We're gonna have endless fun, aren't we?

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A hospital of all places. Mycroft and Claire were separated and he was put into the room where Sherlock and John were kept. Sherlock was pacing and talking aloud as he brainstormed.

John stood up when he saw Mycroft. "Oh my God, Mycroft. What's happening?"

"This is all leading up to something, I know it. Something big," Sherlock said, aloud.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "This isn't a case that needs solving, Sherlock. This is a situation that requires nothing more than an escape plan."

Sherlock groaned. "Oh, don't you see? The only way out of here is to play the game."

Mycroft gave a small sigh. "I've had it with games since Moriarty and frankly, I'm not even sure it's a game we can win. Not even you."

"No, no, wait. Sherlock, what do you mean? What are you saying?" John asked as he folded his arms.

"I told you. We have to end this game now."

They all turned as the door opened. Mycroft clenched his fists as Smith walked in with two goons and gave them all a welcoming smile. "Isn't this a proper reunion?"

Mycroft stepped up. "Where is she? So help me God-"

"Settle down, Mr. Holmes. Nothing dreadful will happen to your wife. She's not who I'm after. For a long time, my target has been you three."

John blinked. "Us?"

"I have you, Dr. Watson. You know what that means?" Smith asked.

John shrugged. Smith just laughed. "It means that's I have Sherlock Holmes as well. And when I have Sherlock, I have his dear, big brother."

Sherlock gave a side-smile. "Yes, now that we're all here, let's start, shall we?"

Smith raised his eyebrows. "Indeed. Now, who'd like to talk, first?"

John glanced at Sherlock and back at Smith. "Talk?"

"Well, I am a therapist. It's what I do. Tell me your deepest secrets."

The three men were silent as Smith gave a small chuckle. "No one wants to go first? Well, why not you, Dr. Watson?"

"Me?"

"Let's see what we have on you. Soldier, eh? Enjoyed your time? Lost some good friends?"

John swallowed. "It's none of your business."

"It is if I know about it. So, you had fun back in war, did you?"

Smith approached John where he sat and placed a hand on his leg. "Hurt your wee leg?"

John narrowed his eyes and slapped his hand away. The goons aimed their find guns but Smith waved them off. He looked at Mycroft and approached him quietly. John blushed with anger as he tried to keep his focus on the floor.

Smith reached out a hand towards Mycroft who stepped away. "Don't touch me."

"Why? Because it still hurts? The way he touched you? It was worth it, thought, wasn't it?"

Mycroft took a deep breath. "Stop. Please."

Sherlock grimaced. "What?"

"Oh, he doesn't know? Pity, it's a good story."

"What is he talking about?"

"I'll let you tell him," Smith said as he traced Mycroft's jaw, making him uneasy.

Sherlock felt something snap. "Stop it."

"Oh, your story's my personal favorite, Mr. Holmes. So much tension for one man. All the drugs. And...Redbeard."

Mycroft closed his eyes. "Shouldn't have said that."

Smith laughed. "Anything for a reaction. But, look at the poor man. Been through so much. Thankfully, a woman knows how to balance it all out."

Sherlock smirked. "You think knowing things about people is enough? Just knowing isn't enough."

Smith leaned close to Sherlock's face, making Mycroft and John exchange glances. "Knowledge...is everything."

He turned from Sherlock and motioned for his goons to follow him out of the room. Once they were gone, Sherlock turned to Mycroft.

"What was he talking about?"

"It's not any of your business, Sherlock. It's something that happened long ago and I'd rather not revisit such a memory."

"Mycroft, he's using it to get to you. Let me help."

"I don't need your help," Mycroft spat.

"Tell me what happened!"

The door opened again. Irene Adler walked in. She wore a black lace gown with her hair up in a bun. Her lips, of course, were red and her skin was as soft and pale as ever.

Sherlock just stared. It did not meet her eyes, however. Sherlock watched as she walked up to Mycroft and stared into his eyes. He stared back for she seemed to be trying to tell him something. She slowly leaned close to him as her arms wrapped around his neck.

John slowly sat up in his chair. "Mycroft..."

Irene pressed her lips onto Mycroft's as he gave a muffled protest. Sherlock's face went pale, but he said nothing. When Irene finished, Mycroft pulled away and wiped his mouth.

"What in God's name is the matter with you?"

"Tell Sherlock what happened. With that man."

Mycroft stared in disbelief. "What?"

She forced him into another kiss as John shot to his feet. "Hey! Stop!"

Mycroft shoved her away. "No!"

Irene narrowed her eyes. "Shall I ask Smith to bring your wife into this?"

"Please, don't do this. Not like this."

"Then, confess."

"Mycroft, just tell us what happened," John insisted.

Mycroft refused. "No, I can't!"

Irene shrugged and started for the door. John breathed heavily as he looked back and forth between Irene and Mycroft. Sherlock was still silent. Irene was about to leave the room before John spoke up.

"Wait! Mycroft, now!"

Mycroft saw Irene stop at the door. She turned and looked at him. Her eyes told him the same thing John was saying.

"Mycroft! Say it!"

He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I...college. I was in college when it happened."

John stared, listening closely.

"I was in danger of failing. One class. Physics. I approached my professor... and he...he had made me an offer."

Sherlock stopped staring at the floor and was now staring at his brother. "What was the offer?"

Mycroft simply shook his head. "Me."

John hung his head and bit his lip. Sherlock watched as Irene left the room. He approached Mycroft who turned his back to him. "You never told our patents."

"How could I?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "You were raped, Mycroft!"

"I was young and desperate for a grade! And, it wasn't rape. I let him do it."

The door opened as a goon entered and asked Sherlock to follow him out. John stood in front of Sherlock, shaking his head.

"No, Sherlock, don't," he insisted.

"John, you trust me, right?"

John raised an eyebrow and Sherlock rolled his eyes. He put a hand on John's shoulder before walking past him and leaving with the goon. Mycroft stood in a corner, stroking his chin. Silent.

Sherlock was led into a room and sat down. Smith was there waiting for him.

"I understand that you wish to play along with my game. I can't say I'm surprised. So, your brother finally confessed. After all these years."

Sherlock gave a single nod. "Yes, very life-changing. I'd like to proceed with the next step of this game."

"You seem so sure that you're going to win."

"I am going to win."

"Well, let's begin, then."

John grunted as he kept slamming his weight against the door. "Mycroft, help me get this door open! We can't let them keep doing this!"

Mycroft remained in his corner as John caught his breath. He gave a groan as he hit the door again with his shoulder. It must've dislocated. "God...Mycroft!"

Mycroft remained silent. John rubbed his shoulder and winced on pain. He banged on the door, shouting. "Hey! Open the door! Somebody!"

"It's no use, John. It's over," Mycroft mumbled.

John stopped the noise. "What?"

There was silence. Mycroft sat down where John sat before and gave a heavy sigh. John stormed up to Mycroft and grabbed him by his shirt collar. "You listen to me. Your wife and brother are in trouble and the only way to save them is by getting out of here! You have to let go of what happened to you in your past and move on! Whatever happened to caring isn't an advantage?"

Mycroft pushed John away. "I've learned to care!"

"Well, prove it! Your family is in trouble! Man up!"

"I'm not stupid, John. I'm just being realistic. There is no way out of here. Those doors aren't going to open. The only chance we have is if someone were to come through and open them, but everyone that does is usually armed."

John stared at him. "Then, we fight back."

"How far will we get by doing that? If they sense that one tiny thing is out of place, they'll kill all of us."

John looked away, not giving up. He knew Mycroft was right but, if Sherlock taught him anything, it's that there's always another way out. The both of them froze they heard the door open again. Sherlock walked in, holding a handgun. John's face lit up.

"Sherlock..."

Mycroft was skeptical. He saw Sherlock's pale face and concerned eyes. "What's going on?"

Sherlock swallowed. "I...found us a way out."

John gave a sigh of relief. "Oh, great, let's-"

Sherlock aimed the gun at him, shaking. John's eyes narrowed, confused. "Sherlock?"

"One of you...won't be leaving. I have to kill one of you."

Mycroft and John exchanged glances and stepped away from Sherlock. They stared as Sherlock aimed the gun and eyed both of them.

"Sherlock, what do you mean? What did he say?" John asked, carefully.

"He said I had to kill one of you. And, then we all go home."

"We can't do this. Put the gun down, Sherlock," Mycroft demanded.

"I have to or he'll kill both of you."

John shut his eyes and nodded. "Alright, alright. Do it. Kill me."

Mycroft shot a glance at John. "No, John."

"You have a wife, Mycroft! I've got no one expecting me to come home to them."

Sherlock stared at John intensely. "Yes, you do."

John looked at Sherlock softly and the two just stared. Mycroft saw what he had always assumed. A strong bond. Since they met, he knew the two were dangerous. Dangerous for those who got in their way or between them. John held out his hand to Sherlock and spoke in a small voice.

"Give it to me, Sherlock."

"Why?"

"Just give it to me."

Sherlock shook his head. "I'm not going to let you shoot yourself!"

John smiled. "Sherlock...the gun. Trust me."

Snatching the gun away, John took a step back. "Now, turn around."

Sherlock turned around, slowly. Mycroft stared at John, dumbstruck. John stared at the gun as Sherlock mumbled something. "I love you."

Lestrade felt better to be untied. He thanked Claire as they looked around the room for a way out.

"Hopefully, Sherlock and John are on their way," he said.

"Smith said they were here too. We have to find them and get out of here," Claire said as she tried jiggling the door handle.

"And, if we don't find them?"

"That won't happen. I'm not leaving here without them."

They froze when they heard several shots. Lestrade looked up at the ceiling. "I knew I heard something. Sounds like it came from the floor above us. Maybe that's where they are."

"God, no..." Claire whispered as she banged on the door with her fist.

She jumped back when the door opened. Lestrade hurried over and pulled her towards him as Smith walked in with a smile. "Well, the deed's been done. Shall we see who Sherlock killed?"

Lestrade narrowed his eyes as he tightened his grip on Claire. "Sherlock?"

Smith laughed. "I gave him a choice. The good doctor or his insufferable brother?"

Claire shook her head. "He wouldn't do it."

"Now, it's my turn to make a choice. Which Lestrade do I get to let go?"

"My father!"

Lestrade and Smith both looked at Claire, who responded almost immediately. She pulled away from Lestrade. "He goes free."

"No, no, no. Are you mad?"

Smith smiled. "I make the choice, my dear. Not either of you. But, seeing as Sherlock most likely chose to spare his own brother, I'll make sure his celebration for escaping death isn't too long."

He took out a gun and aimed it at her. She stepped away, instinctively, but then remained still. Lestrade stood in front of her, spreading out his arms.

"I won't let you take her," he spat.

Smith laughed. "If you ruin my aim, I might hit her and not kill her. I might even hit both of you."

Lestrade scoffed. "Yeah and you might just hit me."

There was a shot. Smith coughed and gargled as he felt a bullet hit his chest. Lestrade and Claire turned just as they heard another shot. A splatter of blood made Lestrade freeze. The blood wasn't his. Smith collapsed to the floor with a thud as he slowly lost consciousness. John hurried towards Lestrade with Mycroft following behind.

He gave a scream as Lestrade looked down to see Claire on the floor, bleeding. She gripped her neck and was growing sickly pale. Lestrade couldn't hear a thing as he slowly went to the floor himself. Sherlock knelt down beside him and tried to speak to him. The bullet that went to Claire had zipped past his ear and caused his hearing to have a slight malfunction.

He felt dizzy and nauseous. His eyes were heavy as he fainted.