AUTHORS NOTES: Hey there! So this is the pace I would like to keep; a new chapter every week. Which is what will probably be needed since there's a fair amount I want to write for this story. I'll try and keep this pace, but if work/life gets in the way, I apologize in advance. Please review if you would be so kind!

Summary: After The Fall, John seemingly disappears without a trace only to be found three years later. Sherlock knows the capabilities of the mind better than any man, but can he save a man from his own mind? Sherlock/John

Triggers

Chapter 3

The streets were still so lively as the terror that filled the mans heart had not stilled the residences of London around him. It took every ounce of will power to turn his head away. He looked around, calculating as he did so, his mind a whirl of information.

"There's no one out there." the voice in the phone spoke with almost a laugh after only a brief pause, as if he was letting the gravity of the situation sink in. "No "man in the dark", No "man on the grassy knoll". Take a look. Go on then. Take a really good look."

The man turned his head back to John. "Can you see his face from there? Can you see how calm he is?" The man was right, he was almost too calm considering how even the tiniest gust of wind could probably send him over. He felt a panic try and come over him, but he mentally steeled himself and pushed his fear back down. "John's up there because..."

There was pause. This man had worked for Moriarty all right; he needed to make a performance out of this just as Moriarty had done with his own stunts.

"...he wants to be, Sherlock." another long pause. "You have three minutes to get to the roof."

There was click and the line went dead. The man known as Sherlock ran. He knew the layout of St. Barts and he let his mind guide him through all the fire stairs, the less crowded hallways, the areas without security cameras, but other than the map in his head, there was not much other thinking taking place. Just the map and a single thought: 'Please. Please don't.'

When he made it to the door leading to the roof, he stopped himself from bursting through the door. John was on the ledge; he could be startled and accidentally fall.

He opened the door slowly and looked out, clenching his left fist tightly to stop himself from shaking. John didn't even turn around as the sound of the door opening and footsteps appeared from behind him. He was still, calm, his blue hospital gown blowing gently in the afternoon wind. The sun was shinning directly on him and his hair was gold.

"Looks like an angel, doesn't he?"

Sherlock broke out of his thoughts and looked around. The same Russian voice was coming from somewhere; a phone planted somewhere on the roof.

"Positively radiant right now. You told him once..." Sherlock now realized that the voice was coming from Johns direction. "...you said to him "You've never been the most luminous of people, but as a conductor of light, you are unbeatable", but look at him. At this moment he's glowing! But then again, most people do have a sort of a glow when they are about to die."

"Enough" Sherlock cut in abruptly, making his way slowly to John "I'm here, tell me what you want?"

There was a pause and then John turned around. Sherlock felt himself instinctually raises his hands to pull him down from the ledge, but then stopped, worried about what would happen should he interfere.

He looked so composed, it was almost frightening. It had been so long since they had seen one another and John was looking at him blankly, as if John knew he had not killed himself that day on the roof...

This wasn't right. His expression said it all. This is not the John he knew.

"Drugged." Sherlock spoke after what felt like a small life time.

"Please, I think I deserve a little more credit than that." There was another tiny pause as John almost lazily went in the one pocket of his hospital gown and took out a phone. It was during this turn that Sherlock had been able to catch a glimpse of the ear piece that was in Johns ear. He took off his shades, angry at himself for not seeing it sooner. John had something else in his pocket and judging by the weight of it in his pocket, he knew what it was. Taking the phone, John held it out for Sherlock.

"Don't." said the Russian voice. Sherlock stopped, he had been reaching to take the phone when the voice spoke.

"Again, I ask you; what do you want?" he asked in a tone that suggested he was doing his best to hold down his rage.

"Isn't it obvious?" said the voice on the phone. "This! This right here, Sherlock. This lovely situation where you realize that all the brain power in the world won't do you a lick of good if you can't stop your precious pet from doing himself in." Sherlock was silent. His mind was running at full speed. "And that's the hardest part, isn't it Sherlock? You wonder why people just can't think like you can. Why can't they just know what goes on in your head? Why can't you make them think like you? Why can't you make them DO what you want them to?"

"This is personal." Sherlock spoke after listening to the man on the phone. "If this was just about your employer you wouldn't be nearly so expressive, but listen to you. You sound like you lost something dear, something precious. This roof, this method, this idea, you did this to try and drive the knife in deeper. To make me realize why you had been hurt and what made you hurt. This isn't about me...it's about you...it's revenge for what I did to Moriarty."

There was a chuckle from the phone. "Well, that wasn't very hard to deduce. I was expecting so much more."

With this there was a small pause and John used his other hand to pull the weighted object from his pocket. It was his gun.

Sherlocks face grimaced even more as the gun was pointed towards him.

"No." said the voice from the phone. "No, I don't think I like this. Your face isn't quite right yet. Here, let's try this."

Another pause and Sherlock felt his heart leap into his throat, though his body didn't show it, as John opened his mouth and placed the gun inside.

"THERE! Much better and look at that face! THAT is the face I've been wanting to see."

"Don't do this." Sherlock said without really thinking which, for Sherlock, was quiet a feet, but he followed through with it. "Don't do this, John wasn't part of it. This was between Moriarty and myself so if you have a grudge to settle, settle it with me and be done with it!"

"Oh but Sherlock, would that be any fun? You love games. You love to be entertained. Not to be bored..." there was a pause and John took the gun out of his mouth. Then, in one quick movement, he threw the phone as hard as he could across the city and the phone was soon gone from sight. Sherlock remained still, his fingers driving further into his hand as he made a fist. There may have been some blood from him doing this to himself, but Sherlock cared not for this.

Once John had finished, John placed the gun to the side of his head and stared directly at Sherlock.

"What would you like me, to make him say next?" John spoke. His voice only sounding slightly horse from lack of use. Sherlock was clenching down hard on his teeth. "I can stop John Watson..."

"Enough." Sherlock spoke angrily through his teeth. "You're reciting words spoken in the past, like this is some play and you've memorized all the lines, but I'm bored of this. Now, TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT."

"I was there that night, you know." He said and waited for Sherlock to respond. When he did not, he continued. "I was there that night at the pool. I was one of the ones that had a gun trained on your heart...or rather, the place where you said there was no heart. He was having so much fun and I envied him for that. Now I want to have a bit of my own fun." There was another polite pause for a possible interruption and when no such interruption came, he continued. "There are seven, Sherlock. This is the first one, but since the game hasn't officially started yet, I'll be using this one again."

"Seven what?" Sherlock ventured

The question was ignored. "I advise getting to work before they are used or bad things will happen, Sherlock. Very bad things."

"SEVEN WHAT?" Sherlock cried angrily

"Sherlock, you're clever..." as John said this he took the gun and chuck it to Sherlock, who, not expecting that to happen, caught it clumsily as John reached for the ear piece. "...figure it out"

He delayed for just a moment, his hand still besides his ear, but then John took the ear piece out. At this John's eyes suddenly rolled back and his knees gave out. Seconds felt like small eternities as Sherlock watched John start to fall back. In a heart beat Sherlock had leaped out and grabbed him, saving him from falling off the building, but not saving the head set piece that fell out of Johns hands and over the ledge. Sherlock hurriedly yanked John, with strength he didn't know he had, away from the ledge and only when they were a safe distance away, did he crumble to the ground, John crashing into his chest as he did.

"John, JOHN!" He quickly shoved the gun into his pocket and then moved to check for injuries. There were none. He looked around, his mind racing. He held on to John tightly, who slept soundly, as Sherlocks anger for the situation mounted. He knew he couldn't stay. He knew he couldn't break his cover. Not yet. He looked to John. What if he didn't break his cover? What if he wasn't around and John found himself in another situation, this time without Sherlock to stop him...

Sherlock got up and gently placed John on his back. He then took a moment to really look at John. This wasn't the way things were supposed to be...

Abruptly he stood up and made his way out the door, pulling his cell phone out as he walked towards the exit of the building.

John is on the roof of St. Barts. Get him down.

The first text was sent off and then another was sent.

There is a white ear piece, approximately 7.6cm high by 2.5cm wide, somewhere on the street in front of St. Barts. Gather whoever you can and find it. Now.

When he finished with the text he snapped the phone off and walked with purpose out the door and onto the street.

He liked games. He hated to feel bored. This is the first real challenge he's had in such a long time.

He thought and deduced and analyzed, but there was a nagging question in his brain.

Why wasn't he enjoying this?

5:43pm

John held a magazine in his hand as Mrs. Hudson rubbed his arm. He had made someone bring in anything that had a date on it. Now he held it limply in his hands, the reality of the situation sinking in. Mrs. Hudson had walked into the room carrying bags of knitted jumpers, scarves, and gloves, but all those had been abandoned in a heart beat when she saw John, burst into tears, and ran over to hung him. Kissing his forehead once before stroking his head and speaking tear choked jibberish. John couldn't help but laugh as Lestrade had to remind her that he was a head trauma patient and grabbing his head, even if it was to embrace him, was probably not the best idea. She released him as Lestrade grabbed a chair and pulled it next to Johns bed. Mrs. Hudson had taken it and pulled it even closer, while she began to unload questions onto to John, Lestrade grabbing her bags and placing it by her feet as she did so. When John could not answer , Mycroft thought it best to finally pipe in.

After Mycroft explained the situation and some words from the doctors that spoke of memory lapses in head trauma victims, John had fallen silent and was staring at the magazine cover with a blank expression.

"Don't worry, love. Remember, the doctor said this sort of things happens a lot to head cases. I'm sure your memory will come back when you least suspect it."

John smiled as best he could and looked up at . She was so happy to have him back, her face said it all, so he tried his best to look pleased.

"John." Mycroft, who had tucked himself into a corner next to Lestrade spoke up "Are you absolutely certain that..."

"I'm sorry, Mycroft." he said tilting his gaze to him. "I really don't know how I got onto the roof."

"Clearly you walked there." Mycroft began as Lestrade gave him a cold, questioning look. Mycroft rolled his eyes and ignored the look "You've been in the hospital for weeks, your legs are suffering from muscle atrophy. How did manage to make it up the stairs?"

"What about your guards?" Lestrade piped in "How did he leave the room without them knowing?"

"Mrs. Hudson." Mycroft seemed to ignore Lestrades question. "I have some matters to discuss with these gentlemen, would you do John a service and fetch him a cup of tea?"

Mrs. Hudson looked a little worried to leave Johns side, but John pipped in "Actually, a cup of tea sounds wonderful."

At this Mrs. Hudson smiled and stood. She made her way out and closed the door ever so gently. Once she had exited, Mycroft continued on by answering Lestrades question.

"Security footage showed that John had actually climbed out the window and walked out the door of the next room over."

Though Mycroft did not seem impressed by this, John and Lestrade seemed dumbfounded.

"I...climbed out the window?" John said in shock

"I do believe I said that." Mycroft replied, smug as ever. When his answer was only met with disgruntled expressions, Mycroft continued on. "You awoke at 3:15 as the phone next to your bed rang. You picked it up, said nothing, and then proceeded to walk out of the bed, open the window, and climb onto the ledge and into the next room."

"And you didn't alert your men to this?" Lestrade asked as John tried to process this information.

"We tried. Apparently the same hack that came over our system 3 years ago was used again to cut the connection to my men. We are still trying to keep this as quiet as humanly possibly, so while men were dispatched to handle the situation, Molly was contacted to tell them what had happened."

"And then I walked to the roof?" John asked in a disbelieving tone.

"Yes. They found you, 15 minutes later, lying on the roof. A stretcher brought you down and you then you woke up 10 minutes later." Mycroft finished his story as he took out his phone and texted.

Are you going to tell me what happened? - MH

"I could have died..." John said, still processing this information.

"Indeed." Mycroft replied, snapping his phone off. "It is a very good thing that you prompted yourself to stop before reaching the ledge."

"This doesn't make any sense." John shook his head "You said so yourself, I'm suffering from muscle atrophy. I'm a doctor, I know what that entails. There is NO WAY I could have walked let alone climb out a window and into the next room."

Mycroft took a breathe "I wish I could make an argument to the contrary, considering that it goes against all logic, but after viewing the footage myself, I can't dispute it."

John looked at his legs for a moment before, in a swift motion, throwing the covers off and turning himself so his feet dangled off the floor. Lestrade moved to stop him, but Mycroft placed an arm on his shoulder.

"John, wait!" Lestrade began

"Let him do it, Lestrade" Mycroft intervened

"He's going to hurt himself!" Lestrade cried as he quickly shift himself out of Mycrofts hold on his shoulder.

"It's an experiment." John said as he grabbed the side railing of his bed and placed his feet on the ground.

Both Mycroft and Lestrade were simultaneously taken aback by the way John had spoken; he sounded just like Sherlock.

John took a deep breathe and gently began to push himself off the ground. He flight his muscles tighten, his grip on the bar grew stronger (for fear of falling), as his legs took on the weight of his body. He waited.

Nothing.

He slowly let go of the bar.

There he stood, his legs taking his weight as if there was nothing amiss. He took a step, then another, and then another till he stood directly in front of Lestrade and Mycroft.

"How in the..." Lestrade said absentmindedly as he watched John walk.

"Look. I can walk...I'm walking like there's nothing wrong." he jumped. He jumped several times. "I can jump! Look I'm jumping like a school boy, and my leg." he patted his previously limp leg "Not a bit of the limp! When he died, the limp started to come back, but look! Not a trace of this." He had been laughing as he spoke, but not a happy laugh. It was the kind of laugh a man makes when he's trying to hide that he's afraid. He stopped jumping, stared for several moments at his steady legs, and then looked up with a stern expression he had, no doubt, acquired during his time in the military. "What the hell is going on with me?"

Mycroft, for the first time in so long, shook his head genuinely apologetic and spoke "I don't know John."

With this, John, not wanting to show his fear, turned sharply and went back into the bed. He crawled back under the covers and sat up. "When will I be discharged?

Lestrade shook his head of the disbelieve and spoke "Umm...right! Well I can only assume that the doctors will want to see this most recent developement, maybe run a few tests to be sure..." he looked to Mycroft as he said this. He nodded and Lestrade continued. "and then we'll go from there."

"Right, good." said with a nod, his face still stern.

"Lestrade and I will be leaving now. If there's anything else you need, please don't hesitate to call." with this he walked towards the door as Lestrade hestitaly went to follow, grabbing his coat as he did so. "And John, if you happen to remember anything..." Mycroft began

"I'll call, I promise." John finished for him.

"Good. Goodnight, John." With this Mycroft exited the room.

"Don't worry John, we'll figure this out all right?" Lestrade said with an earnest smile.

Greg was a good friend. He honestly meant to help him, John knew this. He nodded and gave a true smile. "Thank you Greg."

"Rest easy, John." he waved as he left

Perfectly timed was his exit as Mrs. Hudson had collected a cup of tea and Molly and was walking into the room.

"Leaving so soon?" Mrs. Hudson asked, cup of tea steaming in her hand.

"Yea, sorry Mrs. Hudson, Molly, have some business to attend to." Lestrade looked to Mycroft, who was typing away on his phone.

He can walk. Better then when he walked with you. Are you going to tell me what happened or do I have to come over there? - MH

Mycroft pushed his phone back into his pocket as Lestrade excused himself from the passing ladies and run up besides Mycroft. The two began to walk.

"Now what?" Lestade asked, ringing his hand through his hair and taking a deep breathe in and a long exhale out "I've never seen anything like that."

"Neither have I." Mycroft stated "I'll get a team of doctors to run some last tests and try and get him discharged as quick as humanly possible."

"What about after he's released? Where will he go then?" Lestrade asked, with a worried expression on his face

"I'd like to take him into custody for a bit, but I doubt he will not let me keep him for too long. I made arrangements to keep the flat at Bakers Street. He can go back to it."

"Do you think he'll...well" Lestrade began, trying to pick his words carefully "Do you think he'll want to go back to Bakers Street? Before his disappearance, he was packing to move away."

"He'll have no choice in the matter. We have taken steps to make sure the highest security measures have been taken at the Bakers Street flat. Any other flat, at this time, would not be adequately prepared enough." Mycroft said without breaking his stride. His car had rolled up out front and the woman known only as Anthea stood besides it, texting away.

Lestrade looked at Mycroft pointedly "Mycroft, that's not really fair to John. He's been through a lot, and that flat might bring up memories he can't handle right now."

Mycroft looked at him crossly "His psychological well being is none of my concern. I am making sure he is protected. I look to you, to help him...feel better." with this Anthea opened the door for Mycroft, who stepped inside. "Good evening, Detective Inspector." with this, and before Lestrade could say his oen parting words, Antea closed the door, walked to the other side of the car, got on, and the car drove away, leaving Lestrade alone with his thoughts.

After a week of testing, the doctors, baffled by Johns speedy recovery, could find no reason to keep him, and John was discharged from the hospital. Normally John would have been ecstatic to be deemed a healthy man, but the fear of why he was so healthy, along with the fact that Mycroft had taken custody for his well being for the time being, made him fairly agitated. Guards escorted him from the hospital and placed him in a car discreetly. They had somehow, probably due to Mycroft, miraculously avoided the press during this entire event and Mycroft was taking no chances. John sat in the back seat between two guards. He was on the shorter, tinier side for a man, but he was still uncomfortable next to the two men in the back seat. Soon they had arrived at Mycroft estate, which John had never had the pleasure of seeing. It looked as pretentious a he did, but that could have been the bittereness for the situation taking.

He was set up in the East wing of the estate with every comfort that could be afforded to him, but his freedom. For the purposes of protection, he was told not to leave the estate. he gritted his teeth and bared it. He had been told that the stay would be minimal and, for now, he would take Mycrofts word on it. Alone in the East Wing, John sat on a couch and looked absently at his leg. It didn't even slightly hurt. A pain that he saw returning after the death of Sherlock, had somehow susbsided and every part of it worried him.

Mycroft walked with purpose down the hall, down the steps, through the secret door, through the elevator, and into the room where a man sat, looking at an array of screens.

"How is he?" Mycroft said without glancing at the man the chair.

"Hm?" the man responded with an almost bored tone.

"John, how is he?" Mycroft repeated in an irritated matter.

"Oh, fine. Wondering about his psycosmatic limp. Worried about it. I don't blame him."

The screen that shows John in the East Wing, was ignored by the man. He was focused on the screen that showed John asleep in the hospital bed at St. Barts.

"Still reviewing the security footage?" Mycroft said dully "Before you ask, the phone bug was deactivated. We don't know what was told to him."

"Getting sloppy, eh Mycroft?" the man sounded like he was smiling as he said it.

"Very funny. What can you make of it, Sherlock?" Mycroft said as he came around from behind Sherlocks chair to stand next to him.

"The Churchill ringing, the courtesy call, and then the phone." Sherlock had his hands folded and he was staring intently at the screen. "All auditory stimuli. John wasn't sleepwalking, he was triggered."

AUTHORS NOTES: Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I noticed that my chapters were rather short so I decided to rectify it with this chapter. Too long? Too short? Let me know with a review! Reviews always help (positive or constructive crit wise.)