The Consequences of Sacrifice: Put Your Theory to the Test (Part Two)

Author's Note: Here's the conclusion. I'm not too happy with it, but it's now or never.

I also dedicate this chapter to all of us long-suffering fans, who have waited almost two years (about the same amount of time John has) for Sherlock to return.

Warning: Some minor swearing and suggestive language. Enjoy!

The good news was that Chase Douglas actually survived the jump off of St. Bartholomew's roof during his ill-advised attempt to recreate Sherlock's attempt.

The bad news was that when he plummeted five stories toward the pavement below, he didn't land exactly where he had planned.

In fairness, Chase did succeed in landing into the truck he had set up, of course. The truck that was filled with cat-litter, which succeeded in cushioning his fall. So he was able to add credence to his theory that Sherlock used a truck of cat litter to survive the fall.

Unfortunately, Chase's quest to discover the truth behind Sherlock's brush of death hit a minor snag. While Chase did succeed in surviving the fall, he did not go unscathed because his legs hit the side of the truck as he landed.

And that did not cushion the force of the impact.

Exactly ten minutes later, Mycroft received a priority message that one of his employees was in the psyche ward of St. Bart's hospital, sporting two broken legs and shaking cat litter from his hair and calling loudly for someone called the "DMP" to come and save him.

Mycroft rolled his eyes in annoyance as he reviewed his message, recalling that the last time he received a message like this, he was informed that Sherlock had stolen his ID when he and John broke into the top-secret Baskerville Research Facility.

He still didn't have the exact details of what was happening, but he was pretty certain that his baby brother was somehow at fault.

A few hours later.

"Swing low! Sweet cha-ri-ot! Coming forth to carry me hoooome!"

Mycroft glanced at Chase, who was singing softly in his hospital bed, before he gave one gruff sigh and turned his attention to Sherlock, who slouched in his chair looking bored to the point of insanity. "I blame you for this!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes in exasperation. "It is hardly my fault that all your employees are imbeciles! Actually, I blame you! From what Skylar has told me, Mr. Douglas was actually functioning, albeit on a substandard level! Then he met you! And you wonder why I refuse to do leg work for you!"

"Ok, pipe down you two!" John ordered the two brothers before glancing back over Chase's medical chart, which hung at the foot of the bed. "I'm trying to find out what painkillers are causing Chase to hallucinate!"

"Swing loooooow! Sweet cha-ri-ot! Coming forth to carry me hoooooome!"

"Mr. Douglas, kindly refrain from singing for a few moments if you would be so kind." Mycroft replied stoically to Chase.

"Sure thing, DMP!" Chase slurred, giving Mycroft a lope-sided grin. "Noooooo problem! But only if you promise to keep them away from me!"

"Keep who away, Chase?" Skylar asked.

Chase looked at Skylar with some confusion. "The bunny rabbits, of course! Can't you see them? They're everywhere!"

Mycroft looked resigned as he settled into one of the hospital chairs that were in Chase's private suite. Despite his impeccable appearance, he looked slightly weary.

Not that it was a real surprise to anyone, of course. In the last few hours, Chase had begged Mycroft to save him from an unusual list of enemies, including American commandos, ninjas, calculus professors, unicorns, dragons, puppies, and even members of Lady Gaga's security team.

"Mr. Douglas, I am afraid there are no 'bunny rabbits' here."

Chase huffed. "That's just because you aren't looking hard enough! Hey, I have an idea! Turn off the lights! Maybe they'll glow in the dark!"

"Mr. Douglas, there are no bunny rabbits. You are obviously suffering from a reaction from one of the pain medications that the doctors here saw fit to give you."

Chase looked unconvinced, but didn't argue back. "Do you think that Anthea could bring my laptop to me? It's just my legs that are broken. I want to check my blog."

Mycroft glanced at Chase for a moment, then calmly took out his mobile and began texting. "I'll have her bring it when she comes by later with your things."

Chase's smile was slightly lop-sided, but sincere nevertheless. "Thanks, DMP!"

Sherlock glanced at his brother appraisingly. "Mycroft, am I detecting sentiment?"

Mycroft scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous, Sherly! Sentiment…"

"Is not an advantage! Yes, we have heard that before!" John interrupted, looking amused. "You know, Mycroft, it won't kill you to admit that you actually like Chase. You know that, right?"

"Who likes me?" Chase asked suddenly, his eyes glazed over.

"We all like you Chase. Now why don't you go to sleep?" Skylar muttered from her chair.

"I can't! I have to edit the tape! My fans from FanFiction deserve to know!" Chase protested, rising his head quickly from the pillows of his hospital bed. "Everyone needs to know the truth! It's my duty!"

"Your duty, Mr. Douglas, is to sit right there and stay there until I get to the bottom of your little suicide attempt!" Mycroft ordered.

"But I wasn't trying to commit suicide, DMP! Look at the tape! It's all there!" Chase mumbled as he laid back down. "There's no need to send me to the nut house, you know!"

"I think that is debatable, Chase." Skylar shot back, still warring between relief and anger at Chase's death-defying stunt that resulted in Chase suffering fractures in both of his legs. "And technically, Mr. Holmes did save you from Bedlam! They had you in the psyche ward earlier today! And you were singing!"

"But I'm always singing!" Chase pouted. "Heck, the night we did the march in support of Sherlock, I was arrested for singing 'God Save The Queen!' Still not sure how that means I was inciting a riot, but at least I got to meet the DMP! But if someone just watched the tape…"

"What tape? Skylar, what is Chase talking about?" John asked, looking at the former Homeless Network member with evident confusion.

Skylar shrugged. "Chase got the grand idea that Sherlock faked his death by jumping into a truck bed filled with cat litter!"

John let out a high-pitched giggle before he clamped his hands over his mouth. Sherlock, on the other hand, looked scandalized.

"That is ludicrous! I am not some mangy specimen of the Felis catus! Why would I choose cat litter as a safe medium to cushion the impact?!"

"Really?" Chase asked innocently. "Well, what did you use?"

"I refuse to reveal my secrets as to how it was done! All you have to know is that I did it! One hardly needs an explanation for every action that I engage in."

"True. I stopped trying to rationalize your behavior years ago." John said with a self-satisfied grin that got a laugh out of Skylar and a glare from Sherlock.

"How did you do it, anyway?" Chase asked petulantly. "I mean, my viewers deserve to know! Your fans deserve to know! Heck, even your enemies deserve to know! We need to be put in the 'know!' You know!?"

"And that is just sad." Skylar observed ruefully. "I never thought the day would come when somebody would be idiotic enough to try to recreate the Fall."

"Precisely, my dear. Which of course stands to reason that this is all Sherlock's fault." Mycroft observed.

"It is not my fault!" Sherlock protested, crossing his arms in front of him in a show of defiance. "I didn't plan to jump off that building! That was Moriarty's idea! Why don't you dig him up and blame him!?"

"I thought desecrating corpses was more in your line of work, not mine." Mycroft said pleasantly.

"What I am more concerned about is that these events will continue to occur." Skylar mused. "I mean, I am surprised no one else has tried to dive off St. Bart's to figure out how Sherlock faked his death."

"I imagine the hospital plans to post warning signs to save themselves the legalities in case someone stupid attempts this stunt again." John muttered as he set the file down. "But what I like to know is what possessed Chase to do this!"

"I got an idea!" Chase suddenly sat up, his eyes wide.

"Unless it is to explain why you did what you did…" John started.

"No, no! About Moriarty! Sherlock's right! Let's dig the bastard up!"

Mycroft, naturally, managed to keep his face devoid of all emotion. Nevertheless, a faint hint of incredibility managed to filter into his reply. "Mr. Douglas, when I bury my enemies, I prefer they stay buried. Do you understand?"

"But DMP!" Chase whined petulantly. "We could measure his skull to see if he had a brain tumor or something that caused him to be the way he is…"

"STOP!" John said, looking frantic. "Stop giving Sherlock ideas! There is no way we are going to dig up James Moriarty, and that's that! Knowing our luck, he probably come back as a zombie or something anyway!"

"But..."

"No buts, Chase! There will be no more talk about Moriarty, or so help me, the British Government won't be able to save you! And that goes for you too, Sherlock!" John turned around to give Sherlock his classic "John-murderous-commando" look before turning back to Chase. "Not shut it for a few moments so I can finish reviewing your file!"

Chase pouted for a few minutes, occasionally glaring at John when the man's head was down as he flipped through Chase's chart with the speed of a licensed professional. Sherlock sulked in his corner as well, not even bothering to acknowledge John's presence at all.

The tension was too much for Skylar, who finally decided to break the silence.

"John, will Chase really be ok? I mean, he won't be permanently disabled?"

John looked up from the chart and glanced over at Skylar before giving her a slight smile. "I wouldn't worry about Chase here. He has a single break in his right tibia, and another in his left fibula, but both were clean breaks and the doctors were able to repair them without surgery. It's good that his legs hit the side of the truck bed as opposed to his head. With plenty of rest and some rehabilitation, he will be fine."

"And if he had hit his head on the truck bed?" Mycroft asked. His tone implied that he secretly knew the answer to that, but was asking for Chase's benefit.

"The prognosis would not be favorable." John replied slowly. "A severe concussion at the least. More than likely, he would have had a severe skull fracture and probably would not have survived."

"I could have died?" Chase asked, looked frightened by that revelation. "Seriously!?"

"Yes, you bloody wanker!" Skylar yelled, marching to Chase's bedside. "Which was why I begged you not to jump! But what do you do? You go ahead and jump! And all for your fans!"

"It wasn't just for my fans! It was for everyone who ever asked the question of how Sherlock survived the Fall!" Chase protested. "Have you checked the web lately? Everyone is going crazy trying to find out how he did it!"

"So, because a few idiots are too stupid and insipid to deduce the answer for themselves, you felt it prudent to do it for them." Sherlock said scathingly. "You are an imbecile, Mr. Douglas! In every sense of the word! You don't jump off a building because someone told you to!"

"Interesting, Sherly, considering that you jumped when a psychopath told you to." Mycroft quipped.

Sherlock seethed at Mycroft, looking strangely like a snake puffed up, ready to strike, when he suddenly smiled. "Mr. Douglas, did you know what Mycroft wanted to be when he grew up?"

"Sherlock!" Mycroft sprang from his chair, looking both furious and scandalized. "Don't you dare..."

"He wanted to be Father Christmas!" Sherlock shouted out to the top of his lungs. "When he was five, he wanted to take over for Father Christmas! He spent all year wearing nothing but red..."

"You have to be bloody joking!" John gasped. "Mycroft? As Father Christmas?!"

"I was only five years old at the time, John." Mycroft answered in a clipped voice, all the while glaring daggers at his brother. "Unlike Sherlock, I grew out of my fantasies quickly."

"You were going to be Father Christmas?!" Chase asked, looking impressed. "But...how were you going to replace the real Father Christmas? Were you going to kidnap him or something?"

Chase's inquiry was answered when Sherlock fell from his chair and onto the floor. He held his sides as he laughed uproariously, dropping all pretense of respectability. "He...made out plans! On how to...catch him...in the fireplace! I found the blueprints...when I was four!"

Sherlock was not the only one to find the revelation of Mycroft's childhood humorous. John fell to his knees as he dropped Chase's chart onto the floor in an unceremonious heap, laughing and giggling as he held his side. Skylar walked to the window and tried valiantly to hide her own merriment as she clasped her hand over her mouth, but the choked noises that escaped proved just how furtive those efforts were.

Chase, however, seemed to not find the revelation as humorous as the others. He continued to stare at Mycroft in awe (which was normal, for Chase). However, due to the painkillers floating around in his bloodstream, it wasn't certain whether Chase understood that his official hero had once entertained the notion of kidnapping Father Christmas and Chase approved it, or if Chase was so doped up on medication that he actually comprehended everything going on.

And then, the door to the private room opened.

"Chase!" Sheridan said happily as she ran into the room and straight to Chase's bedside, her black curls bouncing with each step. "You're alive!"

Chase shifted uncomfortably as he lowered his eyes in shame. "Uh, yeah. I'm ok. Thanks for coming to see me, Sheri."

John looked up from the floor and smirked. He knew that Chase finally realized the stupidity of his actions now. Like everyone else, Chase had a soft spot for Sheridan Holmes, Sherlock's rambunctious and amazingly sweet nine-year old daughter. As they were both accomplished computer hackers within their own rights, both Chase and Sheridan have worked together whenever Mycroft needed to hack into a secure website that his normal computer experts were unable to crack.

Thus, the two worked well together, with Chase often acting as an unofficial big brother to the young girl.

If only Chase had thought of this earlier. John thought to himself. He knows how Sheridan fears hospitals and how she witnessed her own mother die in a hospital.

Not-Anthea (or whatever her name was this week) also stepped into the room, bearing an arrangement of flowers, which she sat down on the window sill, neatly stepping over a chortling Sherlock and John as she maneuvered across the room. "Mr. Douglas. I have your computer, as you requested." She answered smoothly, gesturing to the black leather satchel that hang from her shoulder.

"Thanks, Goddess of Love!" Chase smiled crookedly at her before turning back to the young girl in front of him. "And Sheridan. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking..."

"Truer words were never spoken." Skylar muttered from her corner.

Chase continued. "And I honestly thought I had it planned out perfectly, and I know how you hate it when people go to hospitals, and I didn't mean to worry you, or the DMP, or the Goddess of Love, or Skylar, or Sherlock, or..."

"Chase! Stop it! I'm just happy you are ok!" Sheridan replied.

"So you aren't angry with me?" Chase asked hesitantly.

"Of course I'm angry with you, Chase!" Sheridan growled, putting her hands on her hips in a remarkable imitation of Mrs. Hudson when she was about to yell at John or Sherlock for something they did wrong. "I understand why you thought you did what you had to do! But Dad jumped because he was trying to save people! You weren't! It's not worth risking your life for!"

Chase looked down and pouted dramatically, but he didn't argue back with Sheridan.

"What I don't understand is why you didn't use a mannequin to test the fall, or, better yet, why you didn't just ask me!" Sheridan continued.

"You know how Sherlock faked the fall?" John asked as he stumbled back to his feet.

"She deduced it one day." Mycroft noted dryly. "But Sheridan, I forbid you from telling Mr. Douglas right now."

"What?!" Chase cried out.

"You will only be rewarding him for his misconduct." Mycroft continued, unmoved by Chase's outrage. "And as Chase works for me, I will decide when to let him know."

"That's not fair!" Chase grumbled. "You are all against me! Even the bunnies are against me!"

"Bunnies?" Sheridan asked, confused.

"Mr. Douglas is currently on pain medication that is causing him to hallucinate, Sheri." Sherlock answered as he got off the floor and strode to his daughter's side. "But he will be fine, as you can clearly deduce for yourself."

John nodded as he replaced Chase's medical chart so that the nurses would not find it on the floor when they came in. "I checked Chase's records, and he's in good hands, Sheri. Now, it's late, and seeing as you are still wearing your school uniform, that means that you came once school was over, so you haven't eaten dinner yet. So why don't we let Chase rest while we go get something? There's a place down the corner that serves Chinese."

"I'm busy with two cold cases, John. You know better than to use Sheri to get me to eat." Sherlock frowned disapprovingly at John.

"He's not just trying to get you to eat, Dad. He's trying to get you out of here before Uncle Mycroft retaliates for you telling stories about him." Sheridan said matter-of-factly. "And since you were on the floor when I came in, it was either the story about when Uncle Mycroft wanted to be Father Christmas or the time his head got stuck in the staircase. So you should probably come with us now, Dad."

Sherlock glanced at Mycroft and smirked. "Mycroft doesn't frighten me."

Mycroft smiled benignly as he stood toe-to-toe with Sherlock. "It would behoove you to go with John and Sheridan, brother dear, as I am somewhat busy at the moment. Perhaps later, we could all sit down and indulge in this familial sentiment, as you suddenly seem so found of doing. No doubt Mummy would want to participate."

A brief grimace of fear flashed across Sherlock's face before he became impassive once more. "Until next time, brother dear. Oh, and place don't start any armed conflicts until after we get home. You know how it affects traffic."

With his Belstaff coat flowing around him like an emperor's robe, Sherlock walked out of the room with his head held high. John smirked but gave Mycroft a friendly nod before he and Sheridan followed behind.

"By Uncle Mycroft. I'll see you later, Chase!" Sheridan waved back before the pair disappeared behind the door.

Skylar coughed uncomfortably as her mobile beeped, informing her that she had a message. She glanced at the test quickly before going to her chair where she had draped her coat. "I need to go too. That message was from Kenneth. He and Lawrence were just released from questioning, and they want to know how Chase is doing, so I'm going to meet with him."

Mycroft nodded politely towards Skylar as she left, promising to check back in the morning. Chase fidgeted as he realized that he was about to be left alone in the room with his boss and Not-Anthea, but he smiled at Skylar when she left.

For twenty minutes, Mycroft stood in place, his umbrella held firmly in place as he stared calmly at Chase. Not-Anthea, who had already set up Chase's laptop for him, sat down in one of the hospital chairs and began to type on her Blackberry with the air of casualness.

Chase, on the other hand, continued to fidget uncomfortably at Mycroft, occasionally humming lyrics from "God Save the Queen." He looked up at the ceiling, then the floor, then towards the window, then at Anthea.

Never once did he glance over at Mycroft.

Finally, Chase cracked under the strain.

"Are you going to kill me?" He whispered, looking up at Mycroft with wide eyes.

Mycroft stared at him for a few minutes. "Don't you think you are doing that on your own, Mr. Douglas?"

Chase whimpered. "I really am sorry, DMP! Honest!"

"I expect the best from my people, Mr. Douglas. Now, I happen to be a very patient man, seeing as how I must deal with my dear baby brother's antics as well as run a nation..."

"I thought you only had a minor position, DMP." Chase joked weakly.

"Do not interrupt me, Mr. Douglas. I am not in the mood for your lively foolishness!" Mycroft answered, the cold tone in his voice holding a warning. "Now, you have been instrumental in clearing Sherlock's name. And your service to the Crown cannot be denied. But I will not and cannot tolerate acts of insanity from my own people!"

"Oh God, you are going to fire me!" Chase cried out, tears actually leaking from the corners of his eyes. "Oh, please give me another chance, DMP! I won't do anything like this again! I swear it! Please please please please please please please!"

"Mr. Douglas, I am not planning on firing you." Mycroft sighed in annoyance. "Despite your stupidity in this recent incident, your previous service cannot be ignored. Nevertheless, there will be consequences for your actions."

"Thank you, DMP! Thank you! Whatever you want! I'll do it!" Chase said happily. "And can I say that I promise I won't let you down again, DMP! I promise!"

"Please refrain from emotional displays, if you would, Mr. Douglas." Mycroft replied as he finally sat down in his chair. "First of all, you will type up a document as to what you have learned from this 'stunt.'"

"Oh, like an essay for when I get in trouble in school and have to serve detention, huh?" Chase replied uneasily. "Or an apology letter?"

"An essay, if you will. This little incident will no doubt go into your personnel file, and my superiors will be very interested to understand your reasoning, I am sure."

Chase gulped, but nodded acceptance.

"Second, you will refrain from attempting to uncover any more details about my life or that of Sherlock's. Besides from the obvious reasons, you may inadvertently give secrets to enemies who may use that information to their advantage."

"Like what Moriarty did with that fake article." Chase nodded in understanding. "I promise, DMP! No more stuff about you and Sherlock! But I can still post fictional stories on Fan Fiction, right?"

Mycroft sighed. "I suppose you may. You are also under probation for the foreseeable future. You will not be allowed to return to active duty or reviewing the CCTV until you have passed multiple physical and psychological evaluations. I have the security of the country to consider, Mr. Douglas. And I refuse to take any undue risks."

Chase nodded silently, although he was not happy about it. "Anything else? You going to make me give up coffee?"

"I sincerely doubt that would do any good, Mr. Douglas." Mycroft replied as he rose from his chair. "I can only hope you learned something from this experience."

"I have, DMP! I really have!" Chase said. "And just so you know, DMP, I think you are a great boss!"

Anthea smirked from her chair, but wisely kept silent.

"Mr. Douglas, your gratitude is hardly necessary..."

"I think you would make a great dad too, come to think of it! You are kind of like my second dad when my dad isn't around, you know? And since my dad is still back in California..."

"Mr. Douglas, flattery will not make me change my conditions..."

"Oh, I know that, DMP! But seriously, you really need to consider having a family! Really, you should!"

"Mr. Douglas, that is hardly something one gentleman discusses..."

"Oh! Are you saying no one gave you the Talk!? DMP! That's horrible! No wonder you were so upset when you found out that Sherlock wasn't a virgin anymore!"

Mycroft scowled, but seemed unable to get a word in to interrupt Chase. Not-Anthea almost lost her grip on her Blackberry, but managed to retain her hold on it.

"Now, DMP, just so you know, sex is a perfectly natural thing! It's nothing to be afraid of!"

Mycroft's eyes widened slightly in shock. "Mr. Douglas!"

Chase continued, oblivious to Mycroft's outrage. "Now, I know you know who James Bond is! Or maybe you don't, since Sherlock didn't! But still, I bet you have probable at least heard about him! See, James Bond is this super-cool spy who beat bad guys and saves the world..."

"I know who James Bond is, Mr. Douglas!" Mycroft said in annoyance.

"Then you know he gets all the cute chicks at the end! Well, he's British! And you're British! So you shouldn't have any problems picking out a hot woman to have sex with!"

"Mr. Douglas!" Mycroft sputtered, indigent.

"How about the Goddess of Love, then? I mean, she knows you! She's worked with you for years, so she knows what you probably like!" Chase answered helpfully before turning towards Anthea, who looked up from her Blackberry in disbelief. "Anthea, why don't you hook up with the DMP? Personally, I think you guys would have cute kids together..."

"MR. DOUGLAS!" Mycroft finally shouted, momentarily loosing his suave persona. "Would you desist with your useless prattle!"

Chase looked up, stunned. "Oh. Ok, I'll stop. But I still think you and Anthea would have cute kids!"

Mycroft frowned. "Please change the subject, Mr. Douglas. In a few minutes, I must attend a meeting with the Russian ambassador, and will be unavailable for a few hours. Therefore, I must take my leave."

"Oh. Ok. I guess I will see you later then." Chase said, pouting sadly before looking up. "But could I ask you one question before you leave?"

"You may ask, but I cannot guarantee an answer." Mycroft replied as he straightened his silken tie and his suit in preparation for his departure.

Chase smiled happily as he leaned forward. "Ok! Now, I promised I wouldn't post anything on my blog, but I'm dying to know! How did Sherlock really fake his death?"

Author's Note: Poor Mycroft! I can't seem to keep from tormenting him, can I?

Well, Chase survived the fall (although probably a lot less gracefully that Sherlock did). Which means I am stuck with him in the foreseeable future.

I extend my sincere appreciation to all of those who read this, as well as a special thanks to Scottish Bluebell and chaoticmom for their wonderful reviews!

By the way, Chase was extremely touched by the reviews by Scottish Bluebell and chaoticmom. He knows he owes his continued survival to you two, and will probably thank you sometime in the future. But right now, he's too busy crying and drowning his sorrows in coffee and Red Bull! ;)

Well, tonight's the night! I can't wait to hear how Sherlock faked his death (I'm certain he didn't use cat litter, by the way), and hopefully we will be treated to a season 4 within a reasonable time. However, knowing our luck, it will probably be another two years before we see it.

Thank you all for your wonderful stories and allowing me the chance to read them, as well as allowing me to share my own fictional stories with all of you! Happy New Year!