The limo pulled to a stop, and with that, Sherlock's smile disappeared. "Well, let's go visit the Queen." He said, insulting his brother.
"You should go easy on him."
"How about he should go easy on me? Wouldn't that be the day?" Sherlock replied bitterly as he got out of the limousine.
"Now, now, Sherlock. We're here to ask for his help."
"I know."
"So be nice."
Sherlock didn't reply to that request, and instead entered the building before them.
John sighed as he walked in as well.
Sherlock walked briskly through the room, opening a brown door that blended in with the walls without even bothering to knock.
"That was a bit rude."
Sherlock looked back at John for a moment before turning back. "... He's not in here."
"Because I'm behind you, Sherlock."
Sherlock slowly turned to see Mycroft sitting in a chair halfway across the room, looking at them.
"Oh! Mycroft, you gave me a start." wheezed John.
"Now, what kind of trouble have you stirred this time, Sherlock?" Mycroft said.
"I made a mistake. I need you to keep Scotland Yard busy for a while."
Mycroft narrowed his eyes at his younger brother. "What, you want me to forge some sort of case or incident just so you can do whatever you please?"
"They're after me, Mycroft. I planted evidence against myself a little too obviously, and now I need to clear my name by finding the real man they should be after."
Mycroft put his hand to his face, slowly shaking his head. "Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock... What on Earth am I going to do with you?"
"I often wonder that myself, Mycroft."
Sherlock briefly gave John a somewhat scolding look before Mycroft continued.
"You always say that you know how much they..." Mycroft trailed off, glancing at John for a second as if only just noticing his presence. "Oh, you don't mind if I continue this in front of your... 'colleague', do you, Sherlock?" He asked, saying 'colleague' as though Sherlock had been using a different term to define John to his older brother alone.
"Yes, I do." Sherlock snapped aggressively, almost seeming flustered. "Just get to the point."
"I'm not going to help you, Sherlock. I can't do something like that; I'd get into a great deal of trouble."
"Even if I offer up my pocket-watch?" John said as he took out the watch.
Mycroft raised a brow, looking at the pocket-watch. He soon shifted his vision to Sherlock with annoyance clear in his eyes.
"I didn't tell him." Sherlock replied to the glance calmly. "He deduced it himself."
"Then perhaps he really is a force to be trifled with." Mycroft growled at Sherlock, his voice laced with sarcasm.
"Perhaps so." Sherlock said; in contrast to Mycroft, his affirmation of this was genuine.
Mycroft looked back at John. "I would help if I could. I really can't do something like that if I enjoy having a good reputation."
"Oh, I see..." he sighed as he put the watch away.
"Don't take it too personally, John." Sherlock said, though he was glaring hard at Mycroft. "My brother can't be bought even with antiques."
"I'm not sacrificing my reputation for a pocket-watch."
"Where on Earth will you find another like it? Oh, bother, that's not my concern. Now if you'll excuse me, dear brother, John and I need to continue our severely hindered investigation. Good day." He turned and began heading for the door, his hands shoved into the pockets of his flowing black coat.
John followed after him.
"Hold onto that pocket-watch. Keep it safe." Sherlock said as they walked out of the building. "He'll want it for payment later."
"But he said he wasn't going to help."
"You'd be surprised how easily he changes his mind when he's alone." Sherlock replied with a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"I hope you're right."
As they walked, Sherlock limping a bit, John remembered how Mycroft had vaguely suggested that Sherlock privately refers to him as something more than a colleague.
"What did he mean, Sherlock?"
Looking at John from the corner of his eyes, he responded, "What are you talking about?"
John told him what he remembered.
Again, Sherlock seemed flustered with the topic. "He didn't mean anything by it." He lied.
"You're lying again."
Sherlock turned his whole face to John, actually beginning to look a little bit flushed. "Forget it." He insisted. "It was just him making fun of me."
"Didn't have to get upset about it. I was only asking."
"... I'm sorry. I just found it rather cruel of him to bring that up in front of you."
"How so?"
"... It was a personal conversation. I had a moment of weakness and I needed to talk to someone, and for some ungodly reason, I chose him."
"Say no more. If it's personal, I won't ask."
"Thank you, I appreciate that more than you might think."
"So what do we do now?"
"I'm honestly not sure." As he was saying this, he received a text, so he pulled out his cellphone. Looking at the message, he suddenly trailed off and stopped in his tracks.
"What is it, Sherlock?"
Silently, Sherlock showed John his phone. The text said, "Baker Street, now. Took your landlady out for a night on the town. Nice flat you and John have here. Damn shame."
John's face paled as he read the text. "We must hurry back to the flat! He might have done something to Mrs. Hudson!" he cried.
"But that's exactly what he wants us to do, John."
"But, Sherlock..."
"Oh, to hell with it, maybe he's giving us a hint. Hail us a taxi, John."
Watson nodded and hailed for a taxi.
After one stopped, Sherlock, for once, waited for John to get in first.
John got into the taxi.
Sherlock got in after and told the cabbie to take them to Baker Street.
John prayed that they weren't too late to save Mrs. Hudson.
When they arrived, they found the door into 221 Baker Street wide-open.
John gulped before slowly walking into the apartment.
"Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock called.
"Are you in here?" Watson called out as well.
Not hearing anything in response, Sherlock poked his head into her flat, 221A. Shortly after, however, he pulled his head out, and ran up the stairs for 221B.
John quickly followed him.
When they got inside, they discovered that their entire flat was in complete disarray; books were thrown everywhere, the knife used to hold the letters down on the mantelpiece was gone, and the furniture was all thrown around. It looked like a tornado had passed through, and not to mention, one of the windows had been smashed through.
John's face paled as he began to worry about their landlady even more.
"Can you believe the nerve of this guy?" Sherlock asks, referring to the state of the flat. He looks at the floor, at marks and creases on the carpet, and then immediately marches toward the broken window.
"We must find this fiend and soon, Sherlock!"
"John?" Sherlock mumbles, staring out the window at the ground below. "John, how well do you think you can treat a few broken ribs, a broken limb or two, a concussion, and a suspected punctured lung?"
"I would need to do all treatment at a hospital, Sherlock. Please don't tell me those are Mrs. Hudson's injuries..."
"All the better; we'll have the hospital take care of her." was Sherlock's response before he pulled out his phone. He was about to call Lestrade, but instead, he tossed his phone to John. "Make the call. I need to check something."
He nodded and made the call.
As he did, Sherlock disappeared into his own bedroom.
"Hello?" said Lestrade when he answered the call after a few rings.
"Inspector, I need an ambulance here. Mrs. Hudson was attacked!"
"By who?!"
"I don't know! I came home to the flat and saw it was wrecked so I went to the landlady to check on her and her flat is in ruins as well!"
"Where is Sherlock? Do you have any idea where he is?"
"I have no idea where Sherlock went, Inspector, but Mrs. Hudson needs help now!"
"Alright! Just try to care for her while an ambulance is on the way, and if you see Sherlock, then be careful!"
"Alright. Please hurry." he said before hanging up and went to tend to Mrs. Hudson.
The landlady was hurt bad, lying on the ground outside and only half conscious.
"Help's on the way, Mrs. Hudson." he told her as he held her hand and did his best to help her.
As he waited, Sherlock was nowhere to be seen, presumably still in the flat.
He continued to help Mrs. Hudson.
Soon enough, an ambulance arrived, as did Detective Inspector Lestrade himself.
"John! Has Sherlock been here at all recently?!" He shouted.
"He hasn't, Inspector."
As Lestrade kicked the ground in frustration, his partner, Sally Donovan, stepped out of the car as well.
"I'm going in anyway." She announced as she ran into 211 Baker Street.
"Sherlock wouldn't do something like this, Inspector, if that's what you're thinking."
"I know he wouldn't. I just can't convince anyone else of that. I'm just here to keep my job at this point."
"I understand that."
Suddenly, Donovan ran back outside. "Greg! You need to see this."
"What is it?"
"Upstairs, in the Freak's bedroom." was her only reply, referring to Sherlock.
Lestrade shot John a quick glance before hurrying inside.
John hurried inside as well.
The two of them found that the words "GET SHERLOCK" were practically dug into the wall opposite of the bedroom door, with a smiley face drawn into the "O".
Sherlock was nowhere to be found.