AN - I present to you... CHAPTER FOUR!

I meant to say in the notes on the last chapter but I posted it at three in the morning and I forgot - I remembered after publishing chapter one that I'd said this bit of the story is set in January, but Mary and John got married in May, and I wanted Mary to be no more than five months pregnant, so I had an issue. So I've changed January in chapter one to October. Please forgive.

Oh, and I don't think Mary's like this. I love Mary. If Mary turns out to be anything similar to how I've portrayed her, I'll cry.

I hope you like Chapter Four, my lovelies nwn

Chapter Four

When Sherlock stands up, his eyes turned away from John, he's surprised his legs can hold him. His right hand is trembling slightly.

For the first time, it catches John's eye. But he's too consumed with worry for his wife and his baby and his mind is still slightly hazy from sleep and he's shivering and he can't quite process everything that's happening. So he says nothing.

Sherlock manages to pull on his coat and tie his scarf around his neck. As he makes for the door, John lingers.

"Sherlock. Where are we going?"

Sherlock moistens his lips and turns back to face him. "Magnussen's house."

"The blackmailer you told me about?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because that's where they'll be."

"They'll?" John's eyes are wide, his brow creasing with worry and panic. "What the hell is going on?"

Sherlock swallows thickly. "I don't know. Not entirely. I can't even be sure that they'll be there, but it's the most likely place I can think of at the moment. Especially considering they'll be expecting us."

"Both of us?"

"Obviously. Mary left that note for me to work out. She knew you'd come here, regardless of everything."

"Everything?" John gazes at Sherlock, eyebrows raised slightly.

Sherlock looks down. "I'll explain later."

"I'll hold you to that."

"Fine."

"Anyway - have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Worked it out."

Sherlock glances at the note in his hand again, at Mary's curly handwriting, the J of John's name looping under the rest of it and the finely written content. Her hand wasn't shaking at all. She knew exactly what she was doing when she wrote it. She wrote it until just before she left - the ink's ever so slightly smudged from when she folded it, and on John's name from when she left it under her pillow. Your last vow. John's last vow? Sherlock's last vow? Who's? Sherlock's head gets heavier and his chest gets tighter.

"No. No, I haven't," he sighs. "I don't know. I'm sorry, I… I don't know what we can do, whether they'll be there. I'm guessing, John, I'm just guessing." He shakes his hand out a little and he takes a few deep breaths.

"Sherlock?" John licks his lips gazes at the ruined detective.

"It's fine," Sherlock replies. "John, it'll be fine. But I… I don't know how to explain. I can't… I don't know, John." Sherlock's eyes are closed.

"It's okay. Sherlock, look at me."

Sherlock looks up and meets John's eyes.

"It's going to be okay. I trust you.

Sherlock nods. They remain quiet for a few moments, the silent exchange more reassuring than any words could be.

They turn and leave the flat.

Sherlock wonders how John could trust him now, in spite of everything.

John wants to just stop the world for long enough so that he can fix everything that's breaking, even a little bit, in Sherlock's mind. So he can repair all the damage he will always blame himself for.

Neither of them say anything.

oOo

It's not hard to find a taxi with Sherlock around. Sherlock gives the cabbie the address and they spend the remainder of the journey in silence. John keeps biting his lips and gazing out of the window as London slips past them. Sherlock stares into the empty space before him and clenches his trembling hand. The driver makes no comment as they make their way through the sleepless city.

Magnussen's house is not dark. There are two cars on the drive - the large, black Rolls Royce Magnussen bought himself simply because he could and the small, everyday car that tells John that Mary is definitely here. John pays the cabbie and he and Sherlock get out of the car. The night air ruffles Sherlock's hair and sends a shiver through John. Sherlock begins to walk towards the front door.

"What, we're just going to ring the doorbell?"

"Like I said - they're expecting us."

"Right. Don't you think this might be dangerous?"

"Of course it will be. But, if you didn't find danger intriguing, you wouldn't be here."

"I wouldn't, would I?" John sighs and shakes his head at himself.

Sherlock knows John is trying his best not to show that he's afraid. And he knows that if John finds out what Sherlock himself is feeling, it'd make everything just fall apart. So Sherlock keeps his shoulders back and feigns confidence as the pair walk up to the door.

"Wait." John catches Sherlock's elbow just before they reach it.

Sherlock gazes at him.

"Why would she be here? Why would she do this?"

Sherlock sighs. "John, there are many things that I don't know. There's only one thing I'm sure of. She's a liar."

And the look on John's face as Sherlock says it feels like a knife in his stomach.

Before they can say anything more, the front door opens.

"Mr Holmes, Dr Watson. Thank you for coming at such an inconvenient time. Let me take your coats."

John hesitates as Sherlock enters. Everyone seems to know what they're doing except him.

Sherlock gazes at the butler and tries to read what he can as he tries to keep himself together. He's Sherlock Holmes, he can tell anything about anyone. But he hardly knows what it is to be Sherlock Holmes anymore. The Sherlock Holmes he used to be, the Sherlock Holmes that didn't hurt all the time, is long gone. He takes what he can from the man and doesn't let him take his coat.

John enters and stands beside him.

"I'm cold," he says simply, staring at the butler. "I'd prefer to keep it on."

The butler nods and closes the door behind him.

Both doctor and detective scan the room they've entered. It's warm and bright and comfortable. The artwork is expensive and understated. It reminds Sherlock of his grandparents' house. Mycroft lives there now. But it will always be his grandparents' house. He supposes that the connection could have been intentional. But why Magnussen would want to put that thought in Sherlock's mind… he doesn't try to work it out.

"Are you sure?" The voice is smooth and there's a slight smile on the man's lips as he says it. "I like to keep the house warm. You know we've been expecting you. Why would we do anything to you as you step in the door?"

Sherlock and John turn their heads to see Charles Augustus Magnussen walking down the stairs on one side of the room. He's always disarmingly calm and confident. He always knows what he's doing. Sherlock doesn't let his fear show.

"Cat got your tongue?" he chuckles as he reaches them. He looks from one to the other with his eyes sparkling. John's stomach turns. "Dr Watson, your wife is waiting for you through that door."

John stares at the door as Magnussen points to it.

"You can go now. Thompson, take Dr Watson's coat."

John doesn't move as the butler takes his jacket. Sherlock watches him for a sign of a problem, but none occurs. Perhaps Magnussen had a point.

John does not leave, but Magnussen ignores him.

"Mr Holmes, it's a pleasure to see you in person at last. I'd like to have a word with you upstairs."

"I suppose you mean without John?" Sherlock's voice is stronger than he feels.

"Obviously. I suppose Dr Watson would prefer to be with his wife."

John is still just staring at the door. He licks his lips.

"You are allowed to go, Doctor."

Sherlock gives him a small nod.

John bites his lip, and walks to the door where Mary should be.

Sherlock watches him leave.

Just before he goes through the door, he looks back, and glances at his coat, nervousness creasing his brow. But he leaves without saying anything else.

"Now, Mr Holmes," Magnussen begins, still smiling. "Come along. I need to show you something I think you'll find quite interesting."

Sherlock glances at the coatrack as Magnussen turns and begins to walk towards the stairs. Then he realises. John's gun is in his coat pocket, only just visible.

Sherlock begins to follow Magnussen.

As he passes the coat rack, he slips his hand into John's pocket and retrieves the gun. John keeps it in the back of his trousers, under his shirt. So, without really thinking, Sherlock tucks it there. He shivers as the gun grazes across his skin.

Magnussen turns.

"Thomson, take Mr Holmes's coat for him, will you? It is rather warm upstairs."

Sherlock does not move as the butler comes up behind him. His eyes are fixed on Magnussen's face, trying to work out his plans, his ideas. The butler's hands are on his shoulders and he feels his coat slipping off him.

And his mind is so cloudy and confused that he hardly registers the butler's hand straying.

And he's so used to the feeling that he doesn't pay attention to the slight sting in his neck.

Magnussen smirks. "You have developed quite an immunity, haven't you?" he comments lightly. "It should be immediately effective. But give it a second."

Then Sherlock registers the slowing of his mind and he turns. Thomson stands behind him, his coat in one hand, an empty syringe in the other.

"You keep making the doses bigger to make sure it's still effective. Don't even worry that too much will stop you breathing."

His voice is smooth and the room is warm. Sherlock staggers and drops to his knees.

John.

Where's John?

"Don't worry about him, you'll find out all about what's happening when you wake up."

You told me to leave. You've put me in danger.

Sherlock doesn't register saying anything as he falls forward onto his hands.

"That's right, Mr Holmes. Everything will be quiet for a while. But you're in for a treat when you wake up."

And now you're in danger too. Why do you do this? Why do you keep destroying things?

Sherlock falls onto the tiled floor and the world goes black.

Why did you come back? You shouldn't have come back.

oOo

"I'm going to need you to take these."

Mary is smiling at him. She has a glass of water in one hand and two small, white pills in the other. John's eyes are fixed on her face.

"Nothing to worry about. Only some small narcotics."

"Why?" John asks. His voice cracks slightly and everything is cold with fear and his mind is screaming at him for leaving Sherlock with Magnussen.

"We need to go somewhere. Can't risk you remembering how we got there. You might be able to get back."

"You're not planning on letting me leave?"

"Well, you can't stay here forever. But you'll need assistance getting out."

John bites his lip.

"Oh, John, don't. It did get hard. Really. I hate this, I really do. But I have to do what I have to do. Now, take these."

"No."

John isn't thinking properly. There's no way he could be.

Mary's still smiling.

"Please?"

"No."

Mary - his wife - sighs. "Never mind. We'll have to do this another way." She places the glass and the pills on a small table nearby.

"What do you mean?"

She's still smiling. And the curve of her soft, kind lips makes John's stomach churn.

"Flynn?" Mary calls, ignoring John.

"Flynn? Mary, please, what's happening?"

Mary ignores her husband. A large, muscular man enters through a side door, grinning. The grin is almost as terrifying to John as his wife's soft smile.

"Flynn, he won't take the pills. Would you… Well, initiate Plan B?"

He smirks as he walks over to John.

John is a soldier. He will not run. Even when every sense is telling him to get Sherlock and get out. He will find out everything that's happening and he will not run.

And he knows what's going to happen but flinching is no use because he's being forced to the ground and he can taste blood and it's at least a minute before John's body gives up on consciousness.

When he wakes up, everything hurting, Mary is smiling at him.

When Sherlock wakes up, his head spinning, he can see Mary smiling at John. He can see John's damaged face and the bruises forming on John's neck and wrists. He can see exactly how John's wrists are bound together and his legs are bound to the chair. He can see what Mary's got in her pocket and what she's going to do.

And he can see that he's in a room that's too far away from where they are as he gazes at the screen set up so he can watch as the events play out, Magnussen at his side. And he knows that the most entertaining part for the twisted, disgusting man is that Sherlock knows how the scene ends.

And, for the first time, Sherlock can't see a way to change it.

He's going to watch John Watson die.