Archive of Our Own

John stepped out of the cab and spotted Sherlock lurking in the window of a deli. He made his way inside quickly. “What am I doing here?”

“Did you bring your gun?”

“Yes, but I want to know why-”

“You see that building?” Sherlock pointed to a five-storey Victorian hotel further down the street. It looked abandoned and rundown, the paint faded and the masonry crumbling in places.

“Yeah...” John frowned.

“One of Moriarty’s men has a lab in the basement.”

“Very Dr Frankenstein. What sort of lab?”

“Creating some kind of chemical but I’m not sure what.” The detective’s eyes lit up with the idea of imminent adventure.

“Great. So where are Lestrade and the rest of our backup?”

Sherlock carefully avoided his gaze and John groaned.

“Sherlock, you can’t mean to take down a lab filled with god knows what and any number of security with just the two of us!”

“I thought you liked danger.” He pouted.

“Danger, yes, but not suicidal amounts!”

“Come on.”

“Sherlock!”

But his flatmate was already headed for the hotel, leaving John with no choice but to bite his tongue and catch up. The pair went right up to the old doors and let themselves in.

“No locks? No cameras?” John frowned even harder.

“Cameras, yes, but I’ve called in a favour from Mycroft. The locks will come later. This way.”

Sherlock seemed to know where he was going, so John followed him wordlessly through the old lobby to the kitchens. He drew his weapon, keeping it up as they headed down some stairs towards the basement. There were faint sounds of life now, and John adjusted his grip on the hilt with nervous excitement.

The bottom of the stairs was blocked off by a huge wooden door, a thick steel lock on the handle. John aimed but Sherlock held up a hand. He reached out and tried the handle, and it twisted open slowly.

“So much for security.” John whispered.

“Ready?”

He nodded and Sherlock flung the door open, sweeping in.

It looked exactly like Molly’s lab at the hospital, if someone had moved it to a creepy empty hotel. The benches were spotless white laminate and there were stainless steel shelving units along the damp-ridden walls. The floor and ceiling were riddled with holes but the equipment was state-of-the-art. An older man with greying yellow hair and a white coat stood next to a largish machine that was buzzing and turning slowly. He looked up, startled.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Sherlock Holmes, Dr John Watson. Kindly step away from the bench, Professor Grainge.”

He held up his hands and took a step back, revealing the man sitting beside him.

“Sherlock! What a surprise.”

John hiked his gun higher, training it on Moriarty’s chest as his pulse sped up.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, Jim.” Holmes raised a brow.

“Quality control.” He shrugged.

“By which you mean Dr Grainge has ceased to be useful and you came to inspect his work before having him killed.”

Dr Grainge turned pale but Jim just smiled. “You got me!”

“Sherlock, we should leave now.” John muttered.

“Too late – he’ll have someone behind us.”

“Mr Holmes is correct. Sebastian should be along any second.”

John whirled, drawing the bolt across the door without taking his gun off Moriarty. Sherlock took a step closer, peering at the chemicals spread across the counter.

“What exactly were you working on, Dr Grainge?”

The blond glanced at Jim uncertainly and he nodded. “Go ahead, doctor. Share your vision.”

“It’s a formula to reverse the aging process in cells. It could correct mutations and cancerous formations, allow immortality, eliminate the superficial signs of aging and improve quality of life.”

“Fountain of Youth,” Jim smirked, “Worth an absolute fortune.”

“Other people are working on that.”

“Other people aren’t Dr Grainge,” Jim patted his shoulder affectionately, “He’s a genius.”

“A genius you were planning to make disappear. I take it his formula’s finished then?”

There was a pounding sound of something colliding with the door and John almost jumped. “That’s not going to keep Moran out for more than a few seconds, Sherlock.”

“You were really going to kill me?” Dr Grainge turned on Moriarty, face darkening.

“Uh, yeah. You should have checked my credentials before you took the job, Howard.” Jim scoffed, giving Sherlock a look like ‘can you believe this guy?’.

“You back-stabbing crook!” Grainge balled his fists up.

“Now now doctor, as Johnny has pointed out my man is only a few moments away from bursting in here.”

As if in agreement, there was a booming series of shots and the metallic sound of bullets connecting with the lock.

“Sherlock!”

“John, get behind those shelves.”

“You viper!”

Everything happened very fast. If John had been pressed to describe it later (and of course he was) he would have said it was the fastest moment he’d ever experienced, and he’d seen plenty of similar situations before. As the door was shouldered open, John ducked behind some shelving. He saw Sherlock dive out of the way as Moran brought up his gun, aiming for Dr Grainge as the man turned on Jim with a broken beaker. The consulting criminal didn’t look uneasy; more annoyed as he dodged out of Grainge’s reach. Moran fired and the blond dropped, body knocking the spinning, swirling device John had noticed before.

“Uh oh.” Jim muttered, turning to look at his bodyguard.

The room was filled with a deafening roar and a flash of blue fire. John was blown back against the wall, shelves colliding with him heavily as glass bottles rained down on his head. His vision was covered in bright spots and his ears were ringing as he tried to pull himself up, afraid something in one of those bottles would turn out to be acidic.

“Sherlock? Sherlock!”

The lab was in disarray, even more of the ceiling hanging down now. Moran was knocked out by the look of it, flat on his back by the door. Tables had been knocked over, a huge scorch mark radiating out from Dr Grainge’s body. There was no sign of Sherlock or Moriarty.

“Sherlock!” John forced his way to his knees and crawled out, avoiding the splintered metal and glass that littered the floor. He staggered over to the site of the explosion and tried to clear the smoke with his hands. When he had, he had to rub his eyes to be sure of what he was seeing.

There, unconscious by the look of it, with a huge gash across his forehead was Jim Moriarty - except he was about four years old.

“What the holy hell?” John scowled, crouching by the boy.

There was no question it was anyone else; he was still wearing Moriarty’s suit, although it was now much too big for him. John reached for his tiny wrist and took his pulse, mildly relieved when he found it.

“Sherlock?” he looked around.

There was a groan and a curse as Moran picked himself up. John spun, wishing he still had his gun, but Moran’s had been lost too so it seemed fairly even for the moment.

“What the fuck was that?” the sniper rolled his head on his neck.

“I have no idea, but I think it did something very bad.”

He lifted the insensible Moriarty, turning so Sebastian could see him.

“Boss?” the blond gaped, “What on earth...”

There was a scuffling sound near Moran and he looked over quickly as a nearby pile of rubble shifted. The gunman knelt and helped move it, revealing a tiny boy in Sherlock’s coat and scarf with a very bruised face.

“Sherlock!” John took a few steps forward.

Sebastian held up his hand. “You just wait there, Dr Watson. We’ll figure this all out, but I think you should keep your distance.”

“Is he okay?” John asked.

Sherlock was glaring at Moran with something between fear and indignation, but he let the adult check him over quickly and expertly.

“Seems alright. Can you speak, Sherlock?”

“Who are you?”

“Sherlock?” John tried, “Do you know who I am?”

“No,” the boy tilted his shaggy head, “But you clearly served in the army. Both of you, and you were sent home injured judging by the loss in muscle tone.”

“Great. No memory but still a smartass.”

“What happened?” Sherlock asked, standing.

“Well, er, we’re not quite sure.” Moran scratched the back of his neck, staring at the boy wonder.

John looked around. “Grainge was working on a de-aging formula, right? It must have come into contact with them when the thing blew up.”

“Then how come Grainge didn’t end up a child?”

“He’s dead, isn’t he? Doubt it works on dead cells. It can’t be that good.”

“Alright, so how do we undo it?” Sebastian frowned.

John shifted his hold on the still-comatose Jim, wondering how someone so small could be so heavy. “No clue. We’ll have to get help. Sherlock’s brother, he’ll have access to people that could fix this.”

“Mycroft Holmes? You want me to let Mycroft Holmes get his paws on a helpless Jim Moriarty?” Sebastian snorted.

“If you ever want him to be himself again, yeah.”

“Mycroft?” Sherlock wrinkled his face in disgust, “He’s old and boring and fat.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” Sebastian snatched up the brunette, holding him tight against his chest,“You go to Mycroft and get your cure. Turn Jim back and then I’ll give you Sherlock.”

“Let me go!” Sherlock kicked his legs, but it was useless against the hard muscle of Moran.

“Put him down!”

“Or what, Watson?”

“I’ve got Moriarty.”

“Yeah. You planning to hurt a child?”

John pursed his lips. “No. Are you?”

“I don’t want to, John, but you’re not giving me much of a choice.”

His hand closed over Sherlock’s mouth to stop his angry yells and John took a breath. “Alright, fine! You hold onto Sherlock, I hold onto Jim, we make sure nothing happens to either of them while Mycroft works on a cure. Agreed?”

“Agreed. I’ll be in touch, Dr Watson.” Moran turned to go.

“Wait!”

He turned, Sherlock going limp in his grip, exhausted.

“If you touch one hair on his head, I might revise my stance on hurting children, you hear me?”

Moran’s blue eyes were steel as they met his own. “I hear you.”

*****

Molly looked up as John entered the lab with a small dark-haired boy.

“Hello! Who’s this?” she put down her pipette and came over.

“Jim Moriarty.”

She frowned worriedly. “What?”

“Look, it’s complicated, but I needed a place to bring him where I could fix up his head and figure out what to do next. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

John laid the boy on the counter and took off his jacket. “You got needle, thread, disinfectant?”

“Course. What happened?” Molly bustled about gathering the supplies.

“There was an explosion in a lab and Jim and Sherlock got turned back into children.”

“What? How is that possible?”

“I dunno. I called Mycroft, he’s got his people combing through the place to find out as much as they can and start working on a cure.”

“And you have Jim why?”

“Because Sebastian Moran has Sherlock. It’s an insurance policy, of sorts.”

He started cleaning the gash on Jim’s head and Molly grinned. “He’s sort of cute, don’t you think?”

“I’ll be sure to tell him you said so once they’re switched back.”

“He’ll need something to wear. Are you going to keep him at Baker Street?”

“Yeah, I thought Mrs Hudson might help. I’mma, I’m not good with this kid business.”

Molly grabbed her jacket and bag. “Tell you what, I’ll go grab some things. I assume you’re going home once you’ve stitched him up?”

“I have to take a blood sample for Mycroft first, but then yeah, they said I can take him home. There doesn’t seem to be any other damage so they don’t want to keep him for observation.”

“Then I’ll meet you at 221B.”

“Molly, you’re a lifesaver.”

Sebastian drove back to his apartment, not trusting Sherlock in any of Jim’s, even a four-year-old Sherlock. He carried the unconscious boy inside and laid him on the couch, doing a quick sweep to hide anything not child-friendly before pulling out his phone to rearrange Jim’s next few weeks of meetings and projects. He fired off a quick text to one of the lackeys to bring clothes, toys and something nutritious to his apartment before settling in the chair opposite Sherlock.

It was sort of surreal, this tiny person being Jim’s archenemy. He knew Sherlock was clever and acerbic and neither of those were qualities that really translated well in children. He also knew the likelihood of Mycroft trying to take him back was high, and hoped John Watson was as good a man of his word as any former soldier.

It wasn’t very long before Sherlock sat up, coughing. Sebastian belatedly fetched him a glass of water, but when he offered it the boy inched away.

“Who are you?”

“Sebastian Moran.”

“Who was that other man, the one who said he knew me?”

“John Watson.”

“Why did you kidnap me?”

Sebastian was a little thrown by the calm, straightforward questioning. He ran a hand through his hair as he considered his answer. “You don’t remember anything about being a grown-up?”

Sherlock shook his head, pouting.

“Well you were up til about an hour ago. That man John is your friend. There was an accident, and now you’re small again.”

“If he’s my friend, what does that make you?”

“Your friend too, I suppose. Temporarily.”

Sherlock seemed to weigh this up for a moment. “I’m a hostage.”

“Sort of.”

“Because of that other boy?”

“Yes.”

“And he’s with John?”

“Yes. We’re going to find a way to change you both back to normal, and until we do you’re going to stay with me and John is going to look after Jim.”

“Very well. Do you have anything that fits me?” Sherlock waved the floppy arms of his coat.

“On its way.”

“Good. What about juice?”

Jim woke up about five minutes after John had finished drawing his blood. He blinked rapidly, staring at the ceiling. John approached him carefully, like he was another bomb.

“Uh...Jim?”

The boy frowned. “Who are you? Where am I?”

This John could handle. The idea of a small Jim with his adult mind had been terrifying. “I’m Dr John Watson. You’re at St Bart’s Hospital; you had a bump on the head and I’m taking care of you.”

“Where’s my ma?” the Irish lilt was much thicker as he struggled to sit up.

John hesitated. “I’m not sure. You’re going to be staying with me until we find her, if that’s okay.”

“I guess. What happened to my clothes?”

“Uh, they were all that was handy to bring you in. I’ve got some your size at my place.”

Jim held out his small hand. “Let’s go then.”

“Alright.”

John helped him off the table and took the hand Jim insistently thrust at him. He walked the boy through the halls and down to the street, hailing a cab. Jim was quiet the whole way to Baker Street, peering out the window curiously.

“You feel alright? You’re not sick or dizzy? Tummy’s okay?” John asked.

“I don’t have a concussion, Dr John.”

“Okay then.” He rested his elbow on the window sill, looking away.

Watson paid the driver and led Jim inside, fumbling with his keys. He took the boy upstairs and found Molly and Mrs Hudson waiting in the living room.

“Who are they?” Jim paused in the doorway.

“This is Mrs Hudson, my landlady, and Molly, my friend from the hospital.”

“Is she a doctor too?” Jim looked her over curiously.

“Sort of. I work in the morgue.” Molly smiled.

“Cool!” Jim beamed.

Mrs Hudson laughed. “Isn’t he just the most adorable thing! Come along lad, we’ve got some things for you to change into.”

Jim shot John a hesitant look but he nodded. “It’s okay. I’ll be right here.”

Moriarty sighed as if it was a great inconvenience, but let Mrs Hudson lead him away to get changed.

“Is that a skull?” John heard him ask as they went into the kitchen.

“It’s remarkable. He doesn’t remember anything?”

“Nothing past four I don’t think. Sherlock didn’t either.” John sank onto the couch.

“Did you tell him what’s going on?”

“No. I didn’t want to confuse or upset him. I just said he was staying here until we find his mum.”

Molly’s mouth twitched. “Okay.”

“Thanks, Molly, for the shopping and everything. Hopefully it won’t take them too long to sort this out.”

“Hopefully.”

*****

Mycroft walked into the kitchen at 221B to find an exhausted John passed out cold with his face on the table. He cleared his throat and tapped the man’s shoulder with his umbrella. “Ahem.”

“What? What, I’m up.” John shifted hurriedly, rubbing his eyes.

“I thought I’d check in.”

“Yeah, okay, thanks. I’ll uh, put the kettle on,” John busied himself, “Sit down.”

“Where is Moriarty?” Mycroft adjusted his jacket.

“Downstairs with Mrs Hudson last I checked. Please tell me you are here to say you’ve found the solution.”

“Unfortunately not. Dr Grainge’s formula is rather complicated, and though we have similar scientists to call on, the loss of his notes in the explosion was a great impediment. You’ve noticed no side effects from the transformation?”

“None. He’s a perfectly ordinary, healthy four-year-old apart from the fact he may be the spawn of the devil.”

“Oh?” Mycroft smiled slightly, “I take it you are not used to children, Dr Watson?”

“Children? He’s not a child, he’s an imp! He spends half his time sitting around quietly reading or tinkering with things, and then just when you think you can turn your back for one second he’s off making trouble.”

“Yes, I’ve heard he’s a bit mischievous. Perhaps a sign of troublemaking to come?”

“That’s a great comfort.” John poured Mycroft tea, making himself a coffee. It had only been three days and he already felt like he hadn’t slept for a week.

“Do you require any help with him? Food, toys, books, clothes, that sort of thing?”

“Thanks but no. Maybe offer to reimburse Molly? She got him some stuff earlier.”

“And he trusts you?”

“Clearly. I doubt he’d be playing so many pranks if he didn’t.” John took a sip, hissing at the bitterness but deeply grateful for the surge of energy that came with it.

“Good. We may need that trust shortly.”

John gave him a withering look and Mycroft smiled.

“For tests.”

“Sure. Just remember, Moran has your brother’s life in his hands. You can’t treat Jim like a criminal.”

“Of course. I only hope Mr Moran is taking care of Sherlock as you are of his employer.”

Severin flicked the top off both beers and handed one to Sebastian. “So this is him, huh? The great Sherlock Holmes.”

“Yep.” Moran drank deeply, watching the boy colouring in on the coffee table.

“It’s hard to believe that kid grows into such an arse.” Severin chortled.

“I think I prefer him this way.” His brother agreed.

“And no word from Watson?”

“He calls every day to check in. Apparently they’re still working on it.”

Severin chuckled again. “This is bloody weird, mate. You with a kid. Playing pirates and making him dinner.”

“Yesterday he built a scale model of Big Ben out of Lego. It fucking chimed, Sev. That’s no ordinary kid.”

“Sebastian!”

“Yeah, Sherlock?”

“May I have some juice?”

Moran put down his beer. “Sure.”

Severin watched with delight as his twin poured a glass. “Definitely more polite than usual.”

“Shame he can’t stay this way,” he carried it over to the little Holmes, “There you go.”

“Thank you.”

“Ten more minutes and then bed.”

Sherlock pouted. “Thirty.”

“This is not a negotiation, Sherlock.”

“Twenty.”

“Fifteen.”

“Done.” He offered a spindly hand and Sebastian shook it. Sherlock went back to his colouring and Sebastian to his beer.

Severin could barely contain the amusement on his face. “You two seem thick as thieves.”

“I suppose.”

“He doesn’t want to go stay with his brother?”

Sebastian snorted. “Nope. Says he’s dull and bossy.”

Sev grinned for a second before turning serious. “But you know Mycroft will try and take him back eventually.”

Sebastian looked at the curly-haired child in bright blue pyjamas grimly. “Course. Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to anything drastic.”

*****

“Jim?”

“He’s with me!” Molly’s voice floated down the stairs.

John breathed a sigh of relief and finished hanging his coat up, hurrying up to the main room. Jim and Molly were in the middle of a giant ring of dominos.

“Hi! Having fun?”

“Miss Hooper was helping me with my pattern.” Jim said, tongue sticking out as he lined up the next block.

“Thanks for watching him, Moll.”

“No problem. My shift doesn’t start for another few hours,” she patted Jim’s shoulder and stood, “I’m going to talk to Dr Watson in the hall for a second, okay?”

Jim didn’t look up, too focused on his design. Molly drew John aside.

“What did they say?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s been two weeks! He’s going to start asking questions.”

“Mycroft’s promised it’s their top priority.”

Molly looked at Jim and sighed. John frowned.

“Molly, you know he’s going to go back to big, crazy, destruction-causing Moriarty, right? You can’t get attached.”

“Who knows? They might never find a cure, and even if they do he might remember this time and it would be good if he remembered us favourable. Besides, he’s not a danger at the moment – just a child without his parents who trusts us. How could I refuse him that connection?”

John leaned on the doorframe. “I know what you mean. I won’t lie, he drives me crazy some days, but I’m not sure I won’t miss Jim when he’s gone. I mean, this Jim.”

Moriarty knocked over the first domino and set off curving spirals of falling mayhem, clapping his hands gleefully. Molly smiled. “See? It would be cruel not to love that.”

Sebastian had long since turned his bed over to Sherlock, sleeping on the couch instead. He was too tall for it, but it was better to have a clear view of the front door. He was tossing, trying to get comfortable and failing miserably when he heard a muffled cry from the bedroom. “Sherlock?”

There was no response and he grabbed the gun from under the coffee table, creeping towards the open door.

“Sherlock?”

The boy was flailing in the sheets, whimpering. Sebastian placed the gun on top of his chest of drawers and came closer, sinking lightly onto the edge of the mattress.

“Sherlock?”

He reached out a big calloused hand and rested it on the boy’s head. Sherlock’s eyes flew open, his chest heaving.

“You okay? Bad dream?”

“No.” Sherlock spat.

“Sure?”

Sherlock hesitated for a moment, lips pressed together so hard they were white. Then he sat up. “It was a nightmare.”

“Okay. You wanna tell me about it?”

Sherlock peered up from under wet lashes. “Okay.”

“Here, move over.”

Sherlock made room and Sebastian sat against the headboard, tugging Sherlock into his hold.

“Now, what was this dream?”

“There was a pool and it was night-time, and this boy got in and started drowning. I tried to tell him not to get in but he wouldn’t listen to me. Someone was laughing.”

Sebastian patted his shoulder. “It’s alright, it’s just a dream. Not your fault if the boy wouldn’t listen.”

Sherlock sniffed, snuggling into Sebastian’s chest. “When I grow up, I’m going to make it so everyone has to listen to me.”

“I know you will.”

Sebastian sat with the child until his sniffles turned into the long, slow breaths of sleep. He wriggled out of Sherlock’s arms and tiptoed back into the lounge, grabbing his phone.

We might have a problem. I think he’s starting to remember.

John clenched his fists, including the one holding the phone. “You don’t understand. Moran said Sherlock had a nightmare that can only have been about Carl Powers. If they get their memories back, I’m going to have the actual Moriarty in my house.”

Mycroft sighed. “We’re doing all we can, John. There’s a tentative substance at the moment but I won’t administer it until we’re absolutely sure there are no side effects.”

“Fine. Just hurry.” John hung up and tossed his phone on the kitchen table.

“Who was that?”

He jumped. “Jim! I didn’t see you there.”

The prodigy clutched his teddy in one hand defensively. “Were you talking to someone about me?”

“Uh, yes. My friend Mycroft is looking for your mum for us.”

“Who’s Moran? He sounds familiar.”

“Really? Do you think you might know him?”

“Maybe. Are you really looking for my ma or did you steal me?”

“What? No, Jim, of course I didn’t steal you. I want to help you.”

Big, black eyes looked up at him accusing. “People have said that before.”

“Well, I mean it. Okay? Let’s get you some breakfast.”

*****

Sherlock was on the couch watching cartoons when Sebastian’s phone rang. Moran was in the bedroom, and Sherlock couldn’t help glancing at the name.

“Mycroft! Yuck.” He stuck his tongue out, but answered it anyway.

“Mr Moran?”

“No Mikey, it’s me.”

“Sherlock? What are you doing with this phone?”

“Sebastian’s getting changed.”

“Oh. Has he been treating you well?”

“Yes. Are you calling because you found a way to fix me?”

“Yes, but I need to speak to Mr Moran about it. Can you put him on please?”

Sherlock scowled. “You never want to speak to me.”

“Please Sherlock, I promise when I see you later we can talk as long as you want.”

“Fine.” He huffed, sliding off the cushion.

He knocked on Sebastian’s door as the marksman opened it.

“Mycroft wants to talk to you.”

“Thanks Sherly. You go back to your show while I have a word with him.”

Sherlock ran off happily and Sebastian sighed.

“Hello?”

“Mr Moran. We have a solution.”

“You’re sure about it?”

“I am not certain it will work, but I am sure it will do no harm.”

“Fine. Give it to Jim and release him. I’ll give Sherlock back when I hear he’s okay.”

“I don’t think so. Bring Sherlock to our facility and we’ll oversee the doses simultaneously.”

Moran laughed. “You’re joking, yeah? Put Jim and myself in your hands? No, you’ll get Sherlock back as soon as I hear from Jim.”

And he hung up.

“Jim?” John shrugged on his jacket, “Are you ready?”

Molly led him out of Sherlock’s bedroom, his tiny coat entirely too colourful for the Moriarty John was used to. “We’re all set.”

“Is Molly coming with us?”

“Uh, she can if you like.”

“Good.”

“Ok then. There’s a car downstairs.”

They piled in, Jim squished between John and Molly in the backseat. The ex-soldier couldn’t help tapping at the door handle nervously.

“Don’t worry, Dr John. I promise I’ll visit.”

“That’s really nice, James.” Molly supplied when John didn’t say anything.

The car took them to a non-descript office building and the driver opened the door. Molly and John climbed out and took one of Jim’s hands each, following him as he dragged them towards the entrance. They got into a lift and went up to the third floor as instructed. The doors opened on an empty waiting room, Mycroft sitting with his umbrella between his knees.

“Hello Jim. My name is Mycroft Holmes.”

“Holmes? That’s a funny last name.”

“Yes, I suppose it is. If you’ll just come with me, we’ll ask you a few questions and then you can see your mother.”

Molly frowned but led Jim towards the room Mycroft pointed out. John drew the elder Holmes aside. “What are you doing?”

“Making the most of this opportunity.”

“By exploiting a child.”

“He won’t be a child much longer, Dr Watson.”

“What can he tell you about Moriarty’s organisation? He doesn’t remember anything.”

“Perhaps not, but we can get some background, a basic psych evaluation. We may have to release him, but we can strip as much information out first.”

“This is completely unethical.” John hissed.

Mycroft’s face hardened. “And you don’t think Moran has been gathering facts about Sherlock for his master this past fortnight? I may be restricted by certain moral boundaries, John, but if questioning that child saves lives I won’t lose any sleep over it.”

He strode off towards the room and John followed, stomach roiling. Why should he care if Mycroft asked Jim some questions? Moriarty would do the same if the situation was reversed. But he couldn’t shake the feeling it was wrong, probably because he already felt so guilty about lying.

When he walked in Mycroft was positioning himself in a chair opposite Molly and Jim. John slid into the empty seat and crossed his arms.

“Alright, James. We understand you’re looking for your mother. Can you tell us about her?”

“She’s got brown curly hair and blue eyes. She and Da got married when they were young. He yelled at her a lot, so we went to live with my grandmother.”

John and Molly exchanged an uneasy glance as Mycroft jotted something down.

“And where was that?”

“Are you going to ask a lot of questions? I want to see her.”

“Just a few more, I promise.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Mycroft shot John a look and the doctor sat forward. “It’s okay, Jim. We’ll see your mum soon.”

“Really?” Jim raised a brow in a very unchild-like manner, “Mama’s dead.”

It was like time had frozen. Nobody moved, just stared at the boy watching John levelly with those dark, distrustful eyes. Jim turned his head with a snap.

“I know who you are. You’re the Iceman.”

Mycroft pressed a button on the desk and folded his hands on the table. “Some people call me that, yes.”

“What do you want with me?”

“We’re going to help you.”

“Liar!” Jim seethed, baring his teeth.

Two men entered the office and grabbed Jim’s arms. He shrieked and kicked and shook his little body but they held him firmly.

“Mycroft!” Molly protested, standing sharply.

A doctor in scrubs entered with a syringe and jabbed Jim’s arm. The boy slowly went slack, head falling back. “Alright, let’s get him into the procedure room.”

The trio of strangers left and John bit his cheek, glaring at Mycroft accusingly. “What were you thinking?”

“That I would be doing this nation a service.”

“He’s four, Mycroft!” Molly yelled.

“No Miss Hooper, he is not. I would have thought you two could be more reasonable about this, but clearly your emotions were compromised by the past few weeks. Remember that in about fifteen minutes that boy will be replaced by a homicidal megalomaniac!”

John laughed. “Who may just remember this. Well done, Mycroft. Injure his pride so he has to come after us.”

Holmes grimaced. “I suggest neither of you be here when he wakes up.”

He stormed out, leaving Molly and John speechless.

Jim woke up from what felt like a deep sleep – except there were all these new memories in his head. He took a second to flex his limbs, noticing everything felt normal. He took another second to run through these new recollections. Explosion at the lab, I was turned into a child version of myself. I lived at Baker Street? And I just got turned back, evidently. He opened his eyes.

“Ah, Mr Moriarty. Welcome back.”

“Mycroft! Looking as slender as ever.”

He sat up, cherishing the tension in Mycroft’s grin. There were a few medical personnel in the room but no John or Molly, and Jim frowned. Why should that be disappointing? Clearly this is going to have some psychological ramifications.

The doctor looked between them. “We need to check him over, make sure everything’s alright-”

“I don’t think so. I have my own people for that. Now, if you’ll lend me some pants I’ll get out of your hair.”

“You should stay and let us check. I’d hate for you to get two blocks away and drop dead because you still have a child-sized heart.” Mycroft swung his umbrella.

“Would you miss me, Iceman?” Jim winked.

The doctor looked at Mycroft questioningly but the statesman waved him out. “You’ll find clothes in that cupboard, along with an untraceable phone. You will call Moran and assure him you are alright, and to bring Sherlock to the rendezvous as planned. Then we will get in a taxi, I shall collect Sherlock and you shall be very grateful to leave with Moran unmolested.”

“How much does it sting, hmm? Watching me slip right through your fingers.”

“Take your time. Let me know if you have trouble tying your shoes.” Mycroft swept out.

Sherlock and Sebastian were playing Snap when the call came through. “Hello?”

“Sebastian!”

“Jim, Jesus Christ it’s good to hear your voice! You alright?”

“Good as new apparently. In fact, thanks to the serum I’m sure I’ve never been in better health. I’m here in a cab with Mycroft and he instructs me you should bring his darling brother to the meet.”

“You sure?”

“Do as he says, it will be less effort.”

He disconnected and Sebastian hung up to find Sherlock watching him closely. “We’re off, Sherly. Got to meet your brother.”

“Alright.” He packed up the cards carefully while Sebastian grabbed their jackets. The sniper opened the door and waved him through.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Playing with me. No one else really has time to.”

“Oh. S’no trouble.”

Sherlock nodded seriously and headed for the stairs, Sebastian right behind.

*****

“Sherlock!” John threw down his paper, standing quickly as the detective walked in looking like nothing had happened.

“John.” He nodded soberly.

“Are you okay? Do you remember?”

“Yes, yes, I remember everything. My brain has been subjected to more trashy television in this past two weeks than the twenty-odd years before that.”

“So what was it like with Moran?”

Sherlock avoided his gaze. “Fine.”

“He didn’t hit you or yell or anything?”

“Nope.”

“So what, you were mates?”

“I suppose. You and Moriarty?”

“Wanted to wring his neck a lot of the time. Wanted to strangle your brother too.”

“He brings that out in people. Well, I’m a bit tired. Might just go to bed.”

John opened his mouth to reply but Sherlock was already gone.

Sebastian had never seen Jim sulk as much as he had the last two days. The mastermind was glued to his laptop, ignoring his second-in-command completely whenever he mentioned a possible return to work. Finally Moran snapped.

“You sure you’re okay boss?”

“Sebastian, what have I said about interrupting me?”

“You’ve just been so quiet since we got back.”

Jim looked up as if surprised to see him still standing there. “And?”

“Well, I was concerned.”

“Has babysitting little Sherly softened you up? I’m fine. I’m working on a particularly nasty scheme for Mycroft.”

“Right. So...fine.”

“100%.”

Sebastian grimaced and left the room. Jim turned back to his screen. He had to avenge the loss of his formula and of course teach Mycroft not to toy with defenceless children. But there were a few other presents he had to arrange...

John put his keys in his pocket as he headed for the stairs. Mrs Hudson was polishing the hall mirror, but she stopped to grab his attention. “There’s a package for you.”

“A package?” he frowned.

“Yes. I left it on the table there.”

John ripped into the cardboard unthinkingly, shaking out a tin that clanked. It was a set of dominos.

“No address?” John frowned.

“None, dear. I got one the other day – the most beautiful gold brooch! No idea who sent it.”

“Ah, thanks.”

He plodded upstairs thoughtfully, setting the tin on the kitchen table. He was still staring at it when Sherlock came in ten minutes later. “What’s that?”

“A present from Moriarty.”

“Oh?” the detective stopped, “Dominos?”

“I haven’t opened it yet, just in case.”

Sherlock came closer, inspecting the outside. He turned it over and shook it very gently.

“What are you doing? It could be a bomb, Sherlock!”

“Unlikely.” He scoffed, popping it open.

John cringed, half-lifting a leg to shield himself, but nothing exploded. It was just an ordinary set of dominos and a note on plain white paper. “What does it say?”

Sherlock picked it up. “The only kindness you’ll get from me.”

“What does that mean? Is he making a threat?”

“I believe that’s his way of saying thank you.”

John snorted. “Really?”

“You did take him in and look after him for almost three weeks, even though you had no reason to,” Sherlock shrugged, “You tried to protect him from Mycroft.”

He wandered off and left John stroking the pale white tiles. “A thank you from Jim Moriarty. Now I’ve seen everything.”

Sebastian went to get a beer from the fridge and paused at the colourful portrait still tacked to the front. It was him and Sherlock as pirates, drawn in quite good detail for a four-year-old, even though Sebastian’s hair was blue and Sherlock appeared to have purple skin. He took it down with a sigh.

“Sorry Sherly. Boss has other plans for you.”

But instead of throwing it out he padded into the bedroom and slipped it into his bottom drawer under the shirts, and with it, any sentiment towards Sherlock Holmes.