.

John knocked politely on the hospital's private room door before twisting the knob. Sherrinford's lean figure was standing in front of the window, looking out, quite immobile.

'Sherrinford? It's John, and Sherlock', the doctor identified himself.

'Come in, close the door', the older Holmes said, not turning around, in a cold detached voice. John frowned. Behind him, Sherlock was looking all around the room in one of his investigative stares, as he closed the door. He removed the hand very fast, as if the door had just given him a small static shock.

Finally the detective said: 'I was kind of hoping for real live bees. As it turns out, I'm actually quite fond of bees, the way they've built their own civilization and all seem to have only one final goal in mind. Should write a blog entry about that, some day.'

'I'd read it, too', Sherrinford admitted. 'Too bad, you're allergic to bees.'

John looked from the man at the window to his friend, stunned. What was going on?

'A sting, and I go into anaphylactic shock, Sherrinford, that's what John told you. So, you inserted a little metal spike in the door handle, motioned by a spring. Neat. What did you coat the handle with? Phospholipase A, one of the venom components known to cause an allergic reaction in a hypersensitive individual. I'm guessing by the fact that you've been confined in a hospital, it should be feasible to attain... But how do you explain the apparent bee sting allergy as I visit you?'

'The hospital is surrounded by a park, must have dragged one in with you, Sherlock. I saw you walk the garden with John.' The two men were measuring each other closely.

'Sloppy, I was expecting better from the man that abducted my best friend', Sherlock stated. 'After all, I'm in a hospital, the right place to be treated in time.'

'The door is unfortunately stuck.' John walked to the door and tested the handle, avoiding the spike. It wouldn't turn or give in.

'And then there is John in here with me, a witness.'

'I looked into his medical files, he was admitted as a patient earlier. The nurses had his files. I know what he's allergic to. Can play it as a malpractice accident. Enough to fool the Yard.'

'Better, still sloppy, though. You see, I'm not allergic to bees. The most I can get out of this is a bit of pain.'

Sherrinford turned abruptly, finally a reaction. Anger, maniacally evident, as he looked at his brother, and at John. It was to the latter that he accused: 'You lied to me!'

John shrugged. 'Of course I did.'

Sherrinford smiled coldly. 'How did you know? I played you. You believed me. I saw it.'

So much like his brother, an inquisitive mind derailing all sense of reality. Only Sherlock, the self-proclaimed sociopath, would never have derived pleasure creating those plans. 'Why do all of this?' John asked him.

'Wanted to get to know my brother better.'

'Could have phoned him', John was sarcastic.

'People always tend to lie, except when faced with extreme circumstances. Then they'll tend to tell the truth. At first, I used you to know Sherlock better. I had to make sure you had his best interest at heart, John.' He smiled. 'Then I used the information you gave me.'

'You little piece of–' Sherlock placed a hand in his shoulder, and John bit his tongue with effort, fisting his hands by his side.

-.-

A/N: Blame the unrealistic nature of my medical "knowledge" on internet search engines. Bees are a cannon reference, naturally. I hid the scam on chapt.12 as a joint John & Sherlock little misinformation. The rest is a Holmes doing everything the complicated way.

(Oh dear, I can easily imagine a respectable medical expert somewhere just snorting laughter at this chapter.) -csf