Mycroft Holmes was sitting alone, thinking. How did all of this happen? How didn't he see it? How would he tell Sherlock? He looked at his still sleeping brother. How?

"Sir, we tried-" Anthea said, as Gregory Lestrade pushed by her.

The Detective Inspector looked furious. Mycroft had never seen the man look that angry before. He had known the man for years and he knew that Lestrade had the patience of saints. He dealt with people all day long, had seen Sherlock at his best, worst and most infuriating. He had dealt with Mycroft's overprotectiveness, had dealt with his family issues... he did all of this and yet still managed to keep himself calm and in control, still managed to keep his head and have the respect of not only his team and Scotland Yard, but of both Mycroft and Sherlock as well.

For him to look this angry? Mycroft didn't know what to think, and that... was pretty unheard of.

"It's fine," Mycroft said to Anthea, who quickly left.

Sherlock was stirring. "Huh...?" He looked at Mycroft and glowered. "You drugged me."

"Right. You're up." Lestrade whirled. "Let's go."

"What?" Mycroft and Sherlock said it simultaneously then shared glares at the other.

The DI turned on his heel, "I'm not repeating myself."

Sherlock made a face but stood. Mycroft was curious himself, and he followed the man outside to a car, where Lestrade got into the passenger seat. The two brothers got into the back and the car started. Mycroft looked at the driver and raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing here?"

It was a worker for Moriarty, the one who had run in, who had gone towards him in disguise.

The driver didn't answer until the car turned into an alley. "I've got ten minutes."

Sherlock stared at the driver in complete shock, "Sally?"

"Think you're the only ones that know disguises?" The woman turned and looked at Mycroft. "Iris? Really? Do I even want to know?"

Sherlock looked at Mycroft, who was looking out the window and not meeting anyone's face.

Lestrade spoke quietly, "John told me ages ago about what happened at the pool. That Moriarty was obsessed with Sherlock. Said he knew how to get into the man's head before more damage could be done. Insisted that we had to be involved. Told us Moriarty had leverage over him."

"Leverage? Over John?" Sherlock's eyes flashed. "Why didn't he tell me?"

Sally looked at Sherlock through the rearview mirror, "He didn't want you to get suspicious, didn't want you to think he was a plant. He cares about you. Kept an eye on you all this time and had fits. We had things planned for ages, but didn't know how to do it, didn't know how to give the doc that excuse to talk to his old associate."

"We knew it wasn't the real Moriarty's work as soon as we were on the scene," Lestrade said, earning a surprised look from both brothers. "Kevin-Anderson to you- memorized the handwriting from the Great Game. Knew instantly it wasn't Moriarty. It was why we called John. Nobody else has the funds or mindset to make a game besides Moriarty... and you." It was said while looking at Mycroft.

"John sends me on errands. He's the one covering for me. Needed some supplies." Sally-it was so hard to think of the thug up front as the sergeant that always hassled Sherlock at crime scenes. "He almost panicked when he realized you were there. You jumping in might ruin all of this. So putting it plainly. Piss off."

"Sally, stop it. I know undercover is hard, but it's just a role," Lestrade said.

She punched the wheel, irritated. "This sucks, alright? Do you know what they do?"

"Thanks to your reports, yes."

"Leverage." Sherlock said it quietly. "What does Moriarty know about John?"

"John was the first guy to work with him," Sally said it quietly. "Moriarty can take John down with him. We were going to make sure that doesn't happen. We were going to take that bastard down before he could act first til this one jumped in." It was said with a glare at Mycroft.

"We needed your reactions to be real," Lestrade said quietly at Sherlock's shocked and betrayed face. "You would have wanted in. We knew it. But we couldn't risk Sally and John. He took a risk, stepping in when you showed up. He doesn't know if Moriarty knows your looks. He didn't out you because if Moriarty has you, well..." The DI shrugged.

"You used that test to your advantage," Mycroft said quietly. "How did Doctor Watson tell you?"

"We had it in motion for ages," Lestrade answered. "We just needed something. You gave it to us earlier than we had hoped. We were going to try to fake one ourselves but there was no telling how Sherlock would react. When John went to the Tube and called his friend from Bart's, he sent Kevin a text about the scene. The cameras and everything were off him then. So we went into motion."

How hadn't they seen it? Mycroft had the answer now.

There wasn't anything to see. John Watson was on Sherlock's side. He always had been. Willing to throw himself into a life he hated, all for Sherlock.

A thread of envy went through Mycroft at that realization. Where did they make men like John Watson, to do so much for someone that wasn't blood, who cared so much?

Caring is not an advantage. He had said it to Sherlock once, hadn't he? It wasn't, it never had been, except...

Except when it was, apparently. Caring allowed the doctor to do all of this, allowed him to do so much more while other people sat and waited for someone else.

Sherlock was staring at nothing, just looking at the back of the front seat, obviously lost in thought. He had been planning ahead too. He had known Moriarty was after him and he was planning so far ahead... he had never thought John would be as well.

"My best friend went to war again," he said tonelessly. "He went to war and left me behind."

Those pesky feelings were there again. The worry from the hand, the phone, the lack of John...

He was angry at John Watson now, angry that his only friend would think so little of himself to throw himself into a dangerous place again. Angry at himself for not realizing the truth and for giving John that opportunity to do this.

And he was humbled.

John... why would he do so much for Sherlock?

But not just John, was it?

I don't have friends. He had said it so many times, had thought John was his only friend. But look at the woman who constantly sneered at him. Throwing herself into this. Lestrade, who had helped plan it all and keep quiet. Even Anderson was trying to help (and probably not, but the thought was there and really, that in of itself was stunning).

Stamford had helped. Molly probably would too if John had asked.

Sherlock Holmes had... friends.

The thought was astonishing.

But now those worries turned to himself, turned to John and Moriarty. Leverage, a shared past. What if Moriarty knew it was a lie now, from Sherlock's actions or lack thereof? What if he was just humoring John?

Sally spoke once more, "The Colonel's put out the criminal version of an APW on the Freak's head. First one to get a bullet between his eyes... well, you can do the math. The boss, sorry, Moriarty, and John, they don't know about it. Well, John does now. After everything yesterday, he told me to do what I felt was right. I told Greg and well..."

"And I told you."

Now that they were looking, the tell-tale signs of stress, worry and exhaustion were obvious on Lestrade. But his eyes were alert, active, planning...

"I gotta go," Sally said, slipping back into the disguise's voice, stepping out of the car. She walked fast, the bag clenched tightly, as the three in the car watched her go. She was soon roaming the streets until she found what looked like an abandoned warehouse.

The doctor opened the door when she knocked three times. "About time," he said. "Needed these."

"Sorry doc, there was a queue. Was gonna kip in an' take em, but ya said ta try an' blend in."

John nodded and turned, "Sebastian, how on earth did you get a cut on your leg? I have to know."

"The boss was experimenting with a nail gun and a new kind of bomb," Sebastian said from his seat, glowering at the bloody mess of a leg and nodding to the delivery boy. John sat next to him and began to silently tend to the injuries. It didn't take long, due to his experience with such wounds.

"JIM!" It was a roar through the warehouse when he was finished and everyone in the room jumped.

A few seconds later, one Jim Moriarty was poking his head in. "Yes?"

"Look at what you did!" John indicated the leg.

"Oh. Apologies." He turned to John, "I have something for you. Come along."

John rolled his eyes and stood, walking with the criminal mastermind for a bit, both silent. They wandered through the warehouse and soon John found himself in an office where a bulldog puppy jumped on him.

He pet it instinctively, looking at Jim with confusion obvious on his features.

"I want what we once had," Jim said, not looking at John. "You trusted me once. You help me now, but you don't trust me."

"How can I?" John asked quietly. "Look at what you are."

"Why Sherlock?" Jim turned. "Why him? He doesn't know anything, doesn't appreciate anything, why?"

"He's a good man."

Jim scoffed and waved his hand, watching the puppy nibble on John's trousers. "His name is Gladstone. I thought you could use company while we're out. Heard you were so desperate for company you even talked to that maid."

"That's not desperate for company. That's just being polite." John pet the dog, trying hard to not think about this entire mad situation.

"What more do you want, John?" Jim sat down. "You judge me for this position and forget how without me controlling it, things would be even worse. It's precarious but at least power is centralized."

"You kill people without regard."

Jim glared, "As I recall, I once said that and you were the one who told me that everyone does, good or bad, and yeah, it's a damned shame, but that's what people do."

"That wasn't how I meant it and you know it."

It was quiet, and Jim said softly, "I once heard the really dangerous people believe they are doing whatever they are doing solely and only because it is without question the right thing to do, that that is what makes them dangerous. So think, John, think very hard about whatever it is you have going on in your mind. Because as much as you despise me, you can remember what things were like before I was around. And as much as people might despise you, you'll be keeping them safe from people who are out gunning for a fix because I'll know them all."

John said nothing.

"And you might think your detective helps people, but you know the truth. He doesn't care about them and never will. He wants the game, the thrill, and that's it. And that makes him just as bad as me, worse in some cases because he has access to people in authority. You're fine with that, with someone controlling everything, with 1984 being real, but not with someone controlling crime." Jim stood up and left the office.

John sighed and looked at the puppy, who licked him.

"How do I get myself into these situations?" He mumbled, sighing and wondering what to do.