Sorry for the delay in posting - life has managed to get in the way of writing!
I'm not sure if I'm happy with this - but here it is none-the-less!
Disclaimer: - still don't own…..

With a groan John opened his eyes, squinting at his watch – six thirty. He hadn't planned to fall asleep on the couch, and he regretted not making it up to his room when every muscle and joint complained as he stood up, wobbling unsteadily. Looking down at the book still in his hands, he found himself hoping the information written in there was still relevant – more to the point, that the people he needed to contact would be forgiving of his bout of self-pity.

Moving as if on autopilot, John made tea and toast, and sat down to have breakfast while making notes for his opening gambit in this deadly chess game. By the time he'd finished his second cup, he knew what he needed to do, and even had a sketchy 'plan B' if the first proved either unacceptable or too difficult. Both plans, however, required Mycroft Holmes to give him free rein, without too many questions, particularly about the people he wanted to work with.

O*O*O

A short while later, showered and with his plans firmly in mind, John stepped out of the door and hailed a cab. The journey was tiresome as the rush hour traffic choked the roads, but soon he was walking along the hospital corridor, to the private room where Sherlock was still guarded by his brother's security officers. He saw the door open as he approached and Mycroft stepped out.

"Good morning, John" Mycroft's smile was small, but genuine. "I hope you slept well?"

"And I'm assuming you already know I didn't" John smiled back "but it was a productive night none the less." He glanced past the other man as the door behind him was closing. "Everything okay?"

"He passed a fairly peaceful night, all things considered. The doctors are with him at the moment, so I'm taking the opportunity to stretch my legs…"

"You've been here all night?"

With a slight nod Mycroft gestured down the corridor, starting to walk as he did so. John fell into step beside him.

"Can I buy you a tea?"

John's smile became a grin. "Have you tasted hospital tea, Mycroft? No, I didn't think so. There's a Costa just down the road – my treat."

In silence the two men made their way out of the building and into the coffee shop. The silence stretched, a little uncomfortably, as each sat sipping his drink. Mycroft watched as John's eyes darted around the room, unobtrusively taking in the details of every person there, weighing up the possibility that someone there may be an enemy. He realised it had been no coincidence that the ex-army officer had chosen a table where he could see every person who came or went, including the staff.

"I have a game plan, and some questions." John kept his tone and expression light, so that anyone watching would assume they were discussing nothing more significant than the weather.

"Yes?"

"If I'm to do this, Sherlock can't come back to Baker Street until he is fully fit. I won't be able to watch his back and yours."

"Your choice of words is interesting…"

John laughed as if his companion had just said something incredibly funny, but his eyes as he looked at the older Holmes brother were deadly serious.

"I need to know he's somewhere safe, Mycroft, or I can do nothing"

Mycroft nodded. "Understood, and your questions?"

"If I needed restricted information, could I ask you for it?" taking a sip of his tea, John continued to act as if they were just colleagues taking a break together from work. "And if I needed one or more secure lines of communication, could you arrange that for me?"

"Of course, you'll have your reasons for asking for restricted information" it wasn't a question, more a thought spoken aloud.

"The same for the secure comms – very good reasons. Give me those, and I've got your back – even if at a distance. Keep your own security tight – only people you are absolutely certain of." John looked at his watch "Time to get back, don't you think?"

The two men strolled out onto the street, walking back through the hospital entrance and along the corridor to the still guarded room. A thought suddenly occurred to the taller man as they stopped outside the door.

"I assume that as you haven't already asked me to, then you won't be expecting me to go into hiding with my brother?"

"No Mycroft, you need to act as if nothing has changed. Any obvious changes to your routine will attract attention, and although this guy was trained by the intelligence corps, we must hope we can make him believe that you haven't made the connection yet"

Entering the room, John crossed straight to the bed and looked down at where his friend was laying still, his eyes closed.

"You were never that good at playing possum, Sherlock, especially when you're wired into a heart monitor."

One grey eye opened, observing the grin on his friend's face. His gaze slid across to his brother, and he huffed grumpily.

"What's he doing here?" he croaked.

"He's been here all night, probably trying to work out what to do with you if you survive this latest bout of idiocy."

"Idiocy?"

Mycroft stepped up to the bedside.

"Yes, brother dear, idiocy. Because now, you see, I have to arrange for you to go somewhere safe until you are…..fit."

A look of horror crossed Sherlock's face.

"And who's going to catch the perpetrator while John and I are taking a holiday?"

"Yeah, well I'm not going to be getting a 'holiday' this time round, mate. I need you out of the way while I get some work done"

"Work?" Sherlock struggled to sit up, but a combination of John's hand on his shoulder and the pain in his chest stopped him.

"Look, there's no other way for us to deal with this, which means I'm going to have to trust your brother to find somewhere secure for you to stay – I'll be back to see you before you leave here." He turned to Mycroft. "I'll want to know where you've taken him, once it's all arranged. For safety's sake I'll not be visiting, but if our friend makes a move in that direction…"

Nodding his agreement, Mycroft stepped out to speak to the two security men. John turned back to Sherlock.

"Listen, I know you don't want to go into hiding, but until you're fit you've got to lay low. This attack, apparently, is personal. Does the name Marc Banks mean anything to you?" He saw the answer in his friend's expression. "Yeah well, he's out, and he's after you and Mycroft. I'm not asking you to hide forever, just stay out of trouble until you've recovered, and do what you do best – use your brain to help me keep one step ahead of him."

"On you own? John you can't…"

"Not on my own, Sherlock, at least, I hope not. Now, I've got things to do – people to contact. I'll be back later today, and I'll tell you all I can as and when I can, okay?"

There was no mistaking the fact that Sherlock really wasn't happy, but he was too tired and in too much pain to argue further, a fact that wasn't missed by his flatmate. With a nod, John turned on his heel and walked out of the room, leaving the injured man to stare in frustration at the ceiling.

O*O*O

John made several purchases on his way home, and letting himself into the flat he made himself a mug of tea, then grabbed his book and headed straight to the one room he was sure Mycroft hadn't bugged – the bathroom.

Sitting on the side of the bath, he pulled a box from his carrier bag and removed the contents. The phone was the cheapest he could get on a pre pay tariff. He'd loaded it with a significant amount of credit, and now he set about making calls.

Shortly before mid-day, he returned to the kitchen, dumping the book on the table and his empty mug in the sink, then he grabbed his coat and headed back out of the flat. Pausing at the bottom of the stairs he glanced down the hallway towards Mrs Hudson's front door, standing there for a moment or two until, making up his mind, he strode down the hallway and knocked smartly on the wood.

"Hello dear," the landlady smiled at him, stepping back to let him in. "Everything alright?"

Stepping through the door, John waited until it was closed behind him before replying.

"Don't want to worry you, Mrs H, but Sherlock and Mycroft have managed to upset another nutter" he said quietly. "And I'm not sure what we can expect with this one…"

"And you want me out of the way?"

John grinned.

"I wouldn't have put it quite like that, but I think I'd be happier if you were somewhere safe."

The older woman looked a little thoughtful.

"I'd go to my sister's but she's having work done on her house, so there won't be enough room"

Eyes narrowed, John thought for a moment, his head bowed and his hand cupping his chin.

"Leave it with me, I'll see if I can persuade Mycroft to find somewhere nice for you to go, how does that sound?"

"Oh, well…" Mrs Hudson looked a little flustered at getting Mycroft involved, but John soon put her mind at rest, pointing out that Sherlock's older brother was just as much to blame for the situation they found themselves in.

Glancing at his watch, John realised time was getting on, and with a muttered "gotta go" he hurried out of the door, throwing a brief wave towards the landlady as he stepped out onto the street. There were no cabs in sight, so he turned toward the tube station, making his way down onto the crowded platform and boarded a train bound for the Barbican and Bart's hospital.

O*O*O

Molly had just finished the post mortem on the victim of the shooting at the shopping centre when John knocked on the mortuary door. She looked up as he entered, her eyes looking behind him, as if searching for someone else.

"No, just me today, Molly" John smiled as he watched an embarrassed flush steal up the pathologists cheeks. "And I'm after a favour"

"Sherlock send you?"

"No, not exactly – but it's connected with a case he and I have been working on" he deliberately didn't say anything about Sherlock's injuries "I need to see the bullet taken from yesterday's shooting"

"Bullets" Molly said, turning to pick up two clear plastic evidence bags "She was shot twice, although either would have killed her"

John took one of the bags and held it up, looking closely at the projectile.

"I don't think I've seen bullets like that before" the pathologist said, leaning in closer so that she too could see it.

"No, me neither – I'm assuming it's been specially made for the weapon. Can I take one of them?"

Molly looked dubious.

"I'll ring DI Lestrade and let him know I have it" John gave her a pleading look, before adding "And Sherlock will be grateful for your help"

"No he won't" she countered with a smile, knowing already that she would give in "He never is"

"Maybe he doesn't say it, but he couldn't do his job without your help" slipping the evidence bag into his pocket, John turned for the door. "Thanks again Molly."

Hurrying through the hospital towards the exit, John pulled out his new mobile and dialled Greg Lestrade's office number. The phone was answered after a few rings.

"Greg, it's John."

"John, how's Sherlock?"

"He's doing alright, Greg. Did the hospital send over the bullet they removed from his lung?" John stepped out into Giltspur Street, sheltering from the wind as he did so, staying close to the wall.

"Yeah," came Greg's reply "strange looking ammo – it's with our ballistics officers at the moment, why?"

"The victim yesterday was shot twice – I've just left Pathology so I've seen the bullets and I'd agree, not standard issue. Molly has let me take one of them…"

"Now hang on a minute John…"

"Greg, you don't need both of them – plus you've got the one they dug out of Sherlock for comparison. Molly reckons either shot would have killed the first victim." The doctor could hear capitulation in the silence at the other end of the phone. "Seriously Greg, I want to try to find the specialist gun this was made for."

"What about Sherlock? When's he out of hospital?"

"Not sure, mate, but Mycroft's sending him off to recuperate somewhere" John didn't want to say too much about the situation.

Greg laughed.

"I bet he'll love that," he said gleefully "At least it'll keep him out of mischief"

John rang off with a promise to keep the police informed, and flagged down a passing taxi, directing the driver to take him to St Mary's.

There were raised voices coming from Sherlock's room as he approached, and he walked into a heated discussion between the brothers about whether or not it was necessary for an ambulance to be hired to move the injured man.

Seeing his flatmate, Sherlock appealed to him for support.

"John, will you tell him I'm perfectly capable of travelling by car to Hertfordshire…"

"John," Mycroft also wished to voice his opinion "I'm trying to make him understand that it's a long way, and he's far from recovered…"

Holding up his hands for silence, John walked across to lean against the side of the bed.

"Sherlock, you've been shot, you are far from well, and if I were your doctor – which believe me I thank God I'm not – I wouldn't want to be moving you without medical assistance. Just because you've made it through surgery and are on the road to recovery, doesn't mean complications can't set in. It's early days, mate."

"But does it have to be an ambulance?"

"Would be better than a car, seriously Sherlock, You really don't want to put that kind of stress on your chest and lung just yet." He turned to Mycroft "Are you arranging private patient transport?"

"Yes, along with nursing staff. We have a safe house in Hertfordshire, one that wasn't on the list when Banks was on the payroll. I plan to take him there this evening"

"Good"

"No John, it's not good. I want to go back to Baker Street"

"Stop sulking, Sherlock. If you go back to Baker Street I can't protect you, you'd be a sitting target for this guy." John glanced again at Mycroft "I'm assuming Banks is as good as your file says he is, which means he's not going to be a pushover."

"Trained by the best" Mycroft replied quietly "And something of a fitness fanatic, even when he was in prison"

"Great" John stared for a minute at the floor, thinking. "Okay. Mycroft, you'll need that patient transport, he can't travel by car. When you get there I need you to make sure you both have new, untraceable mobile phones. Sherlock's number is too well known, it's on the website, and yours, Mycroft, may be compromised too." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, which he handed to the man standing on the other side of the bed.

"That's my new phone number. My other phone is turned off and stashed at the flat, I'll take Sherlock's phone and do the same with that." He glanced at Sherlock, holding out his hand to take the phone, nodding as the other man handed it over. "Then, can you arrange for secure internet access and a laptop? Sherlock's going to need that."

"Am I? Why?"

"Because you'll need something to do, and we can't risk Banks tracing you so everything has to be locked down as tight as possible."

"And what will you be doing?" Mycroft asked blandly.

"I'll be looking for Banks, with a little help from my friends" He laughed at the twin expressions of chagrin on the brothers' faces "And that's all you're getting, for now at least"

"I'm not happy about this, John." Sherlock sulked, glaring at his flatmate.

"Me neither Sherlock, I'd much rather you had not gone haring off after a gunman, getting yourself shot. Maybe next time you'll listen to me when I'm yelling at you"

"Is there anything else you need?" Mycroft forestalled the snarky comment he could see forming on his brother's lips.

"Actually, yes. I'm not happy about Mrs Hudson staying at Baker Street, have you got somewhere nice you can send her?"

"For how long?"

"As long as it takes, Mycroft."

After a moment's consideration, Mycroft agreed, and promised to send a car for their landlady within the hour.

The three men talked a while longer, until they were interrupted by the sound of a text message on John's new phone. He looked down at the screen and nodded.

"Right, I've got to be off." He looked at his friend. "I'll be in touch – and if you can stand to work with your brother, maybe you can turn that genius brain of yours to working out what Banks' next move is likely to be"

He was almost at the door when Sherlock's voice stopped him.

"John – be careful"

"Always"

O*O*O

The message had said 'Outdoor table, the Garden Café, Regent's Park 15.00'.

As John sat with his hands wrapped around a cup of tea, he wasn't sure who he was expecting to meet. All of his calls that morning were received with varying degrees of surprise and disbelief, but those guys he had managed to get hold of had agreed to help. There had been a few people whose numbers were no longer in service, and one call had left him wishing he had made more effort to keep in touch, as he had to endure the tears and accusations of a grieving widow whose husband couldn't adjust to life back in civvy street.

Pushing down regrets, he sipped at the cooling liquid, his eyes skimming the passers-by, looking for a familiar face. A sudden movement of air behind his chair alerted him to the arrival of his contact. A soft voice spoke, just behind his ear.

"Captain Watson, I understand you're looking for a Ghost"