Author's note: We're getting very close to the end.
Apologies in advance for my mistakes. Thanks for reading and please, review!


"This is the story of Sir Boast-a-lot. Sir Boast-a-lot was the bravest and cleverest knight at the Round Table, but soon the other knights began to grow tired of his stories about how brave he was and how many dragons he'd slain, and soon they began to wonder... 'Are Sir Boast-a-lot's stories even true?' Oh, no. So one of the knights went to King Arthur and said: 'I don't believe Sir Boast-a-lot's stories. He's just a big old liar who makes things up to make himself look good.' And then even the King began to wonder... But that wasn't the end of Sir Boast-a-lot's problem. wasn't the final problem..."

Sherlock knew that story. He had first been told about it when he was a mere five year old child and Mycroft said he had to stop showing off in front of their parents because he was the cleverest one.

"I'm older, therefore, I'm cleverer."

Sherlock pouted. "But age doesn't mean anything."

"Yes it does," said a twelve year old Mycroft. "The more older you are, the wiser you become."

"That's not fair!"

The second time Sherlock was told this story, the story of Sir-Boast-a-lot, he was fifteen and John was reading it to him. They were going through old books when John found it. He said he liked that story because it teaches you not to be a show off, boast about things and so on. They even made jokes and said Mycroft was a Sir-Boast-a-lot since every time he came home after university he would talk about his grades and his good and important acquaintances.

Someone had told Moriarty about that story and how much it meant to Sherlock.

And Sherlock knew it.

"No, Inspector."

Lestrade looked at him in wonder. "What?"

"The answer's no."

"But you haven't heard the question!"

"You want to take me to the station. Just saving you the trouble of asking."

At this point John started to feel something was going terribly wrong. If he understood well, Greg wanted to take Sherlock down to the station - Greg suspected Sherlock was the criminal here.

"Sherlock -"

"The scream?"

"Yeah."

"Who was it? Donovan?" Sherlock stood up from his chair and crossed the living room until he was just across Lestrade. "I bet it was Donovan. Am I somehow responsible for the kidnapping? Ah, Moriarty is smart. He planted that doubt in her head. That little nagging sensation. You're gonna have to be strong to resist. You can't kill an idea, can you? Not once it's made a home there." Sherlock said placing both of his fingers on Greg's forehead, meaning his brain.

"Will you come?" Lestrade asked.

"One photograph, that's his next move. Moriarty's game, first the scream, then a photograph of me being taken in for questioning. He wants to destroy me inch by inch." Sherlock sat again and focused on the camera he had found in between his books. "It is a game, Lestrade, and not one I'm willing to play. Give my regards to Sergeant Donovan."

Long minutes passed. John watched Greg leaving, making himself out, then joining Sally Donovan and both getting into his car. John had always been aware no one at the Yard really liked Sherlock. Greg was the exception because well, John didn't know him much but he could feel Greg was fond of Sherlock. But Donovan... it was clear that Donovan didn't, maybe hadn't and probably will never like Sherlock.

John remembered the first days, when a new year at school started and soon people started making friends. John was friends with the boys whom he played rugby with, some group of girls he fancied. But Sherlock never got along with people. There were a few girls who liked him, a boy or two who liked his deductive skills and were relatively clever, people Sherlock could put up with without scaring them off.

Sometimes John wondered how Sherlock's life had been when he left to Afghanistan. He knew about the drugs and well, the lovers Mycroft once told him about, but what John didn't know was if Sherlock had someone close. Not lover. A friend.

Sherlock's eyes were on John for a moment. They just had a few hours and Sherlock wanted to make the most of it but there was no possible way to talk about all the things Sherlock wished they could talk about together. Sherlock wanted to know how had been John's life when he was in Afghanistan, if he made good friends, how those wounds he knew he had marked him. Sherlock wanted to know so many things.

And Sherlock still wanted to ask for forgiveness.

Because Sherlock knew John left to Afghanistan because of his words.

"...we are different! You were just a replacement. You're not John Holmes. You're not my brother!"

John blinke donce, twice, not fully getting what Sherlock was saying to him. Shouting at him. "What?"

"You're no one here. You're nothing to me! You're nothing more than a replacement."

When John blinked and tears rolled down his face, Sherlock understood the damage he had caused. Because he didn't mean it. Sherlock never meant those words. Sherlock loved John because no matter where John had come from, John was his brother. At that time he didn't know it, but they were real brothers. And John meant a whole life to him.

"I'm sorry John," Sherlock whispered as soon as he saw John packing a very few items into a small suitcase and leaving their home.

Silence fell over them. The other man couldn't help but try to get close to him. But the recent graduate Doctor stepped back.

"You said it. Don't you remember, Sherlock? You said the truth. We are not brothers"

"John, I didn't mean it-"

"You said it Sherlock. We are different."

Sherlock wondered if John ever forgave him.

"They'll be deciding."

"Deciding?" Asked John, still looking outside their window.

"Whether to come back with a warrant and arrest me."

"You think?"

"Standard procedure."

"Should have gone with him. People'll think -"

"I don't care what people think."

"You'd care if they thought you were stupid, or wrong."

"No," Sherlock shook his head. His eyes were on his laptop but his full attention was on John. "that would just make them stupid or wrong."

John tuned to Sherlock angrily. "Sherlock, I don't want the world believing you're -"

As soon as Sherlock's eyes were on him, John just couldn't go on with the sentence, with the statement. It was a statement. He didn't want the world to believe his clever brother was a fraud because he wasn't. Sherlock wasn't a fraud. Sherlock was clever. John knew Sherlock was cleverer than him, than Mrs Hudson, than Mycroft even.

"That I am what?"

"A fraud."

Sherlock leaned back on his chair and now focused fully on John. His eyes were on John's. On those eyes he had seen into so many times. "You're worried they're right."

"What?"

"You're worried they're right about me."

"No."

"That's why you're so upset. You can't even entertain the possibility that they might be right. You're afraid that you've been taken in as well."

John faced away again, not being able to face Sherlock again. Not now. "No. I'm not."

"Moriarty is playing with your mind too. Can't you see what's going on?" Sherlock asked angrily, slamming a hand onto the table. This eventually got John's attention because now his blue orbs were back to Sherlock's.

"No," John breathed. "I know you're for real."

"A hundred percent?"

John smiled a very little bit. "Well, nobody could fake being such an annoying dick all the time."

And Sherlock couldn't help but smile a bit too.

But both wanted to say something different. Sherlock didn't want to say this was a game only planned by Moriarty and John didn't want to say he knew Sherlock was an annoying dick all the time. Both things were partially true.

But both were also lies.

This wasn't only a game planned by Moriarty.

And Sherlock wasn't only an annoying dick all the time.

Sherlock had planned and now was playing this game. And he and Jim knew how everything was going to end. Everyone involved knew. Everyone but John.

Sherlock was his dear brother John loved with all his heart. Because both had been raised together. John still didn't know they were half brothers. John didn't know his adoptive father was actually his real father. John knew nothing about it and John knew nothing about this game. Nor how this was going to end.

John's phone went off. "What?... OK. I'll tell him. Ta." The doctor turned to Sherlock. "So, still got some friends on the Force. It's Lestrade. Says they're all coming over here right now, queuing up to slap on the handcuffs: every single officer you ever made feel like a tit, which is a lot of people."

Sherlock ignored this, already knowing what was going to happen when Mrs Hudson got in and handed them a parcel containing a gingerbread man, burned. "Burn to a crisp."

"What does it mean?" John asked.

The doorbell rang, Mrs Hudson ran to open the door but soon the police was on the stairs, Greg, Donovan, several policemen, all ready to arrest Sherlock Holmes, the man who, as John said, made everyone feel like a tit all the time.

The look in the policemen and in Donovan's eyes were full of hatred. Resentment. Greg looked somehow hurt, almost deceived but not fully convinced Sherlock was a criminal. It was clear he was following orders from above.

"Have you got a warrant? Have you?"

"Leave it, John."

Sherlock heard everything from the living room. Standard procedure exaggerated by the ridiculous amount of police cars parked outside Baker Street and the number of policemen all running up the stairs to fetch him. He put on his coat, his scarf and waited.

"Sherlock Holmes, I'm arresting you on suspicion of abduction and kidnapping."

"He's not resisting!"

"It's all right, John."

"He's not resisting. No, it's not all right. This is ridiculous."

Of course it wasn't right. He wasn't the one to blame. He wasn't the guilty one here. Sherlock felt ashamed, embarrassed to be arrested in front of John. He had been arrested before and several times had been in front of Mycroft, but he didn't care. He was far too high to care.

But now Sherlock wasn't high. Sherlock was merely following the plan.

He had to keep John safe.

"Get him downstairs now."

John looked at Greg indignantly. "You know you don't have to do -"

"Don't try to interfere, or I shall arrest you too." Greg said, following procedure too.

John left it there because he knew there was not point trying to stop this injustice. Greg left after Sherlock, all the police officers were down on the streets, getting into their cars when the only person from the Force remaining on the flat was Sally.

"You done?"

"Oh, I said it."

"What?"

"First time we met," Sally reminded John. "Solving crimes won't be enough. One day he'll cross the line. Now, ask yourself: what sort of man would kidnap those kids just so he can impress us all by finding them?"

Mrs Hudson was about to reply when John shook his head angrily and looked at the round man on his flat. "Donovan."

"Sir."

"Got our man?"

"Yes, sir."

"Looked a bit of a weirdo, if you ask me. Often are, these vigilante types," The round man, who was Donovan and Lestrade's superior looked at John's angry eyes on him. "What are you looking at?"


"Joining me?"

"Yeah. Apparently it's against the law to chin the Chief Superintendant."

Both John and Sherlock were being held against a police car. Several of their neighbours were on their doors, watching. Sherlock couldn't help but smile a bit, at John joining him, somehow defending him.

It wasn't enough to stop this.

"Bit awkward, this."

"No one to bail us."

"I was thinking more about our imminent and daring escape."

"What?"

Sherlock managed to reach some buttons inside the police car, making all the police officers take their earpieces off, crying in pain after the high-pitched sounds. This made the police man behind them step back, so Sherlock took his gun and aimed at the police officers close to him.

"Ladies and gentlemen, will you all please get on your knees? Now would be good!"

Lestrade sighed tiredly. "Do as he says!"

All the police officers were on their knees when John understood what was going on. "Just-just so you're aware, the gun is his idea. I'm just a, you know - "

"My hostage!" Said Sherlock, aiming at John's head.

"Hostage! Yes, that works. That works!"

Sherlock started to lead the way, pushing John back and walking away from the police.

"So what now?"

"Doing what Moriarty wants. I'm becoming a fugitive. Run!"

All the police officers, Greg, Lestrade and their superior looked at the two men running together.

"Get him, Lestrade!"

Sherlock looked at John and held his hand tightly. "Take my hand!"