Author's note: I can promise Mycroft in this chapter. And bromance. Can't forget about the bromance.
I don't own anything, please review.
John awoke just as the sun set and smiled when he realized that Sherlock, despite his protests that he didn't need sleep, had finally succumbed to the fatigue the case and their escape must have brought on. His friend was lying underneath the window, apparently having slid down after sitting beneath it, his breathing slow and regular.
John stood up, his muscles protesting after he'd spent the last few hours on the floor, and walked over to the window, careful not to be seen.
The sun had all but disappeared over the horizon and there were no people on the street. It looked... peaceful, and, just for a moment, with his best friend sleeping in front of him, it was hard to believe that a love sick sniper was trying to destroy his life. Then John kneeled down and shook Sherlock by the shoulder to wake him up.
The consulting detective's eyes flattered open, and for a second, he seemed confused about where he was. John hid a smile.
"Sunset" he announced, "You said we could only move after nightfall".
Sherlock nodded, once again looking calm and collected, and sat up. "I am going to the Diogenes Club to meet Mycroft – there is a backdoor only the members know about, so I won't be seen by any employees."
"When are we going?" John asked, perfectly aware that Sherlock had said "I" because he wanted to go alone – but not willing to let him.
"You are safe here. And you are wanted for murder. You are not coming".
"Try to make me stay". John looked up at Sherlock, sure that the consulting detective would read his determination. And Sherlock knew that he wouldn't be able to fight John; he might have been shot twice but he still had his army training and knew how to defend himself.
Sherlock frowned and looked away, and John knew he had won. "Fine" he grumbled, "but you do whatever I tell you to do".
John nodded and they looked out of the window in silence, the last few rays of sunlight slowly fading away.
"How do we get to the Diogenes Club?" John asked when it had grown dark enough for them to be on their way.
"We'll walk. It's not far".
John nodded. "Will Mycroft be there?"
"He'll be expecting us" Sherlock answered, turning around and making his way to the door, "After all he must know all about our escape by now. He probably watched it live on a camera feed".
It wouldn't surprise John either, and he didn't say anything as they left the house.
They carefully made their way through the dark streets, Sherlock's knowledge of the city once again proving useful. Within ten minutes, they were standing in front of the back door into the Diogenes Club, that was naturally hidden by a dumpster and required a code to be entered in order to open it.
"Just out of curiosity" John whispered as Sherlock pushed the necessary buttons, "did Mycroft tell you the code".
"No" Sherlock whispered back "but it wasn't difficult to figure out."
Of course it hadn't been, John thought. And, knowing Mycroft, he probably made sure that his little brother could figure out the code in emergencies, even though he could easily hindered Sherlock at breaking into the Club.
John had been at the Diogenes Club a couple of times in the past few months – mostly when Mycroft decided he needed to talk to his brother's flatmate and didn't feel inclined to wait in an abandoned warehouse – and he'd never really felt at ease in the pompous surroundings. Especially not since he'd never been fond of silence. Maybe that was another reason the consulting detective and he got on so well; Sherlock was rarely truly silent, even if he wasn't talking for once. There was the sound of him pacing up and down, the clinking of his experiments in the kitchen, gunshots (although John hadn't been overjoyed there was a smiley face in the wall), some kind of noise.
Not so in the Diogenes Club. The silence was stifling; John couldn't understand why anyone would wish to spend time there, even if Mycroft had explained to him why it was necessary to forbid the members to talk. But if you spend your day in a place you couldn't talk – why didn't you just spend it at home alone? It had never made sense to the doctor.
And he would never have thought that he'd ever see the day when the Club was even more deserted and quiet than usual, but apparently, most members preferred spending their evenings somewhere else.
Mycroft was awaiting them in the visitor's room, impeccably dressed as always, umbrella in his hand.
He nodded politely when they entered. "Sherlock... John". His gaze bored into the doctor's, and he wondered if Mycroft was angry with him because he had made his brother a fugitive, albeit unwillingly. With both Moran and the police after him, it wasn't a pleasant thought.
But then the older Holmes focused on his brother. "DI Lestrade is the leader of the team searching for you two". Sherlock nodded. "I assume they aren't very effective?" he asked, smirking. Mycroft did his best not to answer the smirk with one of his own and to appear as dignified as ever, but didn't quite succeed. "Based on the fact that you are here, I would say no".
Sherlock became serious once again and sat down, John following suit. "Concerning John's predicament..."
Mycroft raised the tip of his umbrella and looked at it. "Don't worry, I have talked to DI Lestrade about it".
"And?" John asked, baffled. "What can he do? After all, if they matched the bullet they found to my gun..."
"It can still be a false match" Mycroft replied smoothly and Sherlock nodded.
John slowly looked from Mycroft to Sherlock. A moment later, finally comprehending what they meant, he sprang up. "Wait... are you... are you telling me Greg is going to swap the guns?"
"Of course not" Mycroft answered, slightly affronted. "Too obvious. He is going to exchange the barrel".
"The... Mycroft, just to be sure: You told Greg to do something that could not only jeopardize his career, but his freedom, if he got caught?"
"I'm sure Lestrade is more than capable of eluding capture, John" Sherlock answered.
John shook his head and started pacing up and down, trying to keep his voice down because shouting at Mycroft wouldn't help. ""That's not the point – the point is that he brought one of our friends in danger, Sherlock! There must be other ways..."
"If you happen to have another idea" Mycroft interrupted, calm as always, "tell me and I will make sure DI Lestrade gets the message".
John stopped pacing, sighed and rubbed his face with his hands.
"If it is any consolation" Mycroft added "He decided he wanted to do it. And I certainly didn't threaten him into agreeing."
John shook his head. "Fine". Once upon a time, he would have been concerned that he accepted the fact that another friend was willing to go to jail for him that easily.
He sat down again when Mycroft started to explain that they would be brought to a house he owned in the city after midnight – of course, it was house that didn't even exist officially. They would have to be careful not to show themselves because the neighbours thought it was deserted.
Sherlock tried to complain when his brother told him they would have to lay low for a few days, until things had quietened down, but complied when Mycroft made a comment about "Someone obviously needing his rest". John rolled his eyes, wondering if Mycroft simply happened to forget or didn't care that John was in the room.
He had to admit, though, when he entered the house (or, rather, the mansion) that Mycroft certainly had made sure they'd be comfortable. Sherlock looked around, frowning, before going upstairs and declaring one of the bedrooms as his. John, meanwhile, went into the kitchen and found the fridge well stocked. After having eaten several slices of toast – he was too tired to cook anything, and Sherlock would declare he wasn't hungry anyway – he went upstairs and to bed, looking in on Sherlock on the way. The consulting detective seemed to be stuck in his mind palace and John couldn't help but smile.
Hoping that Sherlock would at least have the good sense to get some rest later, he allowed himself to drift off to sleep.
Around the time Mycroft had Sherlock and John brought into his safe house, Greg was slowly walking down the corridor to the evidence locker, heart pounding in his chest. Earlier in the evening, a special courier had brought a package that held the barrel Mycroft had told him to –
No, the barrel that Mycroft had asked him to –
No. Nobody had asked him to do it. He had decided to do it, and he would do it. For Sherlock and John. For his friends.
Luckily, the evidence locker was deserted. He slowly entered the code and walked in, searching for the bag that contained John's gun. He found it soon enough and, after donning on gloved, carefully unsealed it, lifting it out gingerly. Naturally, it would have been easier to exchange the gun, but even Anderson would have noticed that, so he slowly opened it and switched out the barrel. Now all he had to do was find an excuse for running the test again.
He couldn't help but feel a certain satisfaction when he slipped out again, certain that Mycroft would make sure that he wouldn't appear on any security tape. Maybe he had finally found out why he got along so well with Sherlock and John: They didn't seem to be the only ones to have criminal streak in them.
Author's note: I hope you understand what I mean by "changing the barrel" – I'm not sure if it works, I'm not even sure I used the right word for what I had in mind. Damn you, language barrier! I wish my English were better.
Also, John insisting to go with Sherlock is once again a modernization of a scene in the ACD canon. I had to change it a bit, though, because I already used it in another story. But I couldn't resist using it again, because bromance rules my world, apparently.
I hope you liked it, please review.