A/N: So here it is, the final chapter. :-) I just want to say a quick thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story so far (please continue), it is the most reviews I have received for one of my stories, and I am over the moon. They all mean so much to me! :-D

I don't own Sherlock, unfortunately, I just play with them occasionally. ;-P

Hope you enjoy!

Chapter Twelve – Nobody's Girl!

Once the metaphorical dust eventually settled, John finally had a moment of peace to look around the hall and take stock of everything that had occurred. The broken glass that had fallen when the bullet from the young man's indiscriminate shooting had hit one of the wall lights, was spread across a relatively small area.

Most of the attendees of the convention had been removed from the room and placed elsewhere in the hotel. They were probably drinking copious cups of tea (for the shock), and going through their witness statements. Some paramedics were still milling around, checking on those who had sustained some minor injuries. Most of them had occurred from the flying glass, though there were several attendees being treated for bruising and concussion after their attempts to flee the gunshot had resulted in some being pushed to the ground. Thankfully, the only other injury had been to the gunman himself when John had been forced to incapacitate him. Luckily the wound wasn't too serious, and he had already been sent to the nearest A&E for treatment.

'Are you alright?' The whispered murmur in his ear broke through his reverie, causing him to jump slightly as the adrenaline that was still coursing through his bloodstream spiked again. Spinning around, he saw his friend, Sherlock Holmes standing behind him.

'Jesus, Sherlock! Don't do that!' John's hand rising to his chest in an unconscious effort to calm his racing heart.

Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow in reply.

'I'm fine ... just, don't creep up on me like that. Okay?' said John, his respiration rate gradually returning to normal, 'So, care to fill me in on what all of that was about? I would prefer to know precisely why we're here before I get arrested for the illegal possession of a firearm, and the shooting of a member of the public with said firearm.'

Sherlock looked down at the older man with a smirk on his face as he replied, 'Oh ... I wouldn't worry about that, John. You're not going to be arrested. Is he ... brother, dear?' As he said the last two words, Sherlock spun around to face his older brother.

Mycroft gazed blankly back at his younger brother, before turning to face John, who had also turned around as Sherlock spoke. Smiling smugly, Mycroft addressed the doctor. 'There's really no reason for you to concern yourself with what happened here today, John.'

Looking at his friend's older brother, John blinked a couple of times before replying.'You know Mycroft, you really shouldn't smile like that. It really is very off-putting. As for not concerning myself, there was an entire room of witnesses to the events that have just taken place. How can I not be concerned? Oh ... wait, don't tell me ... they all work for you. Don't they?'

'Of course they don't all work for me. Some of them are ... fans of you and Sherlock.' replied Mycroft, his lip twisting into a sneer at the thought of his younger brother having fans. 'They are hardly likely to do anything to upset either of you. After all you're quite the hero, John. You saved them from a 'crazed' gunman, did you not?'

Motioning for his brother to follow, Mycroft walked over to a quieter part of the room leaving John to continue his contemplations of the events of the weekend, knowing this was one occasion that would not be appearing on his blog.

'Excuse me, Doctor Watson?'

John glanced back and realised that the woman who had been at the centre of the furore was standing behind him, one hand raised slightly as if it was about to make contact with his arm. Smiling gently, he said, 'Oh hello, are you okay, no lasting damage to your neck, I hope?'

'No, no, I'm fine. Just a little superficial bruising, it'll be gone in a day or so. I'm not important. No, I just wanted to say thank you Dr. Watson. What you do, what you both do ... well, it's appreciated.' the woman replied, dropping her hand back to her side, as she looked across at the Holmes brothers standing in the corner of the room, drawing John's eyes to the two men. 'You're a good man, Doctor Watson.'

Turning slightly to glance at the woman now standing close at his side, John gave a small nod in recognition of her compliment before returning his gaze to the curly haired genius and his older brother.

'And Sherlock Holmes is a great man, one might even say the best. Be happy, Doctor Watson.' she added.

John murmured a quiet thank you, as he continued his perusal of his best friend. Hearing no further comments, John turned and realised he was now alone. Looking around, he saw no sign of the young woman who had been standing at his shoulder only seconds before.

'John? Come on, we have a train to catch, mustn't be late.'

Turning back, John saw the tall detective staring at him, their luggage at his feet, 'How ...? Never mind, I'll just sort out payment, could you ... um ... lend me some ... erm ...' stammered John as he walked over and began picking up their bags, knowing that Sherlock would never lower himself to do anything so mundane as carry luggage.

'No need John! Mycroft's dealing with all of that. At least he's useful for something.' replied Sherlock as he turned and strode away towards the front of the hotel.

When John finally caught up with his long-legged friend, Sherlock was waiting next to a taxi, the door open to receive John and the bags. Climbing inside, John turned to his friend and asked, 'So what was it all about? Why did your brother need you to attend this event? And who was that woman?'

Joining the doctor in the back of the taxi, Sherlock replied, 'I don't know her real name, but she's one of Mycroft's people. She was working undercover trying to find a way into the local gangs; there have been rumours of gang warfare escalating, and the Government are looking at ways to reduce the risk of more rioting on our city streets. She had befriended a couple of the younger gang members, one of whom was the brother of the gunman from earlier. She was in the process of trying to turn them to gain greater access and more information, when something went wrong. It's difficult to pinpoint precisely what that was, because gangs are notoriously volatile, so realistically it could have been for any number of reasons. However, the gunman's younger brother was killed and the intelligence officer's cover was blown. Further intelligence suggested that something would happen this weekend, it's the one year anniversary of the young boy's death, and as Mycroft knew from the family's internet records that they were all fans of my website, he decided to use my fame to bring things to a head. The young man will get the help he needs to deal with his brother's death, the intelligence officer will be reassigned to another case, and the gangs will believe that the spy in their midst has been withdrawn, which will allow the rest of Mycroft's people to work unhindered.'

'Wow! So ... Mycroft's paying for our stay at the hotel yeah? It's coming from his own pocket, not from some Government fund using tax-payer's money?' inquired John.

'Yes, Mycroft is paying for it out of his own money, the tax-payer isn't footing the bill at all for this. Why do you ask?' answered Sherlock, a confused frown wrinkling his brow.

'I was just thinking ... I wish I'd raided the mini bar now!' replied John, his lips quirking upwards into a smile.

Grinning widely, Sherlock put both his hands into his coat pockets and pulled out several small bottles of alcohol, and placed them carefully onto John's lap.

Looking down in surprise, John's smile widened until it threatened to split his entire face, before he dissolved into giggles, joined immediately by his friend's deeper chuckles.