Pre-A/N: OK, the feedback on the last chapter was nothing short of AMAZING. I ended up screenshotting at least half of your guys' comments and texting them to my BFF in glee. After that, I showed them to my fifteen year old brother who could not have cared less, and then my father, who smiled in confusion before asking 'what is a johnlock?'

Anyway, point is, you guys are the bomb. Lots of love to everyone who's been supporting me throughout this whole adventure, I couldn't do it without you. Writing this has been such a wonderful escape, especially since my life has been a big ol' ball of stress lately, and I can't thank you guys enough for giving me this opportunity. It's been a godsend :)

Actual A/N: I can't seem to stop writing John and Sherlock making out like teenagers. Apparently, now that the Johnlock floodgates have been opened, no scene is safe. In fact, I think it's fair to assume they'll still be slobbering over each other even if they wind up dangling over a volcano with Mary cackling in the background. Also, I am pleased to say that the boys will face all future angst together, as a united front. :) I had a blast writing this and I hope you guys like it!

Enjoy!

Explanation: (noun) an account that clarifies the important details of a particular subject

...

1.

"Mary?" John repeats, looking bewildered. "What about her?"

Sherlock hops off the kitchen table. "We should discuss this in the sitting room."

"Why?"

"You'll want to be sitting down for this," Sherlock sighs.

John gives him a dubious look, but complies nonetheless, trailing after Sherlock and following his lead when he seats himself in his chair.

"Alright," Sherlock exhales, drumming his fingers nervously on his thigh. "First of all, you need to know that everything I am about to tell you, no matter how wild and unlikely it may initially seem, is true."

"Okay."

"And keep in mind that I have only known this information for less than twenty four hours, so it is just as new to me as it is to you."

"…Alright," John says slowly.

"And as awful as it may seem, I have a plan that will allow us to emerge relatively unscathed."

Now, John looks uneasy. "Sherlock, I really don't like the tone of this conversation. Is someone dead? Is Mary in danger or something? What's going on?"

Deep breath. "No one is dead and Mary is not in danger. She is the danger."

"What?"

Sherlock meets John's eyes steadily. "I'll begin by saying that Mary Morstan is not her real name."

John freezes. "What do you mean?"

"It's an alias she took up a few years ago. Her real name is Annaliese Abbamonte."

"Why...why would she need an alias?"

Sherlock forces himself to maintain eye contact. "Because, John, she is a fugitive wanted by the American government for treason and several accounts of first degree manslaughter. She was forced to take up the false identity to avoid their notice."

Following that statement, there is a long, terrible silence.

"John?" Sherlock ventures after a minute. "Did you hear what I said?"

More silence. Sherlock's watches John's hands flex against the arms of the chair. His jaw is clenched, his unreadable, navy-blue eyes are set on the back wall, and his mouth is pursed and inscrutable; he's either furious or so deeply in shock that he's still struggling to process Sherlock's words.

Finally, John exhales loudly through his nose, like a tea kettle blowing steam. "So, what you're telling me is, the woman I was about to marry is actually a wanted serial killer."

"Yes."

"And her real name is not Mary."

"Yes."

"And she's been lying to me since the day we met."

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Where is the proof? How do you know?" John demands.

"I only learned of these things a few hours ago," Sherlock replies. "I am ashamed to admit that I had no suspicions about her true identity until last night. You see, the reason Mycroft contacted me was to help him interrogate a member of the Brothers of Blood, a group of well-known, highly dangerous German mobsters—"

"German mobsters?" John interrupts. "How are they involved with this?"

It's rare that John ever cuts him off, so the fact that he just interrupted Sherlock shows how frazzled and upset he truly is. "Mary killed the gang's family members as payback for a gunshot wound given to her by the group's leader, so they've been searching for her in London in hopes of getting payback. Mycroft and I were lucky enough to catch one of their members, Anton, and bring him into custody for questioning," Sherlock explains. "We spoke to Anton and he told us her true name—Annaliese Gabrielle Rose Abbamonte—as well as a decent chunk of her past life. Apparently, she worked for the CIA, went rogue and began killing even when it wasn't part of her assignment, faked her own death to avoid treason charges against the United States government, then continued her spree all throughout Europe for the next few years, hiding under alias after alias."

John chews this over for a long time. "But how do you know Annaliese is Mary, if this mobster bloke has never met Mary? Couldn't he have been talking about someone else?"

"No. Anton showed us a photograph of Mary in the newspaper and explained that the Brothers used the picture to finally pinpoint her location. He also explained that he and the rest of the group are in England to kill her."

John's eyes widen. "Kill her?"

"Yes," Sherlock says gravely. "She's done some very terrible things to a large number of people, John."

John nods stiffly, his eyes firmly settled middle distance. "What else?"

"Well," he says slowly. "Anton also revealed that she is the killer from the Ten Hour Deaths case."

"What?"

"Yes. The weekend she 'went away', she murdered four members of her old team for reasons I have yet to figure out. As shocking as it is, it certainly explains why she was so insistent that you and I avoid looking too deeply into the case."

Calm disposition forgotten, John leaps from his chair and starts pacing, his hands clenched at his sides as if itching to punch something. "That was only a few months ago! Bloody hell—she was still killing people after we met?!"

"Yes, but, John, please calm down, I fear for your blood pressure—"

"Yes, you bloody well should! It's just hit the sodding ceiling!" he shouts, dragging a hand frenetically through his hair. "Jesus, I just—I can't even wrap my head around this. I don't even know what to say right now. The woman I am currently engaged to was off killing people when she told me she was visiting her sister, for god's sake—" John stops and gives Sherlock a wild look. "She doesn't even have a bloody sister, does she?"

"Er, no. She doesn't."

"Christ. I feel sick. I actually feel sick right now." John takes a few hard exhales and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I need tea. Or whiskey. Or a club to the head." He collapses back into his chair and closes his eyes. "Jesus."

"John, I know it's a lot to take in," Sherlock says carefully. "But I'm not quite finished."

John cracks one eye open incredulously. "There's more?"

"I wish there wasn't," Sherlock says empathetically. "But I'm afraid sharing this information with you has come at a price. Now that you know the truth, we are going to have to create a new plan to take down Mary. And as reluctant as I am to put you in any kind of danger, you will have to play a key role."

"Wait," John says, sitting up in his chair. "You're making a new plan? So, there was another plan wherein you didn't share this information with me?"

"Yes," Sherlock replies honestly. "Mycroft and I originally agreed that you would be kept in the dark so as not to arouse Mary's suspicions."

John stares at him. "You really weren't going to tell me anything?"

Shame curls through Sherlock's chest. "No."

John clenches and unclenches his fists, not quite as an expression of anger, but for the sake of doing something with his suddenly restless hands. "Well, then what changed your mind?" he asks at last.

Sherlock leans forward in his chair and places a hand gently on John's knee. "Despite the consequences that may come from this, I couldn't bear to lie to you again. This whole situation is far too similar to the painful, heartbreaking process of faking my death two years ago, and I am not willing to recreate that chasm of distrust and betrayal between us once more. I'd rather be in this together, as a team and a united front, so we may take down whatever comes at us, knowing we have each other's backs."

For a while, John doesn't say anything; he just rubs a hand over his mouth and looks to the side, his jaw flexing slightly as he mulls over Sherlock's words. "I don't think I could've gone through that kind of pain again, Sherlock" he says eventually, his tone penetrating and raw. "It nearly killed me last time."

Sherlock drops his eyes to his shoes and nods. "I know."

John lets the silence settle for a moment, before dropping his hand over Sherlock's and squeezing lightly. "But I'm glad you trust me. I appreciate it." He exhales forcefully and shakes his head. "Your brother, however, I'd very much like to chin."

"Who among us hasn't felt that urge?"

John huffs a tired sort of laugh and Sherlock briefly joins in, before he remembers that he isn't quite finished talking about all the unpleasantness that the future holds.

Sherlock bites the inside of his cheek and stares down at their joined hands. "Now, here comes the hard part."

"The hard part?"

"The plan itself involves you convincing Mary that nothing is wrong," Sherlock explains reluctantly. "Which means that everything must proceed as she wants it to."

"Like the wedding," John says faintly, as if the realization is just dawning on him.

"Yes."

There's a moment of silence in which John drinks the idea in. "Sherlock," he says eventually, "she's a fugitive who has killed countless people over the years, and you want me to marry her?"

"I know, John, it sounds crazy."

John rubs a hand down his face in frustration. "Yes," he says. "It bloody does."

"As unpleasant and awful as it may be, John, you have to do it," Sherlock continues sadly. "We need Mary to believe that nothing is amiss if we want to catch her. She's been known to slip through the cracks, and we can't afford to let her get away. As we speak, Mycroft is negotiating with the Brothers so we may have some extra time to make sure she's completely cornered."

"So I'm just supposed to act like I still love her?" John asks.

"Yes," Sherlock answers, though he'd give anything to be able to tell John No, you don't have to. You can be with me and we can take her down some other way. Unfortunately, he is well aware that that isn't even an option. "Behave just as you did when you were in love with her. Be as affectionate and adoring as you need to be in order to keep her in the dark. Help with the wedding, spend all of your time with her, and treat every interaction as if she's the only person in the world you want to be with. You need to convince her that nothing is wrong, John. She has to be completely blindsided when we finally do attack." Sherlock pauses for a moment. "Do you understand what I'm telling you, John?"

"Yes," John says tiredly. "I understand."

Sherlock bites the inside of his cheek, wishing they didn't have to do this. "Mycroft also told me that you and I cannot spend anymore alone time together until Mary has been properly taken care of."

"At all?"

Sherlock feels himself wilting in his chair. "Precisely."

John stares back at him, looking just as crestfallen as Sherlock feels. "Did Mycroft tell you how long we'll have to play along?"

"He said weeks. Or months," Sherlock replies dejectedly.

John groans and drops his face in his hands. "This isn't bloody fair."

"I know," Sherlock mumbles, his entire body weighed down with dread. He stares at John, whose face is still buried in his palms. It's then that it occurs to him that while this has been a terrible, possibly traumatizing experience for him, it must be ten times worse for John, as he was the one who spent two years in a relationship with her. He loved Mary. To find out that she is something completely different than he thought must be nothing short of earth-shattering.

"This is a lot to come to terms with at once, John," Sherlock says quietly. "What are you feeling?"

After a minute of composing himself, John sighs and looks up at him. "I don't know what to feel right now," John confesses. "On one hand, I'm absolutely pissed that she's been lying to me for so long. On the other hand, I feel…betrayed. I did love her at one point, and hearing that she's been living some terrible double life without my knowledge is strangely heartbreaking." He shakes his head. "I also feel disgusted that I allowed this deceitful, poisonous woman to slip into my life. I feel stupid that I didn't notice the signs. I feel angry that you and I won't be able to be together as soon as we would like. I feel scared as bloody hell, because I'm engaged to a serial killer who could decide at any moment to take the lives of the people I care about. I feel relieved that you told me the truth. I feel enraged that Mycroft wanted you to lie to me again. I feel both justified and sad at the fact that I want her dead. I just—I'm feeling a lot of things right now, and I can't bloody sort anything out," John finishes, dragging his hands through his hair.

"I'm sorry, John," Sherlock says at length, because there's nothing else to say. "You don't deserve this."

"Neither do you," John sighs. He meets Sherlock's eyes. "But despite all of the terrible emotions, the biggest thing I'm feeling is actually fairly positive."

Sherlock blinks. "What is it?"

"Love," John answers simply. "Love for you, Sherlock. And, listen, I know things are going to get crazy and terrible and possibly terrifying in the foreseeable future, but I just want you to know, I'll still be here for you when this is over. No matter how long this takes."

Sherlock darts his gaze over to John, surprised that John managed to address the unvoiced, but nonetheless niggling, doubt in the back of his mind. "You will?"

"Of course," John says softly. "Listen to me: I love you. And we've both waited so long for each other, a few weeks or months aren't going to change anything. We're going to go along with this plan, get Mary taken care of, and then you and I are going to have the rest of our lives to spend with each other."

"The rest of our lives?" Sherlock repeats. His busy stream of thoughts comes to a screeching halt when he realizes what John just said. They've never really spoken about the extent of their relationship before, only the fact that they both want each other. John talking about being with Sherlock forever is certainly new. Sherlock swallows hard, his heart singing with desperate hope. "Do…do you mean that, John?"

"Of course I do, you git," John says fondly. "I'm mad for you, remember? Always have been, always will be."

A flood of affection and love crashes through Sherlock's chest and he feels as if his heart might actually burst. "I love you, John," he blurts out, at loss of what else to say.

"Come here," John says with a smile, his eyes a deep, engulfing blue. Sherlock rises from his chair, both surprised and pleased when John grabs him by the waist and tugs him into his lap. John grins and crushes their mouths together, his hands immediately moving to cradle the nape of Sherlock's neck and the small of his back.

"I love you, too," John murmurs, tangling his fingers in Sherlock's curls and deepening the kiss. Sherlock melts at the sensation, falling bonelessly against John's chest like a ragdoll. "I love you so bloody much."

John's hands skim up and down his back, over the curve of his spine, along the jut of his shoulders blades, before settling at his hips almost possessively. His lips move unhurriedly against Sherlock's, as reassuring and dependent as the tide crashing into the shore.

Then, John's chair, apparently unfit to hold two grown men, breaks the mood by creaking loudly in complaint at their combined weight. John stops what he's doing and pulls back, giving Sherlock an amused look. "Did the chair just creak?"

"Yes," Sherlock says impatiently, bringing John's mouth back to his. Who cares about the sodding furniture when there's snogging to be done?

A minute later, it creaks again, because apparently it was not satisfied with ruining the moment once already. Stupid inanimate object. "As—Mm—pleasing as this is, John, we may be too big for this chair," Sherlock mumbles against John's lips. He can feel John smiling even before he pulls back and sees the expression for himself.

"It's your bloody long legs," John chuckles, pressing a fond kiss above his eyebrow. "You're six feet tall and we're both trying to fit in a seat built for one. At this rate, we're going to break the damn thing."

Sherlock smirks, bumping his nose against John's. "Let it break, then."

"Oi, easy to say when it isn't your chair," John complains, smiling despite himself. He leans his forehead against Sherlock's. "Tell you what, we can get up in a minute and—"

John stops midsentence as his mobile begins ringing in his pocket. Sherlock watches John glance at the caller ID and practically wilt with dread. He looks up at Sherlock with suddenly grave eyes. "It's Mary."

And just like that, the atmosphere of lightheartedness is gone, sucked from the room in an instant.

Sherlock untangles himself from John and gets out of the chair immediately, brushing down the wrinkles in his dressing gown and smoothing back his unruly hair. "Answer as you normally would," he instructs. "Remember: nothing is wrong and nothing has changed since you last saw her."

John nods once and answers the phone. The minute he starts speaking, his entire disposition changes in a flash.

"Good morning, darling," John says, a smile pouring over his face like sunlight. Mary says something and he shakes his head and laughs. "Oi! I know it's noon, but we may have had a bit too much to drink last night, so cut me some slack here, love. What did we do? Oh, you know, the usual stag night nonsense. We went on a pub-crawl until the sun rose, then dragged ourselves back to the flat and passed out." He laughs again. "Oh, hush, I'm entitled to a bit of drunken foolishness once in a while." He smiles to himself and nods at her next comment. "Of course, darling. First, I want to make sure Sherlock is going to be alright with this massive hangover of his, then I'll head right over. How does two sound? That way we can get a bite at that Italian place you love afterwards." More nodding and smiling as she says something else. "Splendid! I'll talk to you then, Mary, goodbye."

John puts down the phone, and the happiness drains from his face in an instant. "I feel sick," he says after a minute. "Well and truly sick."

"That was very impressive," Sherlock says. Though he means it as a compliment, there isn't anything particularly happy about his tone or expression, and John seems to feel the same, because he merely nods glumly in response. "Just keep doing that, I suppose."

"When will we see each other again?" John asks.

Sherlock frowns. "Mycroft said—"

"I know what your brother said, Sherlock," John interrupts. "But he also told you not to tell me anything, right? We'll find a way to see each other without making her suspicious. Hell—it might even be more suspicious if we stopped seeing each other."

"What are you suggesting?"

"I'm saying that you can help plan for the wedding. You can go out to lunch with us. You can swing by the flat with ideas for decorations or cakes or some rubbish like that, and use it as an excuse to stick around. I don't know, you can—can make something up and come over." John's tone is bordering on desperate. "I just need you around, okay? I won't be able to stand these next few weeks by myself."

Sherlock can't help the gush of relief that crashes through him at John's words. He feels just as eager to cling to John for support, and he's glad they're on the same page. "Yes, okay," he says around an exhale. "But first I have a very important call to make."

"To whom?" John asks.

Sherlock sighs and dials the number. "My brother. I believe he'll need to be notified about the new plan."

A/N: Thanks for reading, darlings! Let me know what you think in the comments, your opinions/thoughts give me life! See you all next Sunday!

*Side note to Hannah: (guest reviewer) it's not weird that you want to get to know me, I'm flattered! :) And I do have an Instagram, it's just_art_love . I have a twitter as well, but there's literally nothing on it except dumb stuff from my school. My Tumblr is sienna-221B. Thanks for reading, love!*