Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The lord of crime and the detective hit the water, and everything went black. It felt like an eternity spent in darkness. He couldn't speak, he couldn't hear, he couldn't move. Just unmoving, unfeeling blackness all around. It was suffocating and freeing. Cold and hot. Scary and reliving.

A blue box appeared next to him. Mechanical, unfeeling words rang through his head.

[power on]

[loading]

[Welcome user 005]

“What-“

[loading world…]

There was a bright light, and Sherlock was looking at a preteen version of his brother in weird clothes. Mycky looked at him with concern, setting the book he was reading aside.

“Sherly, are you feeling okay?” Preteen Mycky asked. 

Sherlock looked up.

“I’m-“ he paused. His voice was so young. Of course, you sound young, look at Mycky. Given his age, you're probably about four. 

“I’m okay.”

Young Mycroft nodded, returning to his book.

Sherlock looked around. The room he was in looked like a sitting room. But there was a completely black, slightly reflective painting on the wall. And everything was off. There was a weird box with buttons on the table next to him. Sherlock could hear the buzzing of electricity. But he couldn’t see where it was coming from.

Mycroft looked up from his book again. 

“Judging face, you are the original Sherlock and not this world's Sherlock,” Mycroft said calmly. Sherlock covered his ears. Everything felt a bit overwhelming. Usually, Sherlock is overwhelmed. But this was too much.

“Mycky, what’s going on?”

“You have a lot to catch up on, Sherly,” Mycky smirked.

“For starters, welcome to the 21st century.”

—-

William wanted to be upset; he really wanted to. He didn't deserve this life.

He didn't deserve a do-over. He didn't deserve to grow up with both of his beloved brothers. Not only did he get reborn here, but his Louis and his Albert did too. He could only hope that all of his loved ones would join him eventually. But he shouldn't be allowed to hope. He didn't deserve to after everything he had done, the people he had hurt, the families he had ripped apart.

He didn’t deserve good things.

He didn’t deserve to be happy.

For a long time, William was angry at himself. He beat himself up as soon as he was old enough to do so. Being reborn as a baby with an older mind was pretty difficult. He struggled with knowing everything but having to rely on others because he physically couldn’t himself.

But as soon as he was able to beat himself up over his last life’s sins, he did.

It didn’t last long. Albert would find him and manage to calm him down and convince him that he could still atone in this new lifetime. 

William was so happy when Louis was born the year after him. Now he had both brothers.

William did not enjoy having to grow up all over again, but at least he got to learn the rules of this place gradually. It also helped that he had his brothers. 

In his new life, he grew up in the Moriarty Manor with his brothers. His parents were never around, which was probably a good thing. Jack started to work for the family when William turned 5. It wasn’t the Jack he had known in his past life, but he was similar enough that William often forgot they weren't the same person.

Jack technically was working for the family as a butler, but had ended up also playing nanny to the 3 boys since Mr. and Mrs. Moriarty were never around.

While in school, the 3 boys also did volunteer and charity work. They couldn’t do much to help the people in their past lives that they had hurt but they could do work now to atone.

William graduated early again this lifetime at age 14, to the surprise of neither of his brothers. But it was the one time the elder Moriartys seemed to give a shit about their children. 

Albert still joined the military as soon as he was old enough. He spent a couple of years doing that until he was recruited by Mycroft when he was 24.

Louis also graduated early at age 16. He managed the family investment while occasionally helping Albert with his missions if needed.

The older Moriartys weren’t all that happy when William wanted to go to school to be a teacher, but they didn’t get much of a say because they ended up dead when William turned 18. Car accidents. William couldn’t even say he missed them; he didn't know them. It’s probably better that way; he had a feeling that if the older Moriartys played a part in his life, it would be like his last life. So it was better that they were neglectful and never around.

The day of the funeral, the blue box that had welcomed him, his first day in this world, had reappeared.

[Hello, user 003, you are nearing the end of the prologue.]

“Prologue?”

[Starting tomorrow, you start the main story, where you will be given missions that will help progress the story.]

“What if I don't accept the mission?”

[You lose b-points]

“What happens if I lose b-points?” William asked even though he had a feeling where this was going.

[If you go below zero b-points, you and users 002, 004, and 005 will all be deleted.] 

“Deleted from this world?” William asked.

[You will be deleted from this world and all others for failure to complete the story]

“So if I fail, you kill Albert, Louis, and whoever 005 is?”

[003, 002, 004, and 005 will be deleted]

So he has to play along. How hard can it be?

“What's my role in this story?”

[William James Moriarty]

[crime consultant]

[Title- The Lord of Crime]

William wasn't even surprised. All the years of work he had put in, the years of reflection. He had only now, after 18 years, started to come to terms and work threw his guilt from his past life, and this system was telling him he needed to go back to his life of crime. William really would never be able to atone.

Chapter Text

John was very surprised when he ended up in this strange place months ago. He had woken up in the hospital after he had apparently had a bad fever. Which had been after a severe leg injury. After that, the military sent him back to England, back to London. 

John had been here for a little over six months now. He was getting used to the 21st century and starting to settle in. He had finally started to learn how his ‘Cell Phone’ worked, after he had gotten several concerned voice mails from his mother and several passive-aggressive messages from Harry telling him to call their mother back, that John was scaring her.

“Love you, Mum, bye.” John hung up the phone, putting it back in his pocket. This was the sixth time she had called him this week about whether he had found a flat yet, and to tell him if he hadn't that her church friend’s son lived in London and was looking for a roommate. 

John didn't know how to tell his mother that he couldn't live with just anyone after his time spent living with Sherlock. He couldn’t just say, “Yeah, sorry, Mum, I can't live with just anyone, I have to live with my best friend, who may or may not live in this world. But I'm stubborn, so even if he doesn't exist here, I’m not living with anyone else. Except maybe my fiancée, who may or may not exist as well.” John sighed. Sat down on the park bench and started to unpack his sandwich. John really was starting to think maybe he was crazy and that this was his original life and the 1880s was just a dream.

John looked around the park. This had become his favorite place since he ended up in this world. One of the only places that existed in London that didn't make John's brain hurt with all the modern tech. The park felt detached from the 21st century. 

—

John had finally caved into his mother's request to at least meet the son of her friend. He was sitting at a cafe at the halfway point between his current residence and the flat of his potential new flatmate. 

John watched people pass by the window, waiting for Car- ter? Carson? Carlo? Whatever his name was. He looked over when the cafe door opened. Only to see Stamford? Stamford looked over. 

“Is that you, Watson?” The man smiled and waved John over.

“Stamford, how have you been?” John walked over to join Stamford, who was waiting in line for his order to be taken.

“Good, good, and you?”

“Not bad, just looking for a flatmate. London is getting a bit expensive to manage alone.” Now that John thought about it, wasn't it Stamford who introduced him and Sherlock? Maybe he would once again be the one to bring Sherlock and John together. God, John hoped.

“It's funny you said that. You're the second man to say that to me today.” Stamford said.

John smiled. This was starting to sound familiar.

“Who was the first?” John asked.

“I can introduce you if you have some time to spare,” Stamford offered.

“He should still be at the hospital.” Stamford shrugged.

John thought about the man he was supposed to be meeting. 

[MISSION- 221b Baker street, is now available]

John messaged Car- whats his face, that ‘ something came up ' and followed after Stamford.

“I have time to spare”

John really hoped that he was right and that Stamford was leading him right to Sherlock. John really would appreciate being reunited with his best friend. He would also appreciate not having to live with Car- can’t remember his name .

—

Stamford led John to the hospital. They made their way through the labyrinth of halls and stopped outside a room. Stamford turned to John.

“Before you meet him. You can't blame me if you two don't get along. He can be” Stamford made a vague gesture while he talked.

“Eccentric,” John offered. Stamford nodded in agreement as he opened the door for the two to step through.

Sherlock was sitting at a desk. Eye to a microscope. It was such a Sherlock thing to be doing; it made John wanna cry. He truly did miss the stupid genius, who happened to be his best friend. 

“John Watson, this is Sherlock Holmes,” Stamford introduced. Sherlock looked up, finally. 

But there was no recognition in the dark-haired man's eyes. John wanted to crumble; he didn't even think about the fact that this Sherlock most likely wouldn't be the Sherlock he knew. 

“My friend here had mentioned-” Stamford had started, but was cut off by Sherlock.

“He is also looking for someone to split rent with.”

“Yes, how did you-” Stamford really couldn't get a word in when Sherlock kept cutting him off.

“I can show you to the flat tomorrow if you would like,” Sherlock said to John. John nodded. It didn’t matter if this wasn’t the man he knew. John’s only other option right now was Car- not worth remembering his name . John would take not Sherlock over that any day. 

“That works for me,” John responded. Sherlock scribbled down an address, handing it to John. He quickly went back to his work. John smiled to himself, taking the address, 221b Baker Street.  

“Tomorrow then.” John agreed before leaving.

—

It didn't take very long for John to end up at Baker Street for his second, second meeting with Sherlock Holmes. 

John didn't even bother knocking; he knew the door would be open just like last time. He couldn't hold back his smile. He really was excited. Even if this wasn't his Sherlock, it would be nice to get to know him again. 

He practically ran up the stairs. He burst through the door. Minus the modern furniture and decor, 221b hadn't changed at all. It even had the two chairs facing each other in front of the fireplace. 

Sherlock, like last time, was sprawled out on the floor, appearing dead. But John knew better. 

“Mr. Holmes? What are you doing on the floor?” John asked, smiling politely. 

“Ain’t you supposed to be checking my vitals like a good doctor, John?” Sherlock said, his face still on the carpet, so the words were muffled. 

John rolled his eyes.

John thought about how to respond. He really wished this was his Sherlock, but that was too much to hope for. He wanted to ask if this not Sherlock and his Sherlock were the same. But he can't just come out and ask Sherlock if he was also the original Sherlock. If he did that and this did happen to be the actual Sherlock of this century, then he would just look crazy. But he didn't want to be teased by his Sherlock if he actually was his Sherlock, and he couldn't tell. He needed a response that could be a question without making himself look crazy if he was wrong.

Then it hit him. The bridge that would most likely be Sherlock’s last memory of the 1880’s.

“You have to be in better shape than someone who has recently jumped off a bridge,” John said awkwardly. He was bad at Subtlety. Sherlock threw his head back in laughter. 

“You're no good at Subtlety, John,” Sherlock said, getting up off the ground, throwing himself into his chair.

John crossed his arms. Given Sherlock's response, this was, in fact, his Sherlock.

[unlocked confidant- Sherlock Holmes]

“At least I tried,” John said as he threw himself into the chair opposite Sherlock's. Dropping the overly polite facade that most people knew to be John Watson. It's not that John was hiding a dark side or anything, he just only ever really ever felt comfortable around Sherlock and Mary enough to not wear a mask of politeness. 

“Even Miss Hudson was more subtle when trying to ask me,” Sherlock said teasingly. 

“Miss Hudson is here, too?” 

“Yeah, she will be up soon with the paperwork to put you on the lease.” 

It was quiet for a while before either man spoke.

“So how's it been?” Sherlock asked.

“Fine. I've spent the last couple of months trying to navigate modern technology, but other than that, I'm fine.”

“You seem to be doing well for someone who has only been dealing with it for months.”

“You think so?” John asked. Sherlock shrugged.

“You were all alone and taught yourself how to use modern technology,” Sherlock said wth a shrug.

“Were you alone, too?” John questioned. Sherlock shook his head.

“Mycroft got here 7 years before me,” John nodded.

The two spent the rest of the afternoon sharing adventures of the 21st century, and Miss Hudson joined them later for dinner and for John to sign her papers.

—

It's been six years since William started the main story. Six years later, he resumed his role as the lord of crime. So far, many of his missions as the lord of crime have left him with little guilt. He only took on cases where criminals had escaped the law. Still, little guilt did not mean he didn't feel any guilt. 

These people he was hurting were the worst of the worst, and he still felt guilty. What was wrong with him? Who was he to decide other people's fates?  Some cases left him guilt-ridden for days, unable to eat, drink, or sleep. Just wishing for his life to be over. It was those missions that made him ashamed for not ending his life a second time.

It was times like this that Albert and Louis kept a close eye on him.

Not everything was bad. William still got to be a teacher at the local high school. He did love being a teacher. It was one of the good things he did in both lives. He also volunteered at homeless shelters and churches on the weekends when he had time.

[new mission]

William was in the teacher's break room when the system made itself visible. William dreaded that blue screen. What would it be this time? Drugs? Blackmail? Murder? William didn't want to think of that right now; he just wanted to finish the last two classes and go home. 

Williams' phone dinged from his pocket.

Lou

There is a client for you

Will

Okay 

Lou

I’m sorry

William didn't respond. It wasn't Louis’s fault that he was miserable. The System was what was making him do all these bad things. 

—

William didn't even get to step through the front door when he got home from work. Louis was parked outside with the car.

William got into the passenger seat. The brothers looked at each other. 

“Who is it this time?” William asked his younger brother.

“Jefferson Hope he wants revenge on the men who took the life of his fiancée and her father,” Louis said, handing him the file.

[mission- A study in scarlet]

‘A Study in Scarlet’ is the name of Dr.Watson’s first book. Did that mean William was going to see Sherlock again? He hoped so. 

Chapter Text

Sherlock was relieved the day that Stamford introduced him and John. He had spent the last 20 years missing his best friend. He was glad to be sharing the flat with John again. 

Sherlock wasn't all that convinced that John was happy to share the flat with him again.

“Sherlock, this place is a mess. I just cleaned it yesterday!” John yelled as he entered the living room.

Sherlock looked up from his current chemistry project.

“It's not a mess,” Sherlock said, confused. John picked up a plate with Sherlock's breakfast.

“I'm still eating that.”

“It’s cold.”

“It's still edible.”

John picked up the slipper with Sherlock cigarettes. 

“I put those back after you rudely moved my stuff yesterday,” Sherlock said. John threw his hands up in the air dramatically.

“I give up.” John stormed off to the kitchen. 

Sherlock could hear John at the kitchen table typing away. He had been filling out job applications since he finished unpacking. 

Sherlock was drawn away from his project by a text. 

Lestrade

Possible murder.

Empty house. Blood in the room, but no wounds on the body.

He‘s American. 

I can give you more details in person if you stop by before noon

Sherlock

Where?

Lestrade

Lauriston Gardens, off Brixton Road. 

Sherlock sat up in his chair. He stretched a bit, causing John to look up from his laptop.

“Case?” John asked from the other room.

“Case,” Sherlock confirmed. John shut his computer. 

Both men received matching messages from their respective systems.

[New Mission]

[a study in scarlet]

“Are all the cases repeated?” John asked.

“There have been cases that have been similar to the originals, but they are not completely the same. Motives, evidence, and suspects do differ.” Sherlock Shrugged.

—

Number 3, Lauriston Garden. It was an abandoned house a bit off the road. It looked a bit worn out. It was one of four. The first two were obviously occupied, clean and well preserved for being so old. The last two, which consisted of number 3, had very clearly been abandoned for a while. There were scorch marks and dead plants and broken building numbers. 

Sherlock walked up and down the path, inspecting for clues. He really wished that the police would be less destructive of crime scenes; he can barely make out what’s the police and what is the suspect. Lestrade arrived shortly to show them up, but he stopped at the sight of John. 

“Who‘s this?” the older detective questioned.

“My new assistant, Sherlock, smirked. John rolled his eyes as he pushed past Sherlock. He put out his hand to Lestrade.

“Dr. Watson,” John introduced, shaking the older man’s hand.

“I have left things as untouched as I can,” said Lestrade as he led the two into the building.

 “We have done as much as I think we can do for now. It's a weird case, though, so I would appreciate whatever light you can shine on it.” Lestrade said quickly, as they made their way upstairs.

They entered a large room that must be the living room. All that was in the room was a single dirty window and a half-burnt unscented candle. The room felt claustrophobic for such a large room. Everything was scorched, and the floor looked like it was about to crumble underfoot.

“Is it safe to be in this house? It looks like it's going to collapse.” John voiced his consider. He was ignored by both Sherlock and Lestrade. 

They moved farther into the room.  Every breath John took, he inhaled only dust. It was such a depressing room, and that wasn't even counting the dead body in the corner.

The man is about forty-four-ish. He was face up on his back. Face contorted in agony and anger. This man had suffered as he died. If it was murder, then it was probably possession. 

Lestrade still stood at the door.

“Enoch J. Drebber, 45, American. He had a business card for himself and his colleague, Joseph Stangerson.”

“Where’s he?” Sherlock asked.

“We sent an officer to bring him down to the station for questioning.”

Sherlock nodded, going over to inspect the body.

“I have seen a lot in my years, but this is an odd one,” the older man said.

“There doesn't appear to be a clue.”

Sherlock got down on the floor.

There is no wound on the body?”

“None”

“Then the blood belongs to the suspect.”

“Right, we have already taken it as evidence.”

As Sherlock examined the body, he and Lestrade chatted. Sherlock brought up a case that must have been similar to the current one; he suggested that the older detective should read up on it.

Finally, Sherlock got up off the ground, dusting himself off.

“You can take him away; there is nothing more to learn,” Sherlock stated to Lestrade. The older detective nodded, leaving to find the rest of his team to take the body away.

John watched as Sherlock pocketed a gold ring.

“Sherlock, what are you-”

Sherlock made a ‘shh’ gesture.

“I'll explain later.”

Lestrade and the team appeared at the door again.

As the team worked to remove the body, Lestrade inspected the rest of the dreary room.

“Come look at this,” Lestrade waved John and Sherlock over. He turned on the torch on his phone to shine it on the wall.

RACHE

“What’s it mean?” The older man asked. 

One of the team members on the other side of the room turned.

“Looks like they were tryn’ to spell Rachel. Probably got himself killed over a girl,” the young man said. Sherlock laughed at the young man's words. Sherlock took out a tape measure and started to take measurements from the floor to the writing, then stepped away to make his calculations.

“Lestrade, if you could give me the name of the person who found the body, that would be helpful,” Sherlock said before turning back around to face the rest of the room.

“Did you find anything useful?”

“I will tell you what I know in exchange for the man who found the body,” Sherlock said. Lestrade nodded. Sherlock smirked.

“It was murder, poison. The murderer was a man over six feet tall, and he had small feet despite his height. He and the victim arrived here by car.” Sherlock said, heading for the door. Before leaving, he turned to Lestrade one last time

“Also, ‘rache’ is German for ‘revenge’, so don't bother looking for a girl.” With that, Sherlock left the house, John following right after him.

–

William watched the scene from the street below. He knew he shouldn't, but he wanted to see if Sherlock would in fact be there. Once he saw that Sherlock and Dr.Watson were leaving, he disappeared down an alley to the car where Louis was waiting. There was more to get done.

Chapter Text

John ordered drinks for the two of them as Sherlock picked a table. They had decided to meet John Rance (The man who found Drebber’s body) at this cafe.

John set the paper cup down on the table where Sherlock was sitting.

Sherlock took a drink. John brought out a small journal, writing down that morning's investigations. 

“Something never changes,” Sherlock said, smiling.

“I guess it's also part of my role in this ‘story’,” John made air quotes as he rolled his eyes. This system thing was ridiculous.

“ [John watson- the writer] ” John mocked the system.

“I really need this box to stop yelling at me every time I accidentally do something it considers to be ‘out of character,’” John complained.

“ OOC,” Sherlock mimicked the system's monotone voice.

“You get them too?”

“I used to, but it stopped years ago. I think I have just had enough time here to pick up my role.”

“You have also always been the better actor.”

“‘Better ‘actor,' I'm the best actor, thank you,” Sherlock said with mock offence. John rolled his eyes.

“But honestly, I didn't really have to change anything. The stupid thing seems to think my personality is perfect. ” Sherlock said. John could practically see the imagery sparkles around Sherlock's head, like some ditzy anime character.

“Perfectly shit.”

“Language, John, you are supposed to be the goodie two-shoes between the two of us,” Sherlock said sarcastically. John rolled his eyes.

“You're insufferable,"

“You can't say that about your best friend.” 

“As your best friend, I get to be honest with you.” John laughed. Sherlock laughed right with him.

“What time is this guy supposed to be meeting us?” John questioned when they had stopped laughing.

“Now.” Sherlock pointed to the window.

Once the man entered the building, Sherlock waved him over.

“Mr. Rance, I'm Sherlock Holmes. This is my assistant, Dr. Watson. We have some questions.”

“I don't know why you want to be talking to me. I already gave my statement to the police.” Rance said irritably.

“Yes, but I would like a first-hand account and to do my own questioning,” Sherlock said, handing over a bit of money. Rance's entire stance changed instantly. He sat up straight, and his expression was no longer irritable.

“I'd be happy to do  anything I can.”

“Just let me know how it all happened in your own words.” Sherlock prompted. The man nodded. He thought for a second. 

“I work the late shift, so I get home pretty late. I had gotten out of work later than usual, so I couldn't get a cab. I decided to walk home cuz what else am I supposed to do? It's not that far anyway.” Rance shrugged.

“At about one o'clock, it started to rain and I decided to wait it out under a shop awning, cuz I forgot my umbrella. I happened to run into Harry Murcher, who seemed to be in the same predicament as myself. So we talked for a bit as we both were waiting. Once the rain let up, I was walking past Lauriston Garden. I thought it was weird because the two flats have been empty for years. After all, the landlord has been refusing to fix them or get them demolished. But there was a light in the window. I went to the door.”

“Why did you do that?” Sherlock interrupted.

“Nobody should be in there; there is so much damage from a fire a couple of years back, you see,” Rance said. Sherlock nodded for the man to continue.

“I went up to tell whoever was in there that they should get out for their own safety, or I would call the police.” The man paused, taking a drink from a water bottle he had in his bag.

“When I got in, there was a candle which I thought was weird, cuz why would they use a candle?”

“Yes, and you found the body. What happened after?”

“Well, I couldn't get much of a signal on my mobile, so I went outside to phone the police.”

“And the street was empty at the time?”

“Empty as far as anybody useful can be”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I have seen a lot of drunkards in my life, but nobody is as pissed as that man. He was dancing around singing that American song about stars and banners.” The man shrugged.

“What was he like? Did you get a good look at him?” Sherlock questioned excitedly. 

“I mean, a bit he was a taller man, a bit scruffy. Older clothes but well taken care of.” Rance seemed utterly perplexed by Sherlock's line of questioning. Sherlock was looking out the window. Sherlock shot up out of his chair. 

 “Thank you, Mr. Rance, you have been of much help,” Sherlock said, never once taking his eyes off the window. The detective beckons John to follow.

“Let's go, John,” Sherlock said, running out of the Cafe and across the street.

“Sherlock, wait up!” John yelled after him.

—

Louis watched as William watched as Sherlock and Dr. Watson talked to Rance. 

“Well, we should go home. There is no use in watching him.” Louis pleaded with his brother as they walked down the street for the umpteenth time. People were starting to notice they weren't going into any other shops.

Usually, William was so good at being aware of how others were perceiving him. He usually would not have been noticeable to people. But William wasn’t being as cautious as he usually was.

Louis knew that his brother was aware that he was being reckless. So at least William wasn't completely lost.

“I just want to see if he is-” William weaved through the crowded street. Louis keeps losing his view of his brother.

“He is not the same man who jumped off that bridge,” Louis said as he caught up to William. William glared at his younger brother. Louis was slightly taken aback. William was always so kind to him, and they never really disagreed about anything. Except for Sherlock Holmes . Louis really hated that man. William always became so reckless when it came to that man .

“We don't know that. You and Albert are here. Fred and Moran are here. Why can't he?” William argued. Louis stared at his brother. He sounded so desperate for Sherlock Holmes to be here. Louis wanted to roll his eyes. But he wouldn't, he really didn't want to fight with William. But if there was anything or anyone that could cause a fight between them, it would be Sherlock fucking Holmes.

Louis sighed. Both of his brothers were self-destructive when it came to the Holmes brothers. Albert had been doing the same thing when it came to Holmes, the older. Albert was just as convinced as William is that the Holmes brothers in this world are the same as the ones from their world.

But Albert had been working with Mycroft Homes for about two years now, and he has shown no signs of being the original Mycroft Holmes. So why would  Sherlock be the original? 

“Even if he is, you know you can't just ask,” Louis tried to switch his approach. 

“The OOC lock, I know,” William said dejectedly.

“We should go,” Louis said as William’s eyes were still locked on Sherlock.

“I know it's just-oh, he is running this way,” William pointed across the street. William had a small smile on his face.

“Will, if he spotted us, that's not good.”

As Sherlock got closer, he started to yell. 

“Liam-” Sherlock suddenly stopped in the middle of the road. It appeared as if he couldn't move. 

“Move, you can't be standing in the middle of the road!” a man yelled from one of the cars that stopped to not hitting Sherlock. The detective was soon dragged off by Dr. Watson. 

Louis and William watch, unable to do a thing.

“Can we go now?” Louis asked. William watched the stop that Holmes had just made. 

“He called me Liam,” William said in a state of shock.

“He couldn't have, he shouldn't even recognize you.” Louis didn't want to lie to William, but he knew William would go chasing after the detective if he thought for even a second that Sherlock recognized him. He knew that once William snapped out of this, it was going to cause a fight between them.

“But he did.” William insisted. Louis really had the hold Sherlock Holmes had over his brother.

“Brother, I think you need to go home,” Louis said.. William went to argue till he looked around and realized that they were causing a scene.

“Maybe you're right,” William said, utterly defeated.

—

Sherlock saw William, and he ran. Twenty years. He had waited twenty years. He didn't know if William Moriarty even existed in the world. But there he was, right in front of him. 

“Liam-”

[OOC] 

[OOC]

[TOO EARLY]

[SHERLOCK HOLMES DOESN'T KNOW WILLIAM JAMES MORIARTY]

[OOC]

[OOC]

[OOC]

[OOC]

Sherlock couldn't move. He couldn't talk. His body froze in place. No, this couldn't be happening. Why couldn't he move? William was right there. He was right fucking there. Sherlock wanted to scream. Why can't he move?

[OOC]

Sherlock wanted to scream at that blasted fucking computer in his head. Sherlock was stuck till he felt someone drag him away. The car horns were dulled as he was dragged away from the scene.

—

John dragged Sherlock off. They hid themselves in an alley. 

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT!” John yelled.

“William,” Sherlock said quietly.

“I know I saw Mr. Moriarty, too. That is not what I'm talking about. WHY THE HELL DID YOU STOP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD? YOU COULD HAVE GOTTEN YOURSELF HIT!” John screamed. Leave it up to John to get angry and yell about Sherlock's safety. 

“I DIDN'T WANT TO STOP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD! THE STUPID FUCKING  COMPUTER just kept yelling.” Sherlock screamed until he got quiet. John sighed. 

“I don't know what you were expecting, you're not supposed to know him, of course it would stop you.” John reasoned. Sherlock glared at him. John put his hands up. Sherlock looked away. 

“Let's go, we have work to do,” Sherlock said, leaving the Alley.

Chapter Text

Once John and Sherlock got home, John threw himself onto the sofa, deciding to take a nap after their eventful afternoon. Sherlock sat in his chair, scrolling through his phone.

“What are you doing?” John asked, rolling over to face his friend's chair.

“Nothing,” Sherlock said quickly and defensively.

“Sherlock, you shouldn't be internet stalking him,” John said with a groan. Sherlock really was a madman when it came to Mr. Moriarty. Sherlock's head shot up.

“I hadn't even thought of that,” Sherlock said. John groaned. 

“Sherlock-” John said, but Sherlock was lost to the world. John decided to turn back over and take his nap.

—

Albert was sitting at the dining room table. It was one of the rare days that he got to eat dinner with his family. Well, Louis and William, anyway. The other two residents were currently away on MI6 missions.

For sharing a house, the three really were always busy. William had his job at the school, and when he wasn't busy with that, he volunteered at the homeless shelter, the church, or the library's free tutoring program. Or he was being forced to do missions as the lord of crime for the system.

Louis always had something as well. On top of his help with MI6, he also managed all the family companies and investments, which Albert just didn't have time for. And on top of all that, the youngest brother still found time to help and follow William. All while managing the house and putting dinner on the table.

Albert observed his brothers. They were both quiet. William had a look of utter fatigue and disappointment. Louis had a look of guilt. What had happened since he had seen them only this morning?

 “Did something happen?” Albert asked. Louis was quiet. William looked up from his dinner plate.

“We saw Sherlock,” William said. Louis’s guilty face only grew. Okay, what is going on? Louis looks guilty about something.  

“Okay…” Albert said, not knowing how to respond.

“He said my name.” William Said. 

“He knew who you were?” Albert asked.

“I don't know, he ran across the street and he yelled ‘Liam’.” Will looked so hopeful. Albert knew how much Sherlock Holmes meant to William. The man had literally been willing to jump off a bridge to save William or die trying.

“He might have been yelling for-” Louis started. Oh, that's what it is. Louis never did like Sherlock Holmes' friendship with William.

William slammed his fork down on his plate. Albert and Louis were both shocked. William never got angry at either of them, especially Louis. 

“I'm not hungry,” he said, getting up and leaving the dining room, completely silently. William was trained from a young age, long before Albert had ever met him, on how to mask his emotions. The fact that they could see William was upset was proof of just how upset he truly was.

Albert sighed, knowing that this case was going to take a toll on William, the same way that working for Mycroft again had taken a toll on himself. But he did not expect his brothers to fight. William and Louis never fought in all the years in this life and the last that they had known each other. The two's relationship honestly scared Albert sometimes. When they were younger, Albert feared the two were a bit too co-dependent. He was scared of what would happen if anything should happen to one of the Bloneds (especially Louis’s reaction). Albert was surprised at Mycroft's letter, months after Williams' death, that Louis had appeared to be doing great in the role of M. 

Albert was aware that he couldn't always tell what was going on in his brothers’ heads, but to him, Louis' reaction was unwarranted. He knew that Louis was protective, but going out of his way to discourage William was a bit out of character for the man who always supported William, no questions asked.

“Lou, why can't you just let him hope?” Albert asked.

“You know what Sherlock Holmes means to Will.” 

Louis got up from his chair, slamming his silverware into the plate much like William had. The chair that he had just been sitting on fell to the floor with a clatter.

“Honestly, you both!” Louis whisper-yelled. The blonde was seething. Albert was honestly a little shaken; Louis never talked like this to either of his brothers. Albert knew his youngest brother was a dangerous man; he and Will made jokes about it all the time. But Albert had never really been on the receiving end of Louis’s dark and violent side, outside of that time in the chapel in their first lives. Even then, Albert had never been shaken by Louis' actions like he was now.

 Albert never thought that Louis's hatred for the youngest Holmes brother was truly this bad. 

“I have had to sit here for years, even in our first lives, watching the two of you be so infatuated with the stupid Holmes brothers.” Louis looked hurt.

“They hurt the two of you.” 

“Mycroft has never hurt me,” Albert said, offended. Louis threw his arms out dramatically, pointing at Albert.

“You're not stupid, Albert, stop acting like you are.” Albert tried to keep a calm expression. 

“I'm not acting stupid,” Albert said, anxiously fixing his napkin, though, to an ill-observant individual, Albert would appear completely calm.

“Every time you come home after a meeting with him, you look so hurt. You're looking for any sign that he remembers the past. But you're not going to find what you're looking for.” Louis’s voice was starting to get louder.

“YOU’RE NOT GOING TO FIND THE MAN THAT WROTE YOU IN PRISON, WHILE YOU WERE DROWNING IN YOUR OWN GRIEF AND GUILT, ALBERT!” Louis yelled. Albert had to admit that it hurt to hear coming from one of his brothers, whom he had confided in about the letters.

“WILLIAM IS NOT GOING TO FIND THE MAN THAT JUMPED OFF A BRIDGE FOR HIM!”

For the first time, Albert wanted to yell at his youngest brother. Albert didn’t think it was possible to ever be angry at Louis. 

Louis took a deep breath and looked away from Albert. He seemed to be trying to get his anger in check. 

“I'm not giving William the false hope that has been dragging the two of you down for years,” Louis said calmly. Louis didn't understand. Mycroft and Sherlock weren't just some friends to William and Albert. The Holmeses had been their reasons for continuing even threw the pain of what they had done. The Holmeses were the light to Albert and William’s darkness.

“You don't understand,” Albert said, looking away from his brother.

“I don't understand what? That you two are utterly head over heels for them. I know.” Louis practically spat at the last sentence.

“You don't know what it's like to-” 

“And I don't care to. If you and Will want to drown in your own pain and suffering, wanting something you can't have rather than be happy with what you do, be my guest.”

Louis went to leave. But he turned back to face his brother. His face softened.

“I love both of you. I just don't want the two of you to get hurt.” Louis said before leaving. 

Albert was left to clean up dinner.

—

When John finally opened his eyes again, the room was dark. The sun must have set half an hour before, judging by the lake of light for the windows.

Sherlock was still on his phone, scrolling through what appeared to be Instagram.

“Sherlock, please don't tell me you are still going through his socials?” John said, sitting up and stretching. It must be dinner time by now. Sherlock looked up from his phone. 

“I-” Sherlock started. John groaned, cutting him off. Sherlock had really spent hours looking through all of William Moriarty’s social media accounts.

“You really shouldn't push it; that stupid system isn't going to let you see or talk to him without permission,” John said, getting up from the sofa.

“I just want to see what he is up to in this life,” Sherlock said, sinking into his chair with a pout. John sighed and sat down in the chair opposite Sherlock's. 

“And what's Mr. Moriarty been up to?” John asked, causing Sherlock's eyes to light up. Sherlock really did truly have an obsessive personality, and he wasn't obsessed with anything or anyone as much as he was obsessed with William Moriarty.

“He doesn't have much on his social media, but it seems he still teaches maths, and he does a lot of volunteer and charity work. Most of the posts are about his volunteer work; only a few are about his personal life. He and his brothers seem to have a beautiful garden, and they have a cat.” Sherlock said quickly.

“A cat?” John questioned, he had to admit the dangerous lord of crime owning a cat was a little funny to him.

“Yeah, an orange tabby named Rusty. William found him abandoned in a box and took him home.” John gave his friend a look of confusion and amusement.

“You hate cats,” John said.

“I don't hate cats,” Sherlock said, offended.

“Sherlock, we encountered a cat on one of our cases once, and you threatened to cook him,” John stated. Sherlock looked away.

“He ate my evidence,” Sherlock pouted. John sighed, getting up to go call and order some takeout because he knew for a fact they didn't have any food in the flat.

“What do you want from the takeout down the street?”

“I made dinner already, it's in the fridge.” Jumped up from his chair, smiling smugly.

“When did you learn to cook?” John asked doubt-laced threw his voice.

“I've lived alone for six years, of course, I know how to cook,” Sherlock said proudly.

“It's take-out, isn't it?” John said, giving Sherlock an unimpressed look.

“It's take out,” Sherlock admitted.

“But I do know how to cook, I just didn't feel like it.”

“Too busy internet stalking, Mr. Moriarty.”

“Shut up.”

—

William was sitting on his bed, trying and mostly failing to read a book. He had music playing from wherever he had left his phone, and it was getting distracting. He loved that in the twenty-first century, you could just stream music, but it did take away the feeling of interacting with the music. You couldn't feel the music when it played threw a speaker. William imagined that Sherlock, who was a musician, probably felt the same, if not more. Sherlock would probably be stubborn about it and still insist upon listening to music live. But William was fine with the phone.

William was startled from his thoughts by a knock at the door. 

“Will, can I come in?” Albert asked, voice muffled by the heavy door. William put his book to the side; it's not like he was able to focus on it anyway.

“Yeah,” he said just a little bit louder than he normally would so Albert would be able to hear him.

Albert opened the door and made his way over to William, Rusty following right behind him. The orange cat instantly jumped up onto the bed and quickly made himself comfy on William's lap.

William smiled at the orange fluff ball and gave him a few pets on the head. 

“Hello Rusty,” William said sweetly to the cat. He really adored the cat. He had found the poor thing in a box about three years ago and took him home. Oh, but did he have a personality!

One second, he would be the smartest little thing learning to open doors and cabinets. Then the next moment, he would be dumber than a box of rocks. Like last Christmas, Rusty got himself stuck in the Christmas tree and got caught on the lights. It took William twenty minutes to get him out. Scared William shitless, he thought Rusty was going to die. He wallowed for days, thinking he was a bad cat owner. 

Rusty yawned and started to purr. Which sounded like a beat-up pickup truck that is on its last leg and barely holding it together. 

“Can I sit?” Albert asked. William nodded.

Albert made himself comfortable next to William on the bed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Albert asked. William sighed. He did need to talk to someone; he was sad that he couldn't talk to Louis as well, but having one brother he could talk to about Sherlock was better than no brother to talk to.

“I understand that he hates Sherlock, but he just wants me to forget about the man who jumped off a bridge to try and save me.” William started.

“It's not even just that he was going to let me think I was going crazy and hearing things.”

“I don't think he would have gone that far,” Albert reasoned. He wouldn't disagree that Louis hated Sherlock. But he would never let his hate lead to actively hurting William.

“I just-” William stopped to compose his thoughts; something he didn't have to do often, unless it came to feelings. He wasn't bad at other people's emotions, but when it came to his own, he was always a bit lost. Lucky for William, Albert was better with emotions (at least with other people, much like William, he was also mostly lost with his own emotions).

“You're hurt, you and Louis never have disagreements.” Albert offered.

“I guess that's true. I know he is just concerned. I just wish he could look past his dislike and consider my feelings.” William just wanted everyone he loved to get along. He did plan on letting Sherlock into his life, this time around.

“he is just protective.” Albert 

“Yeah. But that can't be an excuse, I'm protective of him as well, but I wouldn't do something like that to him.” Williams' voice cracked a little. William wasn't used to fighting with Louis, and it was showing by the fact that Will looked so heartbroken by what most other people with siblings would consider a small fight.

“Are you going to talk to Louis?” Albert asked.

“Yeah, in the morning before school,” William said. Albert nodded.

“Do you want to internet stalk Sherlock to make yourself better?” Albert suggested. William laughed.

“Yeah,” William smiled.

—

“He is such a nerd,” Albert stated. They had found an old article in which Sherlock Holmes had self-published a couple of years back. The man had titled it ‘that art of deduction’ .

“How to tell the difference between different types of gravel in London,” Albert quoted and burst out laughing. Albert looked back at William, who was also trying to hold back a laugh.

“You never know. It could be interesting,” William tried to reason with his brother, while looking completely unconvinced.

“Will, I love you, you 're not one to talk to about what ‘interesting',” Albert said, opening YouTube to display one of William's math tutorials.

“Those are for my students so they can learn independently.” William defends, his face turning red in embarrassment at his brother calling him boring. Albert smiled. 

“Don't lie, you're a nerd,” Albert said, laughing. William burst out laughing as well.

Chapter Text

“We should be expecting a visitor soon,” Sherlock said from his chair. John yawned. He had barely even left his room. He looked at the clock and groaned.

“Sherlock, why are we expecting a guest at 7:30 in the morning?" the blonde complained, and made his way over to his chair in front of the fireplace.

“I posted about that ring and said that the owner should come by and retrieve it,” Sherlock explained.

“At 7:30 in the morning,” John glared at Sherlock. He truly regretted ever befriending this man.

“Yes, best to get started early,” Sherlock said chirpily. John really couldn't tell if he wanted to punch Sherlock or if he just needed a cup of coffee. Maybe he could ask Miss Hudson if he could borrow her coffee maker again, seeing as Sherlock had been using theirs for experiments.

As if summoned by the mere thought of her, Miss Huddson knocked on the door and let herself in. She was still their landlady, but for the most part, the two men never really saw her all that much anymore. 

She had a job, technically. She had inherited 221a and 221b from her late Grandfather, along with a couple of other rented out properties that she managed. She spent most of her time maintaining those properties and investing in new ones as well. She had actually done quite well for herself and could definitely afford to live in a much better place. But she still decided to live here with the two men.

Miss Hudson walked into the living room holding a tray with three cups of coffee.

“Good morning, I heard you two were awake and made coffee.”

“Miss Hudson, you are a Godsend,” John said Appreciatively. 

“Yes, thank you,” Sherlock said, grabbing his cup.

Miss Hudson sat down in the third chair in the room, which was usually reserved for her, unless they had a client or visitor.

“You two are working on the ‘study in scarlet’ case again?” She asked, sipping at her coffee. Both men nodded.

“If this case is similar, do you think you will have more similar cases?”

“Like which one?” Sherlock asked Cheekily. Miss Huddson looked away, blushing. John laughed.

“She wants to see Miss Adler again,” John said.

—

Miss Huddson didn't stay very long; she had to get ready for work. She liked to start pretty early so that she could be home before three.

The two men sat in their chairs in front of the fireplace. It was definitely cold enough in the late October weather for them to have an actual fire, but both were too lazy to actually start the fire.

“You think it'll be that kid that works for Moriarty again?” John asked.

“If Liam is working as the lord of crime again, then yes,” Sherlock confirmed.

“And if Mr. Moriarty is not the lord of crime?” John asked casually. 

“Then the killer will show up himself,” Sherlock shrugged.

“And we are that much closer to solving this,” Sherlock said, taking another sip of coffee.

“You're testing if Mr. Moriarty is, in fact, the lord of crime again,” John said.

“Exactly, if anyone outside of the killer shows up. Liam is working as the lord of crime.” John nodded along to Sherlock's explanation.

“So if the actual killer shows up, Mr. Moriarty is just a normal guy,” John said. Sherlock looked kinda sad at that thought. John thought it was best not to think about his best friend being upset by the idea that Moriarty wasn't a criminal mastermind. 

As much as he knew that Mr. Moriarty had his reasons, John wasn't completely in love with the Idea that his best friend was head over heels for a criminal mastermind. John would prefer if William Moriarty were just some guy, Sherlock would probably be safer. But John also knew his best friend's obsession with the blonde was probably due to the man's criminal behavior at least in part. Sherlock was always attracted to trouble.

—

In this world, William had met Fred while volunteering at the church. Fred kinda just followed him home one day after William spent the day volunteering. Fred didn't even have to say anything. Once they had got home, William informed everyone that he had found Fred. Louis made a cake to celebrate.

William sat at his office desk, and Fred sat in the chair opposite William.

William gave Fred his character and directions.

“I'm supposed to lead him around town?”

“I want to test his response.”

“If he follows, lead him to me.”

“really”

“Yes”

Fred nodded in agreement.

—

“It's eight o'clock now,” John informed Sherlock. 

“He’ll be here any minute now. Open the door.”

John went to open the door. Before he could even sit back down, there was a ring at the door. 

They look at one another.

“That’ll be him,” Sherlock confirmed.

John and Sherlock heard Miss Hudson open the door on the ground floor. She must have been about to leave for the day.

“Hello, how can I help you?” Miss Huddson said from the door.

“Is there a Dr. Watson here?” said the voice of an old lady. 

Sherlock smirked as he listened. It was Fred in Disguise. William was the lord of crime.

“Yes, he is just upstairs,” Miss Huddson said as she let in the lady.

The footsteps up the stairs told the story of an old lady with arthritis and a hunch back. Fred was truly an incredible actor. He took into account every little detail to craft his characters. 

There was quite a knock on the door, leading to it to fall open, seeing as John had just opened it.

“I have come about the ring,” said the old lady.

“Come in,” John said, motioning for the lady to enter.

“Would you like to sit?” John asked politely. The old lady shook her head.

“I've only come for the ring for my daughter, I don't want to be too long.”

John and Sherlock played along.

“Yes, yes, I'll go fetch it,” Sherlock said, going to get the ring.

“Before I forget what the writing on the inside of the band says, just to make sure it goes to the right person.” Sherlock inquired.

“Lucy and Jeff, forever and ever,” Old lady (Fred) said.

Sherlock nodded, going to the kitchen drawer to fetch the ring.

“Here you go. Let's hope she doesn't lose her ring again.”

“Let's,” the old lady agreed.

“Thank you,” said the old lady.

The old lady went down the stairs and out the door.

“You gonna follow her?” John asked.

“That is the boy, right?” John questioned why Sherlock didn't move right away to follow the lady. Sherlock nodded.

“It's the boy,” Sherlock confirmed.

Sherlock looks out the window, pointing out the lady to John.

“He wants me to follow him.”

“What?”

The old lady is just waiting. She was just barely out of sight. She wanted to be seen but wanted to appear to be hiding.

“Are you going to follow?” John asked.

“Hmm…yes, I suppose I should.” Sherlock grabbed his jacket and left after the old lady.

—

William knew that no matter the situation, he shouldn't reveal himself to Sherlock this soon without knowing if the man could be trusted.

He was convinced that Sherlock had recognized him yesterday. He needed to confirm if that was true in a place that wouldn't put either of them in danger.

William waited in the abandoned building in a small room that used to be an office.

He was dressed head to toe in black with a hood pulled up over his head and a medical mask on his face.

He had sent Fred out two hours ago, and they should be arriving soon. 

There was a click of the door being opened. In walked a Disguised Fred. 

“Is he here?” William asked. Fred moved to the side, revealing Sherlock Holmes standing right behind him. William smiled behind his mask. Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock was right in front of him. 

“You're free to go then, I will talk to Mr. Holmes.” William dismissed Fred. Fred went to argue. 

“I'll be fine, you can go back home, I'll meet you later,” William said kindly. Fred nodded in defeat.

Once Fred left, William beckoned Sherlock into the room.

“You know as much as I enjoy chasing you, friend, around London,” Sherlock said, walking around the room.

“You could've just sent a text,” Sherlock paused, standing right in front of William.

“Liam-” Sherlock smirked. William went to take his mask off.

The system alarm started to ring.

[OOC]

[OOC]

[The lord of crime doesn’t know Sherlock Holmes yet]

[OOC]

[OOC]

[OOC]

William clutched his head. His ears were screaming. His head was going to explode. He just wanted to see Sherlock. But instead, he gets threats from the bomb inside his head.

[starting script mode]

[Hello, Detective, it’s a pleasure to meet you.]

William stood up. He faced Sherlock robotically. I’m not reading your stupid script.

[If the user fails to comply. Users 002, 004, and 005 will be deleted.]

It had been a long time since the wretched thing had threatened him. William would never let anything happen to his family. 

[Hello, detective, it’s a pleasure to meet you.]

William didn’t smile like he would have in his last life. He was wearing a mask, but it wouldn’t matter anyway.

“Hello, Mr. Holmes, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

William tested if he could change the script while still saying what the system was telling him to say. He needed a way to let Sherlock know it was him, the original him.

 William waits to hear the alarms. There were none. If he gets around this, he could get the message to Sherlock.

[I have been watching you, and I think you and I should get along quite well]

“I have been watching your progress. I think we will be great friends.”

[Do you wanna play my game?]

William smiled now.

“Do you wanna play the game again?”

Sherlock looked at him. A look of understanding. They were both in script mode.

“Of course-“ Sherlock paused. His own system was probably stopping him from saying anything more.

The meeting didn’t last, and both of them were forced to retreat. Both wanted to scream and break the system into millions of little pieces.

—

If Sherlock Holmes were any other person, John would be more worried that his best friend was out chasing criminals. But knowing Sherlock, he was having the time of his life, especially when it came to William Moriarty.

The living room door slammed open. John startled from his chair.

“Sherlock, you're back.” John scrambled to greet his friend.

Sherlock was grimacing. He slammed the door shut and threw himself into his chair.

“Unbelievable”

“What happened?” John said, trying to figure out what had put Sherlock in such a foul mood.

“Un-fucking-believable” Sherlock repeated, curling up in his chair. 

“What happened?” Jon repeated.

“I met with Liam.”

“Moriarty?”

“Yes,” Sherlock confirmed. If Sherlock was this worked up, then Moriarty must not have been the one from their world.

“Okay? I’m guessing he wasn’t the original, then?”

“He was the original.”

“Then-“

“The system won’t let us talk. It’s OOC.” 

“Like yesterday in the street?” John asked. Sherlock sat back up in his chair.

“It gave us scripts,” the dark-haired man said angrily.

“I don’t know about Liam, but it threatened to delete Mycky, you, and Liam.”

“Delete us?”

“Erase you all from this world and every other.”

“Kill us.”

“Yeah,” Sherlock confessed.

Chapter Text

“This is absolute bullshit,” John yells loudly from the living room. The blonde turned off the TV in disgust, throwing the remote onto the little table next to the sofa.

“Isn't it always?” Sherlock asked from his seat by the fireplace. Sherlock didn’t even look back at his friend as they talked. He stared at the empty fireplace.

John glared at his friend across the room.

“They are saying it was a suicide caused by being rejected by a women.” Sherlock shrugged. 

“It's for the best if everyone is focused on that the killer will be reckless and easier to catch.”

There was a clamor on the stairs. John could hear half a dozen little feet on the stairs. Sherlock smiled. The first smile since yesterday.

“They are here.” Both men could hear Miss Huddson screeching about the dirty children running around her halls.

The kids shot through the door and stood in front of Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled at the kids. John had noticed in his time being friends with Sherlock that the man did actually care about these kids. They weren't just informants or subordinates to him. Sherlock always gave them enough money for food, and Sherlock tried to hide it, but John knew that Sherlock was the one to get all six children the warm winter jackets they all had.

”Have you found it, Wiggins?” Sherlock asked the oldest of the children. 

 “No, sir,” Wiggins said. Sherlock sighed.

“I didn't think you would,” Sherlock said, getting up and walking over to the table where he kept his wallet. The boy followed Sherlock like a little duck.

“Keep looking till you do.” Sherlock hands Wiggins some money along with a pack of cold medicine. 

“That's for Sky, read the instructions on the box,” Sherlock instructed.

“And try to keep her out of the cold as much as you can so she doesn't get any worse.” Wiggins nodded.

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes,” Wiggins said as he led the children out of the house.

“If you care so much for them, why don't you try and get them into foster care or something? Children shouldn't be sleeping outside.” John said. Sherlock sighed, like he knew this was coming. He sat back in his chair.

“All of those kids are on the street because they don't trust the foster system, siblings would be separated, or they could end up in bad homes. They have trauma, and trying to make them go back would only make them not trust me. If they trust me, I can at least make sure they are eating and have warm clothes." Sherlock shrugged.

“I suppose you have a point.”

“Have you ever considered adopting them if they seem to like you? You could make sure they are taken care of.” John suggested.

“Where would I house them?” Sherlock asked.

“We have that extra room upstairs.”

“One room for six kids?”

“Point.”

“Trust me, I don't want kids on the street, but there isn't much I can do about it right now.”

—

William had been staring at the same ungraded paper for the last hour. He couldn’t stop replaying Sherlock and his encounter last night.

William wasn’t prone to throwing things in anger, but right now he saw the appeal.

He was angry at the system. He was angry at the situation. He was angry at the world. But most of all, he was angry at himself for thinking everything would be easy.

There was a knock at the door of his office. 

Fred walked in holding Rusty in his arms. The cat might be William's cat, but Fred was a close second to the orange fluff ball's favorite person. Fred babyed Rusty, when William wasn't around, you would think the cat belonged to Fred.

Fred pulled the chair in the corner over to William’s desk, and he placed the chair right next to William’s. Then the boy gave Rusty to William. Rusty curled up on Williams' lap and started to sleep.

The two men sat in silence while William went back to pretending to grade papers. Orange fluffball purring away on his lap.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Fred asked quietly.

“Did you eavesdrop?” William asked, it wouldn’t be out of character for Fred, the boy was an informant, but he usually had enough respect for William to stay out of his business.

The dark-haired teen shook his head.

“You just seemed upset.” 

William smiled at his young friend. Fred was always the most compassionate in the group. His time as an informant also meant he was good at listening.

William shrugged.

“I’m just a little disappointed, right now that’s all,” William admitted.

“I just-" William threw down his pen, giving up the act of grading papers.

“I just wanted to talk to him, but the system won’t allow it,” Fred nodded.

“It keeps saying I don’t know him, so I can’t talk to him.”

“Last time you met on the Noahatic.” William looked at Fred.

“Yeah, the first time we met was as William Moriarty, not as the lord of crime.” The mention of the Noahatic gave William an Idea, but it would take a while.

—

John and Sherlock were sitting in front of the fireplace when Lestrade came to visit.

[The final act of 'a Study in Scarlet' is about to begin]

“We have him,” Lestrade pronounced proudly.

“Have who?”

“Arthur Charpentier, age 26, Drebber and Stangerson had been harassing the lad's younger sister. She is the desk lady at the hotel where both men were staying. Chapentier went to pick his sister up from work and found the men getting handsy with her. He followed the men to a bar after driving his sister home. At the bar, there was a fight, and that was the last time anyone saw Drebber and Chapentier.” Lestrade said proudly.

“Very good, Lestrade,” Sherlock said sarcastically. If Lestrade noticed, he pretended not to hear it. 

Ring, ring, ring.

Lestrade’s phone rang. Lestrade freed his phone from his pocket. The voice on the other side talked for a while. Slowly, Lestrade’s face fell.

“Yes, I will be right there,” Lestrade hung up the phone. The older detective looked defeated.

“They found Stangerson’s body.” 

—

They arrived at the hotel less than an hour later. 

Much like Drebber’s body. Stangerson was on the floor, contorted in pain.

“He has only been dead for about five hours,” said one of the guys on the forensics team.

“That is half a day after Charpentier's arrest.” Lestrade lamented. John could see a smug look on Sherlock's face.

“Chapentier couldn't have done it then.”

Sherlock paced the room. He took a moment to check the pockets of Stangerson’s jacket. Sherlock revealed a pill case. Sherlock opened the case. There were places for two pills. Sherlock smiled.

“She put this in an evidence bag; you'll need it later,” Sherlock said to Lestrade.

“Over here,” one of the team said. The man was at the table where Stangerson had left his laptop open to his email. There was one email open.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

J.H. is in London

—

John, Sherlock, and Lestrade sat in the living room at 221b. John and Sherlock in their usual chairs by the fire, and Lestade was in the chair meant for guests.

“So what is the theory now?” Lestrade said, defeated. Sherlock smirks.

“A game,” Sherlock said.

“What?” Lestrade asked.

"What kind of game?"

“I had an idea of it before Stangerson was found, but the pill case in his pocket is my proof,” Sherlock said.

Lestrade and John sat up straight in their chairs.

“Life and death. There are two pills.” Sherlock proposed to the group.

“One is poison and one is a placebo,” John said.

“Exactly,” Sherlock confirmed excitedly.

“So is Charpentier the murderer?” Lestrade asked. Sherlock looks disappointed.

“No, no," Sherlock waved his hand in an absolutely not gesture.

"This was too planned for Charpentier; he had very little time between the hotel and the bar to plan and obtain the poison."

“So who?” Lestrade pressed for answers.

“J.H., who is in London," Sherlock smirked. Sherlock said, clapping his hands together and getting up from his chair excitedly.

“We have to get him before he kills again.” Lestrade stood up, a serious look on his face.

“He won't kill again,” Sherlock stated, looking back at the old detective.

“What? He's already killed two men. Why wouldn't he do it again?” Lestrade demanded.

“Rache,” Sherlock said simply.

“Revenge,” John translated calmly from his chair as he watched the other men.

“He has his revenge.” Sherlock shrugged.

“So, how do we find him?”

“We wait.”

—

Sherlock looks impatient at his watch.

“He’s late,” Sherlock complains impatiently. Sherlock paced around the room. Lestrade and John watch patiently.

The bell rang. Sherlock shot to his feet and flung himself at the door.

“Get ready,” Sherlock said excitedly. Lestrade ran behind the door. John stayed in his chair, and Sherlock went to open the door.\

“Hello, if you could just help me with the suitcase case, we can be on our way,” Sherlock said as he led the cabman up the stairs. Sherlock chattered away loudly, probably to distract the cabdriver.

As the man entered the door, Lestrade quickly shut the door and put the handcuffs on the man.

“Jefferson Hope. You are under arrest for the Murder of Enoch Drebber and Joseph Stangerson.” Lestrade said, reading Hope his rights. The man known as Jefferson Hope smiled sadly.

“I won't fight y'all, I admit it, I killed them. I came here to turn myself in,” John and Sherlock weren't shocked. Sherlock had already said that the man was done with his revenge. It wasn't surprising that he no longer cared if he was caught.

“I’ll go quietly if you let me tell you the story first.” Jefferson Hope said.

“You can do that at the station,” Lestrade said, getting ready to drag the criminal down the stairs to the police car outside.

“He won't make it to the station,” Sherlock said.

“What?” Lestrade looked back at Sherlock disbelievingly.

“He has a terminal brain tumor. He is most likely not going to live past tonight. That's why he is turning himself in.” Sherlock sat down in his chair.

—

Lestrade had agreed to let the man tell his story.

They all sat in the living room of 221B. John is Sherlock in their chair. Hope in the guest chair. And Lestrade was standing in front of the door.

“I know what I did was wrong, but it needed to be done. Those men are vile and disgusting and have been allowed to live without punishment for too long.” Hope started. For a man who was so calm before his worlds were heated.

“When we were all young, twenty-something some years ago, we all fought for the attention of Lucy Farrier.” He paused. He smiled at the name of the women.

“Lucy was a sweet woman and pretty. She was a bit wild; she grew up on a farm with her father. That's how we met. I was in my early twenties and had been traveling the country. Picking up odd jobs here and there. When I came to work for Lucy’s father, John Farrier. He was a good man, and he paid me more than I was worth. I worked there for about six months before I decided to settle down there.”

“See, I had fallen head over heels for Lucy and she for me.”

John had started to quickly write down the man's story in his journal.

“One day, soon after I had found an apartment for me and Lucy near enough to her father's farm for both of us to still work. Two men cornered me at the bar and demanded I break things off with Lucy because they had their eye on her for years. I told both of them where they could stick it. Lucy was a grown adult who could make her own decisions, and if she wanted to be with me, she could be with me. They told me I would regret that.”  Hope took a deep breath.

“Not a day goes by that I don't wish that I had taken Lucy and John and just left that godforsaken town,” Hope said, voice laced with regret.

“Turns out Drebber and Stangerson were the town's spoiled rich kids. You know the type"

"They had never been told no once in their lives. So when Lucy rejected them. They didn't take it so well. They had built this fantasy in their head that Lucy was in love with them.” Everyone in the room shivered now, figuring out where the story was going.

“We went on thinking nothing of it. Drebber and Stangerson, while spoiled and annoying, had never had a history of violence. After two years, I proposed to Lucy. We were so happy. The night before the wedding, we had decided that Lucy would spend the night at her father's house, the last night of being Lucy Ferrier, and she wanted to spend it with family.”

“We headed over at three. Lucy and I cooked dinner for the three of us just like the old times when we both lived at her father's farm. After dinner, I said goodbye and headed back to the apartment. At 10, Lucy sent me a goodnight text, and I went to bed. I was getting married the next day. I wanted to get an early start. When I woke up, what-” Hope choked up.

“What was supposed to be the happiest day of my life had turned into my worst nightmare.”

“After Lucy had texted me, Drebber and Stangerson had broken into John’s farmhouse. They grabbed Lucy first, then John. He was old and couldn't put up much of a fight. They told Lucy to call off the marriage, but when she said she wouldn't, they killed her father in front of her. They- the things they did to her after they killed John-” It was heartbreaking to see a man like Hope cry. The rest of the room relaxed a bit once he pulled himself back together after letting out a few tears.

“Lucy killed herself after they left.” Hope's voice was broken by years of grief and heartbreak.

"She couldn't live with what they had done."

“I found the bodies the next day when I went to check in, and neither of them answered their phones.”

“She left a note.”

“Drebber and Stangerson fled to Europe before the police could even start investigating.”

"They had gotten away with what they did to Lucy and John, but I made sure they would meet the devil before I joined them."

[+ 100 b-points for user 005 and 010]

—

After Hope’s story, he was taken away. He hadn't even made it to the police station before he passed away.

Chapter Text

Mycroft didn’t usually get the chance to annoy his brother. He was a busy man and had only gotten busier once MI6 was formed in this timeline. As much as MI6 was helpful, they were still a chaotic bunch. 

So, Mycroft's Visit to 221B was long overdue. Mycroft didn't knock as he approached 221 B. He had a key that he used to let himself in with. Now, the Holmeses had never willingly given a key to each other. They had both taken them and had copies made.

Sherlock used his copy to harass Mycroft and steal things (mostly Mycroft's snacks).

“You shouldn’t have them anyway, you are gaining weight again. You're going to get fat.” Sherlock had said the last time. Mycroft had snuck into 221B after that and replaced all of Sherlock's food with rubber ducks. Sherlock had retaliated by taking all of Mycroft’s food and replacing it with diet snacks and all his books with diet books.

While Mycroft used his key to harass his brother. He mostly used it to check in on the younger Holmes when he was engaging in self-destructive behavior (read ‘using again’).

Mycroft quietly made his way up the stairs. He entered through the door that was connected to the kitchen, instead of using the door that led to the living room. He could hear Sherlock talking to John in the living room. 

Mycroft had already read Watson’s new blog, so he was aware that John was living with Sherlock again. Which was good, John being around meant that Sherlock engaged in fifty percent less reckless and self-destructive behavior.

Mycroft moved swiftly through the kitchen and to the kitchen entrance to the living room. 

Sherlock and John sat in their chairs in front of the fireplace. John's back was to Mycroft, and Sherlock was right across from him. Despite Sherlock facing Mycroft, the younger Holmes was on his phone and made no sign of seeing Mycroft. 

Mycroft pulled out the small paint gun he had hidden in his pocket.

He aimed.

He fired.

The red ball hit Sherlock right on the forehead. leaving a bright red dot right in the middle of his forehead.

“Shit,” Sherlock said, rubbing at his forehead until most of the paint was staining his hand and not his head.

“Hello, Mycroft,” John said from his chair, not even looking back. Okay, John is our original John Watson. Mycroft thought.

“Hello John, how have you been?” Mycroft wasn't overly close with John Watson or Miss Hudson, but he used to talk to both regularly. Mostly to make sure Sherlock was doing alright, Sherlock didn't always like to talk to Mycroft, and he worried about Sherlock. 

Mycroft moved so he was in view of John and Sherlock. He grabbed the spare chair they had in the corner and joined the two by the fireplace. Sherlock crossed his arms, moping. John and Mycroft ignored him.

“Alright, I think I have mastered how to use a computer and a phone. So I’ve got the technology thing figured out now.” John said, closing his laptop.

“I saw you started a blog,” Mycroft said. John shrugged. 

“Easier than dealing with the publisher, and I got a job at the hospital, so I don't need the money,” John said.

“How is the hospital going? Is it more difficult with more modern medicine?”

“It's not too bad. Whatever new medicine I need to know is basically beamed into my head by the System.” 

“Helpful,” Mycroft said. John shrugged.

“Feels like cheating,” John admitted.

“Are you two done catching up?” Sherlock asked sarcastically, after he stopped moping.

“I suppose, wouldn't want to steal your best friend for too long,” Mycroft smirked. Sherlock glared at his stupid brother.

“Why are you here?” Sherlock demands. He was getting impatient with Mycroft's presence in his home.

“Do I need a reason to visit my little brother?” Mycroft said in a mock, considered tone.

“Get out,” Sherlock demanded, pointing to the door. Mycroft laughed a little.

“I wanted to ask if you had encountered the lord of crime,” Mycroft said simply. Sherlock’s face dropped into a look of frustration before he glared at Mycroft. Not good news, then.

“Yes, William was behind the Hope case again,” Sherlock confirmed.

“And?” 

“And what?”

“Did you actually run into him this time? There was nothing about the lord of crime in Watson's blog.”

“Stalker.” Sherlock spat. John made a sign not to ask. Mycroft ignored John’s warning.

“Did you or did you not speak to William Moriarty?” Mycroft asked impatiently. Sherlock sighed.  

“When I followed William’s subordinate around town, he led me to Liam, and-.”

“He is the William Moriarty from our timeline?” Mycroft pressed. He wanted to know, no, he needed to know. And for once, Sherlock was the only one between them who had the answer.

“Yes,” Sherlock confirmed. Mycroft stood up; that's all he needed. If William Moriarty was the original from their timeline, that must mean that Albert was also the one from their timeline.

“That's all I wanted,” Sherlock cut Mycroft off.

“The system won’t let us talk to him,” Sherlock said, looking back sadly at his older brother.

Mycroft gave his brother a questioning look.

“The system gave us scripts to read from.” Sherlock spat.

That explained Sherlock’s mood. If there was anything his brother hated, it was being told what to do and say. Especially if he was unable to even acknowledge William Moriarty. Mycroft wasn’t stupid; he knew how his brother felt about Professor Moriarty.

Mycroft made his way to the door. He waved to John and Sherlock.

“What?” Sherlock yelled at his brother as the older left. Sherlock got up to follow Mycroft. But when he realized he wasn't going to get an answer from Mycroft, he went back to his chair and threw himself back down.

“What was that about?” John asked. Sherlock threw his arms up in the air like a dramatic child.

“Hell if I know what goes on in that asshole's mind,” Sherlock said dramatically, practically pouting. Sherlock drew his legs up to his chest and hugged his knees. John laughed at him.

“You're just mad he didn't tell you what he’s up to,” John smirked. Sherlock shot him a glare.

“I don't care what he is up to; he is probably doing something boring like torturing his underlings. Or kicking puppies.” Sherlock was actually pouting now. John laughed at Sherlock’s total mischaracterization of his brother.

“Yes, your brother totally kicks puppies in his spare time,” John said in mock agreement. Sherlock glared at his best friend.

—

Mycroft was, in fact, not kicking puppies. and would in fact be horrified at the thought. Mycroft did actually like animals more than most people. He always had, and he would often get into trouble as a child for bringing injured animals home.

He was, however, trying to figure out how he was going to confront Albert about being the original Albert from their timeline, without having to live through a script like Sherlock had to. Mycroft already had to live by a script daily; he didn't need it forced down his throat.

Mycroft was the international import shell company, sitting at the desk he used when there. He liked his office here; it felt less cold than his other office.

How to tell Albert that they were both from the original world. Now that Mycroft's suspicions were mostly confirmed, he needed to confront the brunette.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Albert didn’t even bother to knock; the brunette simply entered the room quietly and sat elegantly in the chair across from Mycroft's desk.

Mycroft looked up from his work. He technically had work outside of MI6, but he had been using MI6 headquarters more often than not for office space and just lugging his other work around. He preferred being here, as opposed to his other offices. Despite its sometimes chaotic atmosphere. 

“Can I help you?” Mycroft looked up from the work he had been pretending to do.

Albert shrugged and lazily sprawled out of the chair, almost like a cat sunbathing.

“I’m just bored,” Albert said with a groan.

“I can give you more work,” Mycroft suggested, going to hand over half of the reports Moran had failed to fill out.

“If it’s paperwork, never mind.”

Mycroft smiled at that.

"You know that attitude of yours is exactly why Moran thinks he can get away with not filling out his reports."

"If you think he would even listen to me if I tried, you're dead wrong."
"You're the one who picked him for the team," Mycroft reminded.

"Don't remind me," Albert said dramatically. It was quite as Mycroft did actually start filling out the papers.

“No missions?” Albert broke the silence.

“Currently, no, just paperwork.”

Albert sighed.

“You could help me, if we-“ finish early, we can get dinner.

[OOC]

[OOC]

Mycroft sighed. He should have known.

Albert smiled charmingly. A twinkle in his eye.

“If I help you, will you treat me to dinner?” Albert asked cheekily. 

“Ye-“

[OOC]

“Maybe next time.”

Albert looked disappointed.

“Yeah,” Albert said, grabbing some of Mycroft's papers, which were half assed mission reports from Moran.

“I thought Moneypenny had been fixing his reports,” Albert said as he filled in missing information.

Mycroft shook his head. 

“Her patience only goes so far.” 

Chapter Text

Irene knew that something was wrong as soon as they woke up.

For one, they weren't in their room at International Imports, where they had been living since The Final Problem. They could feel their hair run down their back. It hadn't been that long since they joined the lord of crime. The last thing was that a glowing blue box was next to their face.

[Welcome user 007]

What is that, and why is it talking?

Irene scrambled out of bed to try to poke the box to figure out if it was dangerous. They soon realized that it moved with them.

Okay weird.

[A new quest has just started]

[The Women]

Irene sat at the edge of the bed they had just been lying on.

[Before the quest, you have to complete the tutorial]

It had been three months.

Three months of being back to pretty dresses and long blonde hair. It was weird after their time spent as Bond. They were getting used to it again. It wasn't difficult, just odd.

The tutorial had been an introduction to this new world. It had also filled in parts of Irene's new character. Which was really just their old persona, just 21st century.

The System (as they had come to know the blue box) had made them steal the documents again, and if that wasn't bad enough, this time, they also truly did have Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond Von Ormstein after them for that photo.

They had formulated a plan for if they couldn't get in contact this time around with Albert. But they would still prefer to be back with the lord of crime team, as well as MI6. They miss their team.

They missed annoying Moran. They missed working on disguises and acting with Fred.

They missed Louis’s cooking and Albert's drinking competitions.

They missed Monneypenny and Von Herder.

They missed William and Old Man Jack.

They missed their family.

It was bad enough losing Will, then Albert, then Moran. Now they lost the rest in one go.

Irene curled up on the fancy sofa in their current home.

They were so tired of everything. Put this dress on and meet this person. You can't say that to that person. You have a meeting with this director.

It had been a very long time since they last felt this lonely. Not since the death of their friend Martina, from their Primadonna days in America.

They needed a long nap.

John and Sherlock sat in the living room. Sherlock had been sulking for days. They hadn't received any good cases, and the dark-haired man was starting to go crazy.

The ashtray was overflowing as Sherlock added to the pile of smoked cigarettes.

There was a knock at the living room door announcing Miss. Hudson bringing up the mail.

"you're mail is here." Miss. Hudson said with a pile of mail in her hands, she walked over to John to hand it to him since she considered him the more responsible of the two.

John flipped threw the mail.

"Bills," the blonde said.

"advertisement"

"Bills,"

"advertisement"

"advertisement"

"Oh," John said in surprise.

"What is it?" Sherlock sat up quickly.

"What is it?" Sherlock said excitedly.

John handed over the letter.

Sherlock examined the letter before opening it.

"I believe this will be our Irene Adler case, that Miss. Hudson has been waiting for." Sherlock said, smiling cheekily at Miss. Hudson. The Ginger blushed.

"Why do you believe that before you have even opened it?" John said, reclining back in his chair.

Sherlock waved the letter in the air.

"The paper," the detective said matter-of-factly. John rolled his eyes, motioning for Sherlock to open the letter. Sherlock read aloud.

I will meet you tonight at your home at 8 o'clock. I wish to consult you about a case. Do not inform anyone of this meeting. Do not be alarmed, I will be wearing a mask.

[New Mission- The Women]

"Okay then," John said. This way the Adler case. Miss. Hudson was smiling like she had just been given the best present. And Sherlock no longer seemed bored.

“Finally”

It was dark out long before their visitor arrived.

There was a dark, expensive car park in front of the house. Illegally parked at that. But if they had enough money for that car, they had enough money to pay for the parking fee.

Rich people.

The man knocked at the door. When Miss. Hudson answered the door, the man rushed past. Knocking her to the floor without a care.

John and Sherlock witnessed this from the top of the stairs. John went to say something to the man about his disrespect. How dare he push Miss. Hudson.

"You can't-" Sherlock put a hand on his friend's shoulder to stop him.

"You shouldn't say anything. It's not worth it." Sherlock whispered.

"He pushed-"

"I know."

John looked pissed but didn't say anything after that.

The client ran up the stairs, carrying a heavy briefcase with him.

"You must be Sherlock Holmes," The man in the mask said as he reached the top of the stairs.

"Yes, your majesty."

"I-… I'm not," the man spluttered. Then he composed himself.

"Yes, I'm Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond Von Ormstein." The man said, taking off his mask.

"Oh, you are as good as they say, Mr. Holmes," The King admitted. Sherlock Shrugged.

Sherlock gestures for the man to come inside and sit. All three men make their way into the living room. John glowered at the king.

Once, everyone was sitting. The King started his tale.

“Five years ago, I had… relations with a Miss Irene Adler, an American Actress. It didn't last long but…”

“You're to be married soon, and she has something that would make you look bad to your new spouse.” Interrupted, he really didn't feel like hearing this tale again; he wanted this man out of his home, especially after he was so rude to Miss. Huddson.

“Exactly, she has a flash drive of some Emails and… some other more incriminating things.” The king said.

“Have you tried bargaining with her?”

“She won't hear of it, she said there was no need that she wouldn't use the flash drive against me, but she won't destroy the files.”

“I would like you to retrieve that flash drive from her. I have already sent five men to steal the drive; none have succeeded.”

"I'm a detective, not a thief."

"Yes, but you're the last person I can think of to help me."

“What's the point if she has no plans to use the drive against you?”

The man grabbed and opened the briefcase that he had brought with him.

Inside was enough money to pay their rent for years.

“Does this compel you to take the case?”

Sherlock and John pretended to think about it before looking at one another and nodding.

"Yes, but can you also please apologize to our landlady when you leave? You pushed her when you came in." Sherlock said.

"I-" the man's face was red with anger and embarrassment. He had never been told what to do. But he was desperate enough not to risk giving up Sherlock's help over such a small matter.

"Of course," The King said.

After the king left, Miss. Huddson joined the two men in the living room. Miss. Hudddson was fuming.

"If I ever see that man again, I'll." The redhead was plotting revenge.

"Did he at least apologize?" John asked.

"Yes, but it was very insincere," Miss. Hudson complained.

"He is a king," Sherock reminded.

"I don't care." She huffed.

"We'll make it up to you," John said.

"You'd better, or I'm raising your rent for everything I have to put up with."

Chapter Text

Sherlock was trying to tie his tie (and failing) as he and John made their way over to Adler's home. Sherlock did plan to use the same trick as last time. This time, he triple checked the smoke bomb to make sure it wouldn't set the house on fire. Sherlock knew it still would; he knew that Adler was the true reason the house had burned down. But Sherlock also knew they did it to protect themself. He would still like to offer Adler help in the only way they would accept. He wanted to make sure that they had the option to join the Moriartys again if they wanted.

"We are using the same plan?" John asked, confused, as he tied Sherlock's tie for him.

"Why not? It's the best way." Sherlock shrugged the best he could while John was tying the tie around his neck.

"The last time we set Adler's house on fire," John argued.

"Adler still likely also stole those documents, like the last time. So really, we are just giving her a place where the government is not going to attack right away."

"So we are just waiting for the lord of crime to show up again."

Sherlock shrugged.

"And what are we going to do about the king?"

Sherlock's face soured.

"We will get that flash drive from Adler, as much as I dislike him, he has offered a great deal of money."

They had gotten into the house the same way as last time. This time, Adler did appear genuinely surprised at their visit. But they let the two men in anyway.

"You don't mind me looking around real quick?"

"Not at all, Mr. Holmes, I'm such a big fan actually." They said as they hung off Sherlock's arm.

Sherlock had explored the house looking for where she had hidden the photo. Adler watched them.

They soon reached the bedroom. A sweet smile never leaves their face.

Sherlock went through drawer after drawer, faking looking for the photo. He knew he wouldn't find it. Adler was too good for him to find it so easily.

Adler stood in the doorway. Silk pajamas covered by a fluffy pink housecoat. They watch as Sherlock searches their room. They smirked.

“If I didn't know better, Mr.Holmes, I would think you just wanted to look through my underwear drawer,” Adler said with a mischievous smirk. Sherlock rolled his eyes. Adler’s humor always had suggestive undertones. Sherlock knew it was to make him uncomfortable. So he ignored it, and Adler looked bored without Sherlock's response.

That should have been enough time to make the search seem genuine enough. Sherlock gestured to John to set off the bomb.

The house lit up like a fiery Christmas tree. He watched as Adler stood in front of the two men, in front of the ruins that were once their home. Their fluffy pink housecoat was grey from the ash in the air.

"How do you two plan on repaying me for the damages?" Adler said, looking amused.

"I-I-" John spluttered.

Albert usually was fine getting up early. But four o'clock early might be a bit much.

Albert yawned as he entered the Universal Exports building. His hair was barely styled, and he was still feeling the weight of sleep dragging him down.

Mycroft, meet him in the hallway to the office. Mycroft looked like he had been up all night. Not in a you look like shit way, just exhausted. He had bags under his eyes, and his hair was starting to have its natural wave. He was starting to slouch a bit as well.

"Good Morning, Director Holmes-" Albert said with another yawn. He needed another cup of coffee.

"Sorry to have woken you up so early," Mycroft said, handing him a cup of coffee. Albert was a bit shocked. Mycroft wasn't the kinda person to just get you a cup of coffee, just because he was getting one for himself. Albert took the coffee gratefully, despite the oddness.

“Thank you.” Albert started to drink. He had expected a black coffee or just basic cream and sugar. But a caramel macchiato was not something he expected from Mycroft Holmes. Albert smiled, the thought of Mycroft 'black coffee' Holmes ordering a caramel macchiato.

“I don't know how you drink that,” Mycroft smiled. Albert shrugged.

"It tastes good. That's why," Albert Smiled.

The two made their way to the office.

It was the Adler case. It was the same as before. Albert was in charge of retrieving the documents and silencing Adler.

Moran and Fred would be happy to have Adler back. There was no doubt in bringing Adler back to the team; they were great at what they did and a great friend.

Albert made his way back home. He hadn't even eaten yet. Louis was making French toast.

[New Mission- The Women]

Louis set the breakfast table. Everyone filtered into the dining room slowly. First, William, who, besides Louis, was usually the first to wake up. He was fully dressed for work, and it was a Friday.

Next was Albert, who had just gotten back from an early meeting with Mycroft Holmes. He looked tired, but he had a cup of coffee with him. It was odd that the logo on the cup wasn't from one of the shops that Albert usually went to.

"Morning, Louis, morning, William," Albert greeted, taking his seat.

After Albert was Fred. The youngest of the group yawned before taking his seat.

Moran tumbled in last as usual.

"Morning, Moran." Albert greeted with a smirk, he knew for a fact that Moran had been out drinking last night and was severely hungover. The older man glared. Albert snickered, and even William was holding back a laugh.

They all ate their breakfast quietly.

"Oh, yeah, I almost forgot, we got the Adler case again."

Everyone looked up.

"Bond with be joining again," Fred said. The boy wasn't very vocal about it, but it had been obvious that he missed Bond. Bond was the closest in age to Fred, and they did like to talk a lot.

"Possibly." Everyone seemed happy. Nobody had said it, but Bond really did complete the group. And they all did miss them.

Wiggin was waiting for Sherlock to get back. He had heard this morning about a fire that people were claiming Sherlock had set.

As he saw the man approach, he ran up to the detective.

"Mr. Holmes, Mr. Holmes, I heard you set that fire at St. John's Wood last night," Wiggins said as he reached Sherlock. He saw the pretty lady behind Sherlock. She must be the client that he was currently working with.

"You on a case? Can we help?" Wiggins asked enthusiastically.

"This is no case, go play with the other kids." Sherlock shooed.

"I beg to differ," said the pretty lady. She flipped her hair and glared at Sherlock. Wiggins could see the amusement behind her eyes.

"After all, it was the detective here who burnt down my home," she said with mock devastation.

Wiggins blinked owlishly at Sherlock.

"So for now I will be staying here at 221b," she said cheerfully.

The other children ran up to Wiggins.

"What?"

"Who's that?"

"Did Mr. Holmes finally get a girlfriend?"

"bro, I bet we could get a pretty penny for that info, with the newspaper." All the children looked back at the one who had suggested that. They all started to run off.

"Hey, don't go selling me out to the paper, you bunch of brats," Sherlock said as the children disappeared.

"Cute," Adler said, smiling.

"Not cute, they are a bunch of brats," Sherlock corrected, as he went to unlock the door.

"Don't let him fool you, he loves those kids," John said. Adler hid a laugh. Sherlock turned to John.

"traitor." John shrugged.

Adler had taken Sherlock's room, and Sherlock had moved to the room upstairs.

Miss. Hudson wasn't surprised when the men informed he that they had burned down Miss. Adler's home again.

Miss. Hudson made the group tea.

Her and Adler's first introduction was going a lot better than the last time. She wasn't letting Adler's words get to her, especially knowing now that that is exactly what Adler wanted.

That didn't mean that Adler didn't keep trying to get under Miss. Hudson's skin.

"Mrs. Hudson, do you have any clothes I can borrow?"

"It's Miss, and yes, I do."

Miss.Huddson did actually have a dress that she had bought for this exact occasion. It was a pretty dark blue dress. It was simple and long-sleeved for the cold early November weather. There was also a warm knitted white sweater to match it if it got too cold.

"It's not much,"

"Thank you, Miss. Huddson." Adler smiled. A true smile, not one of the ones that you feel like Adler is about to say something to rile you up.

Chapter Text

“Do I really have to go with you, Miss. Hudson is going with you.”

“Yes, but who would carry our stuff?”Adler smiled conspiratorially with Miss. Hudson, who was right next to them.

Sherlock groaned. The last thing he wanted to do on a Saturday was go shopping. He did not want to spend the entire day in clothing stores, makeup stores, and buying perfume. It would be busy on the weekend. and the Perfume. The perfume was the worst; all the smells caused Sherlock to have a headache and want to vomit.

Miss Hudson put her hands on her hips, like a mother scolding her son.

"You burnt down her home, the least you can do is carry her bags," Miss Hudson Scolded.

"I didn't burn down their house, their the one that burnt their house down," Sherlock muttered, discreetly grabbing some of the cash from the briefcase the king had left.

"What was that?" Miss Hudson asked.

"Nothing, Ma'am," Sherlock said, grabbing his jacket and following after the others. John was conveniently missing in Sherlock's time of need.

Adler led the way around the hundredth clothing store. Sherlock was dragging his feet. He was tired and irritable, and the other two were not giving him any time between stores so that he could smoke. He needed a cigarette badly. He was about to collapse.

"Sherlock, stop dragging your feet." Miss Hudson demanded.

"I need a-"

"You need to stop dragging your feet," Miss Hudson said. Sherlock was grateful that the only sibling he had was Mycroft; if he had grown up with sisters, he didn't think he would have made it to adulthood.

Adler strode off to a clothing rack, annoyed and amused by Sherlock complaining.

A sales lady came up to Miss. Hudson and Sherlock.

"Hello, can I help you?" The sales lady said in a chipper customer service voice.

"We are fine," Sherlock dismissed her in annoyance at even having to be there. The young lady gave him a tight smile, clearly trying not to hit him.

"I was asking your girlfriend-" the lady said, clenching her jaw in annoyance.

"What girlfriend?" Sherlock asked cluelessly.

"He's a friend and more of an annoying younger brother, if I'm honest." Miss. Hudson said, understanding what the women meant. The lady relaxed but still looked a bit annoyed with Sherlock.

They could hear Adler laughing from behind the clothes they were looking at. The sales lady looked over.

"Oh, Miss. Adler, how are you today?" The sales lady went over to meet Adler, who must have been a regular at the store.

"I'm great, Sara, and you," Adler smiled charmingly.

"I'm good." The sales lady said with a smile.

"Would you mind helping me find something for my friend over there?" Adler pointed to Sherlock and Miss Hudson.

"I would love to help," Sara said, side-eyeing Sherlock.

Sherlock was bored. The other two were trying on clothes while he sat in the lounge chair outside the fitting rooms.

"Sherlock, which is better with this top, the blue or the black?" Adler asked, showing Sherlock two different skirts.

"The blue would look best on you," Sherlock said, bored.

"Sherlock, which one of the shirts?" Miss. Hudson asked.

"The magenta one." Sherlock was bored out of his mind, and his phone was about to die.

"Thanks," Miss. Hudson said, running after Adler.

Once the others disappeared back into the fitting rooms, Sara came back over.

"For being a guy that dresses like that," The lady gestured at Sherlock's unbuttoned shirt and baggy jeans.

"your not bad with fashion," the woman said.

Adler laughed from the dressing room, having been eavesdropping.

The Perfume was expectedly the worst. Miss. Huddson and Adler did let him go outside once they realized that he in fact was not being dramatic and was, in fact, going to vomit.

He sat outside in the fresh air, trying to get the nausea to go away.

"To think that the great detective's greatest weakness is perfume," Adler laughed as they and Miss Huddson emerged from the store.

Sherlock looked away in embarrassment. The other two laughed at him.

They had finally finished the shopping. They sat at a bench overlooking the water. It was a nice sunny day. The three were enjoying an assortment of small snacks they had bought before making their way to the bench.

The peace was broken. There was a group of teen girls near the edge of the water. It looked like a couple of sixteen-year-olds surrounding a little blond fourteen-year-old.

"YEAH I DID." the youngest of the girls shouted.

Miss Huddson looked over to where the noise was coming from.

"What's that all about?"

"I think they are from the children's theater group down the street," Adler said.

"Their conversation seems a bit serious for a group of kids." Miss Huddson said, concerned.

Sherlock and Adler looked to one another. This was a lot like the last time they had gone shopping.

"Why would I Resign From An audition for The Lead Role When I'm finally old Enough To audition?" The younger girl ground out.

"Well, it's not like you'll even get the role," Said the dark-haired girl who seemed to be the leader of the group of older kids.

"Then you should have no fears with me auditioning, if you're just going to get the role anyway," the smaller girl said.

"I-" The dark-haired girl spluttered.

"You're just scared I'll get the role and not you." The younger girl said.

Both Sherlock and Adler shot up. dropping their food and sprinting for the scene. They knew what was about to happen.

"Take that back," and the dark-haired girl pushed the younger. The shorter girl tripped and fell backwards and off the ledge.

Sherlock and Adler caught the girl's wrist before she even touched the water. They pulled him up and onto solid ground.

"Are you okay?" Adler asked.

Miss. Huddson ran up to the group and started to yell at the teens.

"WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT? SHE COULD HAVE GOTTEN HURT OR DIED! WHAT IF SHE DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO SWIM!"

None of the girls actually looked all that concerned. A bunch of psychopaths. Miss. Hudson ran over to the other two adults who were with the youngest of the girls.

"Are you okay?" the girl nodded.

"Yes, ma'am." The little girl nodded.

The other teens took notice of the other group.

"Is that Irene Adler?"

"OMG, it is," said another girl, getting her phone out.

"You think she would take a picture with me?"

The younger girl stared at the blonde.

"You're Irene Adler?" She said in awe. Adler Smiled.

"Yes."

"I wanna be just like you." She said with a bright smile.

"You can, you just have to believe in yourself. Don't let people get you down."

"Thank you."

They had finally made it back to 221b. Sherlock was unloading the bags from the cab.

A figure that Adler recognized bumped into them.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Miss. Adler," Albert said before walking away. Adler watched him go. he had left her a letter again.

Adler left for her current bedroom.

You have been invited to a masquerade ball on the fifteenth of November, eight o'clock.

On the back was the dress code and an address.

Adler smiled.

Chapter Text

Adler didn't disguise themself as a man this time around. If this went the same way it did last time, it would be the last time Adler would be able to wear a dress for a while. They chose a long black wig, along with an elegant navy blue dress and an intricate golden mask.

Adler entered the hall that had been booked for the Masquerade. The decorations were over the top, but very pretty, and definitely distracting. A bit too shiny, bordering on tacky. That was probably the intention. If the ball played out the same as last time, someone was going to die.

Adler spotted Albert stuck in the middle of a crowd of women. He was in a formal black suit. He wore a golden mask with two small green gems hanging off the two top corners. He didn't seem to notice Adler, which was good.

Adler soon found themselves talking to random people before the main event was supposed to start.

"Oh, look, Elli, it's Mr. Moriarty," a blonde woman said, pointing to Albert as soon as he got out of the car.

"Hello, Mr.Moriarty." The blonde friend (Elli) said. Albert made his way over to the women.

"Hello, what pretty masks you have," Albert said charmingly. he couldn't for the life of him remember who these women were, but they seemed to know him.

"Thank you, Mr.Moriarty." The blonde girl said cheerfully.

The women followed Albert to the door, where they had their invitations checked.

"We are honored that you were able to attend, sir." Said the man, clearly recognizing his name when the girls were talking.

"But we ask everyone to refrain from using people's real names as part of the rules for the ball." The man said, handing the women's invitations back to them.

"There is also a game going on tonight," he said happily.

"Is that so?" Albert said with fake intrigue.

"Tonight we are playing detective Sherlock Holmes,"

"Like the new detective blog that's gained popularity recently," one of the women asked.

"exactly"

"One guest has been picked tonight to be a murderer; the rest of the guests have to play detective to figure out who the murderer is. The one who manages to catch the killer will be named the Sherlock Holmes of the night."

The girl clapped her hands together.

"That sounds like so much fun." She laughed with her friend.

"Once the games start, we will reveal what the maker is for those who have been murdered. Those who have been murdered have to reveal their identity to the rest and move to a separate hall."

"Those who have been murdered will have to donate to tonight's charity."

"That's such a big penalty," the blonde pouted.

"As soon as the murderer is caught, the game is over, and everyone can rejoin the party."

"We will just have to do our best to catch him then," Albert told the Women.

A man who looked like an overgrown pig with a blond combover, he had an American accent. He sat in one of the small lounge chairs. The chair looked like it would break any second under the man's weight.

The piggy man was talking to a young couple. The young man was going on and on about a rumor that had been going around for the past couple of weeks.

"The police have no idea who has been behind the strange crimes," he said cheerfully.

"I heard some saying there is a lord of crime behind all of it," said the woman with him.

"What complete bullshit," Said the fat man, adjusting the way he sat, causing the chair to let out a cry for help.

"Sir?" The young man asked.

"I heard that the lord of crime helps those to get revenge on those who have evaded justice." Said the woman with as much enthusiasm as the young man had.

"Evading justice, what utter nonsense. It's all made up by poor people who have too much imagination." The piggy little man said, taking another drink from his glass. He hiccupped. The young man and woman looked uncomfortable now.

"From what I heard, the young lady is correct, the case that made Mr.Holmes so popular said it was all because the two murdered men had evaded the law. The police even confirmed that it was the case," Albert said, having overheard the conversation.

"It's really no wonder that people are connecting other crimes with those that have evaded justice," Albert said with a shrug. The piggy man looked over to Albert. Albert had the Bloned from early hanging off one arm and her friend on the other. Who was this young brat?

"It sounds like you are saying those men deserved to be murdered." The piggy man accused.

"It's tradition to speak the unspeakable at a masquerade." Albert shrugged his shoulders as the girls were pulling him away to the dance floor.

"al- you promised to dance with us," the darker-haired girl said.

"Of course, how could I forget?" Albert smiled at the girls and followed right after them.

As Albert left, the piggy man set his eyes on him. After all, he was tonight's murderer, and he had just chosen his first victim.

Adler watched as Albert finished dancing with the two women. They quickly made their way over before the next dance could start.

They taped Albert on the shoulder.

"There you are, I have been looking everywhere for you," Adler said with a warm smile.

Albert looked over a bit shaken, then a look of recognition passed over his face. He had been expecting Adler's male disguise.

"I was wondering when you would find me," he smiled.

An understanding past between them. If Adler recognized Albert, before Albert was the game's first victim, it was the Adler he had known in his last life.

Albert put out his hand in an offering.

"Would you like to dance?" Albert said charmingly.

"How could I decline?" Adler said with a smile.

By the end of the dance, both Albert and Adler had been splashed by wine.

"It appears we have been murdered," Albert said.

"What a shame." Adler smiled.

The man from the door early got up on the stage early, where the band was playing.

"As you were all informed earlier, there is murder among you. And it seems that we already have our first victims."

"The sign that someone has been murdered is wine. If you have any wine spilled on you, you are now dead."

"Let's look around to find our murdered friends."

Both Adler and Albert raised their hands, and both took off their masks.

"It seems we are the first victims," Albert and Adler both walked to the stage.

"Wow, it was Mr. Moriarty," said one man.

"I can't believe someone would spill wine on Albert." Said the blond girl Albert had been dancing with earlier.

"It was probably that woman he is with." Her friend said.

"Really I assumed when she showed up, it was his girlfriend."

"That's why she would, she was mad about him dancing with other girls."

"Why would she spill it on herself then?"

"Whatever."

Once Adler and Albert made it to the stage, they revealed themselves.

"Good evening, I'm Albert James Moriarty, and I have been killed," he said, handing the man a ring.

"Will this be enough for the donation?" he asked

"Of course, sir, more than enough." The man turned to Adler.

"And you, Miss?"

"I'm Elina Albrecht," Aldler said, taking out their earrings.

"Here," they said, handing over the earrings to the man. Both left the stage for the other room.

"Let's all give Mr. Moriarty and Miss. Albrecht received a round of applause for their donations to the youth homeless shelter."

Both Adler and Albert sat in the lounge on the second floor that overlooked the ballroom.

"Hello, Bond," Albert said take a sip of his drink. Adler laughed,

"I had my suspicions. That you were the original you."

[Team Member Unlocked- James Bond (user 007)]

[Team Member Unlocked- Albert James Moriarty (user 002)]

"Who is the Piggy-looking guy? The one who is the murderer tonight."

" John Portman is the owner of several hundred hotels and holiday resorts. He is also the head of a group of human traffickers. He has been using his hotels as a way to kidnap foreigners and sell them to the highest bidder."

"he's the one to take the place of Ronaled Rollinson in tonight's game."

"Yes," Albert said. Albert looked at his watch.

The two chatted as they watched the night unfold.

"Do you want to fake your death like last time?" Albert asked.

"I will still fake my death, but I have another plan in mind," Adler said with a smile.

"When?"

"Tomorrow, I think, I could use Fred's help, though."

"Should happen about now."

The piggy man's eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he started to foam at the mouth. He dropped to the floor right before the eyes of all the guests.

"Someone call an Ambulance!"

The Ball ended shortly after that.

John, Miss. Hudson and Sherlock sat in the living room discussing. Sherlock sat in his chair with his knees up to his chin.

"We are not blowing up the apartment this time," Miss. Hudson declared.

"There would be no point," Sherlock grumbled. Miss. Hudson relaxed.

"Why," John asked.

"Adler is the original Adler."

"How do you know?"

"The girl who almost fell into the water."

"hu?"

"Adler knew that that girl was going to get pushed. Like I did. Last time Adler had jumped into the water to save the girl, but because we both knew what was happening, we managed to get to the kid before she fell in."

"So you're saying she knew what was going to happen," John confirmed.

"So how do we find out where the flash drive is?" Miss. Hudson asked.

"I'm trying to figure that out."

Chapter Text

Adler looked out the window. The moon was still in the sky, and it lit everything in the room in cool light. They went around gathering anything they wanted to bring with them. It wasn't very much. They never had very much that meant anything to them.

Adler slipped out of 221b before three in the morning. They would be back before this was over, but they needed to start their plan now.

Adler turned down a seemingly empty alley.

Once they reached the center of the alley, a dark figure dropped down from above, like a tiny Batman.

"Fred?" Adler whispered.

"James."

Adler smiled at the younger.

"It's nice to see you."

[Team Member Unlocked- James Bond (user 007)]

[Team Member Unlocked- Fred Porlock (user 009)]

"Sorry, we can't talk longer," Adler said, handing Fred a bag of their stuff.

"Will you be back by dinner?" Fred asked, hopefully.

"I should be back right after lunch," Adler laughed.

Sherlock got up at six. He knew he wouldn't be able to scare Adler into revealing where they hid the flash drive. He could check the actor's room, but he doubted he would be able to find their hiding spot. Adler was smart and had already done this before, so they would be on the defensive for any of Sherlock's tactics.

"Morning." Miss Huddson said as she sat with him in the kitchen.

"Morning," Sherlock said more on reflex than acknowledgment. Miss Huddsonn set down a cup of coffee in front of Sherlock.

"What's the plan?" The ginger asked. Sherlock shrugged.

"Adler has hidden the drive somewhere here or on their person."

"Okay?"

"If I could get them out of the house, John and you could search the house, while I try to find out if she has it with her."

Miss. Hudson gave Sherlock a blank stare.

"Adler is gone." Sherlock sprang up from his chair, running quickly to the room Adler had been staying.

Sherlock rushed into the room. He looked around there was no Adler. He noticed some of their stuff was gone. The bed was not slept on. The window was open a crack. Sherlock turned to Miss Hudson.

Sherlock grabs Miss. Hudson's phone right out of her hands.

"What are you-"

"You and Adler shared your locations when we were shopping."

"So we can find out where they are."

Adler turned around another corner. It was seven o'clock, and Sherlock was on their trail now. Good. That had been the plan with letting Miss. Hudson have their location.

Adler had already finished all the preparations for their death. All they needed to do now was run around long enough to distract Sherlock.

They laughed a little as they entered the bookstore. They did have to waste time, and what better way than buying gifts for their family.

They found a small romance novel for Albert. Some cookbooks for Louis, that one might just be a request for certain foods. A little graphic novel following a cat for Fred. Moran wasn't the type to read much, so while at the bookstore, Adler found a pack of playing cards with little guns.

Sherlock was still following them threw the streets of London. Adler stopped everywhere under the sun. the bakery, the liquor store, a couple of small gift shops, and clothing stores.

Ones it reached eleven o'clock, Adler decided that it was time. They sent a message to Fred.

Adler

Its time

Freddie

okay.

Adler slipped around a corner, changing spots with Fred.

"Lead them to the car," Adler said as they ran to hide so Fred could be followed by Sherlock for a while. Fred nodded.

"See you at the house."

Adler quietly made there way to 221b. They had carefully stashed their gifts in a safe place along with the disguises they would put on after they left 221b.

They slipped carefully past the door camera. They entered threw the window in the back that led to Sherlock's room, where they had been staying.

They carefully and quietly made their way to the kitchen table to leave their letter to Sherlock.

Then they quietly snuck into the rooms downstairs. Miss Hudson's home was warm and cozy and full of cute little knick-knacks. Adler left another letter for Miss. Hudson on top of the kitchen table.

Sherlock followed the blond from a distance. They had gone all over the place, and Sherlock was actually getting bored. What was Adler up to?

As Sherlock turned a corner, he watched Adler get into a cab. Before Sherlock could get closer, the car exploded.

Adler was Dead?

No, they wouldn't be that stupid.

After spending the afternoon with the police, explaining why he was at the scene of Adler's apparent murder.

Sherlock made his way down Baker Street. he knew Adler wasn't dead; Adler most likely went back to the Moriartys.

Once Sherlock reached the door to the flat, he grabbed for his keys. he could see a figure in a dark hoodie pass by.

"Good night, Mr. Holmes."

"Good night, Irene Adler."

Sherlock slammed the door to the flat open. He was glad Adler was still alive, but he was frustrated that he was never able to get that flash drive.

In the living room sat John with Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond Von Ormstein.

"I have given you someone, and I hear that Adler has been staying here. Have you gotten the flash drive?"

Sherlock glared at the stupid king before he saw the letter on the kitchen table. The king shot Sherlock an impatient glare.

"Mr. Holmes, have you gotten the drive?"

"John, turn on the six o'clock news for the king."

We report to you from the scene of a tragic accident that occurred early this afternoon. The Actress known as Irene Adler has tragically passed away in a car explosion.

The king sat motionless, eyes glued to the screen. Sherlock picked up the letter addressed to him that had sat on the table. He read aloud.

Dear Sherlock,

You have most likely already witnessed my death by the time you are reading this letter. For that, I am sorry. While staying with you, I hid a very important fact about myself. Not long before our first meeting, I had not only had the flash drive that Wilhelm is so desperate to get his hands on. But I also had gotten in over my head with the theft of so very important and highly classified documents. In all likelihood, I was killed to silence me and retrieve the documents. I hoped that I would be safe at 221b with your current popularity, but that was again a horrible misjudgment.

As for Wilhelm's request for you to retrieve the flash drive, tell him he can rest easy knowing I'm too dead to use anything against him, not that I ever was intended to in the first place.

Sincerely,

Irene Adler

Once Sherlock was done with the letter. The King burst out laughing.

"Ha, she's dead," He said breathlessly from the laughing. John and Miss. Hudson glared at the repulsive man.

Before the king left, he threw another case of money at Sherlock.

[Mission completed- The Women]

[rewarded +200 Points]

Chapter Text

Mycroft made his way to the meeting room inside Universal Exports. He knew what was coming. what he would see and hear. He honestly hoped that it would be the event to unlock that stupid 'OOC'. If only he were lucky.

Mycroft entered the spaceish room. Once again, Albert sat in the middle of the room, smiling mischievously. while Adler was standing at his side. This time around, they were far less nervous-looking. They actually looked quite confident standing next to Albert.

Mycroft sighed internally and repeated the lines from last time.

"What a pity, M, and here I thought you were more clever than this."

"The papers have been retrieved, and Adler is being erased."

"and yet she stands before me"

"I took the liberty of reading the stolen documents."

"Oh," Mycroft said, unsurprised.

"What are your demands?" Mycroft asked as he moved closer to Albert. Albert, from his spot in the chair, had to look u at the standing Mycroft.

"You have defied orders and falsified reports; it's clear you are here to make an exchange of those documents for whatever it is that you have been hiding from me since the founding of MI6." Mycroft looked down at Albert.

Adler looked as if they wanted to be anywhere but there.

Albert smirked as he looked up at Mycroft.

"Only your absolute silence," Albert said as he put one finger to his lips.

Adler rolled their eyes and eventually tuned out Mycroft and Albert's flirting. They were eventually rescued from having to witness the flirting between William and Louis. who explained the Moriarty plan to Mycroft. But this time it was less about Nobles abusing power and more about the corrupt justice system.

[Mission completed- The Women]

[rewarded +200 Points]

Later, after the king left, Sherlock and John turned in for the night. Miss. Hudson finally made it back to her flat.

As she was getting ready for bed, she noticed a letter on the kitchen table. She picked it up. The envelope had her name on it. She opened it.

Dear Miss. Hudson,

I hope our paths will cross again.

There was no sender listed, but Miss. Hudson could tell it was from Adler. She smiled and folded the letter back into its envelope.

[+50 points for romantic subplot]

What the hell.

Adler watched the mirror as Louis cut off all their hair. Louis looked different from their last life. He looked a lot like he had after the finale problem. His hair was out of his face, and he didn't wear glasses. He also in this life didn't have a noticeable scar on his cheek.

Louis looked a lot more confident. Adler was happy that Louis didn't lose that with Albert and William back in his life. It always seemed like Louis decided to live in the shadows of both of his brothers. Adler was glad that Louis seemed to continue to have the confidence that he deserved to have. Louis was talented in his own way; he could do things that the two oldest Moriartys couldn't.

Adler had already taken off their makeup and picked out their clothes for after their haircut was done.

"What do you think?" Louis asked as he put down the scissors.

"It's great." Adler smiled.

"You'll have to go to a professional soon, but it's passable."

"You truly have always understated your talents, LouLou." Adler Smiled. Louis groaned.

"Don't call me that."

Adler laughed.

"Are you sticking with 'James Bond' or are you choosing another name?"

"I'm still using 'James Bond', anything else would just feel like another character I'm playing. James felt more like me than any of my other characters." Adler said. Louis nodded in understanding.

"Okay, James," Louis smiled. Bond smiled back at their friend.

The Moriarty household sat around the dinner table. It was a rare treat for everyone to be home. William, Louis, Fred, Albert, Moran, and the newly dubbed James Bond sat around the large dining room table.

Louis had propered all of Bond's favorite foods. Adler was happy not only about the food, they were just happy to be around the people they cared about the most. Adler might not have had many choices the first time around about joining the lord of crime. But after getting to know all of these people. They would always choose to make these people their home.

Once dinner had been eaten, Bond pulled out the bags of gifts for everyone.

"We were supposed to be celebrating you coming home," William said with a smile. Bond smiled back.

"I had some time"

Bond handed out the gift bags to everyone. They all took turns opening their gifts.

William opened his first. Some fancy tea that came in really cute packaging, and a strawberry shortcake from a bakery that Bond really liked. William smiled at the cake.

Albert opened his next, a bottle of expensive wine. A small romance novel that Albert tried to hide from the others. But Moran was too quick.

"Do you actually read that crap?" Moran said with a grin. He loved it when he got the chance to pick on Albert.

"It's better than the reading you do," Albert said sarcastically.

"Now shut up and open your gift." Albert looked away.

For once, Moran listened. He opened his gift next. A bottle of whisky and a deck of playing cards with tiny guns on them. Moran laughed and put the cards in his pocket.

Louis went after Moran. a pretty new tea set for the house. With vintage-looking yellow flowers. and a lot of cookbooks. Louis sighed.

"I feel like the books are less a gift and more a demand for dinner."

"not a demand. More…"

"polite request." Bond smiled cheekily.

Everyone laughed.

The last to open their present was Fred. Bond had given him a graphic novel about a cat and a grey cat-eared beanie. Fred loved cats, but Bond thought gifting the teen his own cat would probably create chaos, considering how many cats the teen had managed to hide in the Universal Exports building after the final problem. So Bond settled for cat-themed gifts. Fred smiled at the gifts and thanked Bond. He put the hat on.

It looked like Moran was going to laugh at the teen, till Bond sent him a glare and stomped on his foot under the table. Fred was easily embarrassed and quiet; they didn't need the boy to retreat even more into his shell. Moran promptly shut up.

After dinner, everyone decided to play games and talk. This wasn't something they really got to do much in their last life, but they had all learned the last time that family didn't last forever, and they wanted to spend time like one a lot more. They didn't want to regret things later down the road like last time. William, Moran, Louis, and Albert played cards till Louis got fed up and joined Fred and Bond playing Uno. The youngest two knew how to play cards, but tended to avoid playing with Moran.

Soon, Albert and William decided to follow their youngest brother and started to play Uno as well, forcing Moran to grumble about playing a kids' game, but joining them anyway so as not to be left out.

"Uno," Bond yelled proudly. Moran threw his cards on the table.

"You cheated!"

"says the infamous cheater"

Moran got up.

"I think it's time to put uno away," William said.

"Agreed," said the rest.

Once the games were put away, everyone retreated to their rooms for the night.

Bond lay down on their bed after getting ready to sleep. They looked around the room. Apparently, William, Louis, and Fred set up the room for them so they would be comfortable when they finally came back. There was a navy blue accent wall behind the bed with a couple of framed watercolor paintings that Louis and Fred had painted.

Everything in the room was shades of blue and white, except for the dusty pink colored knitted blanket on the bed. Albert must have knitted it in his spare time. Bond had always found it a surprising hobby for a man like Albert. Before they had discovered Albert's knitting, they had assumed that he would have had a hobby more suited to someone who had grown up as a rich boy. Rather than what would have been considered a woman's craft. When Bond had asked the man about it, Albert said he liked that it was relaxing and that he liked the neatness of it.

Most of the team, Moriarty had very artistic or musical hobbies. Louis and Fred had picked up painting. Fred mostly documents and captures the beauty of the gardens. Louis picked it up to make William smile and later realized he just enjoyed it.

William played piano, but not as often, the closer they had gotten closer to the final problem.

Moran had gotten used to fixing things around the manor and had picked up a bit of carpentry and woodwork. Bond used to have a small jewelry box from him, which they had kept some of their more sentimental jewelry and trinkets from their life as Irene Adler. Their first pair of expensive Earrings they had bought with their first big paycheck. The bracelet their friend had given them.

Bond smiled when they saw a very familiar jewelry box. It wasn't the original, but they could tell that Moran had tried very hard to make it as close to the original as possible.

They were home.

Chapter Text

A short time after Miss Martha Hudson had found herself in this modern world, she had been reintroduced to Sherlock and, shortly after that, John and Mycroft as well. She had been relieved to find the three with their memories of the past intact, the same as hers. She didn't know what she would have done if she had to pretend to get to know them all over again. She doubted her acting abilities would fool Sherlock anyway.

It also didn't take very long for Mycroft to reach out the same way he had in their last lives after Sherlock and Moriarty's fall. Unlike in their last lives, though, it was just to talk as friends and not just them mourning Sherlock's loss together.

The first time Mycroft had come to 221b to have tea with Martha would forever be one of her favorite memories. It was one of the only times she had seen Sherlock truly confused.

For once, Sherlock had answered the door himself. He had probably seen his brother from the window. Martha watched as Sherlock glared at his brother.

"What are you doing here?" It was less of a question and more of an accusation.

"I'm here for Tea with Miss Hudson." Mycroft grinned, knowing it would piss his brother off.

"Since when do you two have tea?" Once again, Sherlock's words were more accusatory despite being phrased as a question. Martha could see Sherlock trying to read the situation and figure out what was going on.

Martha was aware that much like Sherlock, Mycroft wasn't the kind of person to have a lot of friends. The only other person she had ever heard Mycroft say he talked to outside of herself in their last lives was Albert Moriarty. She knew that Mycroft couldn't talk to the other man right now, due to the system's interference, which had led to her talks with Mycroft becoming a more frequent thing than they had been in their last lives.

Sometimes they would discuss books. Mycroft always seemed to have some opinion on a book he had read. Sometimes Martha would complain about songs on the radio being vulgar, and Mycroft would remind her that the 21st century had different opinions on what was vulgar.

Weeks ago, Mycroft even let her cry about having watched her grandfather die all over again. Her other friends would just give her false condolences and try to move on. Mycroft just let her talk and cry. He didn't offer false sympathy; that's not what she needed. She just needed to cry. It hadn't been the first time the man had seen her cry. Not that either of them would admit it, Martha had seen Mycroft let out a few tears before about Sherlock's death.

Mycroft sat in the living room, chatting with her as she made tea. She had convinced him to read one of her books after he teased her for weeks about her silly romance books. She had gotten him to read one that she had picked out. While she did have romance books on the shelf, she knew he wouldn't enjoy it, so instead she picked a book that had romance as more of a subplot. He had admitted that he didn't hate the main storyline, but the romance subplot with the main character not being able to choose between the two love interests drove him insane.

Once Martha had finished making the tea, the two of them talked for a while again. She started to notice Mycroft starting to get fidgety the same way Sherlock did when he wanted a cigarette. Mycroft wasn't nearly as bad as Sherlock when it came to smoking.

"The two of you, I swear to god, need to quit smoking, it's not good for you," Martha said, setting her teacup down on the coffee table.

"Technically, both of us did stop smoking for a while." Mycroft shrugged.

"Technically, you had no choice when you were brought to this world at such a young age."

"But I did stop."

"But when did you start smoking again?" Mycroft looked away, not answering.

"Just admit you have a problem."

"I don't smoke as much as Sherlock." The older muttered.

"I don't think a normal human being could smoke as much as Sherlock," the ginger rolled her eyes.

"Just admit you can't quit."

"I can if I want."

"Then do it," Martha said, crossing her arms. Mycroft made a face that said 'no'. Martha saw this and started to get up. She left her apartment to run up the stairs.

"Sherlock!" she yelled up the stairs, Mycroft following after her. He could sense where this was going.

Martha slammed open the door to Sherlock and John's living room. Sherlock looked over from his seat by the fireplace, annoyed.

"What?"Sherlock asked, annoyed.

"The two of you smoke too much."

"okay-"

"So, I'm challenging you both. Why not make it into one of your stupid games? You stop smoking, both of you; the first one to smoke loses."

Both of the men groan.

"That's stupid," Sherlock said.

Martha smiled.

"You're just scared that you'll lose to Mycroft again," Sherlock shot up out of his chair, offended.

"I can beat Mycroft!"

"I haven't even agreed," Mycroft said with his arms crossed.

"So you won't play?" Martha questioned; she had thought this would hopefully be the way to get both men to quit, both too stubborn to lose.

The oldest of the three just sighed.

"I'll play."

Work at MI6 had been slow the past couple of days, at least for Albert, who was stuck at his desk fixing reports (mostly Moran's reports). Albert was aware that Moran's messed-up reports were intentional. The man was not stupid; he just loved to piss Albert off. It wasn't even major things, mostly just fixing dates and names. Albert knew that Moran was doing it just to annoy him.

After Albert finished fixing and filing reports, he had some time before Mycroft stopped by to give him the next assignments.

Albert grabbed the knitting supplies from the bottom drawer of his desk. It was a small project, uncomplicated, just something to keep him from being completely bored waiting for Mycroft to show up with the assignments.

There was no knock at the door. Mycroft rarely did anymore. As soon as Mycroft entered the office, Albert could sense something was off with the older man. Mycroft quickly sat in the chair across from Albert's desk. Mycroft wasn't rude, but he had this dark vibe like he was very uncomfortable. Albert made a quick assessment of Mycroft to see what was causing the bad aura.

He didn't appear to be hurt, so that probably wasn't it. The older man was acting normal with him, so it couldn't be something Albert had caused.

Mycroft looked over the desk.

"You're knitting?"

With Mycroft leaning over the desk, Albert could smell it, or rather, not smell the light smell of cigarettes that Mycroft usually smelled faintly of.

"You quit smoking?" Albert asked. Mycroft gave the younger a very dark look.

"Game with my brother," Mycroft grumpily said.

"How long?"

"It's been a day," Mycroft said. Albert decided he wouldn't ask any more questions after that.