Was I ever crazy? Maybe. Or maybe life is... -Susanna Kaysen

Sherlock's estimate was right on track. Men in suits came in twenty minutes after he make his prediction. Moriarty was still unconscious then, thank god, at least he didn't have a stupidly high tolerance to drugs like Sherlock did.

Following on the heels of the men in suits was the woman John recognized as the fake nurse Andrea. She was obviously playing a different role today.

"Who are you today then?" he asked her, looking quite different in a dress and heels, practically glued to her phone.

She looked up at John and smiled. "Whoever I need to be."

John nodded. "Right. That's as far as I'm going to get, isn't it?"

She only smirked at him.

That's a yes then.

She directed the men in suits towards the man lying on the stretcher, and they wheeled him out.

"He's waiting for you upstairs," she told Sherlock without looking at him.

"Of course he is," Sherlock muttered.

Sherlock took the stairs two at a time, and John had to struggle to keep up. The door to the lobby opened without a keycard, which was nice, because John was the one holding it, and Sherlock seemed quite determined. John wouldn't have been surprised if he forwent the opening bit altogether and just smashed through it.

But then, his cheeks were already bleeding, so he didn't need any more cuts today.

Sherlock skidded to a stop in the foyer, the stretcher bearing the master criminal already on its way out the door. John halted behind him, watching the proceedings with interest.

"Late, as ever," Sherlock announced loudly. "I finally got the proof you wanted that he's been torturing and killing patients. I'm sure you can find the hidden camera all on your own."

The man in the suit turned and frowned at him.

It was the same man who'd had John taken to the basement before. It made sense, considering the woman who came with him. But what the hell was his connection to Sherlock?

"Well done then Sherlock. Another case... cracked, as it were." The man smiled thinly.

"Yes Mycroft, you can quit with your thinly veiled remarks about my sanity," Sherlock snapped.

John's eyes widened. "Mycroft? As in your brother Mycroft?"

"The one and only," Sherlock said flatly, still staring at the man. "Thank god."

"Sherlock," John hissed, pulling him aside. "That's the man who threatened me. He's your arch enemy?"

"Yeah, of course," Sherlock said, not a hint of a lie in his face.

"Really. So, instead of, you know, the consulting criminal who's trying to kill us, you choose your brother as your arch enemy?"

Sherlock scoffed. "You don't choose your arch enemy. It just sort of happens."

"Course," John muttered. "Why didn't I know that."

"Because you're an idiot," Sherlock supplied helpfully.

John only glared at him, and Sherlock shrugged.

When he glanced back at the man, he was gone, only his texting assistant left in his wake, the woman John recognized as Andrea. Or probably not, he supposed, since it was likely that wasn't her real name.

Instead, Lestrade strolled up beside Sherlock and clapped him on the back.

"Be nice if you included me next time," he told the man.

"Yes, well, we were a little preoccupied," Sherlock replied, fixing his shirt that apparently Lestrade had ruffled, or something.

Lestrade glanced at John. "Have you explained this to him?"

"I tried to, a while ago. He mostly thought I was mad," Sherlock huffed. "I can't really blame him."

"Hang on, so you knew about this?" John asked, pointing at Greg.

Lestrade looked away. "Sort of."

"So, how much of this was true?" John asked, glancing between the pair.

"All of what I said," Lestrade admitted. "But you were right about me not really needing to be here. The bridge incident was... overstated."

John looked to Sherlock.

"Most of it was true," he sighed. "But not all. I'm not telling you which parts though."

John shook his head. "You know what this does to a man with trust issues, right?"

Sherlock snorted. "Oh please. You loved this."

John smirked. "A little bit, yeah."

"Suppose you'll need a place to live now," Sherlock added conversationally.

"What do you mean?"

Sherlock smirked. "I know for a fact that Molly is ready to release you. Tomorrow, probably, but there's no reason why it can't be today, riding on the back of a high from catching a serial killer. And you have no one else to live with."

John frowned. "I never said that. I could go back and live with Harry-"

"Because that ended so well the first time," Sherlock interrupted.

John frowned at him. "It's the best I've got, so it will have to do."

Sherlock shrugged and glanced away. "Or you could come live with me. I've got a nice flat in downtown London. Mrs Hudson, the head nurse, owns it. She's giving me a special rate, and together we should be able to afford it."

"You're asking me to move in with you?" John gaped.

"Well, I haven't lived there yet, so it's more of a mutual move in thing. But essentially, yes."

John shook his head. "After all you put me through in here, now you want me to come live with you?"

Sherlock's face fell slightly. "I suppose it is ridiculous if I think for very long-"

"Of course I will," John said.

Sherlock gaped. "Really?"

"That's what I said. Come on, you can get your posh brother or one of his people to give us a lift there. Clean up your cheeks on the way. I am a doctor you know."

"Actually, I was thinking we could eat first."

John considered. "I could do that."

"Dinner?" Sherlock asked.

"Starving," John replied.