The Empty Hearse (Part 1)

(Jared's POV)

As John Watson's anguished cry of 'Sherlock! Jared!" rings in the air, John himself approaches Sherlock Holmes' and my headstones. Sherlock, Jim Moriarty, and I on the rooftop of Bart's Hospital, then John arrives by taxi at the hospital and Sherlock and I standing on the roof's edge talking to him by phone.

"It's a trick. Just a magic trick." Sherlock said.

"No. All right, stop it now." John said, starting to walk towards the hospital.

"No. Stay where you are." I said, urgently, and John backs up. "Don't move."

John stops and backs up, holding up his hand towards Sherlock and I in capitulation, "All right."

Breathing rapidly, Sherlock squeezed my hand and had his other hand stretched out towards his friend, phone in it.

"Keep your eyes fixed on us." Sherlock said, his voice becomes frantic. "Please, will you do this for us?"

"Do what?" John asked.

"This phone call – it's, er ... it's our note. It's what people do, don't they – leave a note?" Sherlock asked, and John shakes his head, momentarily taking his phone from his ear as the stress of what he's beginning to understand hits him, then he raises it again, his voice shaky.

Behind Sherlock, two men are dragging the body of Jim Moriarty across the roof towards the door.

"Like how Max Mayfield wrote notes to her friends from Hawkins, Indiana." I said, frowning. "Or how the Doctor and I left notes for our friends."

Sherlock doesn't react to them and continues to concentrate on John.

"Leave a note when?" John asked.

"Goodbye, John." Sherlock said.

"It was nice knowing you, John." I said, while John was shaking his head.

"No. Don't." John said, as Sherlock and I gazed down at him for several seconds.

The men drag Jim's body into a service elevator inside the hospital, and lay it on the floor. While Sherlock and I continue to look down towards John, one of the men opens two cases. Inside are latex masks which are perfect replica of Sherlock's and Jared's faces. The other man closes the lift doors, while the first man takes a small bottle from the case and, using tweezers, carefully extracts a blue soft contact lens and a brown soft contact lens.

On the roof, Sherlock drops his phone behind him and he and I stare intensely ahead of ourselves as John screams, "Sherlock! Jared!" up at us.

In the elevator, Jim's dead open eyes are now blue instead of brown. The man takes the mask out of the case and lays it over Jim's face, then picks up a scalpel and reaches forward to start lifting the closed eyes on the mask. The second man starts to apply a dark curly wig to Jim's slicked-down hair.

On the roof, Sherlock and I spread our arms and fell forward. John stares in horror, and a man on a pushbike slams into him from behind, sending him crashing to the ground. Sherlock and I plummet towards the ground, but now it's clear that we are attached to bungee cords. While John lies on the ground still trying to catch his breath, Molly Hooper watches from a window of Bart's as Sherlock and I plunge past, the bungee cords trailing behind us. We head towards the pavement but the cords stop our fall when it reaches its full extension. Sherlock's breath and my breath whooshes out of us ... then the elastic begins to contract and Sherlock and I are yanked skywards.

Molly and Martha gasp as Sherlock and I shoot back into view, with the two of us flailing to change our direction and, before Molly and Martha can react, Sherlock and I wrapped our arms around our heads and we kicked our way through the window in front of them.

Molly and Martha cringe back from the breaking glass and Sherlock and I land on our feet and quickly unclips the bungee cord from our waists. They are whipped out of the window and disappear from view and Sherlock straightens his coat, ruffles his hands through his hair, I fixed up my hair and adjusted my bow tie, as Sherlock marches over to Molly as I marched over to Martha, with the consulting detective taking Molly's head in his hands and kissing her deeply while I did the same with Martha for a couple of seconds. Molly reaches up to hold Sherlock's head as Martha did the same for me but we pull away, giving them a long last look and then leaves the room. They watch us go with a girly smile on her face.

Downstairs, the two men are dragging Jim's body – now perfectly disguised as Sherlock's, including being dressed in a Belstaff coat and blue scarf – and the Teselecta comes out dressed as me, out onto the street. Nearby, a man wearing a fur-lined hooded jacket is approaching John. The men put the body and the Teselecta went into position on the pavement and one of them squirts fake blood onto the paving stones around the heads. Other people – various fake medical staff and passers-by – are running into position around the bodies. The jacket-wearing man walks over to John as more people run towards the scene. John gets up onto his knees, seeing the passers-by running over to the bodies and pointing upwards as they appear to discuss what they just saw. John gets to his feet, and the man steps into his way.

"John." Derren said, putting his hand onto John's shoulder. "John. Look at me. Look at me."

John drags his eyes away from the scene of Sherlock's fall and my fall and looks at Derren, whose face is a little fuzzy so close-up. Derren puts his fingers over John's face.

"And sleep!" Derren said, while John collapses forward, his eyes closing, and the famous illusionist and hypnotist supports the blonde and gently lowers him to the ground. "Right the way down, right the way deep, right the way sound asleep. That's right. That's good – keeping my voice just there in the centre of your head and floating all the way around you." While he's speaking, he reaches down to John's wrist and adjusts his watch, turning it back a few minutes. He straightens up and looks down at John. "And you will awaken in three, two, one..." John starts to move on the ground. "... zero."

Flipping up his hood to cover his head again, Derren walks away. John rolls over onto his side, grimacing with pain. The crowd continues to gather around the body and John – unaware of the passage of time since he first was knocked over by the bike – clambers to his feet and stumbles towards the pavement.

Inside the hospital, Sherlock and I walk towards a set of double doors.

John hurries over to the crowd and tries to push his way through them, while they do all they can to hold him back.

"Let me come through, please. They're my friends." John said, anguished.

Sherlock and I half-turn as we walked, taking one last look behind us.

Outside, John's knees give out and he half-collapses, supported by some of the bystanders. The wrist of the dead man falls limply out of John's grasp. Paramedics arrive with stretchers and load the body and the Teselecta onto it while John watches in anguish. The stretchers are wheeled away; and Sherlock and I push our way through the doors and walks around the corner, disappearing from view.

(Open POV)

London...

"Bollocks!" Lestrade said, angrily.

Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade and Doctor Anderson – the latter sporting a scruffy beard and with unwashed hair – are in a different part of London, standing at a mobile coffee stall.

"No-no-no-no! It's obvious! That's how they did it! It's obvious!" Anderson said, happily.

"Derren Brown?! Let it go. Sherlock and Jared are dead." Lestrade said.

"Are they?"

"There were bodies. It was them. It was definitely them. Molly Hooper and Martha Smith-Jones laid them out."

"No, they're lying. It was Jim Moriarty's body with a mask on of Sherlock and the Teselecta for Jared!"

"A mask on Sherlock?! And a shapeshifting robot disguised as Jared?!" Lestrade exclaimed, as Anderson nodded eagerly. "Bungee ropes, a mask, a robot, Derren Brown. Two years, and the theories keep getting more stupid. How many more've you got for me today?"

"Well, you know the paving slabs in that whole area – even the exact ones that they landed on – you know they were all ..."

"Guilt." Lestrade said, interrupting Anderson and looked at him sternly. "That's all this is. You pushed us all into thinking that Sherlock was a fraud and that Jared was delusional, you and Donovan." Anderson looks down sadly. "You did this, and it killed them, and they're staying dead. Do you honestly believe that if you have enough stupid theories, it's gonna change what really happened?"

Lestrade is taking his cup of coffee with him, he starts to walk away.

"I believe in Sherlock Holmes and Jared Shay." Anderson said.

Greg turns around.

"Yeah, well that won't bring them back." Lestrade said, continuing on towards where several camera crews are filming reporters.

"... that after extensive police investigations, Richard Brook did indeed prove to be the creation of James Moriarty ..." Reporter 1 said, into his crew's camera.

"... amidst unprecedented scenes, there was uproar in court as Sherlock Holmes and Jared Shay were vindicated and cleared of all suspicion ..." Reporter 2 said, into a different camera.

"... but sadly, all this comes too late for the detective and his friend who became something of celebrities two years ago ..." Reporter 3 said.

"... Questions are now being asked as to why police let matters get so far." Reporter 1 said.

Greg and Anderson are now standing side by side, each holding a coffee cup and watching the reporters.

"Sherlock Holmes and Jared Shay fell to their deaths from the top of London's Bart's Hospital. Although they left no note, friends say it's unlikely they were able to cope with ..." Reporter 2 said.

Greg turns to Anderson.

"Well then." Lestrade said, raising his cup. "Absent friends. Sherlock and Jared."

"Sherlock and Jared." Anderson said, sadly raising his own cup.

They tap their mugs together.

"And may God rest their souls." Lestrade said.

They drink.

Graveyard...

At Sherlock's grave and Jared's grave, John gazes down at the headstone, his eyes haunted with memories and loss. He has grown a mustache. As he continues to look at the graves, which has several bunches of flowers – some of them fading with age – at the bases of the headstones, a woman steps to John's side and takes his hand. He clasps it tightly.

SERBIA...

It is nighttime and a man with long straggly hair is running through a forest. Above him, a helicopter is circling around, shining a searchlight into the trees while the crew watch their infrared camera, radioing instructions in Serbian to the ground crew. There is much shouting and running and chasing of the man through the woods but eventually some of the soldiers block the way in front of the man. One of them sends a burst of automatic gunfire towards his feet and he has no choice but to stop. The soldiers surround the man and aim their rifles at him. He slumps to the ground, exhausted.

Some time later, in what may be a bunker or an interrogation centre, a soldier wearing a thick coat and a furry hat is guarding the entrance to a room. He has earphones in his ears playing loud music. Behind the closed door, the prisoner cries out as he is struck for what is apparently the umpteenth time. Hearing the noise, the soldier takes out one of his ear buds and looks round to the door as the prisoner is struck again and groans. The soldier puts his ear bud back in and turns away. Inside the room, the torturer shouts repeatedly at the prisoner, who is naked from the waist up and whose arms are chained to opposite walls of the small room, forcing him to stay upright. The man is slumped forward as far as he can, apparently exhausted by the repeated blows and unable to support his own weight. In a dark corner of the room another soldier, well wrapped against the cold and with a furry hat on his head, sits with his feet up on a small table and watches while the torturer paces across the room.

"You broke in here for a reason." The torturer said, in Serbian and picking up a large metal pipe and walks towards the prisoner again, whose face we cannot see through the long straggly hair which is falling across it. "Just tell us why and you can sleep. Remember sleep?" He draws back the pipe over his shoulder and prepares to strike the prisoner but the man quietly whispers something. The torturer stops, lowering the pipe and leaning forward. "What?"

He reaches down and pulls the man's head back by the hair, leaning closer as the prisoner continues to whisper. The soldier in the corner speaks ... in a voice which sounds more than a little familiar, although it is currently speaking with a heavy accent.

"Well? What did he say?" The soldier asked, in Serbian.

Straightening up and releasing the prisoner's head, the torturer looks down at him in puzzlement.

"He said that I used to work in the navy, where I had an unhappy love affair." The torturer said, in Serbian.

"What?" The soldier asked, in Serbian.

The prisoner continues to whisper and the torturer relays his words to the other man.

"... that the electricity isn't working in my bathroom; and that my wife is sleeping with our next door neighbour!" The torturer said, in Serbian, and he reaches down and pulls up the prisoner's head by the hair again. "And?" The prisoner replies briefly and the man releases his head. "The coffin maker!" Once again he bends to the prisoner, lifting his head with a fist in his hair. "And? And?" The prisoner continues whispering, then the torturer drops his head and relays the words to the soldier. "If I go home now, I'll catch them at it! I knew it! I knew there was something going on!"

He storms out of the room, leaving the prisoner slumped in his chains.

"So, my friend. Now it's just you and me." The soldier said, in Serbian, taking his feet off the table and stands up. "You have no idea the trouble it took to find you."

He walks across the room to the prisoner, whose back is covered in blood and wounds from his beating. The soldier grabs a handful of the prisoner's hair and pulls his head up a little. Leaning close to the man's ear, he speaks in English and the familiar voice is none other than that of Mycroft Holmes.

"Now listen to me. There's an underground terrorist network active in London and a massive attack is imminent. Sorry, but the holiday is over, brother dear." Mycroft said, releasing the prisoner's head and straightens up. "Back to Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes. Jared Shay did his own approach to tackle this, which didn't involve being locked up."

Under the long hair draped across his face, Sherlock smiles.

LONDON...

In an Underground station, the doors of a Tube train close and the train moves off. John sits inside.

Above ground, a black car with tinted rear windows heads through the streets.

The two journeys continue, while Mycroft sits behind a desk in a dark-walled windowless office (although there might be skylights letting in a little daylight) looking through paperwork. The car pulls up outside the Diogenes Club, which presumably contains this office.

BAKER STREET...

John walks across the road towards 221. Two young boys come around the corner, one of them pushing a pushchair in front of him. Sitting in the pushchair is a home-made Guy Fawkes 'guy' with an orange balloon for a head, with a face drawn on with marker pen. One of them calls out the traditional plea to a passer-by.

"Penny for the guy?" A boy asked, and the woman shakes her head as she walks past and the boys continue on, reaching John just before he gets to the front door. "Oi, mate! Penny for the guy?"

John rolls his eyes.

"Penny for the guy, mate?" A second boy asked.

"Penny for the guy?" The first boy asked.

John looks round at them quizzically and they continue onwards, calling out their plea to everyone they see. He unlocks the front door and goes inside. Partway down the hall, he stops, staring at Mrs Hudson's front door and letting out an anxious breath. In his head he starts to hear Sherlock's violin playing a fragment of Irene's lament and the soundtrack of Splatoon 3 coming out of a game console, and his head snaps up and he looks up the stairs as a snippet of an old conversation sounds inside his mind.

"That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done." John said, happily.

"And you invaded Afghanistan!" Sherlock yelled.

"Sherlock, just because John invaded Afghanistan. It doesn't mean he is going to do it again." Jared said.

John blinks, his face sad as the violin fades from his mind. Just then, Mrs Hudson opens her door and comes out, staring at John in surprise. He raises a hand in greeting, clearing his throat before walking towards her after a final glance up the stairs.

(Jared's POV)

Mycroft's office...

Mycroft and I are reading the front page headline of a newspaper which reads, 'SKELETON MYSTERY'. The strapline, of which I can only see the beginning, says, 'Remains found in the wall of a ...' He is sitting behind his desk a short distance away, reading a file.

"You two have been busy, haven't you?" Mycroft asked, as Sherlock is holding the newspaper.

Sherlock is reclined flat on his back in a barber's chair while a man is shaving his face with a cut-throat razor. Sherlock's hair has been cut back to its normal length and is currently wet and straight. He tosses the paper onto a nearby trolley.

"Quite the busy little bees." Mycroft said, chuckling.

"Moriarty's network – took me two years to dismantle it." Sherlock said.

"And it took me the entirety of Miracle Day to do it using the Torchwood software." I said, happily.

"And you two are confident you have?" Mycroft asked, looking between Sherlock and I.

"The Serbian side was the last piece of the puzzle." Sherlock said.

"I didn't want to mess with the Serbian side. The Shanghai side was difficult." I said, smiling.

"Yes. Brother dear, you got yourself in deep there ..." Mycroft said, checking his report. "... with Baron Maupertuis. Quite a scheme."

"Colossal." Sherlock said.

"Anyway, you and Jared are safe now." Mycroft said, shutting the file.

"Hmm."

"Sherlock, say thank you to Mycroft." I said, sipping on a mocha frappuccino.

"What for?" Sherlock asked.

"For wading in." Mycroft said, while Sherlock raises a hand to the barber to make him stop shaving him. The man steps back a little. "In case you'd forgotten, fieldwork is not my natural milieu."

Grunting in pain, Sherlock slowly sits up and looks at his brother angrily, "'Wading in'? You sat there and watched me being beaten to a pulp."

"I got you out." Mycroft said, frowning indignantly.

"No – I got me out. Why didn't you intervene sooner?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, I couldn't risk giving myself away, could I? It would have ruined everything."

"You were enjoying it." Sherlock said, glowering at Mycroft.

"Nonsense."

"Definitely enjoying it."

"Listen: do you have any idea what it was like, Sherlock, going 'under cover,' smuggling my way into their ranks like that?" Mycroft asked, leaning forward and he grimaces. "The noise; the people."

Mycroft sits back. Groaning softly, Sherlock painfully sinks back to lie down in the chair again. The barber resumes his work.

"I didn't know you spoke Serbian." Sherlock said.

"I didn't, but the language has a Slavic root, frequent Turkish and German loan words." Mycroft said, shrugging. "Took me a couple of hours."

"Hmm – you're slipping."

"Middle age, brother mine. Comes to us all." Mycroft said, smiling tightly.

The door opens and Anthea – or not-Anthea, who I last saw in 'A Study in Pink' – holds up a dark suit and white shirt on a hanger to show to Sherlock and she holds up a Bubba hoodie and jeans on a hanger to show to me.

"A Bubba hoodie." I said, walking up to the hoodie. "That works."

(Open POV)

221A BAKER STREET...

John is sitting at Mrs Hudson's kitchen table. She firmly slams down a small tray containing a cup and saucer and a jug of milk, then goes across the room to pick up a plate of biscuits, which she equally loudly slams down onto the table. John silently watches her while she picks up a sugar bowl and thumps that onto the table. She hesitates, then points at the sugar bowl.

"Oh no – you don't take it, do you?" Mrs Hudson asked.

"No." John said.

"You forget a little thing like that."

"Yes."

"You forget lots of little things, it seems." Mrs Hudson said, pointedly.

"Uh-huh."

Mrs Hudson purposely runs her finger between her nose and her upper lip while looking at John.

"Not sure about that." Mrs Hudson said, and John reaches up to touch his mustache. "Ages you."

"Just trying it out." John said.

"Well, it ages you."

John looks awkwardly at Mrs Hudson, "Look ..."

"I'm not your mother. I've no right to expect it ..." Mrs Hudson said.

"No ..." John said, sadly.

"... but just one phone call, John." Mrs Hudson said, while her anger dissipates and she looks upset. "Just one phone call would have done."

"I know." John said, looking down.

"After all we went through."

"Yes. I am sorry." John said, looking at Mrs Hudson in the eye.

"Look, I understand how difficult it was for you after ... after ..." Mrs Hudson said, sitting down at the table and stops, shaking her head sadly.

"I just let it slide, Mrs Hudson. I let it all slide. And it just got harder and harder to pick up the phone somehow." John said, sighing, and looking away for a moment, then turns his eyes back to Mrs Hudson's. "D'you know what I mean?"

After a moment, Mrs Hudson sighs too and reaches out to put her hand on John's arm. He immediately puts his hand over hers.

MYCROFT'S OFFICE...

Sherlock's hair is now dry and curly, and he is on his feet and almost dressed. He tucks his shirt into his trousers while he looks at himself in a large mirror on the wall. Jared is wearing the Bubba hoodie and the blue jeans that Mycroft gave him. Mycroft and not-Anthea stand nearby.

"I need you to give this matter your full attention, Sherlock, Jared. Is that quite clear?" Mycroft asked.

"Jared? What do you think of this shirt?" Sherlock asked, looking at Jared.

"It looks good. Whatcha think of the Bubba hoodie? I mean, Amelia Watson's dog is cute. I do like Bubba." Jared said, smiling.

"Sherlock! Jared!" Mycroft said, exasperated.

"We will find your underground terror cell, Mycroft." Sherlock said, briefly looking at his brother. "Just put us back in London. We need to get to know the place again, breathe it in – feel every quiver of its beating heart."

"One of our men died getting this information. All the chatter, all the traffic, concurs there's going to be a terror strike on London – a big one." Not-Anthea said.

"And what about John Watson?" Sherlock asked, putting on his jacket.

Anthea throws an exasperated glance towards Mycroft.

"John?" Mycroft asked.

"Yeah. John. Army doctor. Looks like a CIA agent named Everett Ross or Bilbo Baggins. Have you seen him?" Jared asked, leaning against the wall.

"Oh, yes – we meet up every Friday for fish and chips!" Mycroft said, gesturing to Anthea, who hands Sherlock a folder. "I've kept a weather eye on him, of course." Sherlock opens the file with Jared walking up to him to be behind him. There are two black and white surveillance photos of John and a printed report underneath. "Neither of you haven't been in touch at all, to prepare him?"

"No." Sherlock said, distractedly looking at the picture of John with his new mustache. "Well, we'll have to get rid of that."

"'We'?" Mycroft asked.

"He looks ancient. We can't be seen to be wandering around with an old man." Sherlock said, closing the file and drops it onto the desk.

221B...

John has gone upstairs and opens the door to the living room. He stands in the doorway, looking into the room. It's quite dark because the curtains are closed, but lots of dust is floating around, illuminated by the few shafts of light coming into the room. John continues to stand still, looking towards Sherlock's chair by the fireside. Mrs Hudson comes in and switches on the lights.

"I couldn't face letting it out." Mrs Hudson said, walking across to the right-hand window and pulls the curtains back, coughing at the dust. "He never liked me dusting."

"No, I know." John said, turning to look into the kitchen.

Mrs Hudson goes across the room to open the other curtains, "So, why now? What changed your mind?"

Drawing in a deep breath, John turns back to face Mrs Hudson, "Well, I've got some news."

Mrs H turns to John and her face fills with horror, "Oh, God. Is it serious?"

"What? No – no, I'm not ill. I've, er, well, I'm ... moving on." John said.

"You're emigrating." Mrs Hudson said, sadly.

"Nope. Er, no – I've, er ... I've met someone."

Mrs Hudson giggles with delight. Clapping her hands, she walks towards him smiling happily.

"Oh, lovely!" Mrs Hudson said, happily.

"Yeah. We're getting married ... well, I'm gonna ask, anyway." John said, smiling.

"So soon after Sherlock and Jared?" Mrs Hudson asked, looking more doubtful.

"Well, yes."

Mrs H looks away thoughtfully for a moment, then smiles at John, "What's his name?"

"It's a woman." John said, letting out a huge exasperated sigh.

"A woman?!" Mrs Hudson exclaimed.

"Yes, of course it's a woman."

Mrs H laughs in surprise, "You really have moved on, haven't you?"

"Mrs Hudson! How many times ...? Sherlock was not my boyfriend. It didn't help that Jared helped support your opinion."

"Live and let live – that's my motto." Mrs Hudson said, smiling affectionately.

"Listen to me: I am not gay!" John said, slowly getting louder.

(Jared's POV)

MYCROFT'S OFFICE...

"I think we'll surprise John. He'll be delighted!" Sherlock said, straightening his jacket.

"You think so?" Mycroft asked, smiling cynically.

"Hmm. We'll pop into Baker Street. Who knows – jump out of a cake."

"Jumping out of a cake. That worked well for the Ponds." I said, frowning. "And why would John be at Baker Street? He doesn't live there anymore." Sherlock looks surprised. "Why would he still be there? It's been two years, Sherlock. John moved on with his life from writing his blog about your cases."

"What life? Jared, we've been away." Sherlock said, while Mycroft pretty much rolls his eyes without actually rolling them. "Mycroft, where's he going to be tonight?"

"How would I know?" Mycroft asked.

"You always know. More than Jared ever will with his foreknowledge."

"John has a dinner reservation in the Marylebone Road. Nice little spot. They have a few bottles of the 2000 Saint-Emilion ... though I prefer the 2001." Mycroft said.

"I think maybe we'll just drop by."

"You know, it is just possible that you and Jared won't be welcome."

"No it isn't. Now, where is it?"

"Where's what?"

"You know what."

Anthea also knows what, because she immediately appears in the open doorway holding Sherlock's Belstaff coat. Sherlock smiles with delight, and slides his arms into the sleeves as Anthea lifts it into position. She has even already popped the collar for him.

"Welcome back, Mr Holmes." Anthea said, smiling.

"Thank you ..." Sherlock said, pulling the collar tips into a better position, before turning to face his brother, with a sarcastic tone. "... blud. Let's go, Jared."

Later, Sherlock and I stand on a rooftop or a balcony of a tall building and gazes over our favorite city. The building is 55 Whitehall, the Department of Energy and Climate Change.

THE LANDMARK HOTEL, MARYLEBONE ROAD...

It is evening and Sherlock and I approach the door to the restaurant, with the consulting detective handing his Belstaff to a member of staff. Waiters open the doors for us and we walk in. The maître d' steps forward.

"Sir, may I help you?" The maitre d' asked.

Having only glanced briefly at him, Sherlock has gone into full-blown deduction mode, seeming to hear a woman crying out in pain:

Expectant Father

The man's phone beeps a text alert.

"Your wife just texted you. Possibly her contractions have started." Sherlock said, as the man fishes his phone out of his pocket, looks at the screen and hurries away.

Sherlock and I smiled smugly to ourselves.

Nearby, John is sitting alone at a table, checking the inside pocket of his jacket before taking a drink from a glass of water. Sherlock and I look across the room at him, then we hesitate. A waitress picks up some menus from the bar and walks across in front of us.

"'Scuse me, sir." A waitress said.

Sherlock's attention is drawn to the bowtie she is wearing as part of her uniform. We look to a nearby table where a couple are sitting. There is a glass of red wine and a glass of water to the man's left. The man has his back to the door but Sherlock and I can see him reflected in the water glass. As John picks up the wine list and starts looking at it, Sherlock and I smile to ourselves again and walk over to the side of the other couple's table where I pick up the glass of water and pour it down the man's front. The man – wearing a white shirt, black jacket and a bowtie – recoils and cries out in shock.

"I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry!" I said, and the man lifts his napkin from his lap and starts mopping himself with it.

Sherlock steps behind him, pulling the napkin higher up the man's chest, "Please, let us just go to the kitchen and, er, dry that off for you."

With one smooth tug, Sherlock pulls off the man's bowtie and walks away, tying the bowtie around his own neck. Continuing across the restaurant, we see a man at another table taking off his glasses and putting them down on top of the menu he has just been reading. Sherlock and I walked to his side.

"Are you finished with that menu? Let me take it if you're ready." I said, while the man wasn't paying much attention and waved Sherlock and I away.

Sherlock picks up the menu, passing the menu to Sherlock, and he picks up the glasses and walks away, with the consulting detective putting on the glasses as we go. At a nearby table, a woman's small handbag is open beside her. Sherlock sees that there is an eyeliner pencil on the top. He steps close behind her, offering her the menu he's holding with his right hand while simultaneously taking the menu she is holding with his left hand.

"Madam, can I suggest you look at this menu? It's, er, completely identical." Sherlock said.

She automatically takes the menu from his Sherlock's hand and he instantly pinches the eyeliner from her bag and steps away with me, turning his back to the bulk of the restaurant and lifting the eyeliner towards his face.

When he turns back, he has drawn a small pencil moustache on his top lip. Sherlock and I go over to John's table, standing to his left and one step behind him. The consulting detective addresses John in a French accent.

"Can we 'elp you with anything, sir?" Sherlock asked.

"Hi, yeah. I'm looking for a bottle of champagne – a good one." John said, not looking round at Sherlock and I.

"Mmm! Well, these are all excellent vintages." Sherlock said, leaning closer.

"Er, it's not really my area. What do you suggest?"

"Well, you cannot possibly go wrong, but, erm, if you'd like my personal recommendation ..." Sherlock said, his French accent becoming a little Captain du Creff-esque.

"Mm-hm."

"...this last one on the list is a favourite of mine." Sherlock said, talking in a French accent and gesturing at the list with his eyeliner pencil, as John nods, still not looking up at us making the consulting detective straightening up. "It is – you might, in fact, say – like faces from ze past."

Sherlock takes off his glasses and waits expectantly. John still doesn't look round.

"Great. I'll have that one, please." John said, finishing his glass of red wine.

Sherlock looks startled that John hasn't recognised us yet.

"It is familiar, but, er, with the quality of surprise!" Sherlock said, in his French accent, as he almost lapses into his own voice on the final word and he gestures grandly.

John grimaces at the taste of his wine, then – still without looking round – hands the wine list to the man he thinks is the wine waiter, "Well, er, surprise me."

"Certainly endeavouring to, sir." Sherlock said, tetchily in his own voice before walking away towards me. "He didn't recognize us. Why didn't he recognize us?"

"Because he's distracted with something else." I said, and John reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a small red velvet box. "He really is, Sherlock."

Opening it, John looks at the three-stone diamond ring inside, then closes the box and puts it on the table in front of him. Nearby, a woman walks down the stairs. John fidgets with the box, turning it this way and that, perhaps in an attempt to make it look perfectly placed. He blows out a nervous breath as his dinner date, Mary Morstan, rejoins him, patting his shoulder before walking round to her own seat.

"Sorry that took so long." Mary said, while John snatches the box off the table and shoves it back into his pocket and sits down and smiles at him. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Me? Fine. I am fine." John said, as Mary smiles sweetly.

John chuckles and gazes at Mary with a delighted look on his face.

"Now then, what did you want to ask me?" Mary asked.

John's smile fades and he looks nervous, "More wine?"

"No, I'm good with water, thanks."

"Right." John said, briefly looking away.

"So ..." Mary said.

"Er, so ... Mary. Listen, erm ... I know it hasn't been long ... I mean, I know we haven't known each other for a long time ..." John said, looking down, clearly struggling.

"Go on." Mary said, encouragingly.

"Yes, I will. As you know, these last couple of years haven't been easy for me; and meeting you ..." John said, looking at Mary for a moment, then nods. "Yeah, meeting you has been the best thing that could have possibly happened."

"I agree."

"What?"

"I agree I'm the best thing that could have happened to you." Mary said, smiling.

John laughs.

Mary screws up her nose apologetically, "Sorry."

"Well, no. That's, um ..." John said, pausing, then looks at Mary. "So ... if you'll have me, Mary, could you see your way, um ..." Mary giggles and John clears his throat. "... if you could see your way to ..."

Just as John's about to go for it, Sherlock glides over to the table, still with the glasses, the ridiculous fake moustache and the ridiculous fake accent, but now with the added bonus of a bottle of champagne which he shows to John, with me standing behind the consulting detective.

"Sir, I think you'll find this vintage exceptionally to your liking." Sherlock said, in his French accent as Mary shields her face with her hand so that the 'waiter' can't see her as she giggles silently at John. "It 'as all the qualities of the old, with some of the colour of the new."

"No, sorry, not now, please." John said, his eyes still locked on Mary's.

"Like a gaze from a crowd of strangers ..." Sherlock said, still talking in a fake accent while Mary pulls a face at John. "... suddenly one is aware of staring into ze face of old friends."

Sherlock takes off his glasses.

"No, look, seriously ..." John said, as he finally lifts his gaze to meet the waiter's eyes and my eyes. "... could you just ..."

John's face drops and his entire body jolts and he stares with an expression of utter disbelief.

"Interesting thing, a tuxedo. Lends distinction to friends, and anonymity to waiters." Sherlock said, in his normal accent.

"Sherlock..." I said, and John turns his head towards Mary, then his eyes fill with tears and he ducks his head momentarily before he stumbles clumsily to his feet. "You didn't want me to call him."

"John?" Mary asked, concerned.

As John straightens up, Sherlock begins to move his right hand forward as if expecting John to shake it. John looks down at the table breathing heavily before lifting his head and briefly locking eyes with Sherlock and I.

"John, what is it? What?" Mary asked, worried.

John looks down again, clearly still in shock.

"Well, short version ..." Sherlock said, a little awkwardly while John raises his eyes to him again. "... Not Dead." John stares at Sherlock and I, his face full of pain, shock and growing anger with the consulting detective finally seems to catch on and looks a little guilty. "Bit mean, us springing it on you like that, I know. We could have given you a heart attack, probably still will. But in my defence, it was very funny."

"Sherlock! It's not funny!" I said, while Sherlock laughs nervously, not meeting John's eyes, which is probably for the best because John's gaze is slowly turning murderous. "Just look at John's face!"

"Okay. You're right, Jared, it's not a great defence." Sherlock said, looking at me.

"Oh no! You two are ..." Mary said, at a loss for words.

"Oh yes." Sherlock said, glancing towards Mary.

"Oh, my God." Mary said, shocked.

"Not quite."

"You both died. Both of you jumped off a roof."

"No."

"Sherlock, you and Jared are dead!" Mary said, appalled.

"No. I'm quite sure. I checked. Excuse me." Sherlock said, picking up a napkin from the table, he dips it into Mary's glass of water and then starts to rub off his mustache before trying to sound nonchalant as he meets John's furious gaze. "Does, er, does yours rub off, too?"

The tight smile which John directs at Sherlock and I bears absolutely no humour at all.

Mary's anger is clear in her voice as she speaks, "Oh my God, oh my God. Do either of you have any idea what you've done to him?"

"Yeah. I did. And I did it to the Ponds at Lake Silencio, Utah." I said, as I looked down nervously. "Which was two years for them. Also around this time."

"Okay, John, I'm suddenly realising we probably owe you some sort of an apology." Sherlock said, looking down nervously.

Clenching his left fist, John slams it down onto the table. It's a credit to the manufacturers of the table that he doesn't shatter it. He hunches over his fist.

"All right, just ... John? Just keep ..." Mary said.

John pulls in a deep shaky breath before looking up at Sherlock and I.

"Jared, you're right. It's been two years." John said, in a whisper, shaking his head, dragging in another long breath and blowing it out again before starting to straighten up, still in a tight whisper. "Two years."

John moans and slumps down over his hands again. Sherlock has the decency to look awkward as I immediately looked awkward. John glances up at Sherlock and I momentarily.

"I thought ..." John said, groaning, unable to continue and gesturing helplessly.

Mary stares at him in sympathy. John finally straightens and turns to Sherlock and I.

"I thought ... both of you were dead." John said, his face begins to fill with anger again. "Hmm?" He breathes rapidly and shallowly. "Now, you both let me grieve, hmm? How could either of you do that?"

Sherlock and I looked down, the two of us biting our lips.

"How?" John asked, softly but furiously.

"That was all Sherlock's idea." I said, and John's breathing became more intense. "What happened over the last two years."

"Wait – John, before you do anything that you might regret ..." Sherlock said, while John half-groans again. "... um, one question. Just let me ask one question. Um ..." John looks at Sherlock, his eyes still full of fury, and the consulting detective is almost giggling as he gestures towards his own top lip. "Are you really gonna keep that?!"

Sherlock grins as he turns his head to look at Mary and I. Mary and I laughed in disbelief. John draws in one more long breath, then hurls himself at Sherlock, grabbing his lapels and bundling him back across the floor until Sherlock loses his footing and they both fall to the floor, John on top of Sherlock and trying to throttle him. Mary, various waiters, and I run to pull John off.

LATER...

The four of us have presumably been thrown out of the restaurant and have relocated to a café. Sherlock sits on one side of a table wearing his coat with me next to him, his fingers steepled in front of him. John and Mary, also in their coats, sit side by side opposite us with their arms folded.

"I calculated that there were thirteen possibilities once I'd invited Moriarty onto the roof." Sherlock said, as I closed my eyes to remember him and I on the rooftop of Bart's intersperse the following dialogue. "We wanted to avoid dying if at all possible."

Sherlock rapidly looks around the roof and all the surrounding buildings, visually calculating trajectories, angles and even the possibility of a ladder being lowered from a helicopter.

"The first scenario involved hurling ourselves into a parked hospital van filled with washing bags. Impossible. The angle was too steep. Secondly, a system of Japanese wrestling ..." Sherlock said, and my eyes are still closed.

"You know, for a genius you can be remarkably thick." John said, interrupting Sherlock.

"What?" Sherlock asked, and I opened my eyes again.

"I don't care how you and Jared faked it, Sherlock. I wanna know why." John said, tightly.

"Why? Because Moriarty had to be stopped." Sherlock asked, bewildered.

"Sherlock, not that kind of why." I said, while I am looking at John's expression. "He means the other kind of why."

"Oh. 'Why' as in ..." Sherlock said, lifting finger, pointing it in John's direction with the army doctor nodding. "I see. Yes. 'Why?' That's a little more difficult to explain."

"I've got all night." John said, darkly.

"Actually, um, that was mostly Mycroft's idea." Sherlock said, clearing his throat and looking down.

"Nope. It was Mycroft's and Captain Jack Harkness' plan." I said, looking down.

"Oh, so it's Mycroft's and Torchwood's plan?" John asked.

"Oh, they would have needed confidants ..." Mary said, pointing towards Sherlock and I.

"Mm-hm." Sherlock said, nodding at Mary in agreement.

Mary trails off at John's look.

"Sorry." Mary said, refolding her arms and looking down.

John turns back to Sherlock and I, "But they were the only ones? The only ones who knew?"

Sherlock closes his eyes briefly and seems to force the next sentence out, "Couple of others."

John lowers his head.

Sherlock talks quickly, "It was a very elaborate plan – it had to be. The next of the thirteen possibilities ..."

"Who else?" John asked, in a despairing whisper.

John looks up to Sherlock and I.

"Who else knew?" John asked, as Sherlock hesitates. "Who?"

"Molly." Sherlock said.

"And Martha. Haven't seen her in a while. Sherlock thought I could catch up with her two years ago." I said, happily.

"Molly and Martha?" John asked, angrily.

"John." Mary said, softly.

"Molly Hooper and Martha Smith-Jones – and some of my homeless network, and that's all." Sherlock said.

"Okay." John said, sitting up a little and glancing round at Mary, who gives him a sympathetic smile before turning to Sherlock and I again. "Okay. So just your brother, Torchwood Three, Molly Hooper, Martha Smith-Jones, and a hundred tramps."

Sherlock chuckles, "No! Twenty-five at most."

John hurls himself across the table and attempts to throttle Sherlock again.

LATER...

The four of us have presumably been thrown out of the café and have relocated to a kebab shop. John, Mary, and I stand leaning with our backs against the counter. John apparently managed more than just an attempted throttling, because Sherlock has taken his coat off and is holding a paper napkin to a cut on his lower lip. He looks at the blood on the napkin, wincing, then presses it to his lip again. He looks at John as he raises his head, avoiding Sherlock's gaze.

"Seriously, it's not a joke?" Sherlock asked, gesturing to his own top lip. "You're-you're really keeping this?"

John clears his throat and meets Sherlock's eyes, "Yeah."

"You're sure?" Sherlock asked.

"Mary likes it." John said, happily.

"Nope. She doesn't." I said, sadly.

"She does."

"She doesn't." Sherlock said.

John glances briefly round at Mary, then does a double-take. She makes incoherent apologetic noises.

"Oh!" John said, trying to cover his mustache with his hand. "Brilliant."

"I'm sorry. Oh, I'm sorry – I didn't know how to tell you." Mary said.

"No, no, this is charming!" John yelled, pointing angrily at Sherlock and I, clearly referring to his talent of instant deduction and my foreknowledge. "I've really missed this!" He looks down, then takes an aggressive step towards Sherlock and I and gets into our faces. "One word, Sherlock, Jared. That is all I would have needed. One word to let me know that both of you were alive."

John steps back, breathing heavily.

"I've nearly been in contact so many times, but ..." Sherlock said, quietly, and John laughs disbelievingly. "... I worried that, you know, you might say something indiscreet."

"What?" John asked.

"Well, you know, let the cat out of the bag."

"Oh, so this is my fault?!" John exclaimed, stepping closer again.

Mary laughs with disbelief, "Oh, God!"

"This isn't going to end well, Mary." I said, laughing a lot.

"It won't."

"Why am I the only one who thinks that this is wrong – the only one reacting like a human being?!" John exclaimed, shouting angrily.

"Overreacting." Sherlock said.

"'Overreacting'?!" John exclaimed, furiously.

"John!" Mary yelled.

"Shut up!" I said, angrily.

"'Overreacting'. So, Sherlock, you and Jared fake your own deaths ..." John said, still shouting.

"Shh!" Sherlock said, worried.

"... and the two of you waltz in 'ere large as bloody lives ..."

"Shh!"

"... but I'm not supposed to have a problem with that, no, because Sherlock Holmes and Jared Shay think it's a perfectly OKAY THING TO DO!" John said, initially more quietly, but getting louder all the time.

"Shut up, John! We don't want everyone knowing we're still alive!" Sherlock said, shouting back at John.

"Oh, so it's still a secret, is it?"

"Yes! It's still a secret." Sherlock said, looking around at the other customers in the shop, before talking casually again. "Promise you won't tell anyone."

"Swear to God!" John said, angrily and sarcastically, before he looks around at the other customers and backs down a little, blowing out a long breath.

Sherlock steps closer to John and speaks quietly, "London is in danger, John. There's an imminent terrorist attack and we need your help."

John stares at him in amazement, then turns to throw a quirky 'can you believe this guy?!' look at Mary and I. He turns back to Sherlock.

"My help?" John asked.

Sherlock's eyes narrow as he deduces John's genuine reaction to his request, then he smiles, "You have missed this. Admit it. The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins, just the three of us against the rest of the world ..."

"John doesn't!" I said, when John grabs Sherlock's lapels, rears his head back and then moves in for the kill. "You fucking idiot!"

LATER...

The four of us have presumably been thrown out of the kebab shop. Sherlock, wearing his coat again, stands just outside the door with his head tilted back a little. Blood is running from his nose.

"I don't understand." Sherlock said, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand and holding a paper napkin underneath with the other. "I said I'm sorry. Isn't that what you're supposed to do?"

Mary is standing beside Sherlock and I, while John is a few yards up the road hailing an approaching taxi.

"Gosh. You don't know anything about human nature, do you?" Mary asked.

Sherlock lowers his head and looks at Mary, "Mmm, nature? No. Human? ... No."

"I'll talk him round." Mary said.

Sherlock takes the napkin from under his nose and looks at Mary curiously.

"You will?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh yeah." Mary said, smiling confidently. "So, Jared. How was Trenzalore?"

"It was good." I said, while Sherlock looks at Mary closely and goes into deduction mode. "Might have used a bit too much plot armor though."

Many, many words appear in Sherlock's mind, some of them repeated several times. They include, in no particular order:

only child linguist Clever part time nurse Shortsighted Guardian Bakes Own Bread Disillusioned Cat Lover Romantic Appendix Scar Lib Dem Secret Tattoo Size 12 Liar.

"You should hang out with Clara more." Mary said, smiling at Sherlock and I, then looks round as John called to her.

"Mary." John said.

Mary turns to give Sherlock and I a last smile, then walks over to John. They get into the taxi and it drives away. Sherlock and I watch them go.

TAXI...

John indignantly turns to Mary, "Can you believe Sherlock's nerve? At least Jared has gotten better with time."

Smiling, Mary looks round at him.

"I like them." Mary said, happily.

"What?" John asked.

"I like them." Mary said, shrugging and still smiling.

Mary turns her head away and looks out of the window at Sherlock and I. John narrows his eyes, looking completely bewildered.

The kebab shop...

Sherlock looks down thoughtfully, then turns and walks away with me.

(Open POV)

ST BARTHOLOMEW'S HOSPITAL...

Molly Hooper walks into a locker room, takes out her keys and opens her locker. As the door swings open, the mirror on the inside reveals Sherlock and Jared standing a short distance away behind her, smiling slightly. She gasps and turns to look at them, starting to smile.

Underground car park...

Greg Lestrade walks across the area searching his pockets as he goes. Behind him, Sherlock's and Jared's distinctive silhouettes quickly walks past and disappears into the shadows of an unlit area of the car park.

Unaware of this, Greg continues rummaging in various pockets.

Something metallic clinks noisily in the darkness. Greg looks around but can see nothing and he resumes his search through his pockets until he finally finds what he was looking for. Tipping a cigarette out of the pack, he sticks it into his mouth, puts the rest of the pack back into his pocket and then flicks his lighter and raises it towards the end of the cigarette.

"You should stop while you're ahead." Jared said, his voice in the darkness.

"Jared's right. Those things'll kill you." Sherlock said, his voice in the darkness.

Greg freezes, the flame not quite reaching the end of his cigarette as he stares into the distance while his brain catches up with what – and who – he just heard. Finally he lowers his lighter and takes his fag out of his mouth.

"Ooh, you bastards!" Lestrade said, angrily.

"It's time to come back. You've been letting things slide, Graham." Sherlock said, walking towards Lestrade out of the darkness with Jared.

"His name's Greg, Sherlock! Not Graham!" Jared said, excitedly.

"Greg." Sherlock said, looking at Greg.

Greg stares at Sherlock and Jared for a long moment, his lips slowly lifting to reveal his teeth. Grimacing, he lunges towards Sherlock and Jared ... and wraps his arms around Sherlock's neck and Jared's neck and pulls them into a tight hug.

"Jared, I saw you on the news. In New York City with the Avengers and around London with Thor." Lestrade said, looking at Jared.

Sherlock groans – quite possibly because the hug, is doing no good to his recent injuries acquired in Serbia – but he tolerates Greg's affection.

"Spoilers. I haven't gone around London with Thor yet." Jared said, smiling.

John's apartment...

John and Mary are in bed. Mary is asleep, but John stares up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

221A BAKER STREET...

Mrs Hudson is in the kitchen washing up a pan. The radio is on.

"... with an anti-terrorism bill this important, the government feels duty-bound to push through the legislation with all due expe..." Someone on the radio said.

Hearing the main front door being opened, she turns down the volume and goes to her front door and opens it, brandishing the pan in front of her. The front door closes, and familiar silhouettes appear behind the frosted window of the internal door. Mrs Hudson stares at it in disbelief – and then Sherlock pushes open the door with Jared next to him and the two of them look at her. She screams hysterically.

FLASHBACK...

They are back at the end of 'The Reichenbach Fall'. John gets out of the taxi and heads towards the hospital. Cut to partway through his phone conversation with Sherlock and Jared when John tries again to go towards the hospital.

"No. Stay where you are. Don't move." Jared said, over the phone.

"Where are you?" John asked, talking into the phone.

"Don't move. Keep your eyes fixed on me." Sherlock said.

On the rooftop's edge, dummies have been dressed in replicas of Sherlock's coat and scarf along with Jared's hoodie and jeans. Sherlock's dummy is wearing a curly dark wig, and a life-sized photo of Sherlock's face has been stuck on the front of its head while Jared's dummy is wearing a straight dark wig, and a life-sized phot of Jared's face has been stuck on the front of its head. One hand of Sherlock's dummy is raised to hold a phone.

"What-what's happening? What's going on?" John asked, his voice over the phone.

A few feet behind the dummies, Sherlock and Jared are sitting on the roof with their backs against a low chimney. Jim Moriarty is sitting beside them. Sherlock and Jared are holding ropes to keep the dummies upright.

Sherlock speaks tearfully into another phone, "Please, will you do this for us? Please."

"Do what?" John asked.

"This phone call – it's our note. That's what people do, don't they? Leave a note." Sherlock said.

Beside him, Jim and Jared lowered their heads and the two giggled quietly.

"Like how Max Mayfield wrote notes to her friends from Hawkins, Indiana. Or how the Doctor and I left notes for our friends." Jared said.

Sherlock takes the phone away from his mouth and angrily but silently shushes them.

"Leave a note when?" John asked, his voice over the phone.

"Goodbye, John." Sherlock said, raising the phone to his mouth again.

"It was nice knowing you, John." Jared said.

"No ..." John said, his voice over the phone.

Switching off the phone, Sherlock and Jared flicks the ropes and releases them and the dummies topple over the edge of the roof. Jim and Jared chuckled, and John's horrified voice can be heard screaming from ground level.

"Sherlock! Jared!" John yelled.

"Oh-ho!" Jim said, happily.

Jim, Jared and Sherlock all laugh as if delighted that their plan has worked. The three turn and look at each other, still giggling, but when their eyes meet their smiles slowly begin to fade as if they are starting to realise something or to feel something new. Sherlock frowns a little, looking puzzled as Jared laughed a lot, but Jim waits patiently for the both of them to catch up. After a few moments, Sherlock and Jared work it out and the two begin to lean towards Jim, and Jim moves to meet them. Their lips are just about to touch.

Anderson's apartment...

"What?! Are you out of your mind?! A three way kiss?!" Anderson exclaimed, horrified.

Anderson is standing and staring down at a dark-haired young woman sitting in his living room. She shrugs.

"I don't see why not. It's just as plausible as some of your theories." Laura said, while behind her, the walls of the room are absolutely covered with notes, photographs and Post It notes.

Pieces of red string link some of the paperwork together, some of the strings even crossing the room. Laura is not the only person in the room with Anderson – six or seven others are squeezed onto the furniture. At least three of them are wearing deerstalker hats, and one is wearing a Sherlock-like coat and scarf.

"Look, if you're not going to take it seriously, Laura, you can ..." Anderson said, making a 'get out' gesture.

"I do take it seriously." Laura said, angrily and she looked disapprovingly around at the others. "I don't think we should wear hats."

"I founded 'The Empty Hearse' so like-minded people could meet, discuss theories ..." Anderson said, choking on his words and steps closer to Laura, looking down at her angrily. "Sherlock and Jared are still out there." Laura rolls her eyes. "I'm convinced of it."

Laura's eyes have drifted to the TV behind him and her eyes widen. Anderson turns to look. The sound is muted but a reporter talking live from somewhere in London is bringing some breaking news. The rolling headline at the bottom of the screen announces, 'HAT DETECTIVE AND AVENGER ALIVE'. Underneath, a separate headline states, 'Magnussen summoned before parliamentary ...' and presumably the next word is 'commission' but nobody is paying attention to that news.

"Oh my God." Laura said, at a loss for words.

Instantly everyone's phones begin to signal text alerts. Everybody scrabbles in their pockets.

Laura holds up her own phone to show the screen to Anderson, her face alight with excitement, "Oh. My. God!"

On the phones, Twitter is full of hashtags like #SherlockHolmesAndJaredShayAlive! and #SherlockAndJaredAreNotDead, and #SherlockAndJaredLive, and more messages stream in by the second.

John's apartment...

Sitting up in bed, Mary is holding an iPad and reading aloud from one of John's old blog entries.

"'His movements were so silent. So furtive, he reminded me of a trained bloodhound picking out a scent'." Mary said, narrating dramatically.

"You what?" John asked, in the bathroom.

"'I couldn't help thinking what an amazing criminal he'd make if he turned his talents against the law'."

John comes out of the small ensuite bathroom, his lower face and upper lip covered with shaving foam, "Don't read that."

"The famous blog, finally!" Mary said, still looking at the screen.

"Come on – that's ..." John said.

"... ancient history, yes, I know. But it's not, though, is it, because he's ..." Mary said, raising her eyes from the iPad and stops when she sees John, with her smiling. "What are you doing?!"

"Having a wash."

"You're shaving it off." Mary said, grinning.

"Well, you hate it."

"Sherlock hates it."

"Apparently everyone hates it, even Jared."

Mary giggles, "Are you gonna see them again?"

"No – I'm going to work." John said.

"Oh. And after work, are you gonna see them again?" Mary asked, as John rolls his eyes and walks back into the bathroom. "Cor, I dunno – six months of bristly kisses for me, and then Those Nibs turns up ..."

"I don't shave for Sherlock Holmes and Jared Shay." John said, looking into the mirror while he applies more shaving foam.

"Oh! You should put that on a T-shirt!" Mary said, happily.

"Shut up."

"Or what?" Mary asked, cheekily.

"Or I'll marry you." John said, turning to look at Mary.

Mary grins. Rinsing off his hands, John picks up his razor, looks into the mirror, sighs, then lifts the razor towards his upper lip.

221B Baker Street...

Sherlock, Mycroft, and Jared are in the living room.

"London. It's like a great cesspool into which all kinds of criminals, agents and drifters are irresistibly drained." Sherlock said, wearing a red dressing gown over his clothes – has been peering at the wall behind the sofa, and now he steps onto the sofa and begins to stick up maps, notes and paperwork. "Sometimes it's not a question of 'Who?'; it's a question of 'Who Knows?'"

Somewhere in London a man in his twenties or thirties with a shaved head is sitting on a park bench eating a sandwich.

"If this man cancels his papers ..." Sherlock said, and near the bench, a scruffily dressed and rather grubby woman – presumably one of his Homeless Network – takes photos of the man on her phone. "... I need to know."

Keeping a wary eye on the man, the woman sends her photos to Sherlock, and he pins one of them onto the wall.

Elsewhere, a woman with a dog on a lead walks through a street market.

"If this woman leaves London without putting her dog into kennels, I need to know." Sherlock said, while another homeless woman photographs the dog owner and texts it to him, who again pins the photo onto the wall and he continues sticking up pictures of people and adding crosses and other marks to the pictures and the map underneath. "There are certain people – they are markers. If they start to move, I'll know something's up – like rats deserting a sinking ship."

John's Surgery...

John, now mustache-free, approaches and goes into the surgery in which he works.

221B...

Mycroft, Sherlock, and Jared are still in the living room.

"All very interesting, Sherlock, but the terror alert has been raised to Critical." Mycroft said.

The brothers are sitting opposite each other in front of the unlit fire, Sherlock still in his dressing gown. There is a chess set between them. Sherlock sits back from making a move, his eyes locked onto Mycroft's. Jared is busy playing Splatoon 3 on his Nintendo Switch.

"Boring. Your move." Sherlock said.

"We have solid information. An attack is coming." Mycroft said, glancing down towards the table between them.

"'Solid information'. A secret terrorist organisation's planning an attack – that's what secret terrorist organisations do, isn't it? It's their version of golf." Sherlock said.

"An agent gave his life to tell us that."

"Oh, well, perhaps he shouldn't have done. He was obviously just trying to show off."

"Show off?" Jared asked, while Mycroft appears to hold back a sigh. "A person died."

"None of these markers of yours is behaving in any way suspiciously?" Mycroft asked, glancing down again and he makes a move. "Your move."

"No, Mycroft, but you have to trust me. I'll find the answer. It'll be in an odd phrase in an online blog, or an unexpected trip to the countryside, or a misplaced Lonely Hearts ad." Sherlock said, glancing down briefly before speaking, there's a slight click as he moves his piece. "Your move."

Mycroft glances down briefly before raising his eyes to Sherlock's again, "I've given the Prime Minister my personal assurance you're on the case with Jared."

"We are on the case. The three of us are on the case. Look at us right now." Sherlock said.

On the table in between Sherlock and Mycroft, there's a loud buzzing and a red light flashes.

"Oh, bugger!" Mycroft said, angrily dropping the small tweezers he was using in their game of 'Operation'.

"Damn it. I got killed!" Jared said, looking down at his Nintendo Switch. "Of course I did."

The chess set is actually on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

"Oopsie!" Sherlock said, as Mycroft returns the piece to the board with the consulting detective looking at which piece Mycroft had failed to remove successfully. "Can't handle a broken heart – how very telling."

Looking smug, Sherlock sits back in his chair and crosses his legs.

"Don't be smart." Mycroft said.

"That takes me back." Sherlock said, in a little boy's voice. "'Don't be smart, Sherlock. I'm the smart one'."

"I am the smart one." Mycroft said, glowering at Sherlock.

Sherlock looks off to the side reflectively, "I used to think I was an idiot."

"Both of us thought you were an idiot, Sherlock. We had nothing else to go on 'til we met other children." Mycroft said.

"Oh, yes. That was a mistake." Sherlock said.

"Ghastly. What were they thinking of?"

"Probably something about trying to make friends."

"Oh yes. Friends like Jared. Of course, you go in for that sort of thing now."

"And you don't? Ever?" Sherlock asked, looking at Mycroft closely.

"If you seem slow to me, Sherlock, can you imagine what real people are like? I'm living in a world of goldfish." Mycroft said.

Sherlock steepled his fingers in front of him and looked at his brother, "Yes, but Jared and I have been away for two years."

"So?" Mycroft asked.

"Let's see. I was on a planet called Trenzalore for nine hundred years. Can't remember most of it because I don't want to. Then, I was in Victorian London for a bit." Jared said, shrugging. "I don't know, Mycroft. Maybe you might have found yourself a ... goldfish while I was in Victorian London."

"Change the subject – now! Jared! Sherlock has been rubbing off on you in a bad way!" Mycroft said, looking appalled, standing up and walking over to the fireplace.

"Rest assured, Mycroft – whatever this underground network of yours is up to, the secret will reside in something seemingly insignificant or bizarre." Sherlock said.

Mrs Hudson, carrying a tray of tea things, walks into the room with her traditional 'Ooh-ooh!'.

"Speaking of which ..." Mycroft said, and Sherlock smiles.

"I can't believe it. I just can't believe it! Them – sitting in their chairs again!" Mrs Hudson said, happily putting the tray on the dining table and she looked at Mycroft. "Oh, isn't it wonderful, Mr Holmes?"

"I can barely contain myself!" Mycroft said, happily.

"Oh, he really can, you know." Sherlock said.

"He definitely can." Jared said, smiling.

"They're secretly pleased to see you underneath all that ..." Mrs Hudson said, pulling a sour face.

"Sorry – which of us?" Mycroft asked.

"All of you." Mrs Hudson said, leaving the room.

"Let's play something different." Sherlock said, while he looked at Jared. "What are you in the mood for? Mario Kart?"

"Sure. Let me dock my Switch." Jared said, walking towards the Nintendo Switch dock to place his Nintendo Switch into.

"Why are we playing games?" Mycroft asked, with an exasperated sigh.

"Well, London's terror alert has been raised to Critical." Sherlock said, flailing his legs over the table in front of him and standing up. "I'm just passing the time. Nah. Mario Kart can wait, Jared. Mycroft, let's do deductions." He walks over to the dining table and picks up a woolen bobble hat which has earflaps and a dangly woolen pom pom hanging from each flap. "Client left this while I was out. What d'you reckon?"

Sherlock tosses the hat to his brother.

"I'm busy." Mycroft said, catching the hat.

"Come on, Mycroft. Deduce with Mycroft." Jared said, removing the Joy Cons from the side of the Switch to play Mario Kart on the console. "You two haven't done that in ages."

Mycroft lifts the hat to his nose and sniffs, then looks across to Sherlock, "Jared, I always win against Sherlock."

"I know. That's why you can't resist playing."

"I find nothing irresistible in the hat of a well-travelled anxious sentimental unfit creature of habit with appalling halitosis ..." Mycroft said, in a quick fire rate, stopping when he notices Sherlock's widening smile. "Damn."

Mycroft throws the hat back to Sherlock.

"Isolated, too, don't you think?" Sherlock asked.

"Why would he be isolated?" Mycroft asked.

"'He'?"

"Obviously."

"Why? Size of the hat?"

"Don't be silly. Some women have large heads too." Mycroft said, as Sherlock flinched slightly, possibly at his brother's insult to his intelligence. "No – he's recently had his hair cut. You can see the little hairs adhering to the perspiration stains on the inside."

Sherlock looks down at the hat, pouting slightly, "Some women have short hair, too."

"Yeah. Like Sayaka Miki." Jared said, looking at the TV screen. "Or Ruby Rose. Hibiki Tachibana and Miku Kohinata also count."

"Balance of probability." Mycroft said.

"Not that you've ever spoken to a woman with short hair like those friends Jared mentioned – or, you know, a woman." Sherlock said.

"Stains show he's out of condition, and he's sentimental because the hat has been repaired three, four ..." Mycroft said.

"Five times." Sherlock said, throwing the hat back to his brother. "Very neatly." He then talked at a quick fire rate. "The cost of the repairs exceeds the cost of the hat, so he's mawkishly attached to it, but it's more than that. One, perhaps two, patches would indicate sentimentality, but five? Five's excessive behaviour. Obsessive compulsive."

"Hardly. Your client left it behind. What sort of an obsessive compulsive would do that?" Mycroft asked, throwing the hat back to Sherlock, who grabs it with an exasperated grimace. "The earlier patches are extensively sun-bleached, so he's worn it abroad – in Peru."

"Peru? Really? Is that where that hat is from? What is it?" Jared asked, looking away from the TV screen and over at the hat for a moment.

"Jared, this is a chullo – the classic headgear of the Andes. It's made of alpaca." Mycroft said.

"No." Sherlock said, smirking.

"No?" Mycroft asked, and Jared looked back at the TV screen to play his game.

"Icelandic sheep wool. Similar, but very distinctive if you know what you're looking for. I've written a blog on the varying tensile strengths of different natural fibres."

"I'm sure there's a crying need for that." Mrs Hudson said, coming back into the room with a teapot.

Sherlock pauses for a moment, then turns back to his brother, "You said he was anxious."

"The bobble on the left side has been badly chewed, which shows he's a man of a nervous disposition but ..." Mycroft said.

"... but also a creature of habit because he hasn't chewed the bobble on the right." Sherlock said, talking over Mycroft.

"Precisely."

Sherlock lifts the hat and sniffs it before lowering it again, grimacing.

"Brief sniff of the offending bobble tells us everything we need to know about the state of his breath." Sherlock said, turning away before talking in a sarcastic tone. "Brilliant!"

"Elementary." Mycroft said.

"But you've missed his isolation."

"I don't see it."

"Plain as day."

"Where?"

"There for all to see."

"Tell me."

"Plain as the nose on your ..."

"Tell me."

"Well, anybody who wears a hat as stupid as this isn't in the habit of hanging around other people, is he?" Sherlock asked, turning back to Mycroft.

"Not at all. Maybe he just doesn't mind being different. He doesn't necessarily have to be isolated." Mycroft said.

"Exactly." Sherlock said, looking down at the hat again.

Mycroft blinks several times, apparently confused, "I'm sorry?"

"He's different – so what? Why would he mind? You're quite right." Sherlock said, looking at Mycroft, and he lifts the hat and perches it on the top of his head, then looks pointedly at his brother. "Why would anyone mind?"

Mycroft opens his mouth but seems to struggle to speak for a moment, "... I'm not lonely, Sherlock."

Sherlock tilts his head down and looks closely at him, then steps nearer with an intense expression on his face.

"How would you know?" Sherlock asked, taking off the hat, he turns away.

Mrs Hudson, who has been pottering in the kitchen, comes to the doorway and smiles.

"Yes. Back to work if you don't mind. Good morning." Mycroft said, looking a little wide-eyed as a result of the recent conversation, he headed for the door.

Behind Mycroft, Sherlock winks at Mrs Hudson then at Jared, who giggles happily.

"Nice work, Sherlock." Jared said, still laughing. "You annoyed the hell out of Mycroft."

"That I did, Jared." Sherlock said, turning to face the wall of information behind the sofa. "Right. Back to work."

JOHN'S SURGERY...

Mary knocks on the door and looks in, "Mr Summerson."

"Right." John said.

"Undescended testicle." Mary said.

"... Right."

Mary leaves again. The clock shows 10 past 10.

221B...

Sherlock holds up his phone and looks at the latest photos of one of his 'markers.' Mrs Hudson comes to the door of the living room and she and Jared watch while Sherlock draws a cross over the photo of the man which is pinned to the wall.

"Sherlock." Jared said, still playing on his Nintendo Switch.

"Mm?" Sherlock asked, absently.

"Can you talk to John?"

"Jared, we tried talking to him. He made his position quite clear."

John's surgery...

John has his hand held up in front of him with the middle finger pointing upwards. With his other hand he pulls a medical glove tighter down onto his fingers. His patient is standing in front of him, naked from the waist down and looking awkward.

"Just relax, Mr Summerson." John said, walking towards his patient.

221B...

"What did he say?" Mrs Hudson asked.

"F..." Sherlock said.

John's surgery...

"Cough." John said, cradling Mr Summerson's testicles with his gloved hand.

221B...

"Ooh dear!" Mrs Hudson said, turning away.

John's surgery...

John sits looking at his computer. The intercom beeps and he switches it on.

"Hi." John said.

"Er, Mrs Reeves. Thrush." Mary said, over the intercom.

John lowers his head momentarily, "Right."

The clock shows 4 minutes past 1.

221B...

Sherlock is standing at the window. He grimaces slightly as Molly walks into the room behind him.

"You and Jared wanted to see me?" Molly asked.

"Yes." Sherlock said, turning to face Molly and started to walk towards her. "Molly?"

"Yes?" Molly asked.

"Would you ..." Sherlock said, stopping, looking down, then slowly starts to walk closer. "Would you like to ..."

"... have dinner?" Molly asked, simultaneously as Sherlock asked, "... solve crimes with me and Jared?"

"Ooh." Molly said, awkwardly.

John's surgery...

John writes out a prescription while talking to the patient sitting behind him.

"Absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, Mrs Reeves. It's very common ..." John said, turning and hands the prescription to her. "... but I'm recommending a course of ..."

221B...

"... monkey glands." Sherlock said, looking at the wall, while Molly sits on a dining chair beside Sherlock's armchair.

Molly and Jared both bite back a smile as Sherlock turns towards the two clients in the room. A woman is standing up as Jared is sitting in what was John's chair and a man stands beside her.

"But enough about Professor Presbury. Tell us more about your case, Mr Harcourt." Sherlock said.

Molly speaks quietly to Sherlock as he walks past her, "Are you sure about this?"

"Absolutely." Sherlock said.

"Should I be making notes?" Molly asked.

"You can. If you want to, Molly. If that will make you feel better." Jared said, happily.

"It's just that that's what John says he does, so if I'm being John ..."

"Molly, stop thinking that you're John." Jared said, and Sherlock is sitting down in his chair. "You're not being John. You can't ever replace him. Just be yourself, Molly Hooper."

Molly smiles proudly.

"Well, absolutely no one should have been able to empty that bank account other than myself and Helen." Mr Harcourt said.

Sherlock looks closely at him, zooming in on his jacket, then his hairline and then the skin above his eyes. He stands and walks closer to him.

"Why didn't you assume it was your wife?" Sherlock asked.

"Because I've always had total faith in her." Mr Harcourt said.

"No – it's because you emptied it." Sherlock siad, pointing at the three areas on the man at which he had just looked and speaks rapidly. "Weight loss, hair dye, Botox; affair." Whipping out a business card, he holds it out to Mrs Harcourt. "Lawyer. Next!"

John's Surgery...

Mary shows the next patient into the room and looks at John.

"This is Mr Blake." Mary said, whispering to John. "Piles."

John nods politely. The clock shows half past 3.

John turns and smiles at his patient, "Mr Blake, hi."

221B Baker Street...

Sherlock is sitting on a stool close to a young woman who is sitting on the sofa. He is clasping her hands and patting them sympathetically while he talks softly to her.

"And your pen pal's emails just stopped, did they?" Sherlock asked, while the woman nods, whimpering as she cried.

Molly looks across to her but then continues writing notes at the dining table. An older man is sitting beside the woman.

"And you really thought he was the one, didn't you? The love of your life?" Sherlock asked, softly.

As the woman takes off her glasses and cries harder, Sherlock turns and looks at Molly and Jared for a moment, then stands and walks across to them. Keeping his back to the clients, he speaks quietly.

"Stepfather posing as online boyfriend." Sherlock said.

"What?!" Molly exclaimed, shocked.

"How did that happen?" Jared asked.

"Breaks it off, breaks her heart. She swears off relationships, stays at home – he still has her wage coming in." Sherlock said, turning to the man and addresses him sternly. "Mr Windibank, you have been a complete and utter ..."

John's surgery...

"... piss pot." John said holding up a small plastic cylinder used for collecting urine samples. He hands it to his latest patient who is sitting facing him. "It's nothing to worry about. Just a small infection by the sound of it. Er, Doctor Verner is your usual GP, yes?"

The man speaks in a rough voice with a thick accent.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah." Mr Szikora said.

John looks startled. The man appears to be in his sixties, has long white hair and a white beard and is wearing very dark glasses and a black knitted hat.

"He looked after me, man and boy." Mr Szikora said, beckoning John closer and talks confidentially. "I run a little shop, just on the corner of Church Street."

"Oh, right." John said.

"Er, magazines, DVDs. Brought along a few little beauties that might interest you." Mr Szikora said, picking up a plastic bag from the floor and took a DVD from the bag to show it to John. 'Tree Worshippers'. Oh, that's a corker. It's very saucy."

John nods in a bemused way, looking closely at the man as if he is beginning to suspect something. The man gets out a magazine and holds it up.

"'British Birds'. Same sort of thing." Mr Szikora said.

The magazine cover shows two glamorous women in skimpy clothing, and some of the captions around the photograph read, 'We're a real handful', 'Hot British Birds! XXX' and 'Knocker Glory'.

"I'm fine, thanks." John said.

"'The Holy War'. Sounds a bit dry, I know, but there's a nun with all these holes in her habit ..." Mr Szikora said, holding up another DVD and translating its foreign title.

"Jesus. Sherlock ..." John said.

"Huh?"

"... what do you want?"

"Huh?"

"Have you come to torment me? Did Jared tell you to come talk to me?"

"What are you talking about?"

"'What are you talking ...'" John said, impersonating his accent before standing up and walking closer. "What, d'you think I'm gonna be fooled by this bloody beard?"

John tugs at the beard while the man flails in panic.

"Are you crazy?!" Mr Szikora exclaimed.

John straightens a little and imitates his flaily hands, mockingly saying, 'No, no, no, no!' in the man's accent, then leans into his face.

"It's not as good as your French. Not as good as your French. It's not even a good disguise, Sherlock!" John said, ripping off the man's hat and glasses. The man stares up at him with a terrified look on his face. "Where'd you get it from? A bloody joke ... sh-shop ...?" Staring at the man with dawning horror, he reaches out and pulls his head forward to confirm that he genuinely is bald on top. "Oh my God." The man whimpers as John gently puts his glasses back onto his face. "I am so sorry. Oh my God."

Mary comes in, having presumably heard the noise. John puts the man's hat back onto his head.

"Please for..." John said, looking across to Mary, speaking a little plaintively. "It's fine."

Clearing his throat, he sits down again. Mary goes out and closes the door.

Building...

Greg Lestrade tears down the police tape sealing a door inside a building, "This one's got us all baffled."

"Mmm. I don't doubt it." Sherlock said.

Greg opens the door and leads Sherlock, Molly, and Jared down the stairs into the basement. At the foot of the stairs, a large hole has been knocked through the brickwork of one wall. They go through the hole and Greg switches on the mobile lighting which has been set up in the room. As he switches on more lights, the "skeleton mystery" which Sherlock had been reading earlier is revealed. A white-painted wooden table is at the far end of the room and seated on a chair behind it is a skeleton dressed in an old-fashioned suit. There is a carafe and a glass and what looks like a writing set on the table in front of it. The corpse is holding a syringe in one skeletal hand. Frowning, Sherlock is already zooming in on details of the scene before he walks across the room, lays his pouch of tools on the table and gets to work, examining the corpse in minute detail. Molly stands nearby, her notebook open and pen poised. Sherlock sniffs at the body and tries to decide what he is picking up:

PINE?

SPRUCE?

CEDAR

NEW MOTHBALLS

The writing in his mind turns into mothballs and bounces away. Moving on, he sniffs again:

Carbon particulate

He sniffs more deeply:

Fire Damage

The writing burns away. He straightens up and shuts his magnifier.

"So? What is it?" Jared asked, while Sherlock gets out his phone and holds it up high to try and get a signal.

"You're on to something, aren't you?" Molly asked.

"Mm, maybe." Sherlock said.

John's voice sounds in his head and the words he speaks appear in Sherlock's mind.

SHOW OFF

"Sherlock, you're showing off again." Jared said, smiling.

"Shut up, John. You too, Jared." Sherlock said, in a whisper.

Greg's eyes flicker across to Sherlock.

"What?" Molly asked.

"Hmm? Nothing." Sherlock said, walking around to the other side of the table and continuing his investigations.

John's Surgery...

Mary walks into John's office wearing her coat and scarf. She goes across to where he is sitting at his desk.

"Hello." Mary said, smiling.

"Mmm." John said.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Okay. I'm late for Cath. I'll see you later." Mary said, bending down and kisses John, then turns and leaves.

"Bye."

"Bye."