A Case of Identity [Sherlock S4 Fanfic]

Prologue - The Return from Exile

The ground became closer. The wheels spun as they came into contact with the tarmac of the long runway. The lonely car stood out against the desolate airport like a lone fly on a windshield. Two figures stood next to it, arguing.

"But he's dead. I mean, you told me he was dead, Moriarty." Mary's voice sounded panicked as she stared at her husband, wanting an answer. "So how can he be back?" Her face lined with confusion and worry as she looked at the plane coming back into land.

John also looked at the plane, longing to see his best friend again. The eight minutes of separation had seemed like a lifetime. He held onto his wife's hand, rubbing his other over her pregnant tummy. He could feel the little girl inside kick at his hand, putting a smile back on his face as he continued to wait.

The plane slowed to a halt. Through a window, the tall figure of Sherlock Holmes could be seen, his eyes red as if he had been crying. The door opened, letting in the flood of John, Mary and bump into the body of the small plane.

"Miss me?" And Sherlock smiled back up at them.

Mycroft entered the plane, pleased to see his brother again, but unwilling to show it.

"We need you." His voice seemed emotionless, contrasting to his deep care for his brother. They started to all walk down the steps and off of the plane. "England needs you. Every screen in the country." He pointed to his car's inbuilt screen where the face of Moriarty was plastered, gif staring straight ahead. The distorted voice repeating the same question over and over again. Did you miss me?

"But how can Moriarty be back?" Mary asked again, this time directed at Sherlock. "He died. You were there. You said that we would all be safe." She stroked her unborn child protectively, as if Moriarty was going to try to harm her. "That I would be safe now," she quietly added under her breath.

"I'm sure we will figure this all out." John put his arm around his wife to comfort her. "Won't we, Sherlock?" He looked over to his friend, but Sherlock was staring in the direction of the plane that they had just walked away from.

"Um, yes," he said, turning around abruptly, coat flying out. "But how did Moriarty, if he truly did survive, know when to broadcast his message to everyone just as I left the ground?" He smiled slightly, as if he had just had an idea.

"Sherlock?" John looked confused. "Wait, what?"

"I'll go talk to the pilot," Mycroft began. "See if anyone else knew about the time that you lifted off, if anyone was sent a message or signal." And he walked off towards the cockpit. Mary, John and Sherlock followed closely behind.

As they drew nearer, the door on the far side opened, and a figure got out. His shadow cast on the ground, the rest of his body was hidden from view as he walked around the nose of the plane. His slicked back black hair became visible, his short height stretched by the sun upon the tarmac. He wore dark glasses covering his eyes; their gold frames reflecting the light.

He opened his mouth to speak, destroying the silence in the airfield. His accent had Irish tones, and he spoke slowly.

"Sherlock darling, what a pleasure it was to fly you around for a joyride. SO sad that it had to be stopped, but I guess that's what people do. They have to stop everything at some point." His glasses taken off in one swift motion, he added, "Miss me?"

"Mary? Oh my gosh, Mary! Are you okay?" John stared at his wife as Mary swiftly held onto John, clutching her stomach in pain. "Sherlock! Help!" John turned frantically to his friend, but Sherlock was staring at Moriarty, paying no attention the extreme pain that Mary seemed to be in.

"So, you survived then." Sherlock seemed calm and collected, thoughtful and deciding.

"Well, it's not like you didn't."

The stare off between them was like that of two male moose locking their antlers. Neither one made a move, oblivious to John shouting over his wife who was now lying on the floor.

"Mycroft! Ring an ambulance!" John shouted to Sherlock's brother, but he was too engrossed in talking to the British government on the other side of the phone. The current situation with Moriarty seemed to be a matter of national importance. "We need a doctor!" John was starting to get desperate.

At this, Sherlock broke eye contact with Moriarty, turning around to see John kneeling beside his wife spread out on the floor, red coat sprawled around her as her face contorted in pain.

"For goodness' sake John! You are a doctor! She's just going into labour prematurely from the shock. Don't worry!" Seeming satisfied, Sherlock turned back around to face Moriarty again. But the figure of the criminal mastermind could be seen running into a car across the runway with no number plate.

The car was revved into gear, the tires spraying gravel as it swung past Sherlock, ruffling his hair in the breeze created. The window was wound down, and Moriarty called out, "Goodbye Sherlock, see you soon honey," before he had disappeared, leaving Sherlock none the wiser of his whereabouts.

As the ambulance pulled up and Mary was put onto a stretcher, her water having broken from the shock as she went into labour. Sherlock turned back to John.

"As I said, the game is never over, John. But there may be a new player now." And he boarded the ambulance, hand on John's shoulder to support him as they sped to the hospital. "And you should call her Sherlock."