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Meanwhile

It had been three and a half years. Three and a half years since Sherlock jumped. John stared blankly at the small blue candle Mrs Hudson had bought up two hours ago.

"I was going to bake a cake but I thought a candle would be less fussy, he hated people fussing over him anyway and you know what happened last time I made a cake"

It flickered and spluttered before burning out, it was now a pile of wax on the kitchen table. It was Sherlock's 36th birthday today. The 6th of January. John didn't seem to realise, or care that he had been staring at a candle for two hours, he was thinking over Sherlock's last birthday. The last birthday they had celebrated together. It hadn't gone as John had planned, not only did Sherlock mistake the cake Mrs Hudson had baked him as a new subject for his experiment but he had disappeared that night to chase down a suspect and returned home late soaking wet and covered in mud forgetting the fact John had booked a table for them and Lestrade at the new Thai restaurant. It wasn't all bad that night though. Once Sherlock was presentable he had shouted him dinner at Angelo's (John ignored the fact that it was on the house) Sherlock seemed to be trying his best to make up for ruining his plans and even suggested watching a Bond film with him.

"Look I know it didn't go as you planned"

"Sherlock it's –"

"No I know it's not fine…I was thinking we could watch your favourite Bond film tonight"

That was as close as Sherlock got to apologising, John had learned to appreciate it and a Bond movie was a perfect apology that night, he had never heard Sherlock laugh so much as he did that night, he wasn't sure whether it was "Bond's ridiculous attempts of catching a criminal" or John's ridiculous impressions of Bond. No matter how many times people tried to tell John Sherlock was emotionless they were all so very wrong. The last thought made John chuckle lightly and he was drawn back to the present by a soft knock on the door. He lifted his head from his hand and stretched, feeling his back click in different places. He ran his hands over his face only now noticing the wetness that clung to his lashes. The soft knock came again and John answered the door shaking the stiffness from his body.

"Mary" he said relief washing over him, the thought that someone was finally here to distract him from painful memories improved his mood slightly. Mary smiled "How are you?" she asked making her way into the flat and taking off her winter coat. John didn't feel the need to reply. Mary glanced at the burnt out pile of blue wax that was Sherlock's candle before turning to John. "Happy Birthday Sherlock" she said smiling slightly. John attempted to smile back at her but his lips wobbled dangerously; he bit his bottom lip and shook his head slightly to clear the unwelcome tears. He looked up at Mary; she was watching him very carefully,

"It's not right" John said softly once he trusted himself to speak. He left it at that knowing Mary would understand. She nodded and made her way into the kitchen; John followed and took a seat back at the table.

"Tea?" Mary asked, John nodded and she flicked the jug on. An awkward silence hung in the kitchen. Mary and John had been dating for 2 years now but tonight John had nothing to say, seeing her had been a relief but now John wished she would go, he just wanted to curl up in bed and forget it was Sherlock's birthday, forget it had been three and a half years but the image of Sherlock falling was still burned permanently in his mind.

"Yes thanks" John lied. Mary flicked the kettle on and took a seat opposite John. She reached for his hands and wrapped them protectively in hers. John didn't want her to leave anymore. They stayed this way for a while, just holding hands in comforting silence until the jug flicked off. Mary stood and John's phone buzzed on the kitchen table. He sighed and looked at the number on screen. It was Mycroft. His finger hovered over the end button but curiosity made him pick up. Before he could say anything Mycroft started talking.

"John you need to get out of the flat, I can't tell you why and you can be assured I will explain everything later" Mycroft demanded in a cold firm voice. John's heart jumped and skipped several beats. He glanced towards Mary; she was stirring the tea absently. He looked away "what are you talking about?"

Mary placed his tea on the kitchen table and sat back down "Who is it?" she mouthed. John shrugged listening intently to the silence on the other end. "Don't you dare do anything stupid" Mycroft whispered to someone else on his end, he spoke to John now "I will explain later but you have to get out of the flat now John there is a car waiting" was that a hint of desperation in Mycroft's voice? The line went dead. John listened to the dial tone, something caught his eye, a movement from outside the living room window, a figure. An outline. A weapon.

Beep beep beep beep.

Panic tore through John and he reached for Mary. She squeaked in surprise and dropped her tea. The mug smashed on the floor and there was the crack of a bullet, John threw Mary out of the way, the bullet soared past and shattered the oven door. They sprinted from the kitchen, John's nerves singing with panic. There was another crack of a bullet and John tugged Mary closer to him. He didn't know how many men there were or whether they were surrounding the house or not. Another crack, the bullet narrowly missing John's arm.

"Run!" Mary cried in desperation. He didn't know where to turn, they had to get out of the house but he wasn't sure the front door was safe to exit through. His suspicions were confirmed when the front door burst open. A large bald man barged into their flat, John spotted the gun instantly and in a split second decision he threw himself at the man. The man was knocked off balance and John dug his fingers into his wrist, the gun clattered to the floor. He snatched it up and pointed it directly over the man's chest; the man smiled showing a row of perfect pearly white teeth.

"You are very quick" he said slightly surprised he had been disarmed so fast.

"Who sent you?" John demanded never taking his eyes off the man.

"That's for me to know and you to find out" he snarled "I want the key" he said firmly walking towards John. John stayed put but placed his finger very clearly over the trigger. The man stopped his advance and gave him another menacing smile. "The what?" John asked confused. What key? The only keys he had was his flat key and Mary's house key.

"The key, you know what I mean"

"No I don't"

John's phone buzzed in his pocket but he ignored it. The man was glaring at John and he could feel Mary shaking next to him. He grabbed her wrist and whispered

"One"

The man's smile turned into a frown

"Two"

He advanced forward and curled his hands into fists

"Three"

John lowered the gun and pulled the trigger. It hit the large bald man in the knee and he dropped to the floor howling in pain. He tugged Mary out of the flat and down the stairs, he passed Mrs Hudson's flat, she wasn't home thank God. A sleek black car was waiting for them outside Speedy's café and they sprinted towards it. Anthea was waiting patiently in the back seat her eyes only leaving her phone when Mary got in the car. "Who's this?" she asked narrowing her eyes at Mary,

"She's with me" John said quickly. He could feel his heart beating rapidly. He closed his eyes trying to push down the memories that were beginning to surface. Gunfire, Screams, Officers shouting commands, Blood, lots of blood, Sherlock. Sherlock, his eyes staring blankly at the sky. Dead. Blood

"John!" Mary's voice cut through the painful images and sounds. Sherlock. Mary. Blood. "John!" There was someone squeezing his hand "Sherlock" he whispered without realising. His eyes flew open and the images melted into the interior of the car. He took a shaky breath as he felt reality return. Anthea was looking at him, her fingers frozen over her phone keypad. He looked to Mary. She was watching him with concern.

"Sorry" he muttered giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. He decided to turn his attention out the window, the lights of the street lamps seemed to blur together as they sped down the road. Soon the street lamps were few and far between as they drove further away from the city. Buildings disappeared into towering trees, John didn't know where they were going and he didn't care. He couldn't shake the image of Sherlock lying dead on the pavement. He shivered. The car took a sharp right turn and John guessed they had reached their destination. He looked ahead of him at the huge manor that appeared before them. It wasn't the biggest house John had seen, it looked rather untidy. It was a red brick house with a wooden porch held by two large white columns. It was a stunning house, John gazed in awe. The car rolled to a stop and Anthea led Mary and John to the huge oak door.

"Mycroft is waiting in the living room, two doors down to your right" Anthea said. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a key, she placed it in the lock and with one last look at both of them, pushed open the oak door. The smell of wood hit John first. The walls were covered in wood panelling; it was obviously an old house. There was a large staircase straight ahead and the walls were covered in framed photos. Mary stepped forward into the house first, John looked behind him Anthea had already made her way back to the car and it was halfway down the long gravel drive.

"It's beautiful" Mary said in amazement. John looked up. There was an old chandelier hanging from the roof providing a dim light throughout the entrance way. The floor was a dark marble, Mary's boots clicked with every step she took. John moved through the entranceway looking at the photos on the wall. There were many photos of a large boy with his parents, John recognised the boy somehow. It suddenly hit him like a train and his heart jolted uncomfortably. It was Mycroft, these were Sherlock's parents. Sherlock had never spoken of his parents, this was Sherlock's family home. John felt his knees go weak and he backed away from the photos.

"What's wrong?" Mary asked moving closer to him in case he fainted. He felt like he would when he saw a small framed picture of a boy with messy dark brown curls, Sherlock. He looked only about 5 or 6. He was grinning at the camera, waving. John placed a hand over his mouth to muffle the small gasp.

"John" Mary said softly looking from the photo to him. John ran his fingers over the photo gently; the photo was covered in dust and his fingers left tracks in the dust. Grief overwhelmed him and his eyes stung with tears, they streamed down his cheek. As John stared at the small boy he noticed how different he was from the Sherlock he had known. Had known. A lump formed in John's throat

"Let's go" Mary said taking his hand in hers. She led him away from the entranceway through the second door on the right. Sure enough Mycroft was waiting for them. He was sitting in an armchair in the corner by a warm blazing fire. He was sipping on a glass of whiskey, John cleared his throat. Mycroft didn't turn around

"Take a seat John" Mycroft said gazing at the fire. Mary moved towards him and held her hand out.

"I'm Mary" she said "You must be –"

"I know who you are Mary" Mycroft said cutting off her introduction. Mary dropped her hand in confusion. John took her hand and led her to a sofa, she sat as close to John as possible and clung to his hand. "Still haven't uninstalled the camera's in our flat yet then?" he asked. Mycroft looked up from the fire. "Your flat John, and no I haven't" he smiled at Mary "Precautionary measures Mary don't be alarmed" Mycroft took a sip of whiskey and gazed into the fire again.

"It's Sherlock's birthday today" he said avoiding John's gaze.

"I know" John said, he didn't need any more reminding. Mycroft smiled "Happy birthday little brother" he raised his glass and took another sip of whiskey "Well I'm glad you're sitting down John because there is something you need to be told"

John swallowed trying to swallow the fear. Mary shifted uncomfortably beside him

"You will be told why two men tried to kill you but I think it's better if you hear it from him" Mycroft said louder than necessary, John was only sitting a chair away from him. There was a voice behind him a terrifyingly familiar one,

"John"

No

"Turn around John" Mycroft said firmly. John closed his eyes

No

He felt Mary turn around beside him. She squeezed his hand painfully. He felt a hand on his shoulder and he shook it off in horror. He jumped up and spun around to face him. Sherlock stood less than a meter away from him wearing a crisp tailored suit. John felt his stomach drop through the floor and his heart almost stopped. Sherlock was dead; there was no way he could be standing here looking at him apprehensively. John screwed his eyes shut. "No this isn't happening I'm only dreaming"

"You're not dreaming John"

"What would you know Sherlock!" he stopped unable to carry on "you're dead" he whispered his voice breaking. Sherlock stepped forward; John stepped backwards and clung to Mary who had appeared behind him. "Please John" Sherlock pleaded. Before John could think or stop himself his fist had connected with Sherlock's face. He made a gasping noise and stumbled backwards. His eyes rolled backwards and he collapsed to the floor.

"Shit" John whispered.

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