Level Up

Summary: Round Three- Moriarty plots a one-two punch to take out the Holmes Brothers. Meanwhile Sherlock and Mycroft cross swords and the first seeds of the fall are sown, while John tries to cope with the return of Irene. This takes my story line up to the start of the Fall.

Chapter One

Greg Lestrade couldn't help but smile at the scene. Sherlock was literally sitting on the back of a very annoyed looking middle aged business man, who was face down on the office carpet with his trousers down. The consulting detective had just detached a prosthetic leg, and passed it to PC Hanson. "You'll find the plates in the bottom- they've been there for the past two weeks. Get it to Anderson."

As Hanson took the leg, he looked a little startled. "How the flipping heck did you know that this is where he was hiding the crucial evidence?"

"While you were taking the office apart looking for the evidence of his forgery, I was paying attention to the fact that he was favouring his left shoulder because he's been carrying extra weight inside the prosthesis."

As the newly appointed DC left, he exchanged a startled look with the DI, and said quietly, "This has been one hell of a secondment, sir. I'm going to be so bored when I have to go back to working with Dimmock's team again. You guys get all the fun."

Lestrade's smile broadened as he watched Sherlock get up. Sergeant Donovan helped Joseph Hill to his feet, read him his rights and put the cuffs on, then took him downstairs to join the three heavies who had been disarmed and tied up by Sherlock even before the police arrived. Hanson was right. This case had been fun. A serious crime indeed- some £150,000 in apparently used twenty pound notes had been uncovered by accident when a man with a briefcase had a heart attack. The Met had been stumped with no idea of who or what was responsible. Sherlock took the case and it had ended up here a week later- oh, and they had recovered well over four million pounds in forged notes before they could get out into the market.

Sherlock had been on sparkling form, and Lestrade saw that a corner had somehow been turned. Ever since that blasted bomber Moriarty, Greg had worried about the consulting detective. His injuries at the hand of the Russian gangster, then a stint in that rehabilitation clinic, followed by that odd business with the house in Belgravia, then Baker Street being broken into by the CIA- well, it had just been one thing after another to unsettle Sherlock. The depths had been reached when Lestrade went to get him on board for the Geek Killer case, and found that he'd gone missing for four days, with John, Mycroft and Doctor Cohen deeply concerned about his whereabouts and his mental health. That made Greg wary of having him involved in casework again, until he was sure that Sherlock could handle it.

So, it was really good to see Sherlock enjoying himself again. The cast on his wrist disappeared two weeks ago, and while he was standing about observing crime scenes. Lestrade had watched the methodical finger exercises going on. The spring in the younger man's step was there and the gleam in his eye as intense as ever, but he seemed steadier, calmer, more self-contained than Greg had ever known him to be. He wasn't going out of his way to be rude and irritating. Long may it last.

oOo

12.38 A bit of a chase, but the crippled forger case solved. Heading home. Where are you? SH

12.43 You fight criminals, I fight A&E triage and then Tesco queues. Who's got the better deal here? See you back at the flat. JW

Sherlock came in from the pouring rain, but his pace up the seventeen stairs was not the old manic haste; there was no longer any need to burn off excess energy caused by a misfiring Mind Palace. The chase to track down the forger had not been a simple one, and there had been a bit of aggro from the man's 'protection' before the police showed up, but he would not tell John about that. No visible bruising, so no need to worry him unnecessarily. The doctor had been working hard at re-establishing his credentials as a trauma physician, pulling long hours for the past two weeks at three different hospitals to get his re-certification. "It's time for me to focus on other patients, Sherlock, now that you seem to be back to whatever passes as normal for you." It was a measure of the rebuilt trust between the two men that John felt able to say it.

Sherlock had just given him the calm quiet look that had become his trademark these days. "I'm better than back to normal, John. Go off and do the doctor thing you do with other people." He'd been putting some distance between them, pursuing cases on his own- in part to show John, his brother and Doctor Cohen that he was fine, that he didn't need a babysitter. He also had some bridges to repair with the Met, and Lestrade in particular.

When John asked, he would talk about the cases; and John still got involved when a back-up person handy with a gun was needed. The consulting detective wasn't shutting the doctor out- just giving him some space. As a result, their relationship had improved. Sherlock 2.0 was steadier, more self- reliant, less manic. A more mature and quieter persona came with the new Mind Palace. John relaxed a bit- for the first time in almost six months, he could step away from the role of "Sherlock's caretaker" and just be friend, colleague and flatmate.

His relationship with Mycroft, however, had not improved. The elder brother remained suspicious and cautious about Sherlock's recovery. The younger man resented the fact that his brother had decided to keep him out of the computer case. "It wouldn't be appropriate" for a civilian to get involved with the interagency team at work on it. That led Sherlock to snap "just who brought the case to you in the first place, Mycroft?" But no amount of texting or harassment had changed the mind of the minor official of the British Government. Following on from Mycroft's refusal to admit months ago that "something big" was going on, vaguely related to Moriarty, this was one rebuff too many. So, Sherlock was studiously ignoring his brother, and would not allow John to even mention that name in his presence.

Sherlock reached the top of the stairs back at 221b and came to a sudden halt outside the kitchen door. He sniffed deeply. It had been months since that particular perfume had crossed his nasal passages. The last time it was at Sir Charles Milverton's house in Hampstead Heath, where both he and John had hid behind a curtain when a woman arrived to retrieve stolen property and to kill the blackmailer.

That was the last time because the corpse on the slab at Barts had not worn the perfume. Even though the body had been washed by Molly Hooper, he should still have smelt the traces of it- but there was nothing. It was one of the reasons why he realised that the body wasn't actually hers. He hadn't been close enough to her to smell her perfume when he learned at the Battersea Power Station she was alive. Taking a couple more deep breaths now to draw in the scent that had been tailor-made for Irene Adler, he turned and looked into the kitchen, then spotted that the window was open. She wasn't in the living room. Turning and sniffing again, he started to walk slowly towards his bedroom. Behind him, he heard the downstairs door to the flat slam and the sound of John coming up the stairs. His pace told Sherlock he was carrying shopping- it made a distinct sound that he identified from the Mind Palace programme called John.

Reaching his room, Sherlock pushed the door open to find the person he expected to see there. In the kitchen John arrived and dumped bags of shopping. Sherlock walked further into the bedroom and turned to look down at the bed.

Down the corridor, John saw the tension in Sherlock's shoulders and called out, "Sherlock?"

"We have a client". It was a calm reply.

John's disbelief showed: "What, in your bedroom?!" He came down the corridor and looked in, his jaw dropping when he saw the bed.

"Ohhh." In just the one word John packed so much- surprise, consternation and worry.

With good reason. Sherlock contemplated the sleeping figure of Irene Adler, and considered all the possible permutations that would end up with her in his bed, asleep wearing one of his shirts. He could smell not only her perfume, but his brand of soap and shampoo on her. She'd had a shower and made herself right at home. He wasn't sure how he felt about such an intimate act. It made him decidedly uncomfortable. He brought up his Mind Palace programme on The Woman. Need more data.