The Deadly Twist

The sound of ambulance sirens seemed like a quiet hum compared to the Holmes brothers arguing. Sherlock was sitting on a gurney, refusing to obey his elder brother, Mycroft. He was wrapped with a red blanket for his "shock" and his leg was wrapped in bandages. Behind them, the pool was in ruins. It seemed like a tornado had hit the place. Or a bomb.

Mycroft was scolding his brother, "Sherlock, I can't believe you shot your own leg!"

"I had to!" Sherlock yelled back, "It was a distraction so John and I can get out of there alive. A bleeding leg is nothing!"

"Do you realize how stupid you sound?" Mycroft crossly countered, "Also, coming here in the middle of the night to meet a bomber isn't exactly one of your more brilliant plans."

Sherlock scoffed, "It was perfectly safe!"

"You could've died!" Mycroft took a deep breath to calm himself; he wasn't the type of person to lose his temper. That was Sherlock's trademark.

"Where's John?" Sherlock asked quietly, almost to himself.

"Dead." Mycroft sighed, "He's dead Sherlock! Can't you see?"

"What?"

"We found a body in there. Dead." Mycroft looked at Sherlock incredulously, "You can't believe that a bomb wouldn't kill somebody."

"Was the body wet?"

"Excuse me?"

"Was. The. Body. Wet?" Sherlock was completely serious; his light eyes were staring into his brother's.

"No. Why?"

Suddenly, both of them heard noises coming from the building. There were two police officers holding on to a man struggling out of their grip. The man was completely soaked and very annoyed.

"Sir!" The two officers approaced the Holmes brothers with their prisoner in tow, "We found him in the pool."

"I'm not Moriarty!" The soaked man protested loudly, "I'm John Watson!"

"John Watson is dead." One of the officers said curtly, "We found his body near the bomb."

"I'm John Watson!" The man argued back, "Ask Sherlock!"

The officers, Mycroft, and the wet man stared at Sherlock. The detective was staring at the man. His eyes was scanning over the accused man's wet form, analyzing every little detail. Finally, after a tense moment, Sherlock replied, "That's John."

John smiled and pulled himself free of the officers' grasps. He laughed, "Thank goodness, I don't want to go back to prison again."

Sherlock also smirked and tried to move off the gurney, but he winced at the pain in his leg. The doctor noticed and shook his head like addressing a child, "You shot yourself in the leg."

"I noticed, thanks." Sherlock replied, annoyed.

"Why did you shoot yours-…." John began before Sherlock interrupted him with a glare.

"I'm in shock! See the blanket? Have some respect!" Sherlock was waving his red blanket around for everyone to see.

Mycroft huffed, "Yes, very in shock. That means we'll be taking you to the hospital now."

"It's just a flesh wound, Mycroft," Sherlock protested, "I don't need people prodding into my leg and taking out chunks they don't need to."

"The bullet is in your bloody leg!" Mycroft paused, "Literally!"

Sherlock groaned and rolled his eyes. He flopped back onto the gurney and allowed himself to be taken away. It was clear that he wasn't going to win the argument; he had already imagined the entire thing in his head.

John watched as his flatmate was loaded into the ambulance. Just as the doors were closing, he said, "That was brilliant, you know."

"What was?" Sherlock asked as the medics were strapping him in.

"Shooting yourself in the leg so I could rip off my bomb vest during the distraction." John paused, "Did you plan all this: the pool, the gun, everything?"

Sherlock smirked at his collegue as the doors closed, and the ambulance drove off. John was left there to ponder the silent answer the detective, his friend, gave him and smiled. "That sociopath," he thought warmly and allowed himself to be taken away with Mycroft back to 221B Baker Street.

A/N: Here it is: the second chapter as requested by popular demand!

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~LG607