Mycroft pulled the door closed quietly behind him and rested his head against the wood trying to ease the headache that had formed several hours ago at the phone call he'd received informing him that the security detail for John Watson, recently downgraded to security status five, had been incapacitated.

He walked slowly down the hallway back towards his office feeling truly exhausted for the first time in years. He collapsed into his office chair and rubbed his temples roughly before pulling out his cell phone.

Moriarty's dead. Return to London. MH

He waited only a few seconds before his phone rang.

"If this is some tragic attempt at humor, Mycroft…" Sherlock growled over the line.

"Believe me when I say I don't find this situation in the least bit funny." Mycroft sighed heavily. "My assistant is already making reservations at the nearest airport. Get there and return to my house at once."

"How do we know this isn't just some ploy on his part?" Sherlock said vehemently. "It could be his way of diverting our attention."

"We have his body, Sherlock." Mycroft argued. "It doesn't get much more conclusive than that."

"Your people are extremely incompetent." Sherlock continued. "They couldn't properly identify a body if it was wearing a bloody nametag."

"We have the shooter too." Mycroft said firmly already thoroughly sick of this conversation.

"It wasn't one of your people?" Sherlock asked and Mycroft could finally detect a hint of unease in his voice.

"No. It wasn't." Mycroft answered.

"A rival drug dealer?" Sherlock asked. "Maybe a competitor?"

"I guess you could call him a competitor." Mycroft said darkly. "Though I doubt he would appreciate the comparison."

"Bloody fucking hell!" Sherlock said angrily. "Just tell me what arse shot him!"

"Jim Moriarty broke into the flat of a man tonight and attempted to kill him." Mycroft answered. "We are all very lucky that John was able to wrestle the gun away and fire first."

Mycroft heard Sherlock breathing heavily on the other line but the younger man did not respond.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft asked hesitantly.

"I'll be there as soon as I can." Sherlock said before hanging up.

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Sherlock disembarked from the plane and all but ran through the terminal. He spotted Mycroft's car and threw himself into it pulling out his cell as the driver sped off. He dialed John's number for what felt like the thousandth times and cursed loudly as it switched over to voicemail immediately. He didn't even have his phone on. He fidgeted impatiently and leapt out of the car running quickly up the steps to his brother's house.

His entire body was quivering at seeing John again. His John. The man he loved who was almost taken from him. The man he hadn't seen in seven months. He passed through several rooms before stopping abruptly at the doorway to Mycroft's study. And there he was leaning against the window staring out at the trees. Sherlock's entire body flooded with joy and warmth and everything felt right again. He gasped and smiled brightly as he strode across the room. He was inches away from the shorter boy when pain exploded out from his cheek and he stumbled over careening into the chair trying to catch his balance. His entire brain started to fracture as he realized exactly who had just punched him in the face.

"You stupid, selfish, controlling, arrogant, fucking know-it-all!" John shouted at him. Sherlock froze at the tortured, pained expression on his boyfriend's face. He was at a complete loss for what to do. "What in the bloody fucking hell did you fucking think you were doing?"

"John…" Sherlock tried quietly before being shut down against the force of John's rage.

"What was going through that fucking thick skull of yours?" John continued.

"What…" The taller boy tried again.

"On what planet, does it make sense to not tell someone when a fucking psychopath is out and trying to fucking kill them?" John shouted breathing heavily.

Sherlock felt his insides shrivel and he began quivering slightly. He stared agape at John as he paced scarily up and down the length of the room.

"Jim isn't…wasn't your problem, John." Sherlock said firmly. "I didn't want you to have to worry."

"Not my problem!" John yelled loudly. "Not my fucking problem! He became my problem when he broke into my house over two fucking years ago and claimed ownership of you while threatening me!"

"What?" Sherlock asked stupidly unable to think over the painful stammer in his chest.

"Who the fuck do you think told me about you being sent to rehab, genius?" John continued screaming. "That complete psycho was so hot for your arse that he was literally warning me away at every turn!"

"John," Sherlock breathed feeling his face redden. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Oh, that's rich." John answered. "I don't mention events that happened over two bloody years ago and it's my fucking fault. But you withhold the fact that you're chasing your deranged fan around Europe and it's completely fine!"

"That's not what I'm saying…" Sherlock tried. His entire body was shaking and his pulse was beating erratically through his veins. He felt light-headed and sick to his stomach and he didn't know what to do.

"Do you realize how complete fucking stupid I feel?" John shouted. "Honestly, do you? Why the fuck didn't I see it? Of course it was Jim. This whole fucking time. He was right. You might love me, Sherlock, but a completely mad criminal is so much more interesting."

"Don't say that!" Sherlock shouted back. "It wasn't like that!"

"I can't do this!" John said pulling at his hair before striding for the door. "I just can't fucking do this."

He followed the blond down the hall and felt his entire body break out into a cold sweat as John made to leave the house.

"John!" Sherlock called. "It's not safe!"

John whipped around and pinned him where he stood with a glare made a thousand times worse by the glean of tears in his eyes. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. Didn't you hear? I'm a killer now."

Sherlock ran for the door and threw himself against it blocking John's way and pulling him close by the shoulders. John fought against him but the taller boy held firm helped by sheer terror and adrenaline. He dragged them to the ground as the fight slowly left John's body.

"I'm sorry." Sherlock sobbed pulling at his boyfriend's jumper trying to drag him closer. "I'm so sorry. I am stupid and selfish and I was wrong. I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! But I just wanted to take care of you John!"

He felt John tense against the words and he hurried on, "You always take care of me, John. Always. You always know what to say. You always pick up the pieces of my mess. You take care of me. And I just thought that this time, this one time, I could be like you. I could be brave and I could do something good for you. I could solve this problem for you. So you wouldn't have to put me back together again. So we could be together and I could feel like I've done something good for you. For us. But I was wrong and I'm sorry and it's all my fault. I just wanted to take care of you. I couldn't even do that properly. God, I'm so sorry. Just don't leave. Please don't leave me! I don't know what I'd do…please."

Sherlock finally gained enough leverage to pull John close and hug him properly for the first time in seven months. He drank in the sweet smell of John and relished in the feel of the blond against him terrified that this would be the last time. The last touch. He clung to him too scared to let go. His chest seemed to shatter and his breath hitched painfully as he felt John tentatively run his hand through Sherlock's curls.

"I love you." He said firmly into John's neck, kissing it tentatively. "Please don't leave."

"I'm not going to leave." John whispered softly.

Sherlock felt all of the tension leave his body in a rush and he began shivering with lost adrenaline. They sat crumpled against each other on the landing for several more minutes before he felt John shift awkwardly. He stood quickly and held out his hand to the shorter boy terrified that John would brush away his offer. John took his hand tentatively and followed him up the stairs and into his room. John closed the door behind him and they stared at each other, uncertain for the first time since they met. Sherlock took a few steps towards John scanning his face and body language for any sign of rejection.

He tugged at the hem of John's jumper and felt his heart skip a beat as John lifted his arms slightly so that Sherlock could tug it off. John helped him out of his coat gently before unbuckling his own trousers and letting them fall to his ankles. He stepped out wearing only an undershirt and his pants before crawling into the bed. Sherlock quickly stripped down to the same outfit and slipped in next to him. They lay there staring at each other. Sherlock could feel John searching for something in his face. He felt like he was being broken open and John was rifling through the pieces.

"You look tired." The blond said simply.

"I haven't been sleeping." Sherlock answered. "How are you?"

"I killed someone." John said evenly but Sherlock could feel the shudder that raced through John's body.

"You defended yourself." Sherlock said.

"No." John said firmly. "It wasn't like that. I could have just taken the gun and called the police. Or knocked him out. Or shot him somewhere else. But I didn't. Because of what he said."

"What did he say?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"He said he was going to kill you." John said.

"John…" Sherlock said brokenly.

"Don't." John said. "You're a complete and total idiot. But I love you and I couldn't let him harm you."

"God, this is all my fault." Sherlock sighed.

"Agreed." John said firmly before sighing. "It's not all your fault, but you were a prat. You should have told me."

"I know that now." Sherlock said.

"Don't even tell me that you'll know better for next time because I swear if you ever get another completely barmy admirer with a penchant for bloodshed, I will take Mycroft up on his safehouse offer and let you two duke it out." John replied.

"Do you understand though?" Sherlock asked. "Why I didn't want to tell you?"

"Sherlock…" John sighed. "I understand why you thought it would be a good idea. But based on the outcome, maybe you should leave the discretionary measures to me, huh?"

"Agreed." Sherlock said firmly. He yawned widely and shuffled a little closer to John.

"You're knackered, aren't you?" John asked.

"Extremely." Sherlock said. "Will you stay? While I sleep?"

"Yeah." John answered.

Sherlock pulled John close feeling his body relax quickly at the mere presence of the shorter boy. He leaned forward just centimeters from John's mouth and waited patiently determined to have John make the final move. John leaned forward and placed a hesitant, chaste kiss on his mouth before turning over and shuffling back until his back was nestled against Sherlock's chest. Sherlock let his face burrow into John's neck taking a deep breath. Letting the warmth of John settle his still rattled nerves, he drifted off into a deep, contented sleep for the first time in months.

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I hope this helps! Lots of people were like, "Of course Jim is going to go after John! How do Mycroft and Sherlock not understand that!" But they never knew about the extra attention that Jim was throwing John's way. John never told anyone and all the brothers knew was that Jim wanted Sherlock. I hope that makes more sense! If you have any more questions, please feel free to ask! Thanks!