A/N: As always thanks to old ping hai, who one this really helped me hammer out this chapter. I can only write late at night when I know my baby won't wake up so it makes for very tired writing. It makes sense in my head, but to others...not so much and she helps me with that.

If the first little bit confuses you go read the ACD story "The Adventure of the Three Garridebs" which is quite the fart of a surname and I didn't want to use it. And I did a Moffat and changed the last name of the forger. Well, I changed a whole heck of a lot more than that, but must needs be for the story and all.

Plus we find out why Victor is picking on our John.

Enjoy!


Sherlock thought the case sounded highly intriguing. A friend of Mycroft's came to him saying that another gentleman had come to him bearing the same unusual last name. He said that he was looking for a separate gentleman also bearing the rare surname, saying that he was looking for this other gentleman to give him his share in the inheritance. But Mycroft thought it was strange and dug a little deeper. While his friend and the missing gentleman indeed had the same surname, this other fellow most certainly did not.

John thought the whole thing was dizzying.

This gentleman was actually a dangerous criminal whose real name was James Winter and was looking for the treasury plates. He had killed the man who had hidden them there and was upset that there was someone else living in the house where the dead man said he had stored the plates in the cellar. The man, one Roger Peabody, who was in fact once a forger for Moriarty. Sherlock had dug deeper and found that the missing gentleman was a fiction perpetrated by Winter to get the poor eccentric out of the house.

Sherlock had Mycroft accompany his friend to meet the fictional gentleman while he and John sat in the cellar, lying in wait for the sneaky blackguard. They watched while the criminal opened the secret passage and waited until Winter was fully inside before they sprang their trap. Sadly, they had missed one detail.

Winter was armed.

As soon as he saw the two guns aimed at him, he fired twice. The first shot went wide. John and Sherlock were not quite so fortunate when it came to the second shot. John cried out in pain and dropped to the floor. Sherlock leaped over his friend and bashed the killer over the head with the butt of his revolver, drawing blood. It was enough to daze Winter, though not enough to knock him out. Sherlock disarmed him and then dashed back to John's side.

"John! John! Are you alright?" Sherlock called as he panicked, searching his friend's torso for the wound. Finding none in the mortal areas, he led his friend over to a small chair.

John grimaced in pain. "I'm fine, Sherlock. It was just a graze. It hurts like bloody hell, though."

Sherlock turned back to the criminal who lay bleeding on the floor, his face a dark and twisted mask of fury. "If you had killed him, you wouldn't be leaving this room alive either."

The other man scoffed. "I know you've got cops on the way here; you would have been hauled off if you had tried."

"Oh, I don't know," Sherlock growled menacingly. "I think I could make a case for self defense. Plus, didn't you hear? My brother's the British Government and it was his friend you tried to swindle."

Winter paled and gulped noisily and Sherlock's expression turned into a dangerous grin. Seeing that the criminal was sufficiently cowed, Sherlock turned back to John, clearly concerned.

It was then that John realized the wound was worth it. It would have been worth a thousand wounds, for he had seen beneath his friend's mask and seen the depth of the love and loyalty his friend had for him.

He blushed from embarrassment when that same friend growled at the EMT's that had been called, when they said they had to cut the trouser leg off to stitch the wound.

"Oi! You know they have to cut it off so that the material doesn't stick to the wound. It's alright. It's not as though the jeans were new or anything. Or even my favorite."

Sherlock backed off. He couldn't tell his friend that he wasn't worried about the stitching or the material. He was worried that the pretty, young EMT might get too much of an eyeful. And while he had to live with Mary seeing parts of John that he didn't, that didn't mean he had to put up with others doing so.

While they were stitching him up, he called Mary.

"Hey, love," John said when she picked up. He could hear Victor giggling in the background. The man was still there and judging from the giggles, a little inebriated. Most likely from the wine that Sherlock and he had left behind.

"Oh hey, John," she replied and John could tell she was little tipsy, too. He sighed to himself. "I was about to call Victor a cab. We were both waiting to see if you and Sherlock would be returning tonight. Which clearly, you're not."

"About that, Mary…there was an incident…" John began.

This time Mary sighed. "Which hospital are you at?"

"None of them. They wanted me to go to hospital and keep me there to insure there weren't any complications, but Sherlock pointed out it's really only a scratch that didn't take many stitches. So they are sending me home with strict instructions not to move until the stitches dissolve."

"So where was it this time?" she asked with all the resigned patience of someone who has done this once or twice before.

"The upper thigh, which means I will be holed up on the couch until Dr. Holmes deems it's safe enough for me to be out and about again."

Mary chuckled at that. The detective was not one for taking care of himself, but when John was injured on the job, Sherlock made damn sure his flatmate did everything the doctors said. It drove John nuts sometimes, doctors really being the worst patients, but most of the time he enjoyed the attention.

"I'll stop by to make sure that Dr. Holmes doesn't drive you too insane," Mary said and then paused. "Well, more insane than you two already are," she amended.

"Thanks," John said before hanging up.

Sherlock smiled down at his friend. "Come on, John, let's go home."


The next day found Mycroft and Victor staring down a rather furious Liya Mason. Despite the fact that both men towered over her, they cowered from her as she screamed in wordless rage, pacing and tearing at her hair for awhile. Sherrinford walked in at the tail end of her screaming and smirked at the two men frightened by the short red-head. Mycroft having caught the look from his older brother, rolled his eyes. After all it wasn't what she could do to them physically that held them there, but what she could do to them psychologically.

Finally calm enough to speak clearly, Liya turned to the two men who had upset her plan.

"I don't know who I'm upset with more, to be honest. But let's start with Mycroft, shall we? After all, he's family."

Mycroft winced. "I don't know why you are blaming me for this; it's not as though I planned to have a criminal shoot Dr. Watson in the leg," he huffed at his sister-in-law.

"They were only supposed to spend the night in a small, enclosed space and maybe a have a romantic epiphany or three. Not spend the night at the hospital because John had been shot!"

Mycroft lifted a finger, "Actually, they didn't. They spent the night at Baker Street because somehow Sherlock convinced the EMT's that between the two of them, he and Dr. Watson, they would be able to discern that something was wrong. So they let Sherlock take the good doctor home."

"Oh." Liya blinked. "Oh!" So Mary had been a little jealous that Sherlock got to take care of John instead of her and said that they had spent the night at the hospital. Well, that made things all the more juicy.

"Yes, well. It gets better," Mycroft was starting to look smug.

Liya sat on Sherrinford's lap and motioned for him to continue, looking very intrigued.

"I stopped by Baker Street this morning as I am wont to do after these little incidents. What I found was most interesting." Mycroft's smug grin continued to grow.

"My, darling, if you don't speed up your story, I'll invite that lovely little Detective Inspector over for tea," Liya threatened.

Mycroft blanched. The last thing he wanted was to have his sister-in-law get her claws into Gregory. It was bad enough that she meddled with those in their circle, but to add the gray-haired man into the mix would be a disaster for the politician. Especially if she learned- he stopped that thought before it could fully form. He mustn't think about that.

He coughed discreetly before continuing on. "Right, well. I expected Sherlock's state of shock and fear. After all his best friend, and if he were honest with himself, the love of his life was shot last night. What was a surprise, however, was the way John kept looking at his friend. It was as though he had realized that Sherlock's feelings toward him might not be strictly platonic."

"Really?" she cried, excitedly.

Mycroft nodded. "I don't think he quite believes it yet, but now he's going to be on the lookout for signs of attraction for himself coming from his best friend."

"Well then. You are most assuredly forgiven," Liya clapped her hands. She turned to the other victim of her rage. "I suppose the cat is out of the bag; we are trying to get John and Sherlock together. And you were supposed to play nice last night. I even asked you to be nice to John because he's had a rough time. And what do you do instead, you deliberately antagonized the poor man. What on earth possessed you?"

Victor chuckled. "It appears, my dear, we have the same goal."

Liya rocked her head back in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"It would take a blind man not to have noticed that those two are madly in love with each other, but are too stubborn to do anything but pine."

"Alright," she said slowly. "I'll give you that. I still don't understand why you went out of your way to make John upset with you."

"Jealousy. Pure, honest jealousy. Flirt with Sherlock, talk about the old days, imply that had I not had been straight there would have been more between us. Get John riled up to the point where he has to confront the fact that he is undoubtedly in love with Sherlock."

Liya blinked. Well, that was a strategy she hadn't thought of. And of course it was working; rather well, in fact. She would have to bring the tall red-head in on Operation: Johnlock.

"How do you feel about the charming Miss Morstan?" she said, putting her fingers to her lips.

Victor laughed. "Ah, I see. So, it's a game of let's not alienate Sherlock's friend while getting him hooked up with her boyfriend. And what? You picked me because I was on hand?"

"No, of course not," Liya looked offended the very notion. "She was rather charmed by you. It would take the barest nudge in your direction and you could have her at your feet."

"Well…she is pretty and intelligent. Charming as you said. I suppose I could take one for the team, as it were."

Liya rubbed her hands together in glee. "Excellent." Then she proceeded to tell Victor their plans to get the two stubborn flatmates together at last.