning his voice down “my bother will arrive in about…” he stopped a moment to look at his expensive watch “ten to fifteen minutes depending on London traffic.”

Lestrade knew exactly what those words entailed. Mycroft Holmes’ presence meant the case was a national security matter, which most probably signified the man was a spy or something akin to it. Still, he refused to simply call his team back… he wasn’t just bending to the bloody older Holmes' will when he wasn’t even present! And he wanted the chance to see again the redhaired, cold beauty with whom he had worked occasionally and who he always found enthralling.

The young brunette observed the Detective Inspector with that inquisitive and all seeing look of his before smiling. Oh, dear Gregory thought to himself the man had somehow read his interest on the other man... and braced himself for the scanting words but the brunette said nothing at all, he just arched an eyebrow before turning his gaze to the door.

Just then some soft noises produced with the tap of an umbrella on the wood floor alerted Greg the minor civil servant had arrived.

The three men went to the open door to greet Mycroft Holmes who smiled politely.

“So nice to see you all, Detective Inspector, Doctor Watson, Sherlock” He greeted amiably.

“Mister Holmes” The yarder responded nodding slowly. The man was even more attractive than he remembered, Gregory decided. He was wearing a black bespoke suit. The open jacket revealed a grey, nice looking, vest. The dark umbrella and nice polished shoes were just the final touches that distinguished him from all the men Lestrade usual had contact with. Even the higher ups weren’t ever this elegant. A moment later he remembered who he was thinking about and not only in his presence but that of his damned brother! After a fleeting moment of sheer panic he decided that if the other was bothered by his admiration, offended by his interest, it was better to know it then than later. So he might be able to stop thinking of the man and maybe giving himself the chance to meet or take on a date some of the people who had been inviting him since his divorce.

“Hello, Mycroft. I’d say it’s nice to see you, but… now I’ll have to deal with Sherlock’s mood…” Watson said with a small smile that showed he wasn’t really bothered. He was a soldier, after all. He understood the need for special investigations when men and women lives could be endangered. Moreover, having some information none of the other men in the room, except maybe Mycroft had, he knew it was better if his lover stayed away from this particular murder. When Sherlock finally revealed to him who was his brother, the power he had, John had became truly worried. If he was what the younger Holmes claimed he was, there was no way he wouldn’t be able to find the past John had left behind even before Afghanistan; who his friends were and what he had done, and would do again, if the occasion called for it. Still, the older man never spoke a word, not even a subtle or passing comment. He always wondered what it meant but was too grateful for the small mercy to actually ever voice the question. After Sherlock’s death he had been about to ask Mycroft about it before he put a bullet through his head, because he knew, deep in his bones and also thanks to some intelligence Raymond had sent to him after some long and deep talk, that the man was at least partially responsible for his loved one violent decease. He would never known what had stopped him… maybe the fact that all those years surrounded by spies and people of the Service had taught him that nothing, not even death was always what it seems, or maybe that he needed to believe Sherlock could perform one more miracle, or even the dark, worried light on Mycroft’s pupils after the funeral.

“I want this case, Mycroft” Sherlock said simply, putting his hand around Watson’s waist once more and attracting the man to him. The case in itself didn’t truly mattered to him, spy murders’ were usually horribly easy to solve. It was always another spy, a lover or a mercenary, nothing truly stimulating, particularly not nowadays.

He always envied his great-grandfather Sherlock Holmes whose diaries and chronicles –written by some Arthur Conan Doyle which apparently was the penname of a man named John Watson- had been given to him as a gift when he turned eighteen –as those of old great-grandfather Mycroft had gone to his brother- and who had the chance to encounter truly original and interesting cases in his life.

No, the case was truly uninteresting, but what made this case worthy of his attention was that he had noticed something strange on his lover from the moment he had looked at the corpse and right at the second he asked to be able to work on the murder. It was an almost imperceptibly change in his stance, a barely there intake of breath and the littlest shine of light on his usually calm green orbs. It was obvious that John knew something about this killing and he wanted to know what, he abhorred the idea of his partner having a secret from him, a potentially dangerous one, if it was related to spies who ended up killed on expensive rented houses and whose internal organs were removed with surgical precision. He had always known Watson had been more than just an army doctor. His deduction was confirmed when he saw the way John reacted to him telling about Mycroft’s actual position in Britain. And just like a moment before, it had been an almost imperceptible change on his whole being, but not enough for him not to notice when he was observing so closely for a reaction. It certainly hadn’t been the one he had been looking for, but he wasn’t one to change facts to suit theories.

Mycroft arched an eyebrow. Usually it took him hours to talk his brother into taking cases for the Service since he claimed they were always so easy and boring, which they usually were, for them, at least. But this time, his eagerness worried him instead. He could see his brother wasn’t interested in the case, his mind having already cataloged it as one of spy-killing-spy. There was only one other thing that could attract him to this particular murder and it had to be John Watson’s reaction to it. The man was almost perfect in his disguise, and he could fool any other people in the room, in the whole country, but there was no way he could blindside Sherlock –specially when his sibling was paying such close attention to the doctor since his return, not that before he hadn’t been every bit observant and possessive than he could- or himself.

The older Holmes considered carefully his options, if he denied his brother’s request he would only spike Sherlock’s suspicion. Even if he complied –and Sherlock wasn’t really the brat he pretended to be- there would be a lot of questions to answer later on, and he wasn’t sure if he should be the one to tell the other about his lover’s secrets. If he allowed him to investigate things would certainly precipitate for all of them and John would have to make choices Mycroft wasn’t sure the former soldier was ready to. Still, if Reddington was going to move his game into the Holmes' territory without the courtesy to calling him first maybe it was time Sherlock knew exactly who was John Watson, particularly since it could mean another cold wave of the never ending intelligence war was approaching and they would all end up entangled in it, and it would be for the best if his brother knew the whole story from the man’s lips.

“If you insist, Sherlock” the older Holmes said with a kind smile and then his eyes went to the blond whose orbs had turned the littlest bit darker “I think you won’t have to deal with his mood, after all, Doctor Watson” he joked amiably before turning his head to the last of the three men “But, I’m afraid you and your officers can’t stay, Detective Inspector, this is a matter of National Security”

“Of course” Gregory said bothered. There was something almost insulting in the easy way Mycroft disregarded him, not only the Scotland Yard team he commanded. He stepped away without another word to tell them their case had been hijacked by the Service. At least, since Sally and Anderson had been transferred to other teams there wouldn’t be too much of a ruckus. Among the mad faces he noted that of the new sergeant Stanley Hopkins, a young man that, had been told to him, fought tooth and nails to being assigned to his team after Donovan’s transfer came through –it was a quick matter since both, Gregory and her had asked for it-. He had kept a close eye on him, since such passion seemed a bit suspicious particularly after the whole Moriarty issue, but the young yarder seemed legit. Eventually, Stanley told him he had been asking to work with him since the Academy because he wanted to study Holmes method as close as he could and he was one of the few who would work with the man. It hurt some of his pride to hear those words but he appreciated his honesty and if the man could learn something from the Consulting Detective it would certainly help all of the force in the long run. Moreover, Sherlock seemed to like the lad.

“At least he is smarter than Donovan, maybe you lot aren’t all a lost cause” he had said not five minutes after observing the new yarder and telling aloud a couple of things that made Hopkins blush a deep red, still, those words coming from the younger Holmes was the best “welcome aboard” anyone could get. No matter how much he had changed since John Watson limped into the other’s life, in many ways he would always be less than socially pleasant.

The new Sergeant walked closer to him, obviously ready to complaint. He raised a hand to stop him before the younger opened his mouth.

“There is nothing I can do Stanley, this is way over our jurisdiction” Gregory explaining, letting the other see he was not okay with it “We’ll hand all evidence over to him, go back to the precinct and work on our not-Sherlock-related cases, for now.” He instructed in a low voice.

Hopkins nodded silently and went away. They had several cases open at the moment and he knew they had to dedicate equal –usually much, much more- time to them than they did to those where they had to call the Consulting Detective. He usually tried to apply the other’s method to the investigations where they were without his help and sometimes he found himself actually being able to point some little things no one else seemed to notice. Even if it was just one tiny detail, it made him gain a whole new appreciation for the work the older man did, and he had become one of Sherlock’s advocates, not the loudest, but one that could back up his words with actions. He was the real deal, he had always been. And the man had been truthful when he said that if people observed anyone could be able to do what he did –Stanley decided that last bit was actually an exaggeration-.

Chapter Text

Sherlock noticed that John seemed to skip a breath when his brother turned the case to him. If his attention hadn’t been picked earlier that tell-tale sign of fear and anxiety would have. Of course, it had been almost imperceptibly and hadn’t been him looking for it would have never been noticed, but he was and caught it. Of course, he wasn’t going to call his lover on whatever he was concealing from him in the middle of a room full of yarders and secret service agents. Moreover, it was obvious his brother knew what was going on, by the second he doubted before agreeing to let him investigate, so maybe he should make a short trip to Whitehall in the afternoon or the next morning at first hour, if the idiot of his sibling realized he had hurt Lestrade feelings by his careless attitude and finally kidnapped the man to dinner and maybe had sex with him. Observing those two dancing around each other and missing the cues and signals the other projected was getting on his nerves.
“You might be right on all accounts, Sherlock” Mycroft said at once taking him out of his thoughts, with a mysterious smile “I strongly recommend you and Doctor Watson join us in the morgue of the Service tomorrow morning since I believe you had time to observe all there was to see here and we should secure the scene.”

Sherlock gave his brother a nod and a secret little smile that meant “good luck” before he put his arm around John’s waist and guided them out of the house. During the short walk, -they had to go two street down since the Service had secured a wide perimeter before they could flag a cab- the Consulting Detective went over all the hypothesis about which could be Watson’s involvement on the case. He could disregard that John was the killer on two accounts: he had seen the blond taking a life before and he never did such a show of it and his brother had let them walk away undisturbed –even if John was his lover, he didn’t think Mycroft would have let someone who murdered one of his own go so easily, unless of course it was a justifiable kill-. He could discard the theory that John had any sort of attachment to the victim since he didn’t show any rage or sadness at seeing the body, if anything, he looked at it clinically, almost appraising the scene. Then, the only logical deduction was that he knew or at least strongly suspect who was the killer. But, if this was a spy-murdering-spy -and he was pretty sure it was, even though this one seemed to be a little more elaborated than most he had seen before- it meant that John had been at some point in his life involved in that world but not as one of them. No, most probable he had been either a sniper –which would account for his aim the night of the Study in Pink- or an enforcer but not as an active agent, an outsource. But, it was obvious that Watson had been involved in black ops, or whatever they were called nowadays. Then, his nervousness came either because he wanted to protect the murderer and knew there was no way he and Mycroft wouldn’t found him or because he feared that Sherlock would know of any of his past deeds. Possibly both.
Sherlock turned his head to observe his lover who was trying so hard –too hard in his opinion- to act like everything was just fine. He seemed to be watching distractedly the sight on the short ride to 221B. He didn’t even suspect his secret had already been exposed.

John knew Sherlock could count his heart beats with a simple touch, so he had to summon all of his training to try to control the muscle and wasn’t really sure if he was successful considering how much touching the younger one had done in the last fifteen minutes. Still, since they had become lovers, the brunette had become an incredibly tactile person, always touching him, putting his arm around his waist, kissing him on some more than inappropriate times and places just because someone had apparently turned to see him. Watson had only half heartedly called him on his behavior since he actually loved the man’s show of subtle –for Sherlock- possessiveness. It made him feel truly loved and he wasn’t about to actually comply when it was harmless.
Still, being in love hadn’t made the Consulting Detective blind to him, if everything it made him more observant of him. Of his gestures, his words, even of the still rare white hair on his head. And there had been something in the way his lover had looked at him when he asked Mycroft for the case, and later when the British Government gave it to him that told the former soldier he might not have been as subtle in his reactions as he had thought at first. Maybe he had been too confidant, maybe he had forgotten for just a second –more than enough time for someone who was used to notices the littlest detail- that he was dealing with men that seemed to read minds.
Still, John decided he would try to keep his pretense, at least until he could get in touch with Raymond and Hannibal. He needed to know they were as safe from retribution from the traitor’s people –whoever they were- as they could and also well away from English security forces and the Service, at least for a while. Also, he wasn’t really looking forward having to come clean to Sherlock about the things he had done in his past even if they had taken place well before he had been deployed to the bloody desert where he was shot. And, he promised to himself, he was never telling the other his brother most certainly knew all about it and kept him in the shadow.

Finally, they arrived to Baker Street, and maybe for the tenth time since they had met, John left Sherlock behind to pay the fare. That would have certainly raised the red flag for the Consulting Detective if he hadn’t been already alerted by his lover’s strange behavior at the crime scene. Watson never realized how rare it was that he came into the house first; the younger Holmes always believed it was because John tried to make sure there wasn’t anyone lurking there ready to attack him before he went inside –the brunette had decided long ago not to mention how many times they had been attacked while they were in their home-. Or maybe because the good doctor truly believed he thought he could get away with not paying the ride home.
He finished the transaction quickly his eyes never away from the former soldier’s frame. John was certainly expecting some trouble to arise, even if unconsciously judging by the way he marched upstairs, his back was tensed and his steps too sure for a man who had only barely recovered from his psychosomatic limp and still experienced some burst of weakness on the leg.

All hunters can prescient dangers, Raymond thought and smiled to his old time friend when he open the door of his house ready to fight whoever he found there. Still, Reddington was surprised not to see him charge with his now legal Glock in hand –a gift from the older Holmes, he knew, after the younger one returned home-. The old Browning and any evidence relating it with a cold case murder had been disposed of by him a long time ago. He cared for his friends, even if they had chosen to leave all active service and retire way too early.
Watson looked at him surprised and stop death on his tracks, almost preventing Sherlock from entering the room, but he recovered fast and moved to give him a hug. The older blond knew he would have to be truly quick if he wanted to avoid the most certain punch to his stomach.
“You are still in shape, Ray” Watson said with a hard smile on his face before turning around to watch at the brunette he lived with “Sherlock, he is Raymond Reddington an old friend of mine, and the equivalent to your brother in the United States… maybe a bit more shadowy than Mycroft.”
“I doubt that” The taller one replied with a matter of fact voice before approaching them and tending his hand to the man “Sherlock Holmes” He introduced himself since Watson didn’t seem to find the need for it.
“I know” the oldest one said stretching the offered hand “I’m truly sorry to come unannounced but these are desperate times” he said looking at Watson truly apologetic.

Chapter Text

“Desperate times” John hated those words, because he knew if Reddington voiced them, a situation had gone from strong orange to bright red. He fought the sudden impulse to hit something, anything. He wasn’t a violent man –the occasional fight and/or kill to save his own life or those he cared about, and a boxing match with a Scotland Yard detective inspector, notwithstanding- but right there and then he thought the world was laughing at his face and he couldn’t do a damned thing to force it to stop. His life was spinning out of control and threatening to destroy all he had managed to accomplish in the last few years after he left the black ops and the war. He closed his eyes, his hands into fists, trying to fight the nausea. John could feel mind beginning to detach from the situation, transporting him away… it had been so long since he felt it…

Suddenly, a strong pair of arms surrounded his waist, and his more compact body was pulled against a longer frame. Someone was calling for him, anchoring him to reality. A well known voice was telling something to him, he couldn’t make sense of any word, but the tone was so calm he could focus on using it as a safe rope to return.

Hannibal had been discreetly watching the whole scene from a side, choosing to remain in the dark to observe John’s chosen one. Even if Raymond approved of him, he had to study the man by himself.

But, once he noticed Watson’s distress he knew it was time to make his presence know to the other three men who might or might not have realized he had been there all along. He walked into the room ready to take charge of things but the youngest man was already on it. The Consulting Detective seemed to know exactly what he had to do, and Lecter suspected he had been preparing himself for a case just like this. Which was a smart thing since no matter how well adapted to civilian’s life John seemed to be, his past was still there, just waiting for the to chance re-emerge and torture him. Particularly that blasted mission that put him forever away from the Special Forces and their missions. That was the reason why Reddington had called him to take care of the traitor instead of turning to Watson. But now things had turned to be more complicated than he had anticipated and they needed his help and even that of the younger Holmes.

“So, you are a psychiatrist” Was the first thing the brunette said to him barely taking his eyes away from John whose green orbs became clearer and showed he was back, even if still shaken. For the umpteenth time, Hannibal thought how alike John and his sweet William were. One day, he might introduce one another, he was sure those two would be able to help and understand one another like no else could. Not even him, no matter how hard he tried. “Damn!” The youngest man in the room breathed, pulling his lover even closer before turning around to face Lecter “There is always something! I was so sure it was a spy-killing-spy”

John had barely recovered when he heard Sherlock basically announce that Hannibal was responsible for the corpse in the rented house. He wanted to praise the man, ask him how in Hell could he arrived to such conclusion after barely a once over, but right now he didn’t have the strength.

“It’s okay, John.” The brunette said with a soft tone.

Nothing was okay, the former soldier realized. His past had caught up with him and now it was time to face the music and pay the Piper, and he wasn’t sure if he would be able to do any of those and survive.

“I’m not letting you go.” Sherlock said as if he had talked, before taking him by the chin and kissing in on the lips, passionately. After a moment Watson surrendered to the sensual assault before remembering they weren’t alone and broke the contact. But the Consulting Detective didn’t release his face “I mean it, John, I don’t care what you did in the past, you are mine now and won’t let you run away from me… no matter if your friend is Mycroft’s American counterpart, no one is keeping me from bringing you back home.”

John studied the dark grey orbs, he could see determination there, the strong will to do exactly as he had said. He had only seen that look on two other people before and knew the younger Holmes was speaking the absolute truth. John nodded unconsciously and a second later the brunette gave him some space to move but he remained close.

“I’m glad to see you, John” Hannibal greeted at least, breaking the silence and walking closer to give the other a hug which was promptly returned. John was still trembling but well in the way to a full recovery. Still, he would leave his card with the younger Holmes just in case they had another episode.

“It’s nice to see you too, Hannibal, it’s been so long” Watson said with a small smile “I’ve missed your cooking.”

“I could make something for dinner with whatever you have on the refrigerator” he offered with a smile “I already know all that Raymond has to inform you.”

“I’m not sure he have anything edible there, it’s been a while since I went to the market and-” He began to say when he was interrupted by a well known voice that came from the door.

“Don’t worry doctor Watson, I’m sure Doctor Lecter will be more than able to cook with what I bought”

Everyone but Reddington turned to look at the older Holmes who arrived at that moment carrying a big basket that seemed to be filled with groceries, the ever present umbrella hanging from his forearm. The American Government had called the other man a while ago and had been waiting for his arrival, which was of course perfectly timed.

“So nice you could join us, Mycroft, I’m sorry I had to make you come all the way here” Ray said with a smile.

“Don’t worry, I was planning to stop by anyways” the red headed one said matter-of-fact before walking close to the men while the psychiatrist took the shopping from his hands “By the way, you should say to dear agent Ressler to come upstairs unless you plan for him to catch a cold”

Reddington laughed hard and stood up to shake hands with the older Holmes. They had always respected each other as enemies and as allies, whichever role they had to play.

“I’m sure he can remain outside for another hour, or maybe you could tell dear Anthea to let him inside of your nice car while us, adults, talk.”

“Certainly” Mycroft agreed taking his cell phone and calling his PA, telling her to call the younger FBI agent they had spotted earlier and invite him into the official vehicle, and to behave herself.

“Great, now we have to deal with two of them at the same time!” Sherlock exclaimed exasperated while John left his side to show the kitchen to Hannibal, once both doctors were out of sight he turned to the powerful men still circling each other like snakes, the darkest look on his grey eyes “Can both of you stop with the little mind games and go to the point so we can take care of whoever is the new international menace and then I can focus on mending the wounds you re-opened in John today”. The last part was an accusation to Raymond as much as it was to Mycroft.

The other two looked at the youngest man and noticed the change in his stance. The older Holmes of course had seen this side of his brother before, whenever Watson was in danger and those dark days after the fall. He knew just how dangerous this Sherlock could be and realized the game would have to be postponed for a little. A look to the other man made him realized Reddington had arrived to the same conclusion.

“I’m truly sorry this has affected John so badly, that’s why I chose to call Hannibal instead of bothering him…-”

“And you didn’t call Mycroft who would have been the best choice because it was a domestic problem and that would put you on an uncomfortable situation for quite a while” Sherlock interrupted none too kindly “But then you realized he was just the pawn on a larger chess game… hence your call to my brother to come join us…”

Both men could tell the exact moment the Consulting Detective put the last link on chain together.

“You found Moriarty”

Chapter Text

John accompanied Hannibal to the kitchen, leaving his partner with his brother and his old friend, but he knew the man would be alright. Maybe he could even manage to get some information about what or who they were going against this time.

“I’m sorry we kept you in the dark until the last minute” The psychiatrist began to say while taking away all of Mycroft’s ingredients with an approving look “but Ray thought it would be a quick and clean job, and he didn’t want to force you out off your early retirement when it didn’t seem to be any need of it.” He chose some white meat and John showed him where all the kitchen implements were. “I was supposed to flight here, take care of the traitor and flight back to the States before night was over.”

Watson nodded.

“I wondered why Ray didn’t contact me when I saw the corpse and realized it had your marks on it. You took quite the risk, taking the… lungs and kidneys?” He said at least, his voice tired.

“And part of the tights.” The other provided with a smile “All of it is safely stocked and once this is all over the three of us might have a nice quiet meal to celebrate, like in the old times” Doctor Lecter invited with a smile.

John shook his head.

“Sherlock would end up coming along, or finding a way to crash on our meeting and he would know within two seconds what he is having” he said worriedly “And he might not care terribly about me being a former black ops soldier… Hell!!!” He yelled slapping his forehead “Most probably the bastard knew all about it from the moment we met!!!” He exclaimed suddenly finding a perfectly good explanation for Sherlock easy acceptance of his past, still something made him wonder why he wouldn't have said something then and there, he had laid bare almost everything else... He took a breath while subtly turning his gaze to the kitchen entrance to make sure he hadn’t brought any unnecessary attention to them before taking a deep breath and finishing his thought “but I don’t know if he could deal with me being also a cannibal.”

Hannibal frowned at Watson’s words. He knew that the man’s lover wasn’t one to comply with most society pleasantries, but crashing on John’s meeting with his former friends should be unacceptable, still the unconscious smile on the other doctor’s lips told how much he actually loved the man and didn't care he did such a thing. He was perfectly okay with his lover’s possessiveness and jealousy, still it worried doctor Lecter who had seen some relationship turn toxic pretty quickly once they began to walk that quickly fading line to unhealthy control and violence.

“John…” he began to say trying to come up with a way to voice his fear without sending the other into a rampage or worst into defensive mode.

“I know, Hannibal, and you don’t have to worry about, I’ve never been one for sane relationships but Sherlock won’t cross the line” he said having noticed his friends worried look earlier.

“If he does… I’ll bring the cavalry” He said while putting the chopped meat into a frying pan.

Watson nodded, knowing he would anyways but also that there wouldn’t be any need for that ever.

“Let’s move to a different subject, shall we?” He asked with a smile “How are things with your ‘Puppy’?”

The psychiatrist smiled for a second as if he was just remembering the face of his own lover.

“Things are great” he said a moment later “you should come to meet him”

“Maybe after we had taken care of…” he stop for a second and decided there wouldn’t be better time to ask what was going on “Hannibal, who are we against this time?”

The other man considered carefully if he should answer just yet or wait a little while more. Reddington had just told him a couple of hours ago, and they had a long talk about if they should bring their old friend aboard this mission. They both knew the information could possibly be triggering for the other man's already unstable mind –no matter what John had tried to make everyone believe he hadn’t recovered yet from Sherlock’s death, as fake as it had turned to be, and there was still the past that haunted him. Things that happened even before he was hurt in the dessert- but the intelligence they had convinced them Watson and his partner would be in more danger should they be kept in the dark. Even if the older Holmes –Ray’s British counterpart- was able to protect them -and he had been played by this particular enemy once before- there was no way they wouldn’t notice there was something wrong. But more important yet, John deserved to know.

“Actually, it’s an old enemy of yours and Sherlock, John. We are against someone you have known as Moriarty.”

Chapter Text

Moriarty was back… Moriarty was back… the bastard that forced Sherlock to jump, the one who almost killed his loved one –hadn’t him been the actual genius that he was and able to thwart his plans at the last minute-.

Of course, the Consulting Detective had insinuated such a thing once or twice, telling that if he was able to cheat “certain death” why wouldn’t the Consulting Criminal who was his equal and opposite. But now it wasn’t just a hypothetical exercise, this was the real world, and it was an actual threat to both of them.

Moriarty… was… back… those words seemed to sound stronger every time he went over them in his mind. Unconsciously John brought his hand to the place where he usually hid the Glock, at the back of his waist, of course it wasn’t there -even if he had license now he still tried to carry it around only when he knew it would be needed-, but from then on, until they had been able to track down and dispose of Moriarty, it wouldn’t leave his side. And this time he would have a long talk with Sherlock about “dying” in any way, shape or form, without telling him everything about it first, without arranging for them to find each other in some place so he would make sure the brunette was alright. If he so much as dared to put another “Fall” on him…

“I’d never repeat myself like that,” A grave voice said at Watson’s back taking him out of his reverie “moreover, Moriarty wouldn’t fall twice for the same trick” If he ever did, Sherlock thought to himself. But he certainly wasn’t going to voice something like that when he could see Watson’s pained, scared and hunted look. He knew, he was as guilty as his enemy of putting it there and made him experience a pang of pain.

The Consulting Detective had moved hurriedly to the kitchen once he had solved the puzzle but was too late to prevent the other blond telling his lover the information he had just deduced. For a second the younger Holmes wished he had his trusty riding crop at hand and could use it on Hannibal Lecter until he was reduced to a bloody pulp.

“He’d have to know sooner or later, Sherlock” His brother commented calmly from a side, knowing exactly what was on his mind.

Of course John had to be informed, that was out of the question, but he should have been the one to tell him! And he would have certainly chosen a better time than moments after Watson almost suffered a breakdown! So much for a well-reputed psychiatrist, he thought disgusted.

“Don’t be unfair, my dear boy” Mycroft spoke once again, while moving aside to let Reddington join them inside the kitchen “Doctor Lecter is more than able to evaluate John’s stability and possible reactions before telling such a sensitive information, and I’m sure he only disclosed it after he was absolutely certain he wouldn’t cause harm.”

“Could you stop talking about me like I’m not in the room, Mycroft?” The former soldier asked, his voice a bit harsher than usual, tired but full of resolve.

Sherlock studied his lover with trained eye, and what he found there worried him to no end. Watson had decided to become a hunter once more, he was planning to track down and kill Moriarty on his own. Maybe with some minimum back up, most probably his friends present at that moment. He was planning to leave Consulting Detective in the dark –as if he could, Sherlock thought with a dark smile-, disappear in the night and return once he had finished the job. His never forgotten training as a black ops already kicking in, his mind was producing all those layers of defenses they were taught earlier on. He was turning into a different man from the nice gentleman he usually showed to everyone.

The brunette moved quickly until he was chest to chest with his lover.

“You won’t go to give chase to Moriarty without me, John Hamish Watson” It was an order, a command, and the blond reacted to it at once. His stance changed, he studied the other, not quite defiantly but assessing him. The man Sherlock was seeing wasn’t the one he knew inside and out, it was darker, more dangerous, but still and always completely his. Every part of the doctor belonged to him, and this was just another one he would possess before their new adventure was over.

None of the men in the room dared to speak a word while the scene in front of them take place, some of them even hold their breathes. Hannibal had lowered the fires the moment Sherlock had gone into the room so he could focus on what would take place between the brunette and his friend.

Reddington and the older Holmes were worried but didn’t let it show on their faces. If John surrendered to Sherlock’s command the power balance would be established for as long as the new mission took to be completed, if he didn’t acknowledged the Consulting Detective things would most certainly turn ugly. Raymond and Mycroft also knew that even if Watson accepted the other as the one in charge there was the odd chance that John would still go rogue on them and that would make for added trouble so they were already contemplating different contingency plans. It wouldn’t be the first time either, the last time he did it had almost cost him his life and a martial court hadn’t Red found a way to save him in the last minute. And that had been a couple of years before the blasted mission that had him depart from the black ops elite unit Watson had managed to put together back in his time.

Slowly, the former soldier nodded and relaxed his stance the littlest bit.

“It won’t be pretty, Sherlock” He said at least, his voice still rough and his pupils dark and heavy. Old ghosts that never left his mind were awakening and beginning to scream in his mind. Lives he had taken based on lies; lives he hadn’t been able to save because of the traitor who had played with all of them. The Foundation mission.

“It never is when Moriarty is involved, John. Remember the Pips?” Sherlock asked this time a little lower, softer.

The doctor nodded once again.

Raymond smiled to himself before turning his green eyes to the red head close to him. They shared a look for a moment, quietly expressing their relief at the way things were progressing. Still, they knew there were too many things that could go wrong. The men in front of them could very well be playing a part waiting for the perfect moment to run away and try to fight the Criminal Mastermind on their own. Both of them were well known from playing those kinds of tricks.

Surveillance was in order, not that they had even been left on their own, both men were well loved and too important to people in truly high places, but until things become clearer it would be increased. And they would assign some discreet shadows to them.

Mycroft put both hands on the umbrella’s handle and let his mind go back over the recent events. Moriarty’s return wasn’t a surprise. If his brother had been able to cheat death it was obvious the other man, also a genius, could do it. He had been planning for such a contingency, but as always, the man had proved to be more elusive than anticipated. He hadn’t thought the man would move to the States and bring the American’s to the game. It was nice to have a true challenge for a change, he thought for a second before deciding to push such thought aside.

Chapter Text

After the uninvited -but not truly unwelcomed- guest left 221B close to midnight having the five men agreed they would hold a meeting on the Diogenes Club the next day Sherlock turned to his lover. Watson was sitting completely silent at his side on the big sofa, looking at nowhere in particular, lost in thoughts, remembering bits and pieces of that past that eluded the Consulting Detective, but that he was beginning to deduce. The way John hunched his back, spoke about shame but also uncertainty, he was wondering for the umpteenth time if he had done the right thing back then –knowing his lover, the brunette was sure he had-. His closed eyes alerted the younger Holmes he was trying to escape for just a moment while at the same time evade the talk he think was coming. At the same time, Watson was tense and alert, all of his senses focused on his surroundings as if he was waiting for a surprise attack.

“I hope you realize Mycroft will go overboard with his security measures around us” The brunette said seriously, trying to sound as bothered and mad as he did so long ago when they had just meet. At that time he hadn’t known John well enough to trust him with his and Mycroft’s secret, the long con game they were playing and required for him to play the brat, ungrateful, hateful bastard. After his return there was no more place for such masquerade. His sibling told him some time later when they met at the Diogenes for one of their usual rendezvous that he believed Sherlock had trusted in Watson long before the Fall. Still, he could understand why the young man hadn’t done so.

John gave a twisted smile.

“Ray won’t fall behind” He said at least opening his eyes.

The Consulting Detective realized his partner had finally reached the point where he was ready to face him. One of the things that made Watson unique, among others, was that he always seemed to forget who his lover was and what he did for a living.

Sherlock took John’s face by the chin and forced their eyes to meet. Usually he would simple tell what he observed, but the younger Holmes knew the blond needed to speak of the things in his past on his own, and he would of course give the other the chance to do so at his pace. He loved John that much.

“You already deduced it, didn’t you?” The doctor asked, moving he head to a side, forcing his partner to release him “or have you known all along?”

“I must confess I suspected, there was something in the way you managed to kill the cabbie from such a distance, how you could so casually laugh about it with me” Sherlock explained “I just confirmed it today.”

Watson turned his head once again to study the other. The brunette was known to be a master liar, but there was something in the way he spoke, in his grey eyes that made the smaller man believe him. Maybe, it was just that he wanted to.

“I left black ops some years before the Afghanistan war” For some reason it was important for him that the other knew that.

“I know”

John was about to interject but then seemed to realize who was he speaking with and just smiled shaking his head unconsciously.

“Of course you do” He said well-naturedly.

One of the many things that made Sherlock fall in love with the older man was the fact that he would take the brunette as he was. The blond was always amazed by his observational skill and tended to be truly forgiving of his lack of social compliance as well as his egotistic and theatrical ways. The younger Holmes moved closer to the other man, towering over him while his arm pulled the blond closer before kissing him passionately.

John surrendered to him, opening his mouth to let Sherlock take possession of it. Their tongues entwined around each other. The brunette began to move them to a horizontal position. He needed to reclaim his lover in the most primitive way, make sure Watson knew he wasn’t letting the man get lost on the past or escape from him even in his mind. He had already told so, now he wanted to leave his marks on the other’s skin so John wouldn’t forget.

The younger Holmes helped Watson out of his jumper and shirt. The smaller man thought for a moment maybe he should stop the other, they still had several things to talk about. He wanted to come clean about his past first, even if Sherlock already could tell half of the things he had done by the way he crooked a finger. He put a hand against the other’s chest trying to stop him, but the Consulting Detective wasn’t deterred.

“You can tell me all about it later…” He whispered moving his lips down the other man’s neck, kissing the rapidly heating skin.

“Sherlock…” Watson whispered, his voice sounded unsure. It had been such a battle to gather the courage to tell his lover his story and he wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to do it again.

“Hush, John” The brunette whispered before biting on the beautiful surface, leaving his mark and forcing a moan out of his subtly trembling lover. It was obvious the other man was too worried over nothing and he would have to reassure him before moving forward.

The younger Holmes raised his head, never releasing the other from his hold, knowing if he did it would send the wrong message to the other.

“You did what you had to do with the intel they gave you, John” He said matter of fact.

Watson looked at him surprised for a moment.

“You don’t know the half of it” He said at least, his voice low, filled with regret and self reproach.

“Then tell me” Sherlock ordered not moving an inch.

And John began to talk.

He told to his lover about the old days, when he was still young and trusting. He had let himself be convinced to take part on some black ops. Back then Ray wasn’t the American Government and they worked together on the field. Hannibal, an old friend of his from his college time, joined them on one or two missions. He was called to help evaluate some suspects or with interrogations. And then he was called to the take charge of the Foundation mission. He never believed his bosses would use him and his team to extend their own power base; that they would sacrifice them without remorse throwing their own men onto the wolves without even a warning. Raymond and Hannibal had been able to rescue him at the last minute, but he had lost almost the whole of his team. People he trusted and cared for, who had put their lives in his hands, betrayed by the ones they were fighting for. He had been able to walk away because he had asked to be deployed to Afghanistan –where at least he would know for certain who was the enemy- and no one expected for him to survive more than a couple of days. But he did, as miraculous as it could seem.

Sherlock nodded at the other’s tale at all the right moments. He caressed the man’s back as he spoke, making sure he felt his support. He might show his worst side to the world, let everyone believe he was no more than an automaton with human shape, but not to his lover, the man he had lowered his defenses for.

The proof of how much he cared was the fact that he never told John that Reddington had been the American Government all along, and that was the only reason he was still alive, because the man really cared for him. He suspected the only reason Watson was sent on that suicide mission was the fact that someone knew of the friendship he had with the older blond and had tried to force the other to act, to call back the mission and thus reveal his power and that particular weakness, but of course the man he had seen right through it. Truth was, John had been as betrayed by his former bosses –whose names he still refuse to disclose- as by the man that rescued him, at the nick of time. And later, the only reason he hadn’t been “accidentally” killed by “friendly” fire was because Reddington had protected him. He could tell because he knew only too well how men like him acted; he had been studying one all of his life: Mycroft was the exact mirror of Raymond.

Chapter Text

Hannibal arrived at the house Raymond had rented for him. He walked inside with all of his senses in alert and checked around to make sure no one had been around, or was ready to ambush him. A moment later he gave the “all clear” to the surveillance team before pouring himself a glass of well aged whisky and taking off his jacket and tie. He looked at this watch: it was just fifteen minutes past twelve, which meant it was five in the morning back at Baltimore where he had left his sweet beautiful puppy. It certainly would be rude to call him at that moment, even if the brunette tended to suffer from insomnia. With a soft, resigned sight, he took a sip from the glass. He would have to wait to hear his lover’s voice.

Hannibal smiled to himself remembering their long courtship, all the twist, turns and detours they had taken before the younger one finally surrendered to him. They were still working on their relationship and he was worried about him talking himself or being talk out of it those meddling people who called themselves his friends. Those who had been only too happy to put him behind bars and ignore his pleas of innocence, who refused to even take a second look at the file they felt relieved to close. Will Graham was the Chesapeake Ripper, it was sad, of course, but it was so logical… they say more or less loudly. And then, when the voices turned louder, he had acted. Hannibal brought his own lawyer to defend William –Harvey Specter had flown the day after he had called, bringing his young assistant with whom he was obviously smitten-, hired a private forensic team -whose head, the now retired, former Las Vegas’ CSI head Gil Grissom, had worked with him more than once in the past- to go over the evidence. First Harvey managed to get him released from the Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane –much to its head’s psychiatrists' rage- and several weeks later he had the younger man exonerated thanks to the new analysis made by Grissom’s team.

The brunette had been so shocked by the experience he had closed to everyone, refusing to even look or to talk with anyone except for doctor Lecter -who had gone personally to take him away from Doctor Chilton’s greedy hands-. He had hugged the still shaken man and walked him away, to his car, while his lawyer took care of the details. Harvey made sure to let everyone know he would press charges for all and any violation on his client’s rights… particularly the use of cameras and unorthodox methods of therapy. Hannibal wished the other man had taken a picture of Frederick’s face when he found himself being called on the actions he thought so secret and well hidden from any and all prying eyes.

He drove a silent William to his old farm. Once they arrived the younger man look outside the window and seemed to recognize the place but didn't make any move to get off the car. Even Winston’s bark couldn’t persuade him to. He stayed there; almost catatonic, shivering so violently Hannibal thought he would have to sedate the man. Still, not wanting to drug the puppy unnecessarily, after the time he had spent at the Asylum –where he knew the man had been forcibly medicated-, the psychiatrist decided to try another approach first. He put a hand on the other man’s shoulder and waited for him to turn around and look at him. Hannibal hated how empty the younger man wonderful green eyes were.

“You should go greet them, William. Winston missed you” he said softly “all of your strays did”

His words seemed to reach the other, Lecter noticed the tears forming and threatening to fall. The younger man fought them for a moment, not ready to show his vulnerability in such way. Slowly he opened the vehicle’s door and stepped down, letting Winston come to him. The dog lavished his unselfish love on his owner. The other ones came in a bit later, all of them surrounded William, and the smaller man finally let himself fall on the floor and began to cry.

Hannibal had been expecting for such development, and a moment later was hugging the young man to his body, supporting him between his arms, and offering his shoulder for the man to hide his face, while the dogs watched at them curious.

“Hush now, William, it’s alright, it’s over now…” The older man promised while the other sobbed and shivered.

The puppy had refused to go inside of his house. There were too many bad memories threatening to overwhelm his mind right there and then. Hannibal, being the gentleman that he was, offered the young one to stay at his house or to pay him a nice hotel room to spend the night and all the time he needed before being ready to return –he could certainly afford it-.

Graham whispered he preferred going to Lecter’s house, he didn’t want to be alone. What he didn’t say was that he feared Crawford would try to contact him, worst yet to arrest him again under some charge or another.

The blond doctor nodded and waited until the other was calm once more to suggest he and Winston went into the car while he went in the house to get some clothes for William. The brunette almost howled that he couldn’t go in there, while he physically restrained Hannibal, taking him by the arms with so much force the psychiatrist thought he would leave marks even through the clothes.

Hannibal understood at once: the man’s mind was going over and over again to the moment he had been taken by the FBI and somehow. William had merged the images into a sense of impending doom should the other go into his house. He managed to calm down the younger one, reassured him he wouldn’t go inside, and moved them to the vehicle once again. Winston would go with them, since it would help the other to heal -but he put his food down at allowing more than one pet-. He called a contact of his who would be able to come and take care of the other strays, letting William know they would be in safe hands before they went to his home.

A phone ring took him out of his remembrance. He looked at the caller before picking it up promptly.

“Sorry to bother you at this hour, Doctor Lecter,” the man at the other side began “but I think you should know mister Graham will arrive in London in two hours, would you like to come to the airport with us?”

Chapter Text

The Diogenes club had been built in the XIXth century, under the inspiration of a great man: Mycroft Holmes. He had been the one who had come up with the idea to create a place where the most reclusive men of London would feel comfortable. It was a place where talking was forbidden -except in the Stranger’s room- and no one was allowed to observe what the other was doing -of course he didn’t need more than a pacing glance to be able to deduce exactly what was going on in each and every member’s personal and professional life-. The club had become quite the success on certain exalted circles and allowed him and his loved younger brother, Sherlock -the first Consulting Detective in England, and the whole world- to find some peace and quiet back in their time. It was also a place where they had been able to confer and decided once and again the future of the English government as well as solve some pretty delicate European matters.

At present, the Diogenes Club was owned by a younger man who carried the same name as that of the one who had build it and the rules hadn’t changed a bit in a hundred years. The Holmes’ brothers still came to relax or to talk with each other safe from anyone’s prying eyes and years, particularly since their longer game had begun.

The British Government had arrived the earliest that particular day with a very small team of trusted men and women to make sure there were no bugs or any other nasty surprise –a couple of years ago someone had managed to breach his security once and he wouldn’t allow for it to happen ever again-. A very important meeting would place in just a couple of hours and he couldn't risk anyone getting the least scrap of information about what would be discussed and decided there.

Ten minutes past nine in the morning Sherlock arrived with John, both men looked stronger than the day before, Mycroft noticed at once. It was obvious they had talked about the past, and John had come clean to his sibling. Still, he suspected the younger one would be asking soon to watch at the file he had compiled on the other’s former activities, and would probably have one or two questions. It would be tricky to talk Sherlock out of avenging the doctor once he realize the extent to which he had been betrayed in the past and he wasn’t really looking to the task.

“Don’t worry, Mycroft, I’ll wait until this is over” The brunette said in a very low voice, while greeting his brother with a hug -only here, and when there was no one around, he could allow such a gesture-.

The other nodded imperceptibly, but it was enough for them. They moved apart and John walked to stretch his brother-in-law’s hand.

“What about one row at our favorite game, Mycroft?” Sherlock asked standing against one of the tall windows that looked to the street. The older Holmes had made the glass one sided so no one would notice if there was someone watching or not.

John seemed to become alert and curious at the Consulting Detective invitation. The British Government smiled happily and walked closer to his sibling.

“But of course” He said calmly watching attentively at the passersby “What do you make of that woman?” Mycroft asked at least.

Sherlock moved for Watson to come closer, and have a look before speaking.

“She is waiting for her lover to pick her up…” The brunette began.

The former soldier watched at him with an incredulous smile.

“… she has taken the day off under pretense of being sick…” Mycroft added.

The doctor turned his gaze to him, his eyes opened wide.

“… the man doesn’t know she is only a secretary…” The younger man said calling attention to the red -rented- car that had stopped to let the woman in.

“… neither knows she is already married with kids” the taller one said, a bit of disapproval showing in his voice, while the three man observed the couple drive off to a pretty easily suspected place.

“How did you two ever arrive to such ideas? She was only standing there!” Watson asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. Mycroft noticed he never even suspected they could be very well simply inventing the whole thing up. Definitely, the older Holmes could understand why his sibling had fallen so hard for the gentle warrior.

“It was all pretty obvious, John” Sherlock said matter of fact before explaining all the little details he and his brother had been able to notice: the garter belt barely concealed under her carefully chosen power suit, the way she flinched and turned his head as quickly as she seemed to recognize anyone, the barely there movement she made when the car approached her to check she had taken off her ring and the necklace with the little figurines boys and girls many woman wear every day. The fact that the man had gone to the pains of renting always the same expensive looking car told he believed she was in a higher position in the corporate world and that he had to impress her in order to retain her attentions.

“That’s brilliant!!!” The blond doctor praised them before giving a passionate kiss to his lover.

Mycroft experienced a pang of jealousy but was careful to hide it. His brother was possessive of his lover at the best of times, and he had never been exceedingly good at cataloging other people’s most subtle emotions. He wouldn’t risk Sherlock misunderstanding the nature of his feelings. He missed having someone who would lavish such unselfish love on him. Who would appreciate -instead of fear or condemn- his capabilities, who wouldn’t try to use him as a means to an end. He wanted what his sibling had been able to find in John Hamish Watson, but he didn’t want the man himself.

Chapter Text

Hannibal and Will were left at the entrance of the Diogenes Club at half past nine by an unmarked small car. The younger brunette still experienced some tiredness from the overnight flight that had taken him to London and to the arms of the one he loved and who he had been missing with all of his heart. Graham looked at the building intrigued but didn’t say a word, instead just walked a bit closer to the other man, who just smiled at him projecting calm feelings.

The psychiatrist had explained to him, one morning a couple of days ago that he had to travel abroad to help a well trusted friend with a small problem he had. William tried not to pry, pretended it was alright and let him go, not wanting to come out as too needy, too demanding. Graham knew he had already taken much from Hannibal: his time, his money, even his house –which he hadn’t left since the man so selflessly, offered him to stay there-. The older one had gone so far as to accept and adopt Winston, who now ran free in the big backyard and from time to time invaded the house barking loudly and trying to convince the psychiatrist –who he had acknowledged as the alpha- to play with him. Still, he wasn’t ready to let go of the other, instead he had found out he wanted even more of the blond.

The day before his arrival in one of England less conspicuous and very private airports, Donald Ressler, an old flame, called him out of the blue. He had been truly surprised at being contacted by the man, who he knew had chosen to walk a less than savory and truly rocked path as a “cleaner” –an unofficial name given to some of the few honest and hard working agents who engaged on Augean Stables like missions, usually they were the ones responsible for watching the watchers-.

“How are you doing, William?” The other man had asked well-naturedly after the very preliminary, polite, exchanges. It was obvious he knew about the recent events in his life.

“I’m getting better” He answered calmly, trying to guess why would the blond call him after so many years.

“It’s good to hear that” Donald said kindly “You know… it’s been so long since we met and I was thinking why don’t we get together for a quiet meal in, let’s say, an hour?”.

Will was about to decline, not really wishing to see anybody except for the man who had already left, but then, his mind caught up and noticed how Ressler had used his full name while greeting him instead of the shortened for he preferred. It was an old code they had come up with a long time ago. They had come up with it while working together side by side with an NCIS branch to catch a man who had been killing former marine officers who had been dishonorably discharged after a very murky case which records were still sealed. A strange feeling of adrenaline began to run through his veins. He hadn’t felt such energy since before the ordeal at the Baltimore Hospital for the Clinically Insane.

“Sure, Ress.” He answered at last.

“Excellent, I’ll send a car to pick you up, then” Ressler sounded almost relieved having realized he had got the actual message.

William fed Winston, filled his water bowl and went to change clothes wondering what could possibly have made his former lover call to him. He debated if he should call Hannibal and tell him about this new development, but then he decided there was no need to worry the other senselessly. Donald had to know he was still suspended pending investigation and psychological evaluation at the Bureau so the most probable thing was the other simply needed some kind of quick consultation. And he was sure whatever case the Special Agent was working on, it would be less dangerous for his mental health that anything Crawford had made him deal with. Once his mind was up he simply took seat with a book between his hands to wait for the hour to be up.

A stranger man had come to drive him to the place where William thought he would meet Ressler. Instead he found a private plane waiting for him to board it. He turned to the one who had driven him questioningly, but the man simply shrugged his shoulders.

Slowly Graham walked up the short stairs and found a serious, middle aged woman sitting on one of the chair, a computer opened in front of her.

“It’s so nice of you to have come, Mister Graham.” She said without introducing herself, still Will didn’t feel any ill intention towards him from who he suspected was a secret agent “Agent Ressler apologizes for not being here to accompany you on the flight” She kept on with a professional smile pointing at one of the seats.

“Flight?!” He asked surprised turning his head to the already -silently- closed door.

She looked at him for a second, evaluating him.

“To London”

“I can’t…-” He began already thinking how he could escape from the plane and wondering if he had been ambushed. Maybe the one who had called him wasn’t his old lover, after all and the use of his name as a code had been taken to him somehow… but why would someone want him for? And then he remembered how little information had Hannibal given to him about the mysterious trip, to do a favor to an old friend… of whom he knew nothing about.

“Please, Mister Graham, take seat, we'll take off shortly” the woman spoke again as he hadn’t said a word before typing something on the keypad. A moment later a phone that rested at the side of the woman rang. She made a gesture for William to pick it up.

It was Donald. The Special Agent apologize for the hurried actions they –Will wondered who exactly “they” were- had to take and promised to explain everything to him once he landed. He also told the brunette Hannibal would be waiting for him. Those were the words that finally convinced him to comply. He was trapped anyway.

Once he saw the older blond psychiatrist, William realized he hadn’t been lied to. The green eyed one had to fight the impulse to run to the other. The taller one hugged him and told him they would speak at their new lodgings –for the time be-. That night Graham heard the name Moriarty for the first time.

Inside the richly adorned club an old man came to guide the two newcomers through the corridors to the Stranger’s Room. He advised them not to breathe a word until they were inside it. Will had turned to look at Hannibal with intrigue in his eyes, but the other didn’t seem to find anything weird on the request. While they walked through the halls, the brunette felt a huge sense of quiet overcome him, the whole place seemed to radiate a serene silence and suddenly the younger man found himself smiling. The psychiatrist at his side, noticing the change decided he would certainly ask Mycroft Holmes about a membership.

After a short while they were introduced to the area where they could speak freely. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were already there, as well as the club's owner

Chapter Text

At ten in the morning, the last man expected at Diogenes arrived walking slowly, his face half hidden under the hat. Raymond greeted the old doorman and walked alone to the Stranger’s Room. He was, after all, a well known member of the club.

Once he entered, he took on the scenes in front of him at once. John was talking quietly with a very shy looking William Graham, both of then seated one in front of the other in the comfortable chairs. Each man had a cup of a hot beverage on its hands, he suspected tea and coffee respectively. The older doctor had a sympathetic light in his eyes, and Ray could tell he related to the FBI profiler’s situation. He had been just as hurt, betrayed by those he trusted in and then kick while he was down. Still, they didn’t seem to be exchanging confidences just yet, just some amiable, passing talk that made the younger brunette felt a lot more at ease being the only one who didn’t know any other person in the room.

Hannibal was reading one of the many newspapers that were offered at the club, but Reddington could tell the man was also very focused on what happened between his old friend and his new lover. Truth was, he had never thought a man so strong and ruthless as the psychiatrist would chose such a frail looking, already half broken man as his partner. One Lecter had helped to destroy in some ways, and then rescued from the pit at the last minute, making himself look like a savior angel. He had even managed to blind sighting the younger man to the fact he had once deduced the other was in fact the blue skinned, long horned, human eating demon his mind had come up with to deal with the nightmares produced by his work in a team that would be called into question in a couple of months –records of the young man’s unsuccessful, forced therapy with now disgraced Doctor Chilton hadn’t been all that hard to acquire-. Doctor Lecter had always been a man who liked to play with a heavy hand.

Still, Raymond wondered how deep Graham’s denial truly ran, how much he remembered of his drugged induced –inadmissible in court- confessions he actually remember. There was the odd chance that he was the one playing the other, but for now, Raymond had no reason to suspect the brunette was more than he seemed to be, than what the file he had compiled from the moment William had been introduced to Hannibal, showed he was.

On another side, Sherlock and Mycroft seemed to be communicating with each other telepathically, since they didn’t seem to exchange more than a casual word before a long time of silence between them. They had a stronger relationship than anyone could suspect given their public performance. An old trick he had used more than once and still gave good results, as the mission he was working with his protege back in the states proof. That particular case had become more complicated than he had predicted forcing him to get involved, not that he didn't enjoy the character he played. As he suspected the Holmes' brother did.

He cough politely, even thought he knew almost everyone was well aware of his arrival.

Reddington was greeted by all the men already reunited, the owner of the club asked if he wanted to order some kind of beverage before they proceed with the meeting and he asked for a cup of tea. He drank enough coffee when he was on the States. Also, he insisted the English didn’t know how to prepare it.

Sherlock gave him a side sight while he walked to his lover, sitting right at his side, but didn’t say a word. John instead laughed before raising the dropped gauntlet.

“So says the Yank…”

Mycroft look at both men with a courteous smile.

“Now, now, gentlemen, let’s play nice all of us, we have a common foe to catch…” He said seriously “we can demand satisfaction for the Yank’s offences on our coffee making capabilities, later” He added as another fresh round of tea, coffee and sweets was neatly accommodated on the table. The British Government had sounded so serious Watson and Will looked at him worried until they realized the other was just joking.

“Of course he is just kidding” Sherlock said calmly “Reddington’s right after all” he threw provocatively.

Watson turned to his lover.

“You won’t speak evil of your country in front of the Yank’s!” He admonished with a smile curling on his lips “those are things you can only say at home where they can’t hear and become insufferable” He added in a half tone.

“Should we begin, gentleman?” Mycroft asked kindly putting an end to the jests before they came to the point where humor could take a turn for the worst, he had seen only too many promising meetings turn sour after people didn’t know when to quit the jokes on the other’s country, people or traditions.

The other men nodded silently and they finally began to plan how they should proceed now that the enemy was known.

Chapter Text

Outside the Diogenes Club a man and a woman remained each in two different, unmarked cars waiting until their bosses to whom they were loyal to a fault to return. Both had fought long and hard to reach the position they now had, having chosen who to follow and obey with a certainty no one had been able to understand at the time.

She was the ferocious Dragon Lady and he was the chameleonic Black Knight. Once or twice they had crossed blades and had come to respect the other in whom they found a mirror of themselves.

Donald decided to use the time until Raymond returned going over the reports that had been turned in by some of the younger agents he had trained and now supervised. He also managed to follow up with some contacts and to gather some information that would be useful the two missions he was working on besides his main one. The last Augean Stable he would have to clean in a long while, he hoped. It wasn’t like he didn’t love the particular mission he had taken, as twisted and complex as it had turned out to be. He particularly enjoyed the chance to work closely with the taller man once again, to watch him in action, getting his hands dirty as any other agent –that was one of the many things he admired Red, that he still worked the field instead of hiding behind a desk-.

Djembe, the bodyguard slash driver, had stopped the car some two hours ago when Reddintong’s suddenly told him to park a couple of streets away from the place he had agreed to meet with the five men who would help them stop Moriarty. He would walk the little distance that remained. Ressler, who was sitting at his side, completely silent, knew better than to protest or challenge the other man’s decision when they could be overhead. Still, he managed to make sure Raymond noticed clearly how much he disapproved of him taking such unnecessary risk when they were against a first-rate mastermind criminal.

“Don’t give me that look, Donald” Reddington said softly “Who could possibly expect I simply get there walking by myself, no security display, not even a disguise.”

“I still think you should let me accompany you to the door to make sure you get there alive, at least” He was one to speak his mind once he had been asked a question, something the other seemed to appreciate.

“I think you have more pressing matters to attend to” Raymond said confidently “You should call Cooper to let him know the Concierge of Crime hadn’t finished you off and made a run for it, just yet.”

The younger man laughed hard, and they shared an accomplice look before Reddington finally got off the car and headed to the Diogenes club.

Donald has just finished an intercontinental call when he noticed an incoming text message. There was no obvious sender, but that didn’t truly concern him. In the line of work he had chosen the ones who would make themselves easily identifiable were either unimportant enough in the game or too far down in the food chain.

He opened it, and for once he was truly surprised.

It’s nice to see you finally learnt to stay where you are told. Finally managed to find your tamer? SM

He read the message once again. Of all the people he had expected to be contacted by while in London, certainly Sebastian Moran, the tiger-hunter, a man he thought several times dead, wasn’t one of them. He had met the former soldier while on a mission in Africa, before he was dishonorably discharged. The blond was still a respected colonel and the best marksman and sniper one could possibly find in the whole Continent, or so his men used to say.

*****

He had arrived to the man’s camp, fresh from training, with the mission to catch a thief who had taken some secrets from the American embassy in Berlin and was planning to sell them to the highest bidder once things became a bit quieter. The criminal had believed not many would dare to go to the heart of Africa to hunt him down and he had been mostly right. But then he hadn’t count Ressler’s tenacity.

Sebastian hadn’t been glad of having such a young, arrogant young “to take care of”, but eventually he had come to respect him, or Donald liked to think so. Still, he tended to feel constrained, being told he shouldn’t go beyond the secure perimeter and into the wild. But he could see all of Moran men’s came and went as their pleased, so he had begun to wander to the borders and beyond. He was pretty sure the criminal he was chasing couldn’t care less for lights and what not.

He became more and more daring, until one day he went too far and a beast found him. Moran saved his life then and took him back to the camp without saying a word. Donald had felt the man’s rage at being disobeyed. Eventually, he had decided to take a risk and follow the older one to his tent, intending to apologize, but he couldn’t articulate the words because the man had taken him by the nape and kissed his mouth punishingly. Instead of protesting he had joined in the kiss and before any of them realized it, they were taking of the clothes that prevented them to exploring the other’s skin and a moment later they had fell on the bed. The next day, he had dressed quietly and left the quarters for his own before could tell he wasn’t there.

After that night they engage in brief, very secret tryst –since the littlest indiscretion could cost the man his career- which lasted until he managed to track down and put a pair of handcuffs on the little rat he had been sent to hunt and, more important yet, he had been able to recover the information he had stolen. They had said goodbye to each other without regrets and wishing the other the best of luck.

*****

Years later he would hear about a former colonel of her Majesty’s Royal Army who would arrange illegal hunts for some rich people, and later offered his services as a sniper or a bodyguard. He had never tried to follow such rumors, but he had always known deep down who they had been talking about. There weren’t that many men who could be called accomplished tiger hunters and who had served in Africa during the war.

Still, one day the man seemed to disappear from the radar. He believed the man had finally met his end, it was obvious now, that the truth was far more complicated.