"...so let me get this straight." Greg said sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're not dead." he pointed to Sherlock. "You knew all along," he pointed to Mycroft. "...and the main threat, the one that probably should have been taken out first is now coming after all of us?"

"I suppose you can be taught!" Sherlock sneered.

"Sherlock," John dangerously rolled his eyes in the direction of the detective. "I am going to be as clear as I possible can. This..." he said gesturing around them. "...is your fault. All of it...your fault. So if you don't keep your oh so witty comments to yourself, if you belittle or moan about any little thing, if you even breathe incorrectly around me, you will be in pain for a loooong time. Don't forget, I'm a doctor and a soldier. I can wound without killing."

"Is your little threat supposed to scare me John? Other than your little tantrum, you wouldn't seriously hurt me. You couldn't."

"Ok." John shrugged. He then reached in his back pocket and noticed something very important was missing, but he knew what had happened to it. "Greg, can I borrow your gun for a second?" he asked not taking his eyes off of Sherlock.

"Ok guys, how about we just calm down and come up with a plan to take out the psychopath coming after us." Greg tried to placate the situation.

"I whole heartedly agree with the Chief Inspector. By the way Sherlock, I'd watch my tongue if I were you."

"And why would that be?"

"Just a precaution. I'd hate for you to be under the impression that I would do anything to stop Dr. Watson should you continue to needlessly provoke him. In fact, I may even return his gun." Mycroft coolly stated, not batting an eyelash.

It became eerily silent amongst the four men. There was so much raw emotion in the room, that the air was positively electric from it. Mainly between John and Sherlock. After a long and hard staredown, John broke away and regarded the elder Holmes brother.

"I take it that there's some sort of plan. You two are too damned weasel-y and manipulative to not have something."

"All compliments aside," Mycroft bristled a bit. "We do have a plan...well did. Sherlock?"

"The plan essentially called for John and I resuming our relationship as normal and eventually John being kidnapped."

"You bastard!" Greg shouted. "You absolute monster! You put him through all of this and you had the intention of-"

"It's fine, Greg." John interrupted. "It's really not unexpected. It's all I was really there for anyway. The scapegoat, the decoy, the distraction." He just joylessly shook his head and let out a long sigh. "So, Plan B?"

"We've a short list of his usual contacts and we managed to infiltrate his inner circle with one of my men acting as a comrade of his. We've gained quite the intelligence from his mission."

"Such as?"

"Sebastian Moran was a thug, a hired gun. He did what he was told, when he was told in exchange for money. People like that aren't normally fiercely loyal when the checks stop coming. So what's his motivation? Why would he try to continue where his boss left off?" Mycroft posed the question.

After a few seconds, a realization dawned on John. "He loved him...that's why I'm a target now. Sherlock took his love, he'd take Sherlock's, well hypothetically speaking of course."

"Exactly! That was why the initial plan was for you to lure him out. You see, he has waited for Sherlock to return before making any moves. He wants Sherlock there to see it."

"I see. That can be quite devastating," John snarked. "But what do we do now? I mean, I obviously don't love Sherlock any more and I really don't think I can stand to be together with him long enough to fake it."

"Will you stop being so childish?!" Sherlock snapped. "So I made you upset for a little bit, you obviously got over it and fell into the first lap to come alon-"

He was interrupted by a punch in the gut. What shocked everyone was...it didn't come from John.

"You'd be very wise to stop talking, Sherlock," he warned. He was tinged a bright red and was shaking with anger.

"Gentlemen, we won't get much accomplished unless we can at least behave like we're older than 16."

"Why should I care?" Sherlock coughed, trying to regain his breath that was temporarily knocked out of him. "Moran wants him, he can have him. Caring really isn't my area, after all."

"That's right, Sherlock. Make yourself the victim in all of this. Pull the 'woe is me' card. You don't want to help? Fine." John spat. "Mycroft, I'll be needing access to weapons. I'll need concealed and stealth. Make sure to get enough for myself and Greg. That is, if you're willing to..."

"Don't even finish that sentence. I'm right behind you, always."

John smiled for the first time in a few hours, then returned his attention to Mycroft. "I also need a docket of all of the information on Moran you have, if this is the same guy I remember, we need to be about two steps ahead at all times."

"You're not seriously thinking of charging in without some sort of plan? John, think of your boys. We need to..."

"I am thinking about them, Mycroft. Always. I don't want to raise them living in fear. This ends now. I'm open to ideas, but if we can't come up with anything, we'll go ahead with the bait idea."

"No, John. Let's think about this. We can't afford to be reckless. Lucas and Nigel need BOTH of us."

"Of course, you'll have the full assistance of my men, Captain Watson." Mycroft smirked. He'd rarely seen John in warrior mode. It was a magnificent sight to behold.

John briskly nodded and then turned back to Sherlock. They resumed their staring match. Both were hurt and furious with the other. "We're doing this with or without you, Sherlock. Is the 'Great Sherlock Holmes' just going to sit back while others clean the colossal mess he's made?"

"As if I'd give you the satisfaction, Dr. Watson."

"I can't recall you ever giving me much satisfaction, Mr. Holmes." John spat back. Greg just put an arm around John, both to comfort him, but to let Sherlock know that if he felt like continuing this little grudge match he'd have another opponent.

Mycroft sat as his desk and slowly sipped the brandy Anthea had brought for them during the initial argument. She'd ordered the weapons and the back-up wordlessly via text and placed a hand of her own on her boss' shoulder.

"Well men, we have our mission. Let's try not to kill each other in the process, hm?" he sighed, rubbing his temples.