(Unknown)

John woke up in what looked like a hospital room. He was lying in a bed. The faint beeping of monitors luring him into consciousness. Opening his eyes he took in his surroundings. The room was painted white with tiled floors of the same color. The room was windowless. He was caught slightly off guard with the hospital room's odd attributes. He blinked as his memory started to come back. He remembered being on a case with Sherlock when the perpetrator pulled out a gun, and shot. Not bothering to consider the consequences he jumped in front of his best friend just before the bullet could get to him. Taking it for himself.

Wait, where's Sherlock? He was fine, right? John felt a surge of panic as he tried to sit up. Pain. Far more pain than he would like to be possible. The monitors to his left went off as he experimentally raised himself into a more upright position. Moments later a nurse walked in. When he saw John's predicament he quickly went up to him and grabbed his iv. Producing a small syringe he plunged it into the opening and gave John a dose of much needed morphine. "It's good to see you awake Dr. Watson. You had us worried there for awhile." John relaxed into the bed slightly as his pain was brought down to a tolerable level.

"I was with a man named Sherlock Holmes. Is he here? I-I he alright?" John asked as the pain finally allowed him to talk. His heart skipped a beat when the man didn't answer right away. Just as he was about to speak another figure walked through the door. The familiar bored voice of the elder Holmes brother came sweeping through the room. Umbrella in tow.

"I believe I should be able to answer your questions." He strode up to John as he gave a small nod to the nurse, who took the hint and left. Closing the door behind him. John wasted no time in speaking up.

"How's Sherlock?" His voice holding a touch of desperation.

"Sherlock is well." His expression never changed. The army doctor let out a sigh of relief.

"Where is he? May I see him?"

"He is at St Bart's." John looked up at him with confusion. You mean he isn't at St Bart's? If not where is he? Mycroft must have sensed his bewilderment as he spoke the answer before John had the chance to ask.

"No John you are not in any hospital that you would know of. As for which one exactly, I cannot tell you." He paused for a moment. His face unreadable. But John swore that he saw a flicker of dread move across it. "But there is something that we must discuss concerning Sherlock."

"Mycroft, he's okay right. Don't lie to me." His voice wavered.

"I assure you John I am not lying when I say that he is perfectly fine. Your actions saved his life." Was that gratitude he just heard?

"My brother has been extremely reckless as of late. And it has nearly cost both of your lives. Which is why I intend to take desperate measures in order to make him realize what he is doing." If John wasn't completely confused before, he definitely was now. He was almost afraid to ask. He had seen the government official's casual measures. The ramifications of a desperate Mycroft isn't something he'd like to imagine.

"Now before I tell you, keep in mind that you cannot interfere. I will order you to be put into a medically induced coma if you try to interfere. Am I understood?" John's confusion had been almost entirely replaced with fear. He paled as he gave a sharp nod.

"To teach my brother that his, nor your life, is disposable, I have sent one of my doctors to St Bart's with instructions to tell Sherlock that you died during your operation." John didn't know how to react to that. He stared at Mycroft in shock as he continued, "You will be staying at this hospital until discharge. Where you will be free to go back." He hesitated for a moment, "To clear up whatever worries you may have, DI Lestrade has been informed of my plan in order to keep Sherlock from doing anything drastic." At last remembering how to talk again John spoke up with the first question that popped up in his head.

"Doing anything drastic?" He repeated. What did he expect Sherlock to do. His plan was downright ludicrous but he figured that in the event of his death Sherlock would be over it fairly quickly. It didn't take the "High-Functioning Sociopath" himself to see that social graces were an afterthought to him. Mycroft actually looked surprised at this.

"Surely you know the effect your death would have on him." John was silent once more. "I fear that if he truly believed you dead...he may attempt to take his own life. Which is why you get the same treatment as Sherlock. Because the end of you, would be the end of him." Even Mycroft seemed uncomfortable with saying it. He didn't know what to say. Mycroft decided to leave the doctor to process what he had heard. "I will check on you tomorrow. I'd advise you to rest. The bullet had barely missed your heart." Without another word he turned around and left.

Readjusting John Had suddenly become aware of the thick bandages covering the better part of his torso. He sighed unable to calm himself enough to sleep. His mind was consumed with hope that Sherlock was alright.

(St Bart's)

Sherlock and Lestrade were in the ER waiting room. Sherlock had gone into his mind palace in a corner chair. Lestrade had been pacing nonstop. Not out of worry for John's life, but for Sherlock. He had felt nothing but dread since Mycroft had kidnapped him and explained his plans for the week. He was told that John was perfectly fine, and in the hands of the finest doctors that England had to offer. But that wasn't what he was worried about. He was also told that a doctor was going to come out, and tell them that John had died. He said to act distraught, that Sherlock would be too torn up to deduce that he was acting. His task was to ensure that Sherlock wouldn't harm himself, or someone else. Mrs. Hudson gotten a "spontaneous invitation" from her sister out of town. Thank god for that.

He was about to go and get another cup of coffee when a doctor called out. "Mr. Holmes, and Mr. Lestrade." Oh no. He didn't know if he could do it. Sherlock was pulled from his mind palace, his tall frame was hovering over the doctor in an instant. Lestrade did his best to look hopeful as he jogged up to the doctor.

"So, when can I see him?" Sherlock spoke up for the first time since they had gotten there. And it damn near broke Lestrade's heart. The doctor looked back at him with what appeared to be genuine sympathy. "I'm very sorry Mr. Holmes. But John passed away on the operating table."

Sherlock froze. It was as if he was a statue. He stared at him dumbly for a moment. "Sherlock?" Lestrade prompted. Barely able to choke down his own emotions.

"Mr. Holmes, are you alright?" He didn't answer. His facial expression changed, as if he had just understood what he said. He turned around with his coat flowing behind him. He was out of the hospital in seconds. Lestrade was about to chase after until the doctor spoke up again, "I have been instructed to once again remind you that you must never reveal the truth to him. Mr. Holmes will inform him himself when he believes the time is right." Lestrade was furious, but knew better than to anger the elder Holmes. So he simply nodded in response before running out in the same direction Sherlock went. The doctor left as well. There would be no need to tell his boss that the deed was done, because he had been watching the live security feed the entire time.

(Unknown)

After some tense arguing and a few choice words from John, Mycroft finally allowed him to watch the security feed with him as Sherlock was told of his, "death" John's bed had been raised to let him sit up. Mycroft had pulled up a chair next to the bed in question. He held up a tablet with the live feed for John to watch. As much as John was concerned about Sherlock, he knew that it was live. Not only was he seeing it for the first time, but so was Mycroft. He had known for years now that the Holmes brothers were practically emotionless. But this seemed to go too far. Even for the "minor government official"

It started up and he instantly felt bad for the DI. He knew Lestrade. The poor man was most likely threatened into doing this. Even with his quick pacing you could easily see the dread on his face. Then a doctor can into view.

"Mr. Holmes, and Mr. Lestrade." The two men nearly ran up to him.

"So, when can I see him?" John felt his heart sink. The look on Lestrade's face started to get to him.

"I'm very sorry Mr. Holmes. But John passed away on the operating table." He never knew how weird it was to hear your own death being announced. He briefly wondered if that was how Sherlock felt when he faked his own. Oh. He stared at Sherlock's face. He was now starting to regret asking to join. Mycroft face was once again, unreadable.

"Sherlock?" He heard Lestrade's gentle prompt at the still detective. Lestrade himself looked like he was about to cry.

"Mr. Holmes, are you alright?" The doctor tried to break Sherlock from his apparent trance. Sherlock's face suddenly lit up in a burst of realization and horror. Before running out of the hospital without another word. John felt ill. Looking to his left, even Mycroft had the decency to look uncomfortable. Lestrade was about to leave after him but the doctor interrupted.

"I have been instructed to once again remind you that you must never reveal the truth to him. Mr. Holmes will inform him himself when he believes the time is right."

John felt a little satisfaction at seeing the look Lestrade shot at him before finally running after Sherlock.

Suddenly Mycroft stood up with the tablet. "That is all for now John. You are welcome to see the other feeds whenever those are available."

"You mean the CCTV." Mycroft hesitated.

"Actually, while what you saw was taking place, I had one of my men install a microphone into 221b. I felt it best to have at least audio feeds on the apartment." John looked at him with a blank face wondering if he should even be surprised. Mycroft went on, "It is set to alert me with loud noises...chemical fumes...and gunpowder." John looked horrified for the upteenth time that night. Mycroft stood before turning to leave. "You will be alerted in the event that anything of interest occurs." With that he was gone.

(221b)

Sherlock had cleared his mind by time he got back to the flat. He sat in his chair. Staring at the empty on across from his. He felt like he couldn't breath properly. He still refused to fully accept it. John was dead. His best friend was dead. And it was all his fault. Lestrade had lost him when got into a cab. It seems that he finally decided to leave him alone. He couldn't think. He hated it. It wasn't like he could just spout off the hazy deductions he obtained from the hospital. John wasn't there to listen. And he never would be again. It was on that thought that for the first time in his life, he didn't want to think about it.

His brothers scolding words echoed in his mind as he reached for his violin, "Caring is not an advantage." He decided that he had been right all along.