Chapter 20! And we're getting closer to the end of this story! I fear that there's only one chapter left. Please let me know what you think! And thanks to everyone who reads this story! The reviews always make me very happy!

In the past days, I've been thinking about writing a sequel to this. If you'd be interested, let me know!

I don't own the characters or places!

They moved through the crowd slowly, trying not to be noticed by anyone who might know them. First, it worked pretty well. There were a few people who greeted them, but not more. The entire time, John tried to memorize his name, just in case someone might speak to him. And he hoped that he could remember the few things he'd read about Timothy Gould's political attitude. If the attack took place before the main part of the meeting, those things wouldn't even be necessary. But they could never be sure.

If the attack really took place within the meeting or even after that, there was also another problem. The risk that Mycroft might recognize them would be getting much higher. Unfortunately, they didn't have a plan then. They could only hope that Mycroft wouldn't give away their disguise.

"Can you see anything?" John whispered when he and Sherlock arrived in a corner of the room. The entrance hall of the theatre was very big, John couldn't even estimate how many people would fit in there. He thought that Mycroft had said something about two hundred that were invited to the meeting, but he wasn't so sure. At the end of the room, there were stairs that led to a gallery. Upstairs, they could also see people, which made it even more difficult to find anyone.

"Not yet." Sherlock muttered. His eyes were scanning the crowd restlessly. "If they're as good as we suspect, it won't be easy to see through their disguise."

"Then we should look for odd behaviour." John, who was now also looking at the people around them, suggested. "Sudden gestures often come with a nervous feeling."

"Good." Sherlock sounded impressed, even if he wasn't looking at John. "How did you learn that?"

The first time John noticed this was when Mycroft was nervous. But he would never tell Sherlock that, so he decided to ignore the question.

"Tim!" A voice close to them shouted and it took John a moment to realize that he was meant. "Timothy!" A tall woman in a blue dress was walking towards them, smiling widely. "And Will!"

When Sherlock didn't react to the name and kept looking at the crowd, John nudged him with the elbow. "She means you, William." He hissed quietly.

Sherlock turned abruptly and smiled widely. Luckily, the woman didn't notice their short interaction. "It's lovely to see you!" The woman continued and stopped in front of them. She had blond hair and brown eyes. After a few seconds, John recognized her. Right now, he was glad that Mycroft talked about politics so much.

"Evelin, how are you?" Her name was Evelin Ross and Mycroft hated her. Apparently, she liked to cross his plans.

"I told you that it's Eve a long time ago, but you still call me by my full name." She rolled her eyes. "Our dear Tim is always too formal, don't you think so?" She raised her eyebrows at Sherlock.

He nodded immediately. "Of course he is, but he won't listen to anyone."

Eve laughed. "And you're still wearing that hat." She looked at John thoughtfully and he really hoped that she wouldn't notice that he wasn't the real Timothy Gould. "You said you wanted to get rid off that walking stick ages ago." She sounded reproachful and John couldn't stop himself from laughing. Of course not because of the walking stick, but because she really thought that he was Timothy.

"He loves that stick." Sherlock threw in dryly.

"I've noticed." Now Eve didn't sound as confident anymore. The next five minutes, she told them lots of stories about her work. She wouldn't stop complaining about the Prime Minister and his new ideas. Somehow, John thought that she would fit into the Society of the Rose pretty well. When he glanced at Sherlock, he noticed that his friend seemed to think so too. There was a suspicious look in his eyes, which were slightly narrowed.

Slowly, John was starting to feel uneasy. They needed to move and have a look at the other people. Standing here and listening to stories only cost them time. Suddenly, a group of people close to them started to whisper to each other hectically. They kept looking towards the entrance of the building.

Eve stopped her story and looked around. When she turned around as well, she sighed deeply. "Seems like the sharks have arrived." It sounded playful, but John could hear the annoyance in her voice.

Next to him, Sherlock had stiffened. John followed his gaze, just to freeze as well. The person who just entered the theatre was no other than Mycroft Holmes, followed by Anthea and a few more people. John thought he recognized one of them as the head of Mycroft's security staff.

Mycroft was wearing a black suit with a black tie. Even from the distance John noticed that he was looking tired, he thought that he could see dark circles under his husband's eyes. Even if they were inside a building, Mycroft was carrying his umbrella. He was scanning the crowd with a neutral look on his face, but John knew him well enough to see the anger in his posture. Next to him, Anthea was wearing a simple black dress. Somehow, this bothered John.

In this moment, he wanted nothing more than to run to Mycroft and tell him that they were alright. However, John knew that it wasn't possible. They had to find Slade and his companions first. Sherlock suspected that they wanted to poison the drinks, so they would look there first. All the waiters came from upstairs.

To his surprise, Mycroft walked through the crowd in their direction. John exchanged a look with Sherlock, who gestured towards the stairs. They excused themselves to Eve shortly and began to move.

Once they reached the gallery, they had a better view of everything that happened. Upstairs, a few small groups of people had gathered. Mostly those who didn't like the noise downstairs, John suspected.

"We have to keep an eye on Mycroft." John whispered and searched for him among the people. "He's their main target."

"Everyone here." Sherlock corrected him. "But you're right, Slade wants to kill him personally. However, I can't see anyone who looks like him down there."

"Me neither." John muttered darkly. "If something would happen now, we'd be too far away."

"You can't get too close either." Sherlock threw in. "He might recognize you."

"But closer than this." John argued.

"We have to find the others. Let's walk around." He didn't wait for John's reply. John didn't have a choice and followed him.

When they had rounded the gallery, Sherlock shook his head. "We have to split up." He decided. "You search down there, while I'll look up here."

"And if we find something? How can we get each other's attention?" John raised his eyebrows. "It's far too loud in here."

"I'm sure we'll figure something out." Sherlock said simply. "And now go, we've got only twenty minutes left before the meeting starts."

John wasn't even sure what he was looking for when he walked around again. There were far too many people and no one seemed to be suspicious. Of course there were a few who looked around every few seconds, but whatever they were talking about, it didn't seem to be an attack. Soon, John realized that he was walking towards Mycroft again.

A few people recognized him and tried to start a conversation, but John always left before they could really talk to him. Sherlock had chosen their identities well, Timothy Gould didn't seem to have many friends among the other politicians.

When ten minutes passed without anything suspicious, John was getting nervous. He'd been so sure that something would happen before the meeting started. He was standing close to Mycroft now, who had his back turned to him. He was talking to a group of men, however John recognized none of them. John was leaning against a wall. This seemed the best position to him, after all, no one could surprise him from behind.

Suddenly, someone ran into him. It was a small woman with red cheeks. She apologized many times before she left again. In the crowd, she ran into another man and John wondered if she already had a drink too much. Then the man who'd stumbled looked up, directly in John's direction.

His heart stopped when he recognized who was standing there, only a few metres away from him. Slade's hair was black now instead of grey, but otherwise, he didn't change his appearance. He was wearing a grey suit with a red shirt and he was holding something in his hand. John stiffened and got ready to run towards him.

However, Slade only took two steps towards Mycroft, when something else happened.

Someone screamed and John was sure that it had been upstairs. The scream seemed to get everyone's attention since the sound of the conversations subsided. The people started to whisper to each other now and John could literally feel the shift of mood in the room. Suddenly, there was this nervous tension in the air.

Everywhere around him, people were looking around, trying to find the source of the noise. John saw Mycroft's bodyguard disappear in the crowd, towards the stairs. He cursed and tried to walk towards Mycroft.

And then there was another scream, but this time it sounded more like a battle cry. From a man. John knew that voice.

Somehow, John wasn't surprised when two people broke through the handrail of the gallery and jumped right into the crowd. It looked like they were struggling with each other. Now everywhere people were screaming and began to leave the theatre panic-struck.

The two men stumbled to their feet and began to wrestle with each other again. Sherlock's wig was still in place and John was glad about that. However, he couldn't pay attention to them any longer. He just hoped that Sherlock had already contacted Greg and his team. If there were more of Slade's companions in here, they really needed help.

Slade had looked at the scene in the middle of the room too, but now he was heading towards Mycroft again. He didn't try to hide the knife in his hand anymore.

Without thinking about it, John began to run through the crowd as fast as possible. In this moment, he feared that he was already too late. Slade was already so close to Mycroft, and he was still focused on the two fighting men. Just like everyone else.

Suddenly, the walking stick didn't seem so stupid to him anymore. Just before he reached Slade and Mycroft, John swung the stick. This time, he was glad that it was made of metal instead of wood. Since he didn't want to hit anyone else, John couldn't swing that far. That's why the stick only hit Slade's shoulder instead of the head John had aimed for. Nevertheless, it had the wanted effect. The knife fell to the ground and Slade turned around hectically to see who'd attacked him.

When his eyes landed on John, a confused look appeared on his face. Most probably, he didn't recognize him with the hat, the beard, the red hair and the glasses. But then Slade's eyes widened and John wasn't so sure anymore.

From the corner of his eyes, John saw that Mycroft and Anthea were focused on them now. Mycroft was holding his umbrella tightly, while Anthea yelled at someone close to them.

John didn't have the time to look at them any further since Slade wanted to throw himself at the knife on the ground. He blocked his way quickly, trying to hit him with the walking stick again. However, Slade had learned his lesson and dodged away quickly. Slade kicked at John's legs and made him stumble. He used the stick so he wouldn't fall to the ground.

This short distraction had given Slade the time to get the knife again. He was grinning now, but John didn't give him any time to react. He lunged forward and grabbed the arm that was holding the knife. With the other hand, he thrust the walking stick right into Slade's stomach. There was a sharp pain in John's arm when Slade moved out of his grip fast. Apparently, the pain didn't hinder him in his movements.

After the ache in his arm, John felt another sharp pain on his chest. He stumbled back and saw that the knife was red. He knew that the knife had cut into his skin, but he didn't have the time to look at the injury now. Hopefully, he didn't hit something important. The pain in his chest made it more difficult to swing the walking stick.

Behind him, John heard screams again. He prayed that Sherlock was alright and that Greg arrived, but he also couldn't turn around.

"Just go away, boy. I don't want you." Slade said now, voice loud and clear. "You can leave this place anytime."

While Slade spoke, John noticed that most people had left the theatre. The only sounds that could be heard were those of fighting. And it seemed like many people were struggling with each other, so Sherlock had signalled Greg to come in. Anthea and Mycroft were also trying to bring down someone. Most probably Slade's backup plan if he didn't get to him in time.

"I know what you want. And you can't get him." John growled and grabbed the stick tighter. He looked at Slade closely and tried to figure out his next movement. The last two times he'd attacked John in the same way.

This time, Slade laughed. "You're injured. I can deal with you easily."

"No, you won't." John muttered and ran to Slade again. The glasses and the hat have already fallen to the ground when Slade hat hit him with the knife, and now John felt that his beard had loosened as well. Slade wanted to dodge again, but this time John saw it coming. He dropped to his knees in front of him and swung the walking stick. Thanks to the smooth floor John was sliding towards Slade on his knees when he hit him again. His time, he'd aimed for the legs.

As soon as Slade fell with a surprised gasp, John grabbed the stick with both hands and aimed at Slade's head. He fell to the ground unconscious.

For half a second, John just sat there, gasping. The pain in his chest was getting stronger and when he looked down, he saw that his shirt was red. He stood up slowly, using the walking stick for help.

When he turned around, he saw that most others were still struggling with someone. Mycroft and Anthea were bringing a man to his knees, he saw people from Greg's team, and then there was Greg himself, trying to bring the last politicians outside safely. But where was Sherlock?

The answer came to John when he heard a scream. Mycroft seemed to hear it too since he let Anthea do the rest and turned around quickly. Again, John didn't have time to look at his husband. He was already running towards the source of the noise.

"Sherlock!" He shouted, not caring if someone might identify his voice.

John ran through the large room as fast as possible, jumping over tables that were lying on the ground and trying not to collide with others. When he finally saw Sherlock and the other man, he tried to be even faster.

Sherlock was on his knees and the other person was pointing his gun at him. John barely realized that Sherlock was talking when he threw himself at the other man with a cry, the walking stick firmly in hand. When he hit the ground, John was breathless for a moment. Apparently, his injury was worse than he thought. The other man hit him in the stomach and John coughed. However, he was able to defend himself with the stick in his hands.

He was able to get the other man off of himself and came to his knees shakily. He barely noticed that the red wig was lying on the ground next to him. "John!" Sherlock shouted, which made him see the gun on the ground only a few feet next to him.

He crawled towards it quickly, trying to get it first. But when he realized that he wasn't fast enough, something else came to his mind. "Sherlock, Chinese Cranes!" It's been years since they last used that trick and John really hoped that Sherlock would remember.

Ignoring his doubts, John grabbed the walking stick tightly and threw it into the air. He already feared that it would just fall to the ground, but then Sherlock was there. He grabbed the stick mid-air and turned with it. He'd aimed directly at the man's chest and the force of the blow made him fall to the ground motionlessly.

For a few moments, John and Sherlock stared at each other silently. The walking stick fell to the ground with a clank and Sherlock held out his hands to John.

"Didn't think you'd remember that." John muttered and Sherlock smiled slightly. However, there was concern in his eyes. John noticed that he was looking like himself again. Well, except for the moustache.

"You're injured." He muttered and looked at John's chest.

"Just a scratch." John waved it off.

Sherlock touched the wound carefully. "You've been lucky. It already stopped bleeding. And the cut doesn't seem too deep." Sherlock said after a few seconds. Did John just imagine it or was he looking relieved?

"John?"

The sound of his voice nearly made his heart stop beating. Slowly, John turned around to look at Mycroft.

He stood in front of them, the umbrella still in his hand. However, it was shaking. His eyes were wide and the shock on his face was obvious. This time, John could also take in the dark rings under his eyes and that he was paler than usual.

"Hello Mycroft." John felt a small smile appear on his lips.

"John." Mycroft said again and took a step towards him. "You're injured."

"He's fine." Sherlock's voice interrupted their private moment. "Just a scratch." When John glanced at Sherlock he saw the gleam in his eyes. "There's Lestrade!" Sherlock said suddenly and walked away, giving them some privacy.

John smiled when he turned to Mycroft again. "I'm fine, really."

"I thought you were –" Mycroft didn't finish his sentence and suddenly, he closed the distance between John and himself. Mycroft didn't seem to care that John would ruin his suit with his blood as well, so John just wrapped his arms around his husband and kissed him.

When they parted, John could see tears streaming down Mycroft's cheeks. "You're alive." Mycroft's voice was barely a whisper and he was breathing heavily now. "You're both alive."

"Yes, and I'm never going to leave you again." John whispered when Mycroft buried his face on his shoulder. "I love you."

"I love you too, John. More than anything."

John couldn't tell how long they just stood there like this, when Greg and Sherlock joined them. They would have to deal with the Society of the Rose and there was an ambulance outside waiting for John. Luckily, the injury was just a scratch and he didn't lose that much blood. He didn't even need to go to the hospital. John also doubted that Mycroft would have let him go. He didn't leave John's side the entire time.

They spent the night together at Baker Street, the first time since Sherlock came back. The next day, Mycroft would have to deal with Slade and his companions, but that evening, they didn't talk about it anymore.

They fell asleep in each other's arms, happy to be together again.

That night, Mycroft had a nightmare. He woke up, crying and screaming John's name. He held him the entire time while he was crying, whispering small words of comfort.

To their surprise, Sherlock never said anything about that night. If he'd heard Mycroft's screams, he kept it to himself.