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HTLA Chapter Five

(Third-Person POV: )

LATER

The three of them had been thrown out of the restaurant and had relocated to a café. Sherlock sat on one side of a table wearing his coat, his fingers steeped in front of him. John and Mary sat side by side opposite him, their arms folded.

“I calculated that there were thirteen possibilities once I’d invited Moriarty onto the roof,” Sherlock began explaining.

“I wanted to avoid dying if at all possible. The first scenario involved hurling myself into a parked hospital van filled with washing bags. Impossible. The angle was too steep. Secondly, a system of Japanese wrestling...”

“You know, for a genius you can be remarkably thick,” John interrupted.

“What?” Sherlock asked.

“I don’t care how you faked it, Sherlock. I wanna know why,” John told him tightly.

“Why? Because Moriarty had to be stopped,” Sherlock replied, a bit bewildered. He looked at John’s expression.

“Oh. ‘Why’ as in...” he trailed off. John nodded.

“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.

“Oh, so it’s your brother’s plan?” John asked in his soldier tone.

“Oh, he would have needed a confidante...” Mary began, unfolding her arms and pointing at Sherlock.

“Mm-hm,” Sherlock sighed. Mary trailed off at John’s look.

“Sorry.” She refolded her arms and looked down. John turned back to Sherlock.

“But he was the only one? The only one who knew?” John asked. Sherlock closed his eyes briefly and forced the next sentence out.

“Couple of others.”

John lowered his head. Sherlock talked quickly.

“It was a very elaborate plan – it had to be. The next of the thirteen possibilities...”

“Who else?” John interrupted in a despairing whisper. He looked up to Sherlock.

“Who else knew?”

Sherlock hesitated.

“Who?” John demanded.

“Molly,” Sherlock admitted quietly.

“Molly?” John  asked angrily.

“John,” Mary said softly.

“Molly Hooper – and some of my homeless network, and that’s all,” Sherlock nodded.

“Okay,” John said, sitting up a little and glancing round at Mary, who gave him a sympathetic smile. He turned to Sherlock again.

“Okay. So just your brother, and Molly Hooper, and a hundred tramps.”

Sherlock chuckled.

“No! Twenty-five at most,” He laughed. John hurled himself across the table and attempted to throttle his old friend again.

LATER AGAIN

The three of them had once again been thrown out of the café and had relocated to a kebab shop. John and Mary stood, leaning with their backs against the counter. John apparently managed more than just an attempted throttling, because Sherlock had taken his coat off and was holding a paper napkin to a cut on his lower lip. He looked at the blood on the napkin, wincing, and then pressed it to his lip again. He looked at John as he raised his head, avoiding Sherlock’s gaze.