Counteractive
As John approached the area, Sherlock whirled on his heels and almost brightened, striding away from Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson to Anderson's indignant exclamations. "There you are, John! I thought my brother wasn't going to let you go so soon. He seldom does, on these kidnappings... Where is he, anyway?"
"He's... out."
Sherlock stared at him. He blinked a few times, trying to process what his flatmate had just said. "He's out," Sherlock repeated flatly, obviously demanding an explanation.
John winced. "Cold."
"Where is he?"
"In the car." John glanced over his shoulder at the car which, on closer examination, was certainly not either John's or Mycroft's and appeared to belong to an upper-class burglar.
Sherlock's face was a study of perplexity as he internalized this. He asked blankly, "John?"
"Yes?"
"What happened?"
John rolled his eyes at the prospect of explaining himself to yet another Holmes, but obliged. "I tried to tell him about a prospective attacker – he thought they had it covered and wouldn't listen, at least before someone shot him with a tranquilizer. I grabbed him and went through the window."
Sherlock's expression slowly turned into a mischievous grin. "Well, he certainly deserved this..."
John looked puzzled.
"You do realize," Sherlock began slowly, "that when he wakes up, he may believe you've kidnapped him?"
John's face went blank.
Author's note: I think I like getting certain characters in trouble... repeatedly. It's just so much fun...