Sorry about the cliffhanger guys! I hope you can forgive me, i wasn't planning on it until I had pretty much finished the chapter! P.S Thank you so much for all the reviews, they mean so much to me :)

Mycroft

I could tell something was wrong by my brother's face alone. It had changed from blank and thoughtful to shocked and worried in the space of less than a second. He began frantically checking for a pulse on the man he believed to be John (I really had no idea if his assumptions were correct, but he seemed to believe it so I went along with it) though didn't appear to find one. This had a severe affect on the usually emotionless Sherlock, who frantically began barking orders at my men, screaming at them to find a medic. They stood still, unsure of what to make of the situation they were witnessing, but one stern look from me scattered them to do my brother's bidding. I walked over and crouched next to Sherlock who was still checking for signs of life on John, and again failing to find any. I opened my mouth to reassure him that a medic would arrive soon, but he turned to me with such a blazing hatred in his eyes that I clamped my mouth shut quickly. He began to scream and rant at me that it was all my fault, and I was so shocked by his outburst that I didn't bother to deny any of the accusations he was making. I desperately wanted, no, needed to know what was going on, but I could see that now was not the time to ask, so I let him finish shouting at me, and calmly stood up, brushing imaginary dirt off my suit.

At that moment, some of my specially trained medical staff arrived and began to work on John, giving him CPR. There were a few tense moments where nothing worked, but finally his chest began to move and he coughed pitiably. It was a relief to me, but there were no words to describe what Sherlock was feeling. So many emotions passed across his pale face that I lost track, and as John stirred I saw him close his eyes from the after effects of averted paranoia. When poor John opened his eyes, he seemed to not register the fact that he had just died, and tried, unsuccessfully I might add, to sit up. He was pushed back down by the medics, who were checking his pulse and blood pressure with the help of various machines, and during that time Sherlock had moved away to give them more space. He stood with his back to the door, and to the people who did not know him, his face held no expression whatsoever. However, growing up with him and his moods had allowed me to know when Sherlock was full of emotions but trying desperately to hide them. I could tell that he was angry, though that one word did not begin to describe how he must have been feeling in that moment. One of my medical personnel came over and whispered that they needed to move John to one of the rooms upstairs for a check-over, and I nodded, my eyes still fixed on my brother. As they loaded him onto a stretcher and transported him from the room, Sherlock finally moved from his position at the door and followed them, not sparing me a glance. I followed a few feet behind him, not wanting him to start another argument about who was to blame for the misfortunate occurrence.

They had already put John on a bed in a hospital-like room in the building by the time I had arrived, and he was still awake, though he looked incredibly confused. Sherlock was next to him, murmuring reassurances, which seemed to calm both of them. Once my team had done a check up and determined that John was not likely to stop breathing again anytime soon, I encouraged them to leave, giving the three of us some alone time to talk about current matters. I closed the door behind us and turned to face John, who was watching me, and Sherlock, who was not.

I directed my first question at both of them, unsure who would answer. "What happened?" I asked, knowing neither of them needed any more explanation than that of what I wanted to know. I realised from the look Sherlock gave John that he didn't really know what had occurred either, so we both watched the injured man in the bed as he decided how best to word the events. He no longer looked as though he was about to keel over and die, which was certainly a bonus, and I figured that my staff had given him painkillers.

"It was Moriarty," he began, and I had to force myself not to roll my eyes. "He took me after our...Um.." He looked at Sherlock, "Conversation..." He said, and I realised that there had probably been an argument between the two of them before John had been kidnapped. "I don't really know what happened in between, but I woke up attached to some kind of machine, already looking like this. He had my body and I had his." John looked back and forth between us, deciding whether we believed him or not. Sherlock nodded at him to show he should continue, and John did so after a slight hesitation. "It was really quite terrifying, to say the least!" He said, and gave us a small, brave smile as he admitted this. "Then, I punched him in the face, he put me in a prison cell, and everybody left." His smile grew even wider when he mentioned about hitting Jim, and I could see Sherlock struggling to contain his own grin. It looked as though John had nothing left to say, so I decided to ask a few of my own questions, even seeing Sherlock's annoyance when I did so.

"How did you escape from his prison?" I asked, though I had already guessed the answer. He told me about managing to jump the man who gave him some food, and he finally seemed to realise how easy his escape had actually been. I cut in before he could start to question this out loud, asking what he had done when he escaped.

"I ran straight to Baker Street," he replied and I could see Sherlock stiffen, knowing what was coming next. "I didn't really think it through very well, I just needed to warn Sherlock. I didn't know what Moriarty was planning to do! It could have been awful... So I just rang the bell, and blurted everything straight out when he answered the door... Not my best idea I know." Sherlock's face was blank, but I could see the shame and regret in his eyes. I gathered my thoughts, reasoning that my response should be comforting so that John would stay calm.

"We know what's going on now. We can capture Moriarty and find a way to reverse what's happened," I said, fully convinced we would find the criminal soon, especially if he was unaware of the conversation between Sherlock and John.

"I'm afraid things are not going to be that simple," said a voice behind me, and I turned to see what looked to be Moriarty in John's body, surrounded by armed men, pointing guns at us all. Oh dear, I thought.