Disclaimer: Don't own - wish I did!

Sherlock 'felt' rather than saw the midnight blue feathered wings that supported him, felt their comforting warmth wrapped around him as he sped towards the ground outside St Bart's.

Moriarty had forced his hand, brought him to this – this fake suicide – and he thanked the fates that he had an angel on his side.

Two hours earlier…

Sherlock laid out his deductions for the man who stood always by his side, and John Watson had agreed, they would need to convince the consulting criminal that Sherlock was following his instructions.

"John," the younger man's voice cracked as he looked down at the scrubbed wooden work surface "I think he wants me dead"

"I'm bloody sure of it!" John replied leaning back against that same work top, his arms folded across his chest, his hip brushing gently against the other man's wrist as they stood close together, considering their options "I'm also sure he won't do anything while I'm around and if we're to avoid him trying to physically take me out of the equation, then we need to convince him that you've sent me away"

"No!"

"Sherlock, trust me – I'm not going to let him hurt you, but if we don't play the game…"

"Don't call it that" Sherlock hissed angrily "This isn't a game, John"

John placed a hand on Sherlock's arm and squeezed gently.

"To him it is, and we need to play along." Dipping his head so he could look up into unhappy grey eyes "We haven't got a lot of time, Lestrade is likely to guess that you would come here – your home from home – and the last thing you need right now is to be arrested"

"You could stop him"

"I could" John nodded "but if we deny Moriarty his end game who knows what he'll do"

"Then I need to face him, and where better than the roof of this place?" Sherlock straightened and moved away from the blond doctor.

"Okay"

Sherlock spun round and stared. He had expected more resistance to his ill thought out plan, but John was just watching him closely, his dark blue eyes taking in every movement, every line of his body.

"Right then – I'll text him"

"Not yet. Before you do, we need to make sure we know what we're doing." Those blue eyes never wavered "I'm going to leave in a minute – anyone who sees me will be convinced that firstly, you and I have argued, and secondly, that I am concerned for someone's safety…"

"Mrs Hudson?"

"Brilliant" John grinned "If Mycroft is right about those killers that have taken up residence in Baker Street, I'm sure Moriarty has a lot to do with it. It wouldn't be a great leap for anyone to imagine that I'm worried that our landlady may get hurt"

"What should I do?"

"You make sure you text me as soon as he's ready to meet"

"And?"

"You do whatever he wants. My feeling is he'll want you to throw yourself off the building"

"But not without a fight – not without trying to win this….this game…I won't just roll over for him"

John smirked at his choice of words

"I would hope not, my love."

"But if all else fails…"

"I won't be far. You will see me – so will Moriarty. Just remember that whatever happens, I will keep you safe." Closing the gap between them John laid a gentle hand on Sherlock's cheek. "They will see what they need to see, all you need to do is relax"

"You know, don't you, that this is far too easy?"

"Maybe" came the thoughtful reply "Or maybe you're just assuming he's of sound mind. Sherlock, Moriarty's insane, he won't be able to envisage you beating him – whatever he does, we'll be ready for him."

"How? You can't be with us on the roof"

"Sherlock, trust me" John smiled, pulling on his jacket "You are under my protection, I won't let him take you away from me"

"John" Sherlock reached out and pulled the smaller man into his arms, leaning down for a kiss. As they finally separated, John smiled and nodded towards Sherlock's phone.

"Send your text" he smiled, waiting only to see his lover pick up the phone before turning to leave.

xXx

Sherlock stared down in horror at the blood and brain matter splattered across the roof of the hospital, his brain working overtime. Moriarty would kill his friends – Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, and John…John! Where was he? Did he know that there were snipers placed to take them all out?

Then, in the back of his mind he heard the voice.

'Trust me'

Taking a deep breath, he walked slowly to the ledge and looked down – and there was John! He was getting out of a cab and walking towards the entrance. Sherlock frowned – why? He knew the rendezvous was to be on the roof! Reaching for his phone he pressed John's speed-dial number.

"Hello?"

"John"

"Sherlock. Moriarty's dead?"

"Yes – how did you know?"

"Later" he turned swiftly and looked up, as if commanded to do so by the man on the roof. "Tell me"

"Snipers, John. You, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade. I have to jump or you three will die" He frowned, watching as John stood transfixed, looking up at him, worry and fear in every line of his compact frame. Then John's voice broke through his reverie.

"Sherlock are you listening? This act is for their benefit. I've spotted the sniper waiting to either see you jump or to shoot me."

"John, what do I do?" a tremor crept into that deep baritone voice that tugged at John's heart.

"Listen. When I raise my hand I want you to fall. Spread your arms and let yourself fall forward, will you do that for me?"

"Yes" it was barely a whisper

"Don't worry. Everyone on this street will swear you committed suicide, but I'll have you safe"

Sherlock swallowed and nodded, knowing John could see every movement.

John nodded in reply and raised his hand….

Sherlock's eyes refused to close, he felt safe and strangely unafraid. He could see people looking up at his falling body, could see John running towards him, and yet…no! John was still standing on the corner of the street, his raised hand gradually lowering, as if carrying him gently down to earth.

There was only the slightest of bumps as he hit the ground, and as his body was rolled over by the hospital staff, he felt the wings tighten around him, holding him still, and he allowed himself to go limp as they picked him up and put him on a trolley.

It felt strange to hear them pronounce him dead, to realise they had taken him to the mortuary. He heard Molly's scream, her colleague, comforting, taking her out of the room.

"You can open your eyes now" there was a slight smile in the voice. "The sniper thinks you're dead, thinks I've been dragged off and put into a taxi and sent home"

"What now?"

"Now we let these people arrange for the unclaimed body in the freezer to become Sherlock Holmes," John indicated two people who were dressed as mortuary attendants, but whom he was sure were no such thing "and we leave by the back door and get into the car your brother has waiting for us"

As Sherlock pulled himself off the trolley, John reached out and swiftly stripped him of his coat and scarf. He opened his mouth to protest, but John stopped him, taking his arm and dragging him through the door and into the street.

"You'll get it back, when Mycroft comes to identify the body."

"How?" Sherlock asked as he was shoved forcefully into the waiting car "I mean, how did you get Mycroft to agree to this?"

John grinned, and pulled the younger man into a warm hug.

"Believe me; I had the Devil's own job!"