Evening people!

Okay, don't tell me I don't give you guys anything! Two chapters in two days! Here's the second part of Choices. And its quite emotional. I got depressed writing it. That's the main warning this time. It's likely to make you feel worse than the last part did. I do hope you all like though. Somehow! I'll try to have the next update up by the end of next week. It depends on how busy I am...

Thanks to all my very faithful reviewers who have stuck with me for ages now and you are all amazing. Also, thanks to any new readers who have just discovered this series, glad you see you here!

The Princess of Whatever: Thank you, glad you enjoyed it. Glad you thought Moriarty was okay, he's fun to write. Bad guys always are! :D Enjoy this chapter! If that's possible! :( :D:D

: Oh God, I'm sorry! I really should warn you about this chapter as well! I got depressed (and even a little upset) writing it. It will get better! I promise! And there is hope in this chapter, you'll see. I can promise you a happy ending! There you go. Even though getting there is not going to be a picnic! I hope you think this chapter is okay and hope you let me know, as normal! :D *Hugs*

XmillieX: Thanks for another review! :) Its about to get worse, trust me. Kill anybody off? Oh, that won't happen, I can actually promise you that. I'd miss the character too much. Yep, even Jim!

LOL! I love that thought about Mycroft! I might just have to remember that for future! ;)

Thank you so much! More coming soon!

Munchieees: Hi again, glad you liked that first part, hope this one isn't a letdown! Please let me know! More coming soon! :) And Moriarty really is great fun to write :) Enjoy this chapter! Please keep the great comments coming :)

Alora05: Nope, not good! And yes, Moriarty is winning, the Bastard! Glad you liked, enjoy this part!

101spacemonkey: Yep, not good. It might just be too little, too late. Enjoy!

Obsessed7171: Hi, thanks for the review! Glad you are enjoying this :) Hope you "like" this part, and please review again :)

Exorcist-Miranda: Hi :) Lovely long review, thank you! Mycroft definitely = bad news at the moment. Might not be as simple as it seems though. I know, poor John. He's going through a lot at the moment. He's adorable though, and so loyal... thats why this is really going to hurt... I like Moriarty too, he's brilliant! Looking forward to writing him some more :) Enjoy this part and please review again :)

OddOneOot: You're gonna be really happy with me now! Two chapters in two days! I really AM spoiling you guys! :P Please don't be nervous. Or actually, maybe it would be a good idea. Cos it's not very nice. And I got depressed writing it. Im glad its hard to guess where the story is going, I hope there are still lots of surprises coming up for people and it keeps you guys guessing! Not everything is as it seems! :) Thanks so much for all your kind words, they mean a lot to me! :)

Kit-Kat-AnGel: Hehe! Aw, don't strangle John! Bless him! Not to sure what you might want to do to Mycroft after you've read this! See, I didn't keep you waiting long for the second part! Enjoy this and make sure you let me know what you think! :D

Thanks again to the amazing Kuhekabir on LJ for beta-ing this one for me. You are awesome, love :D

Okay – Enjoy this!

Best Intentions

Choices – Part Two

John, panicked, stepped forward, and gripped Sherlock firmly by his arms. He was actually worried that the man would go charging off at that very second, find Moriarty, and deal with him accordingly.

And the thought terrified John.

That's exactly what Jim wants. That's why he brought me into it. He wants Sherlock to go after him, hurt him, give in completely to the darkness.

No. Sorry Jim. Not today.

"What are you going to do?" John enquired.

Sherlock gazed at John for a moment, John twitching uncomfortably under the other man's stare. John hated this, it was as if the other man could look right into him, seeing past all of his defences, and know everything about him. It made John so nervous, and he knew Sherlock would realise very quickly that John was hiding something from him. And if there was one thing Sherlock detested, apart from Mycroft, it was being kept in the dark.

"I won't let him hurt you," Sherlock suddenly announced. "I'll stop him. He'll be sorry he threatened you."

John blinked.

He thinks I'm scared of Moriarty.

He's not wrong. But not for the reasons he thinks.

"I know," John replied, releasing his hold on Sherlock, and stepping back. "It's you he wants to hurt anyway, not me. And you're definitely letting him do that."

Sherlock's mouth twitched, as if he wanted to retort, but decided against it. Turning away, he walked back to the shopping, leaned over and picked the bags up. Face set, and still not looking at John, he carried them to the kitchen, and dropped them unceremoniously onto the table.

John was very aware that Sherlock was blocking him out. He wasn't surprised. Sherlock didn't like admitting weaknesses and this unholy alliance with Moriarty, whatever it was, was certainly a chink in Sherlock's armour. But John also knew that he had to make Sherlock open up to him about Moriarty, and why the man chose to go to him, why he allowed Moriarty so much power over him. If Sherlock spoke about it, admitted it was a problem for him, then maybe Mycroft would back off. Then disaster could still be averted.

John only had one chance now. He had to prove to Mycroft that he was what Sherlock needed.

I don't even know if Mycroft will listen to me. I called him in, I showed my own weakness, as Mycroft expected me to do from the start. What if he won't let me change my mind?

He frowned. Mycroft had Sherlock's best intentions at heart. He was his brother. He'd do what was right, and anything right with Sherlock happened to involve John. And Mycroft knew that only to well.

Sherlock was noisily moving around the kitchen, banging cupboard doors and slamming drawers shut. John discovered, as he moved to the kitchen doorway, that Sherlock was packing away his shopping, into all the wrong places. John watched, with some amusement, as Sherlock put tins of baked beans in the bread bin, grapes and cheese in the plate cupboard and fairy liquid in the fridge. John couldn't help but feel a rush of affection. He'd have to sort everything out once Sherlock was done, but the fact that Sherlock would make the effort, it meant a lot to John.

It gave him hope.

John rolled his eyes as Sherlock tried to pile too many kitchen rolls in a cupboard already filled to the brim.

"Need a hand?" John asked.

Sherlock threw him a withering look. "Now you offer, John? Very considerate of you."

"Is that a yes?"

"I'm fine."

"Course you are." John leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. "By the way, Sherlock, you should probably know the Fairy liquid doesn't usually live in the fridge."

Sherlock blinked twice. "Does it matter?" He demanded.

John shrugged. "Guess not." He silently made up his mind to put the kitchen right long before Mrs Hudson did her usual shop and saw the mess Sherlock had made. John knew that Sherlock had really made an effort and he didn't want him embarrassed.

John's stomach churned. What if Sherlock wasn't there when Mrs Hudson gets back from her break? What if Mycroft did as he promised and took the "problem" away from John and there was nothing John could do to stop him? What was he supposed to tell Mrs Hudson? Or Lestrade? Or Molly?

Why hadn't he thought things through before calling Mycroft?

What have I done?

"John?"

John looked up quickly, to find that Sherlock was once again regarding him closely.

"Sorry, I was miles away." John could have kicked himself. He had to get a grip. Sherlock was obviously concerned by John's distracted behaviour and it would only be a matter of time before he worked out why if John didn't pull himself together. "Did you say something?"

Sherlock frowned. "You shouldn't let him worry you this much," Sherlock replied quietly. "You do know I'd never let him get to you again, don't you?"

"He'll do what he wants," John stated simply. "Moriarty always does."

Sherlock shook his head firmly. "Not this time. Not now he brought you into the game."

John grimaced. "Game, Sherlock? Is that what you've been doing with him? Playing?"

"That's all we ever do."

"And you think that's okay. You think that is what sex should be about, do you?"

Sherlock paused, a slight frown crossing his face. He walked past John, moving back into the centre of the lounge. "I don't know any other way, John."

John swallowed. He wanted to shout at Sherlock, grab him and shake him, and make him understand the truth.

I wanted to show you another way. I wanted to go there with you. But we both fucked it up.

Out loud, John said, "Let's get out of here."

Sherlock was thrown. "What?"

"I think you and I should go get a drink."

Sherlock smiled, as if he assumed John was joking. It dawned on Sherlock quickly that John was completely serious.

"It's three am." He jerked his head toward the clock. "It's a bit late for a drink, John."

John continued on, undeterred.

"There's a 24 hour bar in Marylebone High Street, I used to go there sometimes with Sarah." His eyes were pleading. "Please, Sherlock. It's just a drink."

"What for?"

"Don't you think we have things we need to talk about?"

"Can't we talk here?"

John was fighting to stay calm.

"New place, new prospective?" He closed his eyes. "Please, Sherlock. We've been through to much to give up on each other. Isn't it worth a try? Just do this for me?"

Sherlock hesitated.

John waited.

I have to get him out. If I don't, then Mycroft will find another way to get to Sherlock.

Plus, it will buy us some time. Time for me to think of something.

"Is it because of Moriarty?" Sherlock whispered. "Because I promise you that you're safe here, John."

John wiped at the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. "Safe isn't the word I'd use, Sherlock. Not with snipers ready to take pot shots at me through the window."

Sherlock was thinking it over, looking towards the doorway leading to the staircase reluctantly.

Finally, John's desperation won him over.

"Okay," Sherlock said. "If you want too. One drink though, and that's it. Places like the one you have in mind irritate me, crowded by stupid, ignorant, trivial people. And playing soulless, faceless manufactured music so loud to drown out the very possibility of any intelligent conversation." He slipped on his gloves, his annoyance growing with every word. "Shall we go then, get it over with?"

John scoffed. "Good to know you care, Sherlock."

Sherlock gave him a frosty stare, and then moved to the stairway. "When you're ready, John." He snapped, impatiently, and then headed down the steps.

Left alone for a moment, John took the opportunity to steal a quick glance at his phone. And, after one second, a text arrived. He flinched at the loud sound altering him to the fact, and looked up sharply, wondering if Sherlock had heard. When his friend did not reappear, and realising how crazy his guilt was now making him act, John momentarily relaxed.

How could Sherlock have heard? He doesn't have bat ears. Even if he had, why would Sherlock immediately assume the text was from Mycroft? I need to stop panicking and keep it together.

With a sigh, John read the message:

"Well done, John. Well played. We will talk about unwanted phone calls to you later. For now, enjoy your drink, and don't worry. You've done the right thing. I will be in touch again shortly."

John brought a shaky hand up to his mouth as he re-read the message twice.

"I can't do this," he whispered, not caring whether Mycroft could hear him or not. He was fully aware that the flat was very likely to be bugged, and his words being overheard at that very moment, but he wasn't put off. "I made a mistake, Mycroft. I won't let you take Sherlock. I can get through to him. Please."

He watched his phone, waiting. There was no response.

"John?" Sherlock said loudly, sounding very agitated. "Do you want to go out, or not?"

"Coming," John called back, slipping his phone back in his pocket, and then walking quickly out of the flat and down the stairs to where Sherlock was waiting at the front door, not smiling.

"What were you doing?" He demanded.

"Nothing." John replied, "lets go."

With a frown, Sherlock pulled open the door, and rushed out, John rushing to keep up with the taller, flustered man, a feeling of dread building deep within the doctor's gut with every new step.

XXX

They walked quickly, John having to rush to keep up with Sherlock's long strides. They didn't speak, Sherlock keeping his head down as he went along. John knew that Sherlock knew the way, every single way, to all the bars that were in the city, and possibly even further afield. So, John stayed quiet. Better to let Sherlock lead them to the bar, especially as that would spare them a possible argument, and John still hoped that Sherlock would talk to him, actually continue to open up and make progress, just as they had started to back at the house.

John was nervous as they walked, taking notice of every person who went by. He didn't trust a soul, knowing that anyone could be watching them, working for Mycroft or Moriarty. He knew Sherlock was tense too, though he kept his head down, he was never anything but fully alert. Thankfully, no one seemed bothered by, or at all interested in them as they passed. Not that John was able to relax though. He still expected both men would make some move tonight. It was up to John to make sure that nothing untoward happened that night. Especially, if it did, it would be all his own fault.

He was desperate to keep his betrayal from Sherlock. His friend would not understand, or appreciate, his reasons for handing him over. He wasn't even certain Sherlock would be interested in John's change of heart. John's loyalty mattered more to Sherlock than anything, John was only too aware of that, and John had let him down, badly. John would do whatever it took to prevent Sherlock from finding out.

Whatever it took.

"We're here." Sherlock suddenly announced.

John looked up. Sure enough, they were stood outside the bar. Looking through the windows, John could see it was pretty quiet. John wasn't surprised. It was getting to half past three in the morning! And it wasn't the most popular bar in the City, not by any means. But, it would suffice.

Sherlock pulled open the door, a grimace of annoyance on his face when the unmistakable sound of Girls Aloud floated out to them. Sherlock gave John an accusing glare, which John ignored. Then, together, they walked in, both of them pleased to be out of the cold. Well, John was pleased. Sherlock looked as if he was about to be physically tortured.

"It's just a bar!" John told him, growing impatient with Sherlock's derogatory attitude.

"It's a cheesy dive," Sherlock responded. "Look at the other people in here. They all look equally bored with their lot in life." He pointed a woman sat at a table not far from them. "Look at her, falling asleep over her glass of vodka."

John coughed uncomfortably as the poor woman stirred. Sherlock was not bothering to lower his voice and the woman, and the rest of the place, could hear his every word.

Sherlock was unconcerned by this.

"She comes in here every night. It's obvious. Orders the same drink, sits at the same table, wasting her life. Nothing to live for, no one to keep her company. Is that normal, John? Is that the right way to live? Well, you can keep it. I'd rather be me."

John swore under his breath, and with a snarl off, "Shut up," he grabbed Sherlock's arm, and pulled him across the bar, over to a table in the corner of the room, well away from the few other customers populating the bar. This also guaranteed them privacy, and hopefully the ability for Sherlock to leave the establishment in one piece, should he upset the wrong person with his callousness.

"What are you drinking?" John asked, quietly.

Sherlock was staring out of the window. "I'm not," he replied, distractedly.

"You don't want a drink?" John tried again.

Sherlock eyed him. "I never said I did. This was your idea, remember?"

John jerked his head. "Fine," he offered, and then made his way over to the bar to order himself a diet coke. He was given an unimpressed look from the bar tender for his trouble. John couldn't blame him. They had come in, disturbed the peace, and insulted some of his customers and then hardly spent a thing once they had settled.

Not exactly the best course of action.

John was handed his drink, and he made his way back to Sherlock, who was still staring, expressionless, out at the quiet street.

"Alright?" John enquired, taking his place in the seat opposite Sherlock.

Sherlock glanced at him. "Fine." He noted John's diet coke. "Is that all you wanted?"

John shrugged.

Sherlock shook his head. "We came a long way for you to have a soft drink, John."

"Well," John responded, eyeing Sherlock. "Maybe I didn't want to come here for a drink?"

Now he had Sherlock's full attention. "Why then?"

"I wanted to talk to you."

Sherlock let out a deep sigh. "We are talking."

"No, Sherlock. I mean, really talk. About everything. About what happened, what is going on with Moriarty," he paused, lowering his voice to just about a whisper, "and you and me..."

Sherlock looked back, unblinking.

"And you thought a noisy bar would be the most suitable place for that conversation?"

"It's hardly noisy." John responded, looking around. "I just thought, you know, a change of scenery..."

"And Moriarty was a factor, obviously."

John pursed his lips together. "Well, he was watching us. He could have shot either one of us, if he wanted too."

Sherlock smiled humourlessly. "That's not the plan. He knows the game, he made up the rules."

"Our lives are not a game."

Sherlock didn't reply to that. His gaze intensified for a moment, and then he returned to staring out of the window.

John watched him.

"Do you think this is all you're good for? Playing Moriarty's sick game?"

Sherlock continued to ignore him, his face steady, as he stayed glued to the window.

"Sherlock?" John probed.

"What, John?" He sounded weary now. Defeated.

"Why are you sleeping with him?"

Sherlock's neck snapped round instantly.

"Do you want to speak any louder?" He hissed, his eyes darting nervously around the room.

No one took a blind bit of notice of him or John.

"They can't hear us, Sherlock. They aren't interested." He leaned closer. "Tell me how it started."

"It's not important."

"Yes, it is. I want to know, Sherlock. I want to understand. Help me to."

Sherlock hesitated. Inwardly, he was cringing. He was lying on his back, in that filthy warehouse, able to see Moriarty closely as he leering over him, his eyes sparkling with excitement. The way it had began, it had taken him by complete surprise. Not Jim though, he had planned it from the word go. And, like an idiot, Sherlock had fallen so easily into his trap.

Jim had hoisted him up, holding him so close, so tight. His grip had been bruising. He had forced Sherlock against a wall, pinning him there. Sherlock had been at the smaller man's mercy, having been dazed by a vicious blow to his head. No concussion though, not this time. This time, Sherlock had quickly become aware of what was happening, and what he himself had wanted. And when Moriarty had pressed his own lips against Sherlock, holding him round the middle and pushing his groin against Sherlock's, Sherlock had only hesitated for a second before he had responded. He had kissed Jim back hungrily and brutally, taking pleasure in the pain he caused to his foe. And, as he had forced Jim to his knees, seeing the man who was so entirely his equal completely at his mercy, he had felt so strong, so powerful. For the first time since that fateful night on the Embankment, Sherlock no longer felt like Anderson's victim. And it had felt incredible.

"It was what I needed," Sherlock said quietly, maybe more to himself than to John. "It gave me back control."

John closed his eyes. "Is that what you really think? You honestly feel you have control of the situation?"

Sherlock covered his face with his hands. Then, when he placed his hands on the table, refusing to look up, John could see he was ever so slightly trembling. John understood. This was not easy for him, showing this much weakness. With only a moments hesitation, John reached out, and covered Sherlock's shaky hands with his own.

"It's okay, Sherlock. I'm here."

Sherlock stared down at the hand now touching his own, and then finally up into John's, caring, patient eyes.

"I was scared, John. I thought Anderson had ruined me. I'd even frightened you off. Moriarty was just there. He knew what to say, what to do. He made me feel, John. Sex with him felt powerful, it felt good. It was what I needed."

Guilt seized John once more.

I should have been there for him, not panicking about my own feelings and what they meant. I knew he needed me. How can I blame Moriarty? This is my fault.

I've let him down, failed him.

And I wanted to give up on him, just hand him over to Mycroft, like he was nothing. He's Sherlock Holmes! My best friend... my... How could I treat him like that? What have I done?

"I'm so sorry," John whispered. "You didn't frighten me off. I behaved like a moron, and I let you down, Sherlock. Badly."

"I asked for too much."

John shook his head roughly. "No, you didn't. You expected me to be there, to help you through it, to be a friend. You didn't need me to disappear on you when you needed me the most."

"I don't blame you, John. I got myself into this situation; I'm addicted to how Moriarty makes me feel and I was proud to admit it to myself. That was all my doing, my own arrogance and stupidity." He took hold of John's face, making him look at him. "It's not your fault."

John was actually embarrassed to find a tear was threatening to spill down his cheek, and he wrenched his chin free from Sherlock's grasp, trying to hide his shame from the other man.

"John," Sherlock said, softly. "It's alright."

"I'm not going away again." John declared, and he meant it. "I'm here to stay."

Sherlock actually smiled. "Glad to hear it."

"Will you let me help you? With Moriarty?"

Sherlock frowned. "I can handle it, John."

John knew he had to be patient this time. He kept his face, and his emotions, neutral.

"You thought that when this all started, you just said so. You are strong, Sherlock, but sometimes you need some help. That's why I'm here."

Sherlock closed his eyes.

John waited.

Please, Sherlock. Please trust me.

After a long moment, Sherlock opened his eyes again and gazed intently at John.

John held his breath.

"John," Sherlock said, gently. "I would like you to help me, please."

John could have kissed him in gratitude.

It will be okay, now. Mycroft has to leave us alone. Sherlock has admitted he has a problem to me. It will be fine.

He smiled warmly.

"Thanks," John told Sherlock, his voice slightly breaking.

Sherlock nodded. John searched his face. His emotion wasn't as obvious as it was on the man's facing him, but Sherlock's eyes gave him away, as they were shining.

And the reason for that was because John was right. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Sherlock could share his burden.

John, feeling brave, knew that this was the perfect opportunity for him to tell Sherlock truly how he felt. He steadied himself, cleared his throat, and looked Sherlock right in the eye.

"Sherlock, there's something else I wanted to say..."

He suddenly realised that Sherlock was not focusing on him at all. Instead, he was staring past John, out of the window behind him.

"Sherlock?" John asked again. "What's wrong?"

Sherlock didn't reply at once, he continued to stare. His eyes met John's for a second, and then he looked around the room, his gaze fixing on each person in turn.

"Sherlock?" John hissed, urgently.

"Wait here for a moment, John." Sherlock spoke so quietly, John had to strain to hear him. "Be ready to leave when I say."

"Sherlock, what is going on?"

"I should have seen right away. I would have if I hadn't been distracted. The same Audi A8, registration number GU06 JYH has driven along that road five times now. Every time, it slows down as it goes by this bar. And the young couple, sitting on the table alongside the sad drunk lady? They have periodically looked over at us since we arrived in here. Basically John, we're being watched. And I think we can both guess who these people work for."

John's insides were twisting into knots.

He thinks it's Moriarty.

Of course, it may well be. I don't know!

Oh, God!

"Okay," he said, finally. "I'm ready."

Sherlock, calmly and nonchalantly, walked past the other occupiers of the bar, and walked,, through the door, back out into the cold night.

John knew he had seconds. He grabbed at his phone, and pressed the button immediately, calling Mycroft.

He answered on the second ring.

"Yes, John?"

"Mycroft!" John said, his panic clear in his tone. "Please, just listen to me. I've changed my mind, I don't need your help any more."

Mycroft, after a pause, said quite kindly, "Don't worry, John. Sherlock thinks Moriarty is following him, I understand."

John blinked. "You know about-"

"Please John, I know everything. You are doing very well, just walk home with Sherlock. All will be fine."

"Did you hear me?" John tried again nervous, speaking as quickly as he could, his eyes looked on the exit. "Sherlock has admitted to me he has a problem. I'm doing what you wanted me too, I'm helping him. I shouldn't have called you, it was wrong. Sherlock trusts me, responds to me. Please, don't do anything. Just wait to hear from me, I will give you constant updates. Please?"

There was a uncomfortable silence. John waited, breathing heavily.

Please God.

"Alright, doctor." Mycroft finally replied. "No problem. Just see that Sherlock gets home safely, and I'll be in contact shortly."

He hung up the call.

John slipped his phone hurriedly back in his pocket.

Without a second to spare, Sherlock walked back inside the bar, and beckoned for John to join him.

John got up and crossed the room. He didn't make eye contact with any of the other guests in the room. Though he was aware that even the bartender was staring at them now. Of course, that could simply be to do with their odd behavio0ur rather than anything sinister. He hoped so anyway.

Sherlock held the door open for him, and John slipped through. Then, together, they hurried along, rushing down Marylebone Street, heading back to Baker Street, home and safety.

Just like the journey there, they didn't speak. But this time, more due to concentration and adrenaline then a wish not to speak to each other.

On the contrary, both men felt closer to the other than they had done for some time.

"This way," Sherlock urged, gesturing towards a dark alley. "Short cut. This leads right back to Baker Street."

John didn't doubt him. Sherlock knew every road in London after all.

They had only made small progress up the alley, when suddenly a black Mercedes appeared behind them, blocking off the way they had come.

John blinked, trying to catch his breath, as he watched the driver's door opening and a man in a suit climbing out of the car. He was gazing intently at them.

What? Oh my God. No.

"What the Hell..." John muttered. Sherlock grabbed his hand.

"Run!" He barked, and John obeyed. Together, they sped down the alley, not bothering to look over their shoulders to see if the newcomer was chasing them. They could see the glimmer of a street light, and knew that they were nearing the end of the dark alley.

John held his breath.

Just keep going. It'll be okay.

Just as they thought they had made it, just as John allowed a flicker of hope to creep in, the Audi A8 suddenly drove up in front of them, covering the entrance to their alley, and their escape.

It has to be Moriarty, John thought. Mycroft wouldn't do this, not after I called him. He'd listen to me, he wouldn't do this to me, or to Sherlock...

He shot a look at Sherlock, who was managing to keep his panic in check. Or so it appeared. As he whipped round, looking in front and behind him, John could see he was as alarmed as John himself was.

Maybe more so. This can't be Mycroft. He wouldn't scare his brother like this. He knows what he's been through.

I'll kill Moriarty if he hurts him.

The suited man who had emerged from the Mercedes, was still approaching them, a hand in his pocket. John wasn't stupid enough to wonder why.

When John looked back towards the Mercedes, he couldn't believe his eyes. He felt as if his whole world had been pulled up from under him, leaving him to come crashing down.

Mycroft, in a typical Mycroft pose, was staring at John and Sherlock, a calm smile on his lips.

"Good Evening, Sherlock," His gaze passed from his brothers, and rested on John. "Doctor Watson." He actually greeted them pleasantly. It made John's skin crawl.

Sherlock actually took a step in front of John, edging the man towards the wall behind them, as if he wanted to protect John. Which, obviously, he did.

John's heart hurt. He felt sick.

What have I done?

"What do you want, Mycroft?" Sherlock demanded. "What are you doing here. Isn't it passed your bedtime?"

Mycroft continued to smile. John couldn't bear to look at him. He only had to look at Sherlock's body language to see that his friend was just as spooked.

"Answer me!" Sherlock snapped. John was proud that his voice was steady. "What is this all about?"

Mycroft sighed. "I'm sorry, Sherlock." He stepped nearer. Sherlock actually recoiled slightly. John wanted to move around his friend, to stand in front of him instead, to protect him, but John was truly trapped by Sherlock's body. He couldn't move a muscle. Sherlock seemed to be fighting the urge to spring at Mycroft. John put a hand on his shoulder. He hoped it was calming.

"Sorry?" Sherlock spat. "What for?"

Mycroft glanced at John. "You played your part very well, Doctor Watson. Thank you."

John shook his head wordlessly.

This is not happening.

Sherlock whirled round, fixing John with a stunned look. "What does he mean? What is this?"

John couldn't say a word. His heart was breaking. But what was he supposed to do?

"You have to come with me, Sherlock. For your own good."

Sherlock actually laughed.

"I don't think so."

Mycroft frowned. "Don't make a scene, Sherlock. It's quite beneath you. Get in the car, please."

"No." Sherlock, desperately trying to stay calm, "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"You don't have any choice."

"Why?"

"Because John called me and asked for my help."

Sherlock chuckled coldly. "That would never happen. John wouldn't-"

John let out a low moan, his face buried in his hands.

Sherlock heard him.

He froze.

And slowly turned round, fixing John with a look of disbelief.

"John?" He whispered. "This isn't true, is it?" Then, he hissed, causing John to jump, "Look at me!"

John's tearful eyes met Sherlock's wide gaze. "I'm sorry," he whimpered.

Mycroft took hold of Sherlock's shoulder. "Come on, Sherlock."

Sherlock snarled, throwing Mycroft off of him. "Get off me! I don't know what this is about and I don't care! I'm not going anywhere with you. Do you understand?"

Mycroft glared at him. "What is to stay for now?" He asked, a sneer suddenly evident in his tone. "You have nothing to keep you here. Unless you are looking forward to your next encounter with a certain Moriarty?"

Sherlock gasped.

John wanted to hit Mycroft. How could he?

"You told him?" Sherlock hissed to John.

"What?" John blurted out. "No, of course not!" He rounded on the elder Holmes, his tone pleading. "I called you! I said I'd changed my mind, told you to leave us alone. I was getting through to him! You have to stop this, Mycroft!"

Mycroft ignored him. All his attention was on his brother.

"Sherlock," Mycroft repeated. "Get in the car." His tone was low, dangerous. "I will not ask you again."

Sherlock had heard enough. He spun round, grabbing for his brother, and, in that moment, wanting to cause the man some serious harm. He didn't have a chance. He was wrestled to the ground by three men who appeared out of nowhere, pulling Sherlock away from his brother, and pinning him to the cold ground.

John tried to get to Sherlock, screaming at the top of his voice.

"LET HIM GO! DON'T YOU HURT HIM! MYCROFT, STOP THEM!"

"Enough!" Mycroft commanded. The men eased their grips, but still kept Sherlock pinned. Mycroft gestured towards the Mercedes parked a little way away, and another figure rushed towards them. John realised quickly that it was Andrea. He watched, horrified and struggling uselessly with one of Mycroft's heavies to reach Sherlock, as she handed Mycroft a syringe, and he, showing no emotion, knelt down beside Sherlock, clasped his shoulder, and then stuck the needle into his arm.

Sherlock stared up at his brother, terror evident in his eyes. Mycroft regarded him back, his face expressionless.

"John!" Sherlock cried, already feeling the effects of the drug in his system, "Please, help me."

John let out a low sob. "Sherlock, I'm sorry!"

Someone stop this. Please.

Sherlock was still pleading with John. Another part of John's soul vanished to hear him. "I don't want to go, John. Stop him! Tell him! Tell him I've changed!"

John grabbed for Mycroft. "Don't do this! God, Mycroft, don't take him!"

Mycroft eyed John. "I'm sorry," he said, quietly. Sherlock was sedated, he could hardly move. He attempted no further resistance as Mycroft's men pulled him up, and began to pull him towards the Audi.

Mycroft stood beside John, one hand warningly on John's arm. That was all it took to prevent John from rushing after Sherlock. John watched, helplessly, as Sherlock was helped into the car, and the door slammed shut on him.

John shook his head, still not believing this was truly happening.

"How could you do this?" John whispered. "You bastard."

"It's necessary," was the only reply. Mycroft began to walk away, his umbrella swinging at his side.

"Where are you taking him?"

"Someone where he can get the help he needs."

John knew Mycroft wouldn't tell him. Not now, anyway.

"Don't let them hurt him, Mycroft." John warned.

Mycroft paused, turned around, and fixed John with a knowing look.

"Of course not, John. What do you take me for?"

John clenched his fists. "You don't want me to answer that."

Mycroft's look was unwavering.

"You have to trust me, John. If you can." He pointed at the Mercedes waiting behind the devastated Doctor. "Do you want a ride home?"

"I don't want anything from you!" John shot back.

Mycroft shrugged. "Fair enough." He gestured to the driver and the Mercedes began to pull away. "This is all for the best, John. You'll see."

"Look after him, Mycroft." John repeated.

With a smile, Mycroft turned on his heel and walked back to the Audi. With one last nod to John, he got in and the car drove away, taking Sherlock away.

John could only stand there, and stare after them. He was in shock.

This is a nightmare. I'm going to wake up.

Please, wake up.

He didn't know what to do, where to go. Sherlock was gone. And John had no idea where, or even how to start looking for him. His first port of call had always been Mycroft when Sherlock was in trouble. Now what should he do?

His mobile phone buzzed.

John fished in his pocket, praying that the text was from Mycroft. Just something reassuring was all John needed at that moment.

He read the text, and closed his eyes.

There was no name, but it was obvious who it was from.

And why it was sent.

"Told you so! Great job!"

John threw his phone against the brick wall, and it smashed into pieces.

"Fuck you, Moriarty!" He yelled. "I know you're there! Coward!"

There was no response.

John swallowed back down his anger. What help would him shouting pointlessly into the night do? He edged his way out of the alley, staring dejectedly up the road, in the direction the Mercedes had taken.

What should he do?

Who could help him?

He wouldn't break down there in that alley. He'd be strong, for Sherlock. He had no one to blame but himself, after all.

And, he knew, without a doubt, that he had just made the biggest mistake of his life.

Next - Trapped.