I relayed all the information that I knew to Carlyle while scrubbing my hands clean.

"Mrs. Hudson, I suggest that you not be present." I told her

"John Hamish Watson, This man, even though many people see him as cold hearted, has done alot for me and he cares about me. I am going to be here to help you and him." She replied sternly.

I wasn't about to argue with her. Frankly, if I were her, I would be doing the same thing.

"Alright." I replied, then I went and knelt by Sherlock. "Carlyle, start him on oxygen. I'm going to start making the incision."

"Where are you cutting?" He asked has he set up the oxygen tanks.

"I'm going to cut about two inches above and below the bullet wound."

I made the incision and was done when Carlyle knelt opposite me. I pulled a head lamp onto my forehead and turned it on. Pulling the incision apart, I finally got a chance to see the inside of Sherlock's chest. His right lung was full and inflated, working properly. My eye turned to Sherlock's heart. The heart that was beating, the heart that was keeping him alive. It was the left lung that was damaged.

I could see it through the ribs. It had gone flat, which meant that the bullet had either punctured or nicked the lung. I could easily see the wound, luckily the bullet had grazed the lung. That was an injury that I could easily fix.

"Hand me a suture." I ordered without looking up.

I felt it in my hand and focused on the wound. With precise and practiced movements, I was able to close the hole in Sherlock's lung. I put the suture back into Carlyle's hand after asking for a chest tube. As he was getting it, I took a second suture and began to stitch the incision sight. I left a large enough hold in the chest for the chest tube. Carlyle handed me the chest tube and I carefully inserted it into Sherlock's chest cavity. I heard as the air escaped his chest through the tube.

Sherlock's chest slowly began to rise and fall. His breathing was labored, but at least he was breathing. I taped the tube in place and covered the rest of the wound. I placed an oxygen mask on Sherlock before standing up. My knees cracked as I stood to give directions.

"We need to carefully move him onto the couch, without dislodging the chest tube."

With Mrs. Hudson's help, we were able to move quickly. We took a few seconds to move Sherlock carefully. Thankfully, the chest tube did not dislodge. I turned the PSI up on the oxygen tank and covered him in a blanket.

Carlyle and I both walked into the kitchen to wash our hands clean.

"Good job, Watson." Carlyle commented as he dried his hands.

"I have to thank you for your help." I replied.

Carlyle took a look at his phone. I assumed that he had received a text.

"I have to go. Emergency back home. Let me know if there is anything else that you need." He informed me.

"Thanks again." I repeated, drying my hands.

"You're welcome." He shouted as he walked out of the door.

I walked back into the living room as I heard the front door slam. I watched from the window as Carlyle got into his truck and leave. After he was down the street, I turned around to see Mrs. Hudson watching Sherlock.

"Mrs. Hudson, It will be a while before Sherlock is awake. Why don't we have some tea?"

"I'd like that." She acknowledged.

I went into the kitchen, bringing the files with me. As the water boiled, I looked over the files briefly. There were family trees, DNA reports, back stories, and even more papers that I didn't even know about.

"What are you looking at John?"

Mrs. Hudson had walked into the kitchen and I didn't even know it.

"Just some papers that Sherlock wanted me to get from his flat across town." I answered, grabbing my phone. "Get to 221B. Emergency." I sent to Mycroft before I called him.

"What do you want, John?" He asked exasperated.

"Did you get my text?"

"Of course, I bloody well did! I'm on my way now. This better be good." Then Mycroft hung up.

I shoved my phone back into my pocket and shut the file folders, as the kettle hissed. I poured a cup for Mrs. Hudson and handed it to her.

"I am going to check on Sherlock. Please, drink the tea." I informed her.

I went and knelt next to Sherlock, taking his wrist in my hands. Even though the heart monitor told me everything that I needed, I still had to be sure. I needed to check for myself that he was still alive. I could feel his pulse pound underneath my fingers. I could see his warm breath frost the inside of the oxygen mask. I could see the rise and fall of Sherlock's chest. I could feel his warm skin in my hand.

All of these are signs that Sherlock is alive, but I can't believe that he is. I had no feeling, no perception of what had happened when he first stepped through the threshold of 221B. Now, I know that I can't him again. I have to keep him alive. There are questions that I need answered, but I will have to wait again to get them answered. I held his hand in mine, still in amazement that Sherlock was still alive. I cold wrap my mind around the idea.

How had Sherlock faked his death? I was glad that he was alive. I had Sherlock back in my life. As I heard the front door slam, I was forced to release Sherlock's hand. I glanced once more to Sherlock then approached our flat door.

"Who is it, John?" Mrs. Hudson questioned.

"It's Mycroft Holmes, ." He called in response from the stairs.

Mrs. Hudson appeared at my side and looked at Mycroft with worry.

"Is everything alright, Mycroft?"

"Yes. John wishes to discuss some business with me. Of what kind, I do not know."

"I will leave you two boys be. John, I will be downstairs if you need anything."

"We will be fine, ." I replied as she retreated down the stairs.

"What are you doing? Starting your own practice?" Mycroft asked as he entered the sitting room.

"Something like that." I replied.

I realized that Mycroft could not see his unconscious brother behind the medical crates.

"So, what's this big emergency that you have?" Mycroft asked as I shut the flat door.

"Maybe you could ask him." I replied, pointing to Sherlock. Mycroft turned to face his brother, his face never changing expressions. "YOU KNEW!" I exploded in anger. "YOU KNEW THAT HE WAS ALIVE. WHO ELSE KNEW?"

"No one else knows, except for Lestrade." Mycroft answered.

"WHY DIDN'T I KNOW! I'M HIS FLAT MATE FOR CHRIST SAKES!"

"I have no logical reason for knowing why you could not be told. Sherlock was being irrational. He made me swear not to tell you. The only reason Lestrade knew was because Sherlock said it was vital. Please tell me that Sherlock is not the only reason that you have called me here?"

I grabbed Mycroft by the arm, dragging him into the kitchen.

"Are you not at all concerned about your brother? You haven't once asked what had happened to him. For your information, he was shot and wouldn't go to the hospital. I was forced to fix his collapsed lung."

"That was not my question, John." Mycroft said calmly.

"You cold heartless bastard." I spat.

"I have been called many things, John. That does not phase me in the least. Why am I here?"

I turned around to grab the file off the desk. With anger coursing through my body, I shoved the file into Mycroft's chest. He absorbed the hit, holding the files to his chest, before throwing them on the desk and staring me down. His eyes burned like the fires of hell. He began to flip through the files, tearing his gaze away from me.

"What is this?" He questioned, motioning to the files after a few minutes of perusing them.

"This can clear Sherlock's name. It proves that Richard Brook never existed."

"So this is why you called me here?"

"Hey, you're the one who said that you would be able to clear his name if I gave you evidence. Well, here is your damn evidence. Go and clear his name."

"There is no evidence here." Mycroft replied with a smug look of defiance.

It was then that I heard a sound that made my heart stop, but it made my feet race. The heart monitor that was constantly reassuring me that Sherlock was alive was now making a high pitched beeping sound. It was telling me that Sherlock was dead.


NOTE 12/18/12: Okay, readers, I know that you want more. I need everybody to take a chill pill and stop telling me that I need to get on it. I know that I need to write more. I'm a college student taking 19 credits next semester and working a full time job over break. I will get to my story, when I get to it. If you want the rest of the story to be amazing, GIVE ME TIME!