AN: I'm taking a cue from pigpuffpickle, and writing another angsty story. When I read her summary, this idea popped into my head. After reading "Follow Me," I realized that my idea is totally different, but it helped me with the idea for this. Please read and review. And if you need some, here's a box of virtual tissues. I don't know why, but all I seem to be able to write is angst. -_-

Disclaimer: Oh and I'm not one of the British guys who make Sherlock, so guess what, I own nothing!

Just a Magic Trick

Chapter 1

"Nobody could be that clever, John."

"You could."

"No, it was just a magic trick."

"SHERLOCK!"

Sherlock sat up in his bed, a cold sweat breaking out on his face. 'I'm sorry John, I had to do it-it was all for you...well, and others. But still, I had to do it,' the detective thought to himself as he reached up to wipe the sweat and tears from his face. Well, he tried to reach up, as his arm seemed to be caught on something, no...it was tied. As Sherlock opened his eyes to take in his surroundings, he was puzzled. 'Where am I?' he thought, closing his eyes to better deduce his situation. 'Ah, a hospital; but why am I in restraints? Molly was supposed to take care of everything-I shouldn't be in a hospital, no one else can know I am alive.'

"Ahem." A throat clearing interrupted Sherlock's inner dialogue. "I know that you are awake Sherlock, so open your eyes and look at me," a cultured voice drawled.

"Mycroft," Sherlock sighed. "What are you doing here. No, better yet, what am I doing here?"

"Surely, dear brother, if you take the time to use your stunning intellect for good instead of self-destruction, perhaps you could deduce it, see the truth here."

Sherlock remained silent for a few minutes, pondering the words of his elder brother and recalling the details of the room he had glimpsed a moment before.

Single hospital room...nothing sharp...restraints... bars on the windows... Conclusion reached.

"What am I doing in a mental ward, Mycroft? And where's John? If I'm here then his life is in danger. Where is he Mycroft?" Sherlock's voice had risen a bit more with each succeeding question until he literally bellowed his brother's name, causing a nurse and three orderlies to storm into the room. No doubt ready to subdue and sedate him.

"Tell me Mycroft, where's John?" Sherlock asked more quietly, mentally willing the nurse to put the sedative-filled syringe away. "Please, Mycroft, I've never begged you for anything in my life, but tell me, is John alright?"

Mycroft stared at his younger brother with a puzzled expression as he motioned for the nurse and orderlies to leave the room.

"Sherlock," Mycroft's voice softened. "John who?"