It was well past 3 a.m. when Sherlock received a text.

Beautiful craftsmanship. All you ever needed to do was respond to the advertisment, Darling. Then, I'd have had someone bring it down to the newspaper. I would love to see that tearful reunion. I bet the reporters there would, too. Everybody loves a love story. Jim Moriarty X

Sherlock ignored the text and attempted sleep. He showed it to John over breakfast... though he still felt uneasy about Lestrade. If Scotland Yard was involved, there would be no way to limit the publicity. In spite of his insistence that the people who really mattered in his life would understand, Sherlock refused to believe John. He had only to look as far as his older brother for confirmation.

"I doubt he does truly understand, Sherlock, but, you know we... we care about you. We... love you, and it doesn't matter."

Sherlock simply shook his head.

"How long ago was that, Sherlock? Has Mycroft said one word about it, ever? Even when he was sorting through that footage? Tracing Clay's steps? And he didn't even tell Lestrade what he found, so the decision could be made by you. Even though he probably considers your relationship, well, impossible, he's doing nothing to prevent it."

"I am well aware that the overwhelming majorityof people would consider a romantic relationship with an inanimate object impossible. I wouldn't waste my time trying to convince anyone that that is not the case."

"Which would imply that, you don't consider it impossible? Or that you don't consider it...him...an inanimate object?"

Sherlock cocked his head and smiled at the perceptiveness of the question.

"In Quantum Animism, everything is made up of energy... constantly moving, vibrating, spinning, acting and reacting... and energy is life. All things at that level, every system, has an inner life, a conscious center, from which it directs and observes its action. To be an Animist is to believe something "alive" that others would dismiss as "inanimate"... and a part of a greater, living biosphere. Universe, even. Objects are made of the same things that I am made of...though it's certainly true they communicate in different ways."

"So you do communicate. I...had wondered."

"It's not one-sided. And he doesn't much like Mycroft either." Sherlock permitted himself a quick smile.

"I'm not surprised, given the fact that all the times they've been in the same room, he has tended to be rather... discordant."

The smile grew. "Your observational skills are better than I had anticipated, John."

"But he likes Christmas? Just going by the brightness of the carols."

"More than I do. Happy memories."

"Memories?"

"Flashes of images. He is older than I. Victorian Christmases. Dickensian. Always gaslights and snow-covered streets."

"In England?"

"Mostly, yes." Sherlock examined John with an intensity generally reserved for experiments. "This. This conversation. Doesn't bother you?"

"Surprisingly, no."

Sherlock felt ridiculously happy. It was short-lived, though, as the reality of the situation came to the fore again. He fought to maintain his composure, eyes glassy.

"Moriarty doesn't want to kill me, John. I'd be safe if I just walked down to the newspaper office and got him. I've thought about it numerous times. There'd be photographs, but it'd be worth it. To have him safe. It might not affect the work as much as I think. I could just be viewed as...highly eccentric."

"We know where he is, Sherlock. We know Moriarty is intent on seeing your reunion. I say, let's not let him win this round. Let me bring him back to you."

******
Another late night text.

So, Galatea and I were wondering if your doctor will be considering a daring rescue. Bit of an extreme gesture to retrieve a Tottenham Road pawnshop purchase, no? Is it a bit like picking up take-away for you, or does he know just how special this particular dish is? Sorry, sweetheart. Only the owner can file a claim for lost items. D: Jim