John didn't give me any clue as to where we were going and who we were visiting.

"Why are we here?" I asked as John continued to lead the way. He'd led us to a place called the Diogenes Club.

"Someone told Moriarty everything about Sherlock."

"Okay..."

"There aren't many people that know a lot about him, are there?"

"You know who's been feeding Moriarty information?"

"I'm positive I know who it is. He's the only other person who would know so much."

"And that would be?"

"Sherlock's brother, Mycroft."

I stopped in my tracks before John was crossing a quiet room occupied by a few older gentlemen. John noticed I wasn't following him; he stopped and turned to me. He beckoned for me to follow. Quickly getting over the shock of a brother's betrayal, I stuck close to John as he opened a door to a secret room in the place. My eyes widened as I followed him into the secret room.

"What does Mycroft do, exactly?"

"He's a government official."

I swallowed, had a look around. "Am I going to be arrested for breaking into a government official's office?"

"You'll be fine, Rachel."

I noticed the simple things in the room: a desk, two armchairs, one on each side of the desk. In a way, this room reminded me of a small library, with the shelves of books. But I noticed there was one key factor missing: Mycroft Holmes.

"Ah, so we're waiting again for the owner to return home," I mused.

"Oh, do you want this back?" John asked me.

"Want what back?" I blinked as I realized John still had my hairpin that Sherlock had asked for. "Oh. That." I crossed the room to take it back. "Thanks." Figuring it needed some use, I pulled some hair away from my face, holding it back by the pin.

John took a seat in the armchair, looking through Kitty's file she'd given him while I absently walked around, examining the books on the shelves. Quickly bored, I pulled out my phone, turning it on. Within a minute I had a text from that annoying number Moriarty had bothered me with. I was tempted to delete the message, but curiosity got the better of me.

You and I aren't done yet, kitten. Don't think I've forgotten. x

I swallowed, willing the message away and putting my phone back in my pocket. I closed my eyes, subduing my anger. Everything about Moriarty: his appearance, his voice, his messages, everything about him made me tick.

At the moment, I was more scared than livid about Moriarty's message.

"She has really done her homework, Miss Riley—things that only someone close to Sherlock could know," John said.

I whirled around to notice an older gentleman enter the room. He definitely looked older than Sherlock but not similar. He carried himself in a high way, which for someone with the last name Holmes I guess I shouldn't have expected anything different.

Mycroft closed the door.

"Have you seen your brother's address book lately? Two names," I cleared my throat, "sorry, three names: yours, mine, and Rachel's, and Moriarty didn't get this stuff from her or me."

Mycroft crossed the room to be on the other side of the desk. I ambled closer to stand near John. "John..." Mycroft tried to get out.

"So how does it work, then, your relationship?" I decided to get brave and talk. "Do you go out for a coffee now and then, you and Jim?" Mycroft seated himself in the chair opposite us. He opened his mouth to get a word out, but John cut him off this time.

"Your own brother and you blabbed about his entire life to this maniac," he muttered.

"I never inten...I never dreamt..." It seemed Mycroft was having a hard time gathering his thoughts. I crossed my arms over my chest, suppressing a yawn in my throat. God, I needed to sleep.

"So this," John looked through the papers in the file again, "is what you were trying to tell me, isn't it: 'Watch his back, because I've made a mistake.'" I jumped as he pounded the papers onto the desk. He sat back in his seat.

"How did you meet him?" I pressed Mycroft. "It couldn't have been a chance run-in like it was with me."

Mycroft took a long breath. "People like him: we know about them, we watch them. But James Moriarty...the most dangerous criminal mind the world has ever seen, and in his pocket the ultimate weapon: a key code. A few lines of computer code that could unlock any door."

"And you abducted him to try and find the key code?" John asked.

"We interrogated him for weeks."

"And?" I urged.

"He wouldn't play along. He just sat there, staring into the darkness." I could definitely see Moriarty doing that. "The only thing that made him open up..." Mycroft gestured to himself. I could only shake my head in dismay. "I could get him to talk, just a little, but..."

"In return you had to offer him Sherlock's life story," John finished tartly. "So one big lie—Sherlock's a fraud—but people will swallow it because the rest of it's true." He leaned forward.

"Moriarty wanted Sherlock destroyed, right?" I asked. "And you," my green eyes narrowed at Mycroft, "have given him the perfect ammunition."

John inhaled sharply, jumping to his feet. "Come on, Rachel, I think we've stayed long enough." He started for the door.

"John," Mycroft called. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, please..." John gestured for me to follow him as he ambled to the door.

"Tell him, would you?"

John opened the door, passing through first. I was tempted to say more to Mycroft or throw him one last biting look, but instead I followed right behind John, not closing the door on my way out.

"Who would do that to family?" I protested as John and I left the Diogenes Club—I was lucky I remembered that was the name of it. "If that were me, I would have never sold out Sherlock."

"Rachel, it's over. Please stop talking about it."

"Sorry." I stopped, letting the cool night breeze calm my nerves. "I'm just so high strung right now, John. I sometimes forget why I came to London in the first place."

John's phone went off. I watched him briefly as he looked. "It's Sherlock. He's at St. Bart's."

"Wait, that's the...hospital, right?"

"Yes."

"Yes, I remembered!" I whooped. "Oh God, I must be tired if I'm excited over remembering the name of a hospital building." I put a hand to my forehead.

"Well, you can try and sneak a nap in the cab once we get one, all right?"

* * *

Thankfully, I had managed to sneak in a nap, like John had thought I would once we got the taxi.

The ride seemed very short, because I swore my nap had only been five minutes, or ten at the most. John had to pull me out because I was still very drowsy and moody.

I blinked the goop out of my eyes as I saw St. Bart's—the full name was St. Bartholomew's. I was grateful for the abbreviation.

I was expecting a fancy hospital like I had back home in America, but the building looked ancient, but not too ancient to where it looked about ready to collapse at any moment. I hoped the interior didn't look as old; otherwise the place would need some serious renovation.

John led me into St. Bart's, which did not look as old as the exterior. I was alert to new sounds: fingers typing away on computers; monitors beeping; squeaky shoes across the tile flooring, and conversations between receptionists, nurses, and doctors.

"Did Sherlock say where he was specifically?" I asked, letting a yawn accidentally escape.

"He's probably in the lab, knowing him," John told me.

"Why would he come here?" I looked around.

Before long, John led me through a door. I was almost blinded with the whiteness of everything. The lights made my eyes feel tired. The energy from my nap wasn't enough to keep me going.

My eyes snapped to Sherlock, who was sitting on the floor, leaning against a bench, bouncing a rubber ball against a cupboard in front of him, playing catch. A ghost of a smile appeared on my lips. It made him seem almost boyish.

"Got your message," John said.

Sherlock caught the ball but didn't throw it again. He kept it in his hand. "The computer code is the key to this. If we find it, we can use it—beat Moriarty at his own game."

"What do you mean 'use it'?"

"He used it to create a false identity, so we can use it to break into the records and destroy Richard Brook."

"And bring back Jim Moriarty again," I realized, understanding in my dazed state.

Sherlock jumped to his feet. "Somewhere in 221B, somewhere—on the day of the verdict—he left it hidden." He faced the bench, putting both hands on the counter.

"What did he touch?" John asked.

"An apple," Sherlock listed. "Nothing else." His fingers drummed on the counter.

"Did he write anything down?"

"No."

I shifted my weight, thinking. Right now, I couldn't think straight; too much was flying in my head. It pounded slightly. I really needed to go to bed.

"Catch a cab and head back to the flat, Rachel, if you're in such pain," Sherlock said out of thin air.

"It doesn't hurt that bad," I mumbled, rubbing my forehead.

"Your body says otherwise."

"I'm staying. We'll—we'll figure this out."

"If you won't leave, then at least get some rest."

Sighing through my nostrils, I slumped against the bench. It wasn't the most comfortable place in the hospital, but it was better than asking someone to sleep in a hospital bed for the night. People would surely look at me oddly if I requested such a thing.

Silence fell in the lab. I thought back to the message I'd gotten from Moriarty. How soon would be it before he decided to switch his attention to me? Did he have an elaborate plan already made up?

No matter how hard I tried to, I couldn't erase Moriarty's low laughter and sinister smile from my mind.