WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MENTIONS OF RAPE! PLEASE CONTINUE WITH CAUTION. THANK YOU.

John's P.O.V.

"Sherlock! No! Don't do this. Please Sherlock. Just give me the gun!" I shouted.

The gun went off and everything around me turned to slow motion. I saw the bullet moving. Lestrade started to run. Sherlock's tears one by one hit the ground. But strangest of all I swore I saw Mycroft. He was waving his arms, running towards Sherlock, shouting something. I blinked three times and everything returned to normal except that it wasn't normal. Time was literally frozen.

I was standing in the middle of it all. Taking cautious steps I took the gun out of Sherlock's hand and after careful examination I decided to change fate a little. Placing the gun back in Sherlock's hand I pointing right at myself, where I would be sitting. I took the bullet and moved about two inches right of my heart.

Everything was as light a feather. I changed the direction of which Lestrade had been running which had been towards Sherlock. I turned him towards me. And then there was Mycroft. Oh yes, Mycroft. I touched him and yelped as my hand went straight through. Sherlock, Lestrade, even me who was sitting in a wheelchair, I could touch, feel, but Mycroft was like a ghost.

I shivered at the thought. First I could change the entire scene into a homicide instead of a suicide and now I could see ghosts. This was getting creepier by the minute. Now how did I change it back to real life?

As soon as I thought that I was back. I saw the bullet coming and I felt it rip through my flesh. I flew backwards and knew the bullet was still inside me. I could feel it. Blood started to flow slowly out of the wound. Even as I started to fade, I knew that it was worth it. That Sherlock was worth it.

Sherlock's P.O.V.

I was so confused. I hadn't pointed the gun at John. It was at me. I was the one who was suppose to die, not him. Not my best friend. I ran towards him, tears streaming down my face.

"John! No! Don't die! John please, please! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry. I'll do anything. Just don't die!" I sobbed.

I held his wrist, just wanting to know he was alive. It was there, slowly, softly beating. But it was fading. Lestrade looked at me with a mixture of emotions on his face. He looked disappointed.

"I didn't point it at him. I pointed it at me. I saw the bullet come out. I swear," I said softly.

I looked up and saw Mycroft standing over us. I yelled in fright, but when I looked back he was gone. John shuddered in my arms and I turned my attention back to him. The bleeding had stopped and there was a blue scarf pressed on the wound. My blue scarf. The same blue scarf Mycroft had been wearing when he died. I touched it, expecting the underside to be sticky, and a dark red. Surprisingly, it was completely dry. In fact, there was no blood, no wound, no bullet.

I watched as John's eyes fluttered open and gulped. Would he be angry that I had just shot him? If he was, I couldn't blame him one bit. I sat the wheelchair back up, put him in it, and slowly walked away. The man I had just shot was sitting there perfectly okay. Not even a small cut. I was so confused, nothing in the scientific world could explain something like that.

I walked down the stairs and was suddenly yanked off the the side. I shouted in fear only to find my brother standing there looking like he hadn't even died. I backed away, but he grabbed my hand and pulled me back, just smiling. My eyes filled with fear as he began to talk. It was clear this wasn't Mycroft. It looked like Mycroft, but Mycroft was taller, spoke softer than this man, and would never do what this man was about to do.

"Oh Sherlock. You didn't really think I was your brother. You are aware he is lying on a bed covered with a white sheet right? Oh well," he pulled me close and whispered into my ear, "we are going to have so much fun."

"What do you mean?" I asked nervously.

He smiled and kissed me right below the left ear lobe. "You and I. We are going to make love."

I pushed away from him, but he just pulled me back, only to push me against the wall and kiss me. I felt sick and tried to shout for help, but my cries were muffled by his lips. I felt him jab something in my arm. I quickly went limp, and I found I didn't have the strength to push him off me, as he pressed kisses along my jaw line and to my ear. I whimpered, begging him not to.

"Shhhh," he put his finger to my lips, "be a good boy, and don't cry now. We'll only frame your dead brother for this. Incest, yes. This will be so much fun. I can't wait to get inside you."

A small cry escaped my throat, and I felt my trousers being yanked down to my ankles. I started to realise I was on my own. Nobody cared and who could blame them. I was the cause of my brother's death, I deserved this. I let the tears fall as I accepted my cruel fate.

John's P.O.V.

"Lestrade? Is Sherlock okay?" I asked, confused at the dark look I received at his name.

"Is Sherlock okay? Is Sherlock okay! He just shot you John! How could you even care about the man! We need to get you checked over, forget Sherlock," Lestrade vented angrily.

I sighed. "I'm sure it was nothing more than a mere accident. Besides, I'm completely fine. Don't know how, but look! There's not even a bullet hole! Let's just find Sherlock and get out of here."

The elevator doors opened and Anderson stepped out. "I was told you might need this. I worked on it, so the batteries should hold steady for four hours, but be careful. The circuits are still quite unstable."

"Thank you Anderson. How exactly does it work?"

"There's a thin, but tight piece of metal that sends soft electric volts through the nerves in your legs to your brain. That triggers it to tense up the muscles needed to take a step and stand. That's the main concept. I'll explain more later."

"Hmm... Intresting. This was Sherlock's idea?" I questioned. "I thought he only did chemistry."

Anderson nodded. "His idea, my work."

A muffled cry came from the stairway and I slid quickly into the suit. Sherlock had to be in trouble, and I was determined to save him. Lestrade looked at me like I was crazy, but I ignored him. Something was wrong, I could just feel it.

I ran down the stairs, searching every door, corner, and shadow. I finally came across a dimly lit room where I saw Sherlock and someone else. Sherlock was lying on his back, a completely bloody mess as the other man stood over him, kissing and groping him.

I froze for a slight second before almost demolishing the stranger in front of me. I pulled him off Sherlock, and pushed him against the wall, punching him over and over again. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sherlock curl up into ball, scared and defrocked. After knocking the man unconscious, I picked up the coat lying near the wall. Draping it over the detective's shoulders, I helped him up. Supporting his to the nearest elevator entrance, I helped pull up his trousers and let him lean on me.

He was trying hard not to cry. He was trying to be strong. Wrapping my arms gently around him, I allowed him to rest his head on my shoulder.

"It's alright Sherlock. You can cry, I won't judge you. I never will," I said softly.

That was all the urging it took, and the tears started to form faster than they could fall. He was hurting. It had never been so obvious. His brother was dead, he thought he should die, and he had just been raped.

Shuddering at the thought of the last one, I swore that I would kill the people who had done this to Sherlock Holmes if it was the last thing I ever did.

Hello my awesome peoples! Thank you for all the support on the last chapter! I hope you enjoy this one and please review!

Best Regards,

PFT221B