BBC Sherlock Howard, Misplaced - Survive

Sherlock's trench coat fluttered in the cold wind, and his scarf was used by his opponent as a tool to kill him a few minutes ago, but he escaped.The detective loosened the dark blue scarf tightly wrapped around his neck, and the gun was clutched tightly in his hand.

He stood on the top of the building, looking at a person lying down in a pool of blood at his feet.

That's Moriarty.

Sherlock hadn't beaten him - in terms of wits, they hadn't been able to tell.

He didn't allow himself the glory of winning, but in the end, his sensibility dominated his rationality.

"I'll ruin you," said Moriarty, his frenzied face alternately contorted with excitement, and at other times flat and graceful, "and I know how to ruin you."

Sherlock left 221B a few days ago.Without a notice or a single piece of paper, his departure will have a major impact on his and John's fate.

His crime wall is full of thumbtacks and nylon thread, months of hard work finally coming to an end. Moriarty has come to town, and it's perfect timing.He must take up the battle for himself and for the military doctor.You can only win, there is no reason to lose, and there is no tie.

"You know what to do?"

Mycroft asked in the rain with a black umbrella, and Sherlock pushed away the umbrella that moved closer to him: "I know."

"You need my full assistance."

"I said no."

"For God'ssake! Sherlock, I tell you, it's Moriarty you're facing—"

"Are you afraid? That's just a guy who likes to puzzle Scotland Yard with puzzles."

"So?" Mycroft was very displeased with his brother's inexplicable persistence: "I need to be informed of your plan first."

"There are some things that the homeless intelligence network alone is not enough, I have to observe for myself. I already know about Moriarty's lair—"

"You intend to go alone?"

"Well, you guessed it right."

"No, Sherlock, I won't let you take that risk."

"What's the difference between him and the other murderers? Mycroft, it's none of your business."

"I don't agree. Aren't you bringing the doctor with you?"

"He should stay in 221B."

The detective lowered his eyes, seeming a little guilty.That's when Mycroft realized something was wrong.

"Your camouflage skills still need to be improved, Brothermine. You should know that these tricks are meaningless in front of me."

"I can't—let him take the risk." Sherlock remained determined.

"So you know the danger of this trip."

The detective didn't speak, which was the default.

"Then I don't want you to go either."

Sherlock raised his cloudy blue eyes, annoyed, "How can you compare me to him? His safety is at stake."

"I've never let you go, Sherlock." Mycroft's black umbrella waved announcingly: "I also know your bad habits, you have to get rid of them completely."

"Don't bring it up again. I'm tired of hearing it, Mycroft."

Mycroft's calmer blue pupils looked out of the umbrella, "You have to make a concession," he said, "I have to interfere in this matter."

Sherlock gritted his teeth unwillingly.

"Get your people ready. If I really need you, I'll call you. I usually text, so that's our code name."

Mycroft frowned at the offer, but accepted it anyway.

"Sherlock, I think, there's something I must remind you of."

He stands in the rain with his haughty black umbrella.

"You don't involve doctors in your actions, but you're willing to do so at your own risk?"

"Any questions?"

Mycroft snapped his mouth shut, which made Sherlock even more annoyed:

"There's something wrong with the unreasonable silence. What are you trying to say?"

"No. That's good, sacrifice and dedication, Li Daitao stiff."

"Mycroft!"

"I don't think I need to remind you: don't get too deep. All emotions will interfere with our ability to judge. When you said that you wanted Dr. Watson to be your roommate, I strongly opposed it."

"I don't--"

"You're getting out of control." Mycroft said dryly, reproachfully. "Brother, it's never a good thing to care too much."

Sherlock was completely drenched in the rain. He put his hands in his wet pockets and turned around: "I'll send you a message with the details."

The detective left without looking back.

Moriarty's residence is very low-key—at least his most recent stay was an apartment, and it's unclear if he has properties elsewhere.

In fact, Sherlock hasn't figured out how to deal with Moriarty - he must first know the terrain near the building and consider traffic factors - should he call the police or ask Mycroft to bring some people over?

He stood in the shadow of another building.Looking up, there is a figure moving in front of the window.

He moved his steps to see clearly, but a hand was put on his shoulder unexpectedly:

"Sir, don't be impatient."

Sherlock tried to shake off, but he was held tightly, unable to move.He asked, "Who are you?"

"Moran. We don't mean any harm to you at the moment, so you can take it easy."

"Since it's all right, can you let me go? I'm just passing by." Sherlock argued impatiently, "I'm just out to buy wine—"

"You live at 221B Baker Street. You won't bother to come here to buy alcohol. I know who you are, Mr. Holmes. The professor wants to invite you upstairs for tea."

I have long admired my name. The man in front of him, Sherlock thought, was Moriarty's confidant and bodyguard.

"What if I don't want to?" the detective replied with a look of disapproval.

A cold gun barrel hit the back of his neck.

"Would you prefer Bullet or Earl Grey?"

"Moriarty's hospitality is truly admirable."

Sherlock pulled out a grin that was as pervasive as his situation, and followed the tall man away.

"Very well, Sherlock, you offered to visit me? I'm flattered. Would you like some cookies?"

"I don't eat," he replied.

"That's a pity." Moriarty grabbed a piece and put it in his mouth. "I thought we reached a consensus—you won't offend me, and I won't offend you?"

"You won't offend me?" The corners of Sherlock's mouth twitched, "Your people actually followed to Greece, you really did your duty. Listen, this is our game, and I won't be afraid of your challenge, provided—"

"The premise is, don't touch your doctor?"

"Don't think I'm one with him," Sherlock said, looking away from Moriarty's dark brown eyes, "he's him and I'm me. He doesn't have the brains to fight you, he's just a... stupid soldier .”

"Yeah, you two have nothing to do with each other, so I can find a sniper to kill him without getting hurt."

Sherlock swore that if he had a gun in his hand, he would jump up and blow Moriarty's head off.

"You wouldn't do that."

"You said it for sure, why?"

"...For you, there is no need."

Moriarty put down the plate containing the biscuits, and his expression suddenly became cold:

"It's not unnecessary, it's just that the time has not come."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll know. See you on the top of Butz Tower in three days."

"I will accompany you to the end."

Sherlock was about to get up after finishing his sentence. "No, dear detective," Moriarty called him, "it would be rude not to let you go home with a present. We won't let you go away empty-handed."

A trace of evil flashed in the man's eyes, and two or three people came in from the door.

"My world doesn't exist outnumbered and I turn Scotland Yard upside down by myself.

Seriously, Sherlock, I'm not sure you called the police, either.

In order to delay the time, I found a few people to help you practice skills, free of charge. "

He then exhorted his subordinates:

"Remember, I want to live. Otherwise I won't be able to see him in three days."

The piercing smile disappeared at the door.

A swift fist hit him in the face——

"...Damn it!"

Mycroft's doorbell rang at three in the morning.

He remembered clearly telling Anthea not to disclose his address at will, and to strictly control the number of visitors and the time of visits—"Sir, I don't know how he got in," the female voice on the other end of the phone panicked, "This is the control room." There is a broken screen next to it, it may be a blind spot..."

Before she could finish speaking, Mycroft received an interrupt call.

"Sherlock is missing, we can't find him—"

There were two thoughts in Mycroft's mind, one bad and the other worse.

So he put on his nightgown and looked at the situation outside the door through the screen - no one?

mischief?No, the person who can break into his door and ring the bell must have two brushes.He picked up his long-handled umbrella from the corner and walked to the door again.

"Give me your name."

"Damn it, open the door for me."

"Sherlock?"

"hurry up!"

Mycroft pulled the door open a crack, saw a shaggy head of black curly hair, and let it open. Sherlock hunched over the door, fell heavily to the ground within a few steps, clutching his stomach, dripping with cold sweat, with an extremely painful expression on his face.

He had a bruise on his forehead, blood dripping down his neck, strangle marks on his neck, and the rest of it was covered by clothing, but Mycroft was almost certain Sherlock was covered in bruises all over his body.

"I think I'm bleeding internally," the detective said. "Get a doctor. I don't want to die. You'll be faster than a London ambulance."

"You fucker..."

Mycroft picked up the landline, and Sherlock heard him say, "I give you five minutes to arrive - no, three minutes."

"So what exactly did you do?"

Mycroft stayed with Sherlock in the hospital until the next morning.Seeing the pained look on Sherlock's face, he reached out and turned up the morphine dose for him.

"Go fight the street gangsters," Sherlock replied evasively, "Mycroft, John is in danger, I have to go back and find him."

"What are you kidding?" Mycroft narrowed his eyes. "You're not usually an AIDS guy. I'd reasonably assume it's Moriarty. There aren't many people who can beat you to death."

"John is in danger, Moriarty wants—"

"Sherlock! I knew this man would destroy you!"

"I really have to go back," the detective repeated stubbornly.

"You think you can see him like this now? Huh? Tell him you went to Moriarty alone for his safety and nearly got killed? Sherlock, I'm starting to doubt your judgment."

The detective closed his eyes impatiently. "...Bloody human error."

"What did you say?"

"I said, I have another duel with Moriarty. Two days later, on the roof of Butz's building."

"I won't let you—"

"Then John and I can only sit and wait. You want to see this end?"

"..." Mycroft was clearly suffering too.

"The most people around Moriarty are snipers. In fact, he can easily kill me and John, but he wants to torture me to death..."

"John Watson," Mycroft said slowly, "actually, this ex-military doctor did you a disservice."

Sherlock let out a breath, which was the answer.

"You're out of control, Brothermine," Mycroft said angrily. "You're doing it yourself."

"If you stayed to tell me this, you can go now."

Sherlock glared at him, "I'll call you when I need you. For other things, don't worry about it."

Sherlock is standing here now, on the roof of the hospital, his hands shaking.

He remembered the mistakes of his youth - when he was holding a chef's knife with blood on the tip.In the engulfing night, the moonlight made everything pale and frightening.

"You're taking too much, Sherlock. At this rate, you only have a few weeks to live."

He didn't think so until the consequences materialized before his eyes.

"Mycroft, help me." He gripped the phone tightly, and the sound of his heartbeat was infinitely amplified.

Sherlock didn't know he should be afraid or worried, maybe ask God to forgive him for his mistakes?Everyone does it.

The pleading tone he seldom used in life came at this moment, and Mycroft vaguely sensed something was wrong.

"Called an ambulance, didn't leave a name. But they'll find me." Sherlock's voice began to waver, "Damn..."

"Calm down and tell me, what did you do?"

On the other end of the microphone was a long silence, long enough to kill a person.

"I don't know. When I 'woke up', I was lying on the ground alone, covered in blood, and I had a knife in my hand."

"Jesus. You go home now, and I'll take care of the rest."

"...Mycroft, I—"

"Don't talk nonsense! You don't have much time!"

I'm scared.

What he didn't say was that he was scared.

This emotion has never been felt since the age of five.

"Mommy will be so disappointed in you, she will be... very sad."

Sherlock bet Mycroft meant "heartbroken".It's a good thing he didn't choose the word in the end to "technically" deepen his guilt.

"Someone is responsible for this absurdity. What are you going to do?"

Mycroft questioned Sherlock, who was standing in the corner of the room, "They'll still find me," Sherlock said, "right?"

"They won't hold you accountable." Mycroft sighed. "They came back and I gave them money to make peace," he said in a commanding voice. "I mean, how would you make up for what you did?" fault?"

Sherlock's eyelashes fluttered in the condensed air.

"I..." He paused, "I choose to be a detective."

Another way to save lives? Mycroft nodded, "It's your way of making up for the world. You have to promise me one more thing, Brothermine. Quit smoking, drinking, and drugs."

"……I try my best."

"Then," the elder Holmes cleared his throat, "you have to get out of here, this place is not suitable for long."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows feebly, "Where do you want me to go at a time like this?"

Mycroft glanced at the notebook in his hand - the little booklet always irked Sherlock.

"I found a new place for you, Baker Street 221B. The landlord is the widow of a drug dealer, and she won't let the police come to your door easily. You remind her of her dead husband, and she will treat you well..."

"So she's willing to rent the house to a druggie?" Sherlock couldn't believe it.

"Correct, I'm as confused as you are."

"When do I have to leave?"

"Assoon as possible."

"It seems you don't want to give me time to say goodbye to the neighbors in the neighborhood."

"This is not a good time to be joking, Sherlock. It took me a lot of hard work and connections to get you out of prison. Listen, you better take this lesson to heart."

Not long after, Sherlock moved into an apartment downtown, "Don't you think it's not private enough here?"

"This is a place full of dragons and snakes. The crowd is your best cover. No one cares about your past. This is a new beginning."

"But you care. Landlords care too."

"It's for your own good."

But Sherlock remained steadfast.Months later, Mycroft visited again and found that he had relapsed.

"You promised me." Mycroft said with rare rage, "you said you would never—"

"Bored. Mycroft, this is torture to my head and my heart. There's no need to think about those cases—"

"You're just an obscure little detective in London, you have to be patient!"

"Patience? I'm running out. If this goes on, I'll be dead."

"You'll be killed first by the police."

"Seven percent, not bad."

"Okay, then tell me, what do you want to do? Find a roommate? Spend time with you?"

Sherlock looked up suddenly, seeming to agree with the proposal.

"Hmm, interesting."

"...Would you like me to arrange it for you?"

"No, Mycroft. He'll show up by himself."

"How long do you want to wait?"

"Patience—as you say, patience."

So, he appeared.A military doctor returning from Afghanistan, retired due to injury, a crisis of confidence, not tall...

"I tested him, and he doesn't want to spy on you," Mycroft said to Sherlock on the phone. "John Watson, I took him to the parking lot and just dropped him off. He seems to be in a hurry to leave. Does that concern you?"

"I sent him three text messages."

"What is it?"

"Return quickly. Please return quickly if it is convenient. Please return quickly if it is inconvenient. It may be dangerous."

"He's developed a sort of...perverted loyalty to you," Mycroft continued his reasoning, "Sherlock, is this person you deliberately arranged?"

"No." This is the truth. "Mike Stanford brought him here."

"Why does he trust you?"

"I don't know." Sherlock hung up the phone, there was no point in continuing this conversation.

He just felt it—when he saw him for the first time, when he took the mobile phone, when the residual warmth of the military doctor's palm passed through the metal to his fingertips, when he asked where he came from Moment--

He felt that this man needed him.And he, Sherlock Holmes, needed him too.

"…I object. Let him move out." Mycroft glared at Sherlock. "An overly strong bond between people is destructive."

"I don't." Sherlock's obsession has always been a headache for Mycroft.

"Give me a reason," he said, "what is it about him that keeps you going."

"There is no reason."

There is no reason.He wanted to keep John, he had to keep him.

Just relying on a persistence, relying on that strong intuition.

"Don't blame me for not warning you, Sherlock, this doctor will throw you off course. You have to control yourself."

"Goodbye, Mycroft. Take your time. Your words bore me."

Thinking of John's face gave Sherlock a few seconds of composure, and he looked at the gun in his hand—

"If I were to end this—what if, I shot you now?"

"You wouldn't do that, that would be disappointing, Sherlock."

That was his conversation with Moriarty. "You know, as long as I'm alive, there's no peace between you and the doctor," said Moriarty, tugging at the detective's scarf. "I know he's your crux,"

He growled, "I'm going to burn your heart!"

Moriarty didn't think Sherlock would shoot.Indeed, he hadn't planned on that.

But he mentioned John Watson.In that split second, he thought of him.

"You're wrong," said the detective.

"what?"

"I will kill you."

I can disappoint you, Mycroft, and the world,

But I can't let John Watson play this endless game of life and death with me.

boom.

He pulled the trigger.

"Mycroft, I will only ask you once in my life. Just this once.

help me please.

Moriarty's snipers are coming, I only have 5 minutes to escape...they've found me. "

The phone disconnected.

A bullet past Sherlock's ear, his ears ringing.

"You're crazy."

"I think so."

"Have you ever thought about the consequences of shooting? His henchmen will come to you and avenge their leader - this is even more dangerous than when Moriarty was alive, because their purpose is to let you die before your eyes. If it is Moriarty , he might just be looking for trouble—”

"But he'll kill me eventually too. Mycroft, that's enough, I know what you're talking about!"

"It's been a month since his death," Mycroft said wearily. "I've raised the surveillance level around 221B. Have you encountered anything out of the ordinary?"

Sherlock buried his face in his palms in pain, "Yes."

It was one morning, John was about to make coffee for him and Sherlock, he stood in front of the grinder, the noise of the machine made the detective a little annoyed, "Can you please turn that thing off?"

"I asked you to grind the beans for me first to save time, but you completely forgot about it." John remained the same.

The machine kept beeping and beeping, and now Sherlock couldn't take it anymore, and he walked to the dining room, reaching out to unplug the power.

"You just have to bear with it." The doctor said in a good voice, "It's almost over."

"This damn thing is really annoying—"

Sherlock glanced out the window as he said this, gasped - maybe he didn't even have time to gasp - there was a man with a gun, just across the way!

"John!"

Sherlock grabbed the medic's shoulder and pressed it to the ground, John felt like he was going to suffocate - Sherlock then pressed up, pressing his chest against his face - "Shit! Did you forget that I have a shoulder injury!" John because Pain frowned.

The gunfire was lost in the sound of the grinder.

"...John, don't get up, please don't get up."

"why?"

"because--"

The detective shifted his gaze to the doctor, but his breath suddenly became heavy.

He was looking at himself—John was looking at him, so close, close enough for Sherlock to lose control.

"I……"

"what?"

The grinder was too noisy.

Sherlock blinked hard, shook his head, and said nothing.

He straightened up slightly, the window opposite was empty, only the curtains fluttered in the wind.

Mycroft's men should have taken him out, they're safe for now.

"What happened just now?" the doctor asked. "You pinned me to the ground—"

"I fell."

"Such a clumsy lie is equivalent to lowering my IQ." John also seemed a little emotional, he didn't know why Sherlock did that suddenly.

"You can forget about that," Sherlock waved his hand, "Okay, it's just a pressure on you, don't worry about it."

"Oh...!" Indeed, he shouldn't care about it, nor should he speculate on the detective's behavior.

But, for a split second, John thought—

Sherlock was about to kiss him.

He will never forget that look in his eyes.

It was almost a tender look.

"So, you have another plan?"

"Yes, it is still being arranged. I will try my best to be as fast as possible without further delay."

"How to do it?"

"They wanted me to die, and I did what they wanted."

"They describe Sherlock as a national security crisis and require high-level government officials to monitor, which is simply ridiculous."

John started chattering from the moment he walked in, "And drug addiction? Are you kidding me..."

"John? You're back? A girl came to see you today."

Mrs. Hudson gave him a weak smile, brought out two cups of tea from the kitchen, and placed them on the low table.

Although the landlady always insisted that she was not his and Sherlock's housekeeper, she always took good care of them. John has been busy finding out the whereabouts of his roommate recently, and he is almost indifferent to the landlady, which makes John feel a little guilty. After Sherlock disappeared, Mrs. Hudson's mood has been unstable, so that John never asked her about Sherlock.After talking to Scotland Yard, he was not in a hurry to ask her for confirmation. On the contrary, John was more willing to believe what he saw.

Maybe he was just that stubborn.

"Thank you, you are so kind." John responded with a warm but equally feeble smile, took a sip, and moistened his dry throat, "What did you just say?"

"A girl came to you," Mrs. Hudson wiped his hands with a towel, "she was a lovely girl. She said she would come again."

"Did she leave a name?"

"It seems to be...Mary. She only says her name is Mary."

Mary Morstan?

John doesn't remember giving her the address, how did she find 221B?

"I see," John put down his teacup, "I'll contact her again."

"You haven't been quite right since you walked in the door, John." The landlady said with some concern, "Is it because of Sherlock?"

"Yeah, why hasn't this guy come back, how long has it been..."

The military doctor tried his best to sound relaxed, but he panicked more than anyone else.

More than a month has passed. John checked the calendar, it was October and Sherlock left at the end of August.

It's been too long.

"I went to Scotland Yard and it didn't go anywhere." John said disappointedly, and then mixed with a little anger: "They went too far, and painted Sherlock as a hateful addict, who can guarantee rehab That's not fake information? Mrs. Hudson, do you know what else they said? He said Sherlock moved into the apartment before me - why did he do that? It doesn't make sense, it's ridiculous. He never does Nonsense."

John was almost filled with righteous indignation, "Won't Sherlock blame them? I'm so angry when I hear that."

The doctor saw the landlord's face suddenly changed, "God, you won't even hide anything from me--" John pretended to be calm, but he was a little shaken, just when he saw Mrs. Hudson pursed his lips.

"I'm sorry, John."

"what?"

"I really didn't mean to—"

"What's wrong?" John's head hurt again, "He murdered and set fire? Why is he so vicious? So many people are hiding it from me?"

"John, don't say that."

The doctor leaned back in his chair, looking extremely sleepy, "I take that back, but I've had enough."

John took a moment to adjust himself and took a few deep breaths.It seemed like the whole world knew about Sherlock's past, but he was the only one who thought he knew it all, but actually knew nothing about it.

For the first time he felt so discouraged.

"Then let's do it one by one," John didn't know what to think of the landlady in front of him, Lestrade and the others.Well, the whole world was against him—she seemed taken aback by his nonchalant tone, but she just shook her head and looked at the doctor apologetically.

"So, Sherlock moved in early, right?"

She nodded.

"The previous Sherlock had a very gloomy and eccentric personality, he hardly spoke, and locked himself into the room as soon as he got home, otherwise he would just immerse himself in experiments.

He hardly smiles.In the first few years, he always had a straight face, and his answer was only one sentence or one word when I said anything to him.

Until one day - he came back excitedly and said to me: "We will have an important visitor.I hope he stays long. 』

I've never seen him so happy.

Everything has changed, John.Everything has changed since you moved in, and he has become the Sherlock we know now.All because of you, good doctor, you changed him. "

John swallowed, "Me?"

"That's right."

These words somewhat comforted him, and the tense expression on his face eased.

"You are...very important to him, military doctor, and he can't live without you."

Mrs. Hudson felt like she wanted to make them a couple again, but her expression was serious.

"Your statement is a bit like Lestrade's."

——Don't ask me why, you know it yourself!

——Dr. Watson, if you still don't understand at this point, I'm so disappointed.

No. John shook his head, he really didn't understand.

"Because it's the truth, John. Everyone can see—"

"All right, Mrs. Hudson."

The doctor had a bad premonition, a premonition that something was about to turn his world upside down.

John didn't dare to think too much about it.

"Do you know what he did in the past that needs to be monitored and searched? Because of drug overdose?" He changed the subject.

The landlady lowered her head hesitantly.

"John, you're not going to leave just because of this, are you? He has his reasons, everyone has their own reasons."

It's a plea.It almost sounded like a plea to John.

"tell me."

"...I've talked too much."

"What's the meaning?"

"It's not for me to decide. But I want you to know that he's still Sherlock, the Sherlock we all love—"

oh my god.

John closed his eyes irritably, "Stop talking, I'm a little tired."

"Sherlock? Jesus, you're—"

"Don't tell him."

The landlady's feelings for Sherlock had always been one of pity, not hatred.

She also doubted whether her tight-lipped was a mistake, but when she saw Sherlock's sad eyes, and his next sentence - "He will leave me, he certainly can't accept such a roommate. Don't let him go. "

She decided to help him keep this secret, just this one time, no next time.

"That thing is really bad—"

"It's not convincing for you to say that. Come on," Sherlock tossed the syringe aside, "I'm not going to kill myself, I'm in chemistry."

There was only one way for Sherlock to stop self-destructive, and no one could do it.

John lay in bed for a long time after his unpleasant conversation with Mrs. Hudson