This is a one-off AU story to what could have happened if the explosive jacket in The Great Game had exploded.

UPDATE: I want to thank everyone who has left a review I really appreciate it :) I also wish to thank the invisible viewers who have read this and those of you reading this now. :) :) :)

The pool. John stepping from a cubicle in a large winter coat. Jim from IT. Molly's gay boyfriend. Snipers. Moriarty. A gunshot. Explosion. Ripple of pain. Water. Blackness.

Groggily, I came to to the sound of loud intermittent bleeps. It was easily recognise able as a heartbeat despite the presence of a particularly atrocious migraine trapped within the confines of my skull. I moved to clutch my pounding head but realised that I had plastic tubing attached to my inner left forearm. Lifting my head up I saw numerous suction pads on my chest and abdomen. I sank back into the bed in deep contemplation.

I was most obviously hospitalised. However the reason as to how I got here and why it was necessary escaped me. Think Sherlock. What do you remember?

I quickly reconstructed my last memories.

I remember pulling out my gun at the seemingly unarmed Moriarty. John Watson was standing stock-still in the middle of us both; fearful that any movement of his would result in a sniper round being planted in his forehead. I recalled the glance we shared. That one look that passed between us decided our fate. I aimed at the explosive jacket by Moriarty's leather shoes and squeezed the trigger.

I had been invalided from the poolside.

My thoughts turned to John Watson. Had he fared as well as me from the blast? Although he had been closer to the explosion I had hoped that he'd have the sense to jump into the water. An image of him laying in pieces on some doctor's slab in the morgue was repulsive to me. I repressed it.

However, Moriarty I understood couldn't possibly have survived an impact from that proximity. At least in that respect I felt soothed. I'd cracked his case and somehow justice had been served in the process.

Twisting my head around I took in the room. A hideously pungent array of flowers stood arrogantly at the foot of my bed. The indentations on the petals created the impression that numerous small faces were scowling at me, as if unpleased that I survived. The effect was sickening so I kicked out and the flowers fell. A satisfying smash reverberated around the otherwise plainly decorated room.

My eyes alighted on the large monitor by my bedside which was the source of the bleeping heartbeat.

Why is my heartbeat under observation? I wondered, There's no reason to suspect that I should lapse into a coma or slip into death without first knowing the medical status of John.

I snorted with derision. On the exterior these nurses and doctors were oh-so-careful-and-caring but it was all a ruse alike the vets to whom I had reluctantly handed Redbeard over to so many years ago. They only wished to detain me without the slightest scrap of news about my friend. I felt an overwhelming desire to see him. Right now. Straining against the surprisingly heavy hospital sheets I managed to prop myself up. A dizziness began to stir in my head and the incessant bleeping had quickened considerably.

Damn it! I need to see John now! I can't do it if I'm stuck on this bed though, can I? Sherlock get up!

I moved to swing my legs over to the side of the bed, but they were unresponsive.

Oh great! Now what Sherlock? Are you going to clamber out of here on your hands and knees?

I tried once again. Nothing happened.

An overpowering sense of urgency enveloped me as I shuffled to the edge of the bed. Painful though it was I couldn't stand the thought of another drug-induced sleep without knowing whether he'd actually survived. Rocking from side to side, my body flipped off the bed. I saw the ground rise up to cushion my fall but it really did the exact, unwanted, polar opposite. My shoulder and jaw smashed into the tiled floor,

" John!" I croaked, " John, help!"

My vision was clouding over from the force of the impact and I saw stars. Alerted by the thump a barrage of white coated professionals stormed in and coordinated an attempt to lift me back into the bed. I struggled but they only restrained me. When I cried out they produced a sizeable syringe and needle. The glinting point was inches from my bare skin when Mycroft strolled in.

The professionals all turned to look. Although, he had not uttered a single word he had everyone spellbound including me. He was the only stationary thing within my swirling vision that I instinctively gravitated towards. The arm that was poised above me with the fistful of syringes was merely being kept at bay by my brothers authoritative presence. I sighed in relief.

" I suggest that all of you vacate this room immediately."

" What?" Chorused the doctors who were extremely loathe to leave at the word of one man.

" You all heard me. I require you to leave my brother alone," the assembled group wore amused expressions which Mycroft countered swiftly, " ...and rest assured if you don't you'll invoke the anger of the entire British Government."

Whether it was his tone of voice or his direct and sincere reference to a higher power they quickly skedaddled. Mycroft turned to me,

" I realise that you have a deep mistrust for people wearing white lab coats since Redbeard was put down. So I decided it would be best to shorten the required time in their presence."

I began to thank him for the deliverance but he cut my apology mercifully short,

" I trust you're sufficiently recovered enough to hear the news?" I eyed my brothers face which was tight, taunt and terrifyingly serious.

" What news Mycroft? Of John Watson I should hope."

" There is no scenic route to telling you the truth so I shall share with you the quite tactless, but informative response..."

" Which would be..?"

Mycroft sighed resignedly, " which would be that the doctors don't believe Mr Watson will pull through. He's sustained multiple flesh and bone injuries and as you are temporarily crippled you can be in no doubt of how bad Mr Watson's condition is at present."

" He was much closer to the bomb than I..." I whispered as the repressed image of his corpse darted to the forefront of my mind palace.

" There is no simple or easy way to say this but I trust that you shall maintain your current levels of reason, logic and observation whether Mr Watson lives or dies."

I stared defiantly through the thick, viscous blanket of unshed tears towards my matter-of-fact brother. His face was void of all detectable emotion.

" He will live through it though, won't he?" I choked out through my tightened throat.

" Balance of probability little brother. They are decidedly not in his favour." Mycroft looked wearily over at me but I could detect a small pinch of empathy in his eyes.

Glancing earnestly towards the door I implored him to allow me to see him. And much to my surprise he not only gave his permission but offered to help me into a wheelchair. I accepted his assistance.

I can't believe this. After all this time Mycroft is still looking out for me. He tried his hardest to console me when Redbeard was gone and is trying again now as he thinks John is gone.

But I disagree.

John Watson has me. I shall hide him and protect him from the East Wind that seeks to devour us all.

John Watson will live.