John, Sherlock and Mary sat silently in John's therapist's office. Her kind, dark eyes searched the faces of each of her clients. John and Mary looked angry, confused and tired. Sherlock's eyes were closed and he appeared to be asleep. Everyone shifted in their chairs when the therapist finally spoke.

"So, John why don't tell me why the three of you have been ordered by the magistrate to attend counseling." Everyone started talking and pointing at once. The therapist sighed. "I believe that I addressed John. John?"

John shifted forward in his chair. "It all started when Mary lied about who she was. We finally got past that and then three weeks ago she tells me that she is not pregnant and never has been."

Mary stood up. "Don't make me the villain. I was afraid to tell you the truth, since you get so hysterical. However, after you told me about your night with Sherlock, I thought you might have developed enough courage to hear a dose of reality. Apparently I was mistaken."

The therapist glanced at Sherlock. "Sherlock, what is your view?"

Sherlock opened his eyes and drew in a deep breath. "Well, it was my first time and I must say it was quite lovely. I definitely have been missing out on something by not indulging my sexuality."

John ran his hand over his face. "Jesus, Sherlock, don't you ever follow a conversation?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I thought that was the most logical response."

Mary looked at John and Sherlock and shook her head.

Three weeks previous.

John dreaded the conservation he was going to have with Mary. He had to tell her he had slept with Sherlock. Mary padded into the kitchen and sat down at the table.

"John, what did you want to tell me?"

John felt the pit of his stomach burning from stress. "Mary, while you were out of town, I stayed with Sherlock."

Mary shrugged. "So, what is so different about that?"

John swallowed. "I spent the night with Sherlock and we…Um we well you know we …We…Sherlock and I slept together."

Mary looked at John for a moment and started to laugh. "John, really and why is that not a surprise? You two have always been attached to each other. Well, fine I have something to tell you as well. John, I'm leaving you. I love you, but I'm not cut out for marriage. Mycroft offered me a job with MI 6 and I want to take it."

John stared. "Mary, you can't go off on some dangerous mission. You are going to have our baby. I promise I will never see Sherlock again, if that's what it will take for you to stay."

Mary had tears in her eyes. "John, it's not Sherlock. I just can't be married, I long for my old life. As far as the baby, there never was a baby. I knew you would eventually find out who I really was, so I started acting pregnant. I also knew that Sherlock would observe my symptoms and due to his massive ego I calculated that he would be the first person to point out his observations to everyone. I meant to tell you right away, but the time was never right."

John was getting angry again. "So, Mary did you ever care for me?" His voice lost all traces of aggression. John felt so weary.

Mary walked over and hugged John. "John, I adore you. I will love you forever, but I can't live the married life. I hate it. I am meant to be free."

John's chest felt tight. "God, I hope I don't have another heart episode over this. Although it would serve you and Sherlock right if I dropped dead."

"John, don't talk like that." Mary's voice was a higher pitch than normal, which betrayed the stress she was under.

John angrily pushed away from the table. "I'm going out. Don't wait up." He slammed the door so hard the windows in the flat rattled. John wandered around London for hours. He wasn't surprised when he ended up at 221B Baker Street. He took his key out of his pocket, unlocked the door and made his way to the living room to where his chair was. John gratefully sat down and let the familiarity of the flat surround him with comfort. John knew Sherlock had entered the room even before he spoke. Sherlock was everything to him and John welcomed the thrill of electricity that ran through his body when Sherlock spoke his name.

"John, are you alright? It must be at least 3am." Sherlock limped over to where John was sitting and plopped down on the floor in front of his chair."

John smiled. "Sherlock, let's take a look at the heel to see how it is healing." Sherlock leaned back and propped his foot on the chair in between John's legs. John, then gently examined the place where a piece of glass had been embedded in the heel of his foot. "It's healing nicely." John's voice sounded extra loud to his own ears. He hadn't failed to notice how Sherlock had leaned into his touch. John loved how Sherlock appeared to be so detached, and yet his body always responded with anticipation whenever John touched him. Sherlock's foot was shaking as he moved it back to the floor.

John bowed his head down. "Sherlock, Mary has left me. She never was pregnant. I am so boring she can't even be with me anymore. I'm Mr. Nice Guy-Mr. Boring."

Sherlock stood up and walked around to the back of John's chair and embraced John from behind, as he ran his hands down John's chest.

John gasped. "Sherlock, now might not be the best time."

Sherlock was nuzzling John's neck. "Nonsense, what I have in mind will help you much more than talking."

John leaned into Sherlock's embrace. "God, are you always right? Sherlock…" John's voice trailed off in a breathless whisper.

Sherlock was always full of surprises and tonight was no exception. John followed Sherlock into his bedroom. Once inside John took Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock shook his head. "John, as much as I want you I think you just need to rest." Sherlock then dove under the covers and patted the bed. "Come on, John."

John felt like an awkward canine as he plopped down beside Sherlock. As soon as John was safely wrapped in Sherlock's arms. Sherlock's large, white Afghan dog jumped in the middle of them. Sherlock laughed. "Come on, Confetti. John won't bite."

John looked over at Sherlock. "You named the dog confetti?"

Sherlock snuggled closer to John and Confetti. "Yes, it fits him. Get some sleep, John we will talk tomorrow." John fell asleep immediately. Once Sherlock was sure that John was totally out he crawled out of bed and made his way to the living room. Sherlock caressed the red leather case in his pocket. He wanted a fix so bad he could taste it. After all most of John's problems were probably all his fault. A fine sheen of sweat beaded in small drops on Sherlock's forehead as he fantasized about the needle going into his vein. God, Sherlock could almost feel the feel of the cold morphine as it spread through his body. Sherlock leaned his head back and gasped in an effort to ignore the need that shook his body violently. He was so distracted that he didn't notice John hovering over him.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" John's voice was full of worry.

Sherlock rolled his eyes back to focus on John. "John, the need is making its way through my body as we speak. I will resist it; however, it might not be a pleasant night, so you may as well go back to bed."

"Sherlock, I can distract you." John whispered.

"John, go back to bed. I crave the drug, as I crave you. The thought of the morphine and you both making their way through my body, is such an intoxicating idea that I can barely contain myself. John, you could inject me with just a little and then I would take you in my arms. We could both forget about everything. Please John just a little." Sherlock's hands shook as he reached in his robe; the Moroccan case seemed to burn in his palm.

John took the case from Sherlock. "Sherlock, how much have you been using?"

Sherlock was clutching his stomach as nausea tore through him. "John, I haven't been using that much, just a little every day."

"Jesus, Sherlock I don't need this. If you and I can't wean you off of this poison, you are going to have to go to rehab." John took the syringe out of its case and held it out to Sherlock. "Show me how much you have been taking." Sherlock pointed to the smallest marker. John glared at Sherlock. "Sherlock, tell me the truth." Sherlock sighed and pointed to a mark higher up on the syringe. John nodded. "Sherlock, give me your arm." John inspected it; the track marks weren't too deep. "Sherlock, I am going to inject you with a slightly lower dose of the morphine. You know I could lose my license for this. However, you going cold turkey isn't going to do either one of us any good tonight. Sherlock, you must promise me that you will follow my detox program." John took the morphine vial and filled the syringe. It was hard to ignore the desire that filled Sherlock's eyes as he watched John prepare the dosage. John then gently injected Sherlock with the morphine.

Sherlock sighed in relief, and then locked eyes with John. John swallowed and thought. "God, I must be some kind of pervert this is turning me on."

"John, come here." Sherlock's voice was silky like a vampire in one of those erotic movies.

John shook his head. "Sherlock, as much as I am turned on right now, we both need to get well."

Sherlock slipped off his robe. John shook his head. "Jesus, how come you never have anything on under that robe?" Suddenly, the events of the day caught up with John. "Sherlock, what are we going to do? I'm so tired of everything nothing seems to ever work out for me." John ignored Sherlock's state of undress. "I don't know why I put up with you Sherlock. Come on let's get you to bed." Sherlock let John take him upstairs to his bedroom. John tucked Sherlock in bed and then kissed him on the forehead. "Goodnight, Sherlock. We will get this all sorted out tomorrow. I guess we are stuck with each other."

Mrs. Hudson hovered over John and Sherlock like a mother hen with her chicks. "Sherlock, you are looking so much better now that John is here taking care of you. It's so nice to see how you boys care for each other." She smiled as John and Sherlock drank tea and ate biscuits. Sherlock snuck a few tidbits under the table for Confetti. Mrs. Hudson smiled at the domestic scene before her and left.

John slapped his newspaper down so hard that Confetti jumped and ran out of the room.

"John, you scared the dog." Sherlock admonished.

John glared at Sherlock. "Well, maybe it's because that dog is the only thing you're nice to these days. I know you are in detox, but I am sick of being your whipping boy."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, with a wicked grin. "Your whipping boy?"

John abruptly got up from the table and stopped when he heard the bell ring from the front door.

Sherlock looked up. "Ah, that would be Mary."

John stared at Sherlock with an incredulous look. "Did you know she was coming by?"

Sherlock clasped his hands together in front of him. "No, I deduced that the pressure exerted on the door bell …"

John interrupted Sherlock and sighed. "Sherlock, I don't care about your deductions. I going to do the logical thing and answer the bloody door."

John opened the door for Mary. She looked wonderful and John felt a lump in his throat. How could two people love each other as much as he and Mary had; and end up like this? John cleared his throat. "Hi Mary, how are you?" John hated the nasal sound his voice made when he was nervous.

Mary nodded. "I'm fine, John just fine and you?"

John shrugged. "I'm fine too." "God, this bloody awkward," John thought.

Mary swept past him into the kitchen. Sherlock looked up. "Hi, Mary, I would get you a chair, but since you aren't pregnant, I hardly think it matters."

Mary sighed and shook her head. "Well, it's the same, rude, boorish old Sherlock. It's nice to know some things don't change."

Sherlock nodded in Mary's direction. "Why thank you Mary, it's nice to know someone cares."

Mary looked from John to Sherlock. "Oh, it looks like you two are having a domestic. Should I leave, then?"

John shook his head wearily. "I'm going back to bed. I don't care what you two do."

Mary made a move to stop John. "John, you know I really feel bad for you. First you get me and then you get Sherlock. You deserve better, and God knows Sherlock is not better. He leads you around by your nose and you clean up after him every time. John, I can accept that we weren't meant to be, but Sherlock, really? Sherlock is an indulgent, spoiled, narcissistic, on again off again drug addict, who only thinks of himself. John," Mary's voice was softer. "Sherlock will never be able to take care of himself properly, let alone you. You will always be the one he leans on and when you need someone, he will conveniently claim he is a sociopath, and leave you to lick your wounds alone. It's all about the chase with Sherlock. Now that he has you, well, John, you will bore him and he will leave you. John, find someone who is capable of caring for you. Sherlock is only in love with himself and will probably end up dead of an overdose in an alley somewhere, or worse yet get himself killed looking for the case that will give him his next fix."

Sherlock had sat quietly until Mary had finished then he went and stood beside John. "Mary, everything you are saying about me is true. However, I care for John, more than you could ever know."

Mary smiled sadly. "Sherlock, if that were true, how come you faked your death and ignored him for two years? How come he has had to come and rescue you time after time? Sherlock, you're a robot, only turning to John when it is convenient for you. Sherlock you …."

John spoke for the first time. "Mary, please don't talk to Sherlock like that."

Sherlock smirked at Mary. "See you are incorrect, Mary. John…"

John yelled. "Both of you STOP, NOW"

For a moment Sherlock and Mary were silent. Mary was the first to speak. "John, look at this place, it is a pig sty. There are so many dishes piled up in the sink they are starting to overflow on to the counter.

Sherlock walked over and sniffed at the pile of dishes. "You are quite right, Mary they really are starting to smell. I will have to get Mrs. Hudson to clean up."

Mary rolled her eyes and gestured towards. "See, you can't even clean up after yourself. Mrs. Hudson is not your housekeeper."

John was thoroughly pissed by this time. "You two want the dishes done?" John then walked over and scooped up a handful of dishes, opened the window and threw them out the window.

The sound of brakes squealing filled the room. Sherlock, John, and Mary winced as the metallic thud of cars impacting each other drowned out all other sounds. Sherlock moved his head in time to each crash. "Was that seven or eight crashes? I counted eight. John, Mary, how many crashes did you count?"

The next sound they all heard was the wailing of sirens.

The Present

"Well, that was about it. The police then came up and arrested all three of us." John's mouth was dry after all the talking, so he just leaned back in his chair. The therapist looked from one to the other, and was about to speak when Sherlock clapped his hands together.

"Well, according to my calculations the session is over. Come on John and Mary, let's go."

Sherlock's voice was full of enthusiasm. Sherlock, John and Mary stood on the sidewalk outside the therapist's office. They all three looked unhappy and confused. Sherlock was the first to speak. "John, I don't see how you can stand therapy, I don't feel better at all. I don't think we should go again, it's boring." John was about to reply when a black limo pulled up to the curb. Even before the window rolled down John knew it was Mycroft, Sherlock's brother.

Mycroft poked his head out the window. "I need you three to get in." His soft voice purred.

Once inside the limo Mycroft took a spacious seat facing Sherlock, John and Mary. He looked mildly amused as they jostled each other for a comfortable place.

"Sherlock, why don't you go and sit with your brother?" Mary's voice was full of exasperation.

Sherlock looked straight ahead. "You go sit with him, Mary."

"For God's sake will someone go sit with him? I am being crushed in the middle." John complained. "Why am I the one in the middle?"

Sherlock looked at John with a patronizing glance. "I should think that would be obvious."

John leaned forward as far as he could manage. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Sherlock sighed. "You are the smallest, John."

John looked outraged. "Mary is smaller than I am."

Sherlock shook his head. "Nope, she outweighs you by…"

Mary interrupted Sherlock. "Oh for God's sake, I'll sit next to Mycroft."

Mary squeezed out of her seat and sat next to Mycroft. She then glared at Sherlock. "I should have killed you when I had the chance."

Mycroft smiled, he clearly was enjoying the tension between Sherlock, John and Mary. "Well, are you three ready to stop quarreling for a moment? I have a mission I need you to go on."

Mary looked over at Mycroft. "When do I leave?"

Mycroft laughed. Sherlock dreaded that sound, for it meant that something unpleasant was going to happen. "I need all three of you to go to Eastern Europe."

Sherlock swallowed. "All three of us are to go? Is this a no return mission like the last one you were going to send me on?"

John whipped his head around to look at Sherlock. "What do you mean a no return mission like the last time?"

Sherlock waved him away. "John, you worry too much. After I shot Magnusson, I was banished from England. Mycroft was sending me on a no return mission to Eastern Europe. How long was I to last six months?"

John's pupils were totally dilated as he leaned forward in his seat. "You sent Sherlock on a suicide mission?"

Mycroft shrugged. "It was better than him languishing away in a prison cell. Besides Moriaty showed up, making the decision to banish Sherlock immaterial."

Mycroft leaned back and reached under his seat and took out a decanter of Scotch. "Would anyone like a drink?"

All three voices answered in unison. "Yes."

Mycroft prepared three glasses then smiled. "First of all I got you out of therapy, so no need to worry about that."

Sherlock nodded. "Why Mycroft that was decent of you. Thank you."

Mycroft ignored Sherlock's mocking tone. "Have you ever heard of Rosicrucianism?"

Sherlock was the first to answer. "You mean the secret society founded in the 16th century by Christian Rosenkreuz?"

Mycroft nodded. "Yes. Well, I am sure you are aware of their experiments in alchemy."

Sherlock sniffed. "Of course I am, who isn't?"

Mycroft continued on. "As you know the Rosicrucian's believe that the esoteric nature of our universe could be revealed to man in such a way that would enable an individual or individuals to manipulate the physical universe."

John looked confused. "What? I don't understand."

Sherlock ignored John. "Mycroft continue, I will explain it to John later."

Mycroft nodded. "There is an old legend that an ancient text exists that would enable man to turn simple dust into gold and to transmute his essence into a threefold manifestation."

Mary interrupted this time. "That sounds like some kind of fairy tale. You like Grimm's fairy tales."

Sherlock and John both said, "NO," in unison.

Mycroft's glare silenced any more unwanted comments. "Mary, there was a secret society that practiced alchemy from the 1500's through 1600's, the Order at this time was said to consist of no more than eight members, each was a doctor and a confirmed bachelor. We have sufficient evidence that the order has re banded and possesses knowledge that could potentially alter our world. John, that's where you fit into the mission, you are a single doctor. We want you to infiltrate their society."

John protested. "Wait, a minute, Mary and I are still married."

Mycroft looked over at Mary. "Mary, you didn't tell him?"

John looked frantic. "Tell me what?"

Mary's voice was gentle; it had the same tone of softness that she used to comfort John through his grief over Sherlock's death. "John, I had papers drawn up. I am divorcing you."

Mycroft ignored the stricken look on John's face. "So, that settle's it. Are you all three ready for a trip to Prague?"