OK, I seem to have had a couple of formatting issues sorry about this. This is second chapter 10 upload. I managed to just edit it chapter 9 but this one didn't want to play nice.

John had never had to chase after the elder Holmes brother. The younger one sure, it was basically John's job description. But up until this moment he would never have thought of Mycroft as fast moving.

"Wait," John called, "Wait! We need to think about this,"

Mycroft was not used to being called to account, but apparently the normal laws of the universe were not applying this evening. He turned to listen to the doctor.

"OK," said John, "OK, let's just stop. Our first plan was to intercept Sherlock and head him off. He was too fast. Then we were going to start playing spy as well, make contact and get him to quietly withdraw to not endanger other agents. Then that got blown. And now we've failed to intercept him. And... Mycroft what's left? How do we not put others at risk,"

Mycroft smiled grimly.

"You're going to get Sherlock and get him out of here,"

"And where is he? And get out where?"

"Head to the lawn and your ride will be there. It will not be subtle. The last month has rather eroded my subtlety. Sherlock is down that hall, second room on your right,"

"How-" John began before remembering the futility of questioning a Holmes.

"I am going back to the party to create a distraction. I believe you would call it 'making a scene'"

"Making a scene?" John cleared his throat and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Mycroft Holmes? Making a scene?"

Mycroft nodded.

"What you going to do, break up with the French ambassador whilst dancing the macarena?"

There was an ambiguous eyebrow twitch from Mycroft.

"Nothing quite so hysterical. I simply know a lot of information, and I believe now would be a good time to divulge some of it,"

John felt that chill again, that chill born of looking at something implacable and cold and much bigger than yourself. John could feel Mycroft's anger and knowledge and power, and staring it down was like squaring off against a crevasse in an ice field. Mycroft's plan had just become very simple: make it clear to everyone what he knew, what he could do with that knowledge, and and that they would let anyone he wanted to leave safely.

"Right," said John, "Right,"

"Doctor you are welcome to-"

"Oh I know damn well what I'm doing. I'm getting Sherlock and getting to the lawn,"

Because John Watson was many brilliant and wonderful things - a Doctor, a soldier, a detective, a husband, a friend - and right now he was going to save Sherlock Holmes. Because that's what John Watson did. And he was damn good at it.

-/-

The floor was hard. Sherlock was aware of the floor being very hard. Made of stone? Probably. He would have to investigate that.

He'd ended up on the floor a little while ago. The people who'd been talking with him all seemed to receive simultaneous phone calls and leave. They'd dropped Sherlock on the floor and left him there.

He reached out a hand to touch the floor and found it was more difficult than it should have been to extract an arm from his curled body. Moving his arm hurt a surprising amount, and when he drew his fingers across the ground the blood on them mixed with the dust on the floor to make a deep red mud. That wasn't very pleasant. Still, Sherlock had determined the floor was indeed stone. He was a detective after all.

His body unexpectedly flipped over and he was no longer looking at the floor. He was looking at... He laughed.

"Hello," he said to the lie. The lie of John Watson being there.

The delusion was saying something to him, but Sherlock chose not to listen. He was never going to see John again, and having to listen to him (even if he was fake) would have just been too painful. Well, he was nice to look at anyway and he helped distract Sherlock from the pain. God, he was in a lot of pain. John was a doctor, he would have been able to do something about that.

But Sherlock didn't have John anymore. He didn't have Baker Street, or Mrs Hudson, or tea, or anyone to save him. He had a cold floor, made of stone to lie on.