Thank you to all my lovely readers - life has been difficult with little time to write or rest of late. Things are progressing nicely and the pressure is starting to release. Here be the final installment of Morass: Interlude. I hope it meets with your approval.

Love to you all, it has been a wonderful ride, and I hope to see you again soon. Ravenschild

"There are times I wonder about your sanity." John shook his head but did not let go of his consulting detective.

"Really John? Only sometimes? I must be improving." Sherlock grinned, but behind the eyes there was that same haunted doubt that had shrouded him when he was liberated from the asylum.

After being embarrassed in front of Lestrade and manhandled into the back of a waiting black Jag, Mycroft patted him on the shoulder and walked away, umbrella clicking on the pavement in time with his steps. Only then when the engine roared to life did Sherlock relax his grip.

"Aspergers?" John ventured.

"Well of course, I knew I was odd and everyone and I do mean everyone John thought there was something wrong with me, so I researched them all. Sociopath, Psychopath, Aspergers, Adolescent antisocial behaviour, ADHD, manic, PTED, megalomaniacal, OCD, OCPD, whether or not I was delusional, gay, straight, bi, unisexual, frigid, schizophrenic, homicidal well towards my elder brother at the time, you can imagine. The list is quiet exhaustive. And now I'm a consulting detective and I feel like a total and complete fraud." John had heard the change in pitch and reached out to gather the now trembling man in his arms.

"It's ok, Sherlock we are safe. You're safe."

"I can see it all John, you have no idea what it's like to be in my head, it's like a game of chess, always thinking, never quiet, it doesn't get quiet in here." He tugged his dark curls in frustration. "And they look at me, waiting for me to snap, to get bored with being on the side of Angels, to put the body on the slab, to become the monster they are so afraid of, and because they don't accept me they push harder and harder, and they need me all the time and I cant do it anymore John, I really," Sherlock hiccupped, "I really can't. Your right to doubt my sanity, I do, I constantly do. And your bloody blog that keeps them coming, all those pretty little puzzles, all twisted and bent and God help me I adore them, even the dull boring ones, I adore them all. Because they stop me from thinking about how others hurt me." The voice drifted and became small, and the tremble developed into a rock as he wound long arms about his spare frame and tried valiantly to hold his body and mind together within his own arms.

Sadly John knew from bitter experience, that right now, he needed to let the storm blow itself out, to draw the poison out of the wound of the psyche before he could allow the mind to heal. And when it did, when that great mind finally found it's heart, John knew the world would finally see the good man that Lestrade had hoped for, for so long.

"You use the puzzles to stop from feeling?" John asked softly as he ran his fingers through the dark hair.

"Yes John isn't that what I just said?" Sherlock answered slowly as if speaking to a dullard and John tugged on the hair.

"Be nice, just confirming something."

"What am I a bloody experiment all of a sudden?" Sherlock huffed indignantly.

"Not that you would ever use me as an experiment." The sarcasm was ill concealed but it drew a tiny answering smile from the Detective.

"Honestly John it was only the once, in all fairness."

"You had me thinking I was about to be devoured by some bloody rabid dogs locked in a secret military base in the middle of nowhere."

"And for this am I ever to be forgiven?" Sherlock sounded tired. "This feeling lark is rather over rated; I told you once that I don't have outward physical responses to things. It's usually better if people believe what they will, I can't change that."

"No, no you can't, but still it doesn't make it any less uncomfortable does it?"

"No. Why are we going to Baker Street?" Sherlock looked out the windows.

"Because my love, you wanted to go home remember?"

"Of course I remember John, I'm not an idiot."

"Mmmm well you also said something about vocal and wild sex."

Sherlock turned to look at the man who held his heart and if truth be told his sanity together and smiled. "Naked and alone?"

"Well not too alone." John smiled.

Sherlock interlaced his hand with the strong and capable ones of his doctor and smiled. "Forgiven?"

"Always, it's in the subtext Sherlock."

"The action speaks louder than words."

"And sometimes you're not as observant as you think." John teased.

"I also said that I wanted to be buried so deep in you all you could think of was my name."

John smiled a faint touch of colour rising in his cheeks.

"Bring it on."

~~~~~~***)))(((***~~~~~~~~

"Mummy why didn't you tell me?" Mycroft seethed.

"Because now you know what he looks like, and I was not in danger AND might I add you were occupied with Sherlock."

"Not to the detriment of your life. You have no idea how very dangerous these people are."

"Now that is insulting." Amelie turned and threw a dish towel at her erudite son. "I was not in danger and your security personnel were inept and too bloody far away to be effective. Dip your tongue in vitriol and vent your ire on them, not on me." She paused and wiped the clean bench top again.

Duly chastised Mycroft wrapped his arms around her and breathed in the scent of her shampoo. "We cannot lose you Mummy, it would break us."

"Oh my darling, one day you must, but it was not today and I was not incapable as you well know. How is my son-in-law?"

"John is safe, well he's with Midge so he's safeish." Mycroft conceded and poured a coffee from the French press.

"Good, he is very good for our boy."

"Yes, yes he is. Mind you for the moment let us not share this with Midge. There is a fragility about it that bothers me, and John will need to strengthen his resolve and his mind."

"And knowing I met the Professor will cause him turmoil. Yes darling I do understand. Did you get the footage?"

"Yes and you are right of course, we can now continue to build the dossier on him. It will go a long way to understanding the man. John and Midge will be at Baker Street tonight and I have an errand to attend to, however, would you care to accompany me to dinner?"

"How very gallant. Of course where?"

"I know this lovely little Italian diner not too far from Baker Street."

"And I will have the chance to thank Angelo myself. Ideal."

"Two hours Mummy." He bent down and kissed the porcelain cheek.

"I love you too my darling." She cupped his face and kissed him again.

~~~~~***)))(((***~~~~~

Jim Moriarty's dark eyes glittered with amusement as he watched the man enter his cell. Mycroft was older and colder than Sherlock who burned with a bright white hot flame, for all his disdain of emotion he was quicksilver and easy to read. Mycroft was less available and Jim cocked his head to one side.

Gone now the exclusive designer suits in favour of a grimy white tee shirt and Government Issue track pants. The clothes or rather lack of them was meant to diminish him and he chuckled again, futile, but under the circumstances one had to allow Big Brother his idiosyncrasies.

"Ah the British Government has arrived." The soft Irish lilt, the unthreatening posture one shoulder dropped lower and the slight stoop were all staging to the untrained eye. Mycroft raised a brow at him and sat down.

Jim laughed and it was rich and musical and just mercurial enough to be totally insane. "Oh well, I guess since you caught me I owe you the courtesy of not playing that particular game."

"Wise." Mycroft said.

"Well welcome to my humble abode and I do mean humble, couldn't you liven the place up a bit? Some colour or a potted plant or so?"

Mycroft kept his silence and calm, as he watched Moriarty prowl the confines of the small concrete cell. "We met your father today."

Jim stopped and glared, a myriad of features raced across the expressive face before they contorted and he screamed. "I have no bloody father!"

"Or sister."

"What does that mean?"

"It means your sister attempted to break Sherlock by having him sectioned."

"Clever girl." Jim nodded the mood once again passive.

"Not really, she, unlike you, really is dead."

"You're lying."

"I have no reason to. Seems like Daddy is tying up loose ends, Sebastian Moran met with an accident this morning as well."

"What type of accident?" Jim slouched against the wall.

"The kind created by a high powered rifle." Mycroft touched his forehead. "Right here."

"And you bring me the glad tidings from the bottom of your ice cold heart?" Jim asked.

"On the contrary."

"What the hell do you want?"

"We will begin with your list of contacts within the British Government, and will progress from there."

"And if I don't?"

"Ah I see, this is where I am meant to threaten you. Mundane of course. Since death holds no real fear, and as we speak assets are being frozen and obtained, shall we say, then failure to comply will result in this lovely room becoming your permanent abode, humble as you call it."

"Not much of a threat Mycroft."

"How silly of me, it's not meant to be a threat; it is simply a promise, of unending bleak boredom. No contact with the outside world, no contact with another living soul. You will be fed, watered and administered to, but this will be your last human contact."

Mycroft's smile was sinister as he exited the room and Moriarty threw his head back and laughed.

"You haven't told him yet have you?" He raced to the door and pounded on it, face pressed to the tiny windowpane. "Sherlock doesn't know I'm still alive."

Mycroft left the compound; the sound of Jim Moriarty's laughter echoed down the hall and into his brain and with it a tiny curl of pain and doubt.

~~~***)))(((***~~~

How is he? MH

John blinked as the light of his phone lit up the room. Rumpled bedclothes strewn across the room along with clothing and clung to his side like a giant bear cub Sherlock snuffled softly.

Fine. JW

John had gotten used to texting with one hand, it was a habit developed from Sherlock's unending love affair with text messaging.

Good, Mummy and I going to Angelo's for dinner, shall we deliver take out? MH

Sherlock grunted and spoke into John's side. "Tell him I want Lasagne and Tiramisu."

"Hungry?"

"Starving."

"We could join them." John offered and Sherlock stretched all lean muscles under milk white skin rippled.

"Mmmm." Sherlock answered lazily as he kissed the puckered skin of the wounded shoulder.

"Or we can stay here, and get dressed for when they turn up." John smiled into the kiss that was pressed to his lips.

Will leave food with Mrs Hudson, I assume lasagne and tiramisu for two. MH

"Sorted." Sherlock muttered as John began his own tender assault much to the consulting detectives delight.

~~~***))((***~~~

Epilogue:

Airports, John mused where home to so many mixed emotions, that if a place were at all to be haunted it would be here, or perhaps a railway station. But most likely here.

All manner of people wandered around airport, children and the elderly. The business man going on holiday, the wife leaving the husband, the happy reunion, the farewell. His least personal favourite and today was no different.

Sherlock was sombre, immaculately dressed and held in his hand a single pale pink peony, to his left his mother, tiny against her tall sons and dressed in Prada, soft perfume washed over them looking nothing like her true age, a porcelain beauty in a sea of grey and grim faced men. Mycroft was on her other side, both men, leaders of their profession, one of his country and the other invaluable to the country clung to her hands like small lost children in a shopping mall and John bit back a lopsided grin.

"I shall be in residence in Provence during the first two weeks in December and will either come home for Christmas or you will come to me. Make sure Sherlock comes with you this year Mycroft, you know how I worry." Amelie smiled as Mycroft kissed her.

"And John, I am so very very proud of my son for finding you." The doctor looked embarrassed and Sherlock grew if possible taller.

"Maman." Sherlock whispered to his mother and handed her the flower. "je t'aime"

"Oh my darling's and I both of you, be good to each other yes, I will be home in a few weeks. And please make sure to arrange for Lucy to come and stay with me."

"Lucy?" Sherlock stared.

"Yes Lucy, what a beautiful and delightful angel. And your police man friend."

"Yes Mummy we will ask." Mycroft interrupted as she departed through the first class gate.

"I will text you when I get back. Bon bye mes bébés."

And with that she was gone, a single tear slid down Sherlock's face and he stood and waited until the plane was in the sky before he heaved a sigh, and took John by the hand. Mycroft too waited but he watched his little brother, some of the brittleness had smoothed and his eyes no longer looked lost.

Yes, it was a good day, and it was beyond time for his brother to know them first hand.

"Work?" Sherlock asked.

"Lunch." Mycroft stated.

"Diet?" Sherlock teased.

"Later." Mycroft rose to the bait with a grin.

John shook his head. "Children, play nice."

Both Holmes's, men to be admired and feared pouted at the Army Doctor who sighed dramatically and walked away, assured that the soft footed steps behind him, would not deviate. Well, at least, not this time.

Finis.