Author's note: Finally something is happening... And after only seven chapters! Aren't you proud of me?

I don't own anything, please review.

For a moment, they were silent. Then Mycroft started to say, "That doesn't mean..." when Sherlock's phone rang yet again.

He looked at his phone and said "Anderson has identified the gun as John's."

The doctor cursed inwardly; he shouldn't have let anyone see the gun, but two months ago, he had to rescue Sherlock from some smugglers, and they wouldn't have let go the consulting detective without John showing (but not using) his weapon, and he made the mistake of putting it into his coat pocket before Anderson (granted, he didn't think the forensic tech saw it, but still, it was rather stupid of him).

Somehow, for once, the doctor could tell what Mycroft wanted to say before he did.

The older Holmes twirled his umbrella and bit his lip (in fact, it was the only time John had ever seen him embarrassed).

"You have to realize that now, when John's name has already turned up in the investigation..."

"Of course we understand" John answered, despite Sherlock looking like he rather wanted to protest. Mycroft couldn't delete his fingerprints now; not when someone at Scotland Yard was probably already busy pulling his service record. They would know immediately that it had been tempered with. Moran had really done his best, John had to admit that.

"But – " Sherlock started to object, but Mycroft was already leaving; the older Holmes didn't bother to apologize; there was no need to, despite what Sherlock might think. Moran was taking his revenge on John (and his best friend), Mycroft had nothing to do with it. John would simply have to deal with the fact that the body that had shown up could be tied to him.

Maybe, he reflected, it was karma; after all, he had come when Sebastian called him, without stopping to think, and had treated a gunshot victim, and he had continued to work for Moriarty, although he could have called the police anytime. True, he would probably have been dead long before the consulting criminal was arrested, but his life hadn't been worth much anyway before he met Sherlock. Before he met the man who made him want to live.

Before he could think about what he was doing, he was jogging after Mycroft, Moran's words still ringing in his ears. "Mycroft!"

The older Holmes stopped at the end of the stairs and John came to stand beside him.

"Yes, John?"

The doctor swallowed.

"I am aware that you can do nothing for me. But Moran wants me to suffer like he does, and there is only one way he can achieve that".

Mycroft's eyes flicked to the ceiling, and John knew he had understood.

"Make sure the surveillance on Sherlock is good. And arrange for him to leave the country. Please. He has to be safe, Mycroft. I will gladly accept a prison sentence, just – keep him safe."

The British Government was apparently lost for words, then he nodded and left the building. John took a deep breath and climbed up the stairs. He had to explain to his best friend that he had to leave him behind; and, somehow, the thought hurt far worse than he would have expected. He and Sherlock belonged together, had formed a bond, weren't meant to be apart. And yet – it was the only way to foil Moran's plan. The consulting detective had to understand that.

Sherlock, however, wasn't ready to accept the turn events had taken. He immediately jumped up from his chair as soon as Mycroft had left their flat, and started to make several plans, while hurling insults at his brother. John stopped him after two minutes, during which he had been trying but not succeeding to interrupt his friend.

"SHERLOCK!"

The consulting detective looked at him like he had just hit him, and the doctor couldn't blame him. After all, he had never shouted at Sherlock like that – there had been a desperate tone in his voice the consulting detective wasn't used to, and in fact he was desperate. And angry. He was angry at himself because he had allowed himself to become tangled up with Moran and Moriarty; because he had shot a young man who had been nothing but a victim of the most dangerous criminal mind London had ever seen; because he could have walked away all those months ago, could have called someone, could have done something, but didn't.

Because he couldn't resist being someone, leading a dangerous life, and now here he was, paying the prize for not turning the other way while he had the chance.

Once again, looking at an obviously agitated Sherlock, he wished that he had had the fortune of meeting the consulting detective instead of Moran. And to think that they both knew Mike Stamford; really, if he had just met Mike Stamford one day and he had introduced him to the consulting detective...

But wishing things had turned out differently wouldn't change a thing. He had killed a man, and Moran would make sure that he paid for it.

He wondered why he was so calm when Sherlock, notwithstanding his warning, was pacing up and down the living room, mumbling to himself, was apparently desperately trying to find a way out.

And then he realized that he should be doing the same thing.

Because, while he wouldn't mind paying the price for what he'd done –

As soon as he was in jail, Moran would kill Sherlock.

And would make sure that John knew every detail of it.

He couldn't let that happen. He wouldn't let that happen. He had to fight. He had to –

"Moran made sure that the police find the gun – and, now that this fool Anderson has identified it as belonging to you, they have to check your fingerprints – I'm sure Moran will gladly do it himself. The question is, why would he want you to go to jail?"

John stared at Sherlock. Did the consulting detective really not understand? But Sherlock was still talking.

"Alright, so in the worst possible scenario you go to jail. Mycroft could get you to best attorneys – he could even arrange a break out. Why – "

This time John interrupted him. Of course Sherlock didn't understand, he suddenly realized; despite the fact that the consulting detective knew that Moriarty had threatened his life too to make sure that John obeyed his commands, but chances were he wouldn't understand that making John watch him die was the worst punishment Moran could think of.

In one swift movement, John grabbed Sherlock's wrist. "Sherlock..." He said, trying to make his voice sound more composed than he felt. "Listen to me. You have to talk to Mycroft; you have to get out of London. Moran is going to have me put in jail and you killed, and I couldn't live with that. Please..."

And then, suddenly, Sherlock looked at him like he'd never seen him before.

"John, you can't possibly think that I would just leave you to your fate..."

"You have to!" John almost shouted. "Don't you see, the only way we can foil Moran's plan is by you..."

"Running away? Hiding? For how long, John? And how long would you be in jail?"

"Not for longer than I deserve, I guarantee you".

Not for the first time, Sherlock was surprised by John's honesty. The doctor really believed he deserved to go to jail for shooting Timothy, and while the consulting detective admitted that he shouldn't have, it had been perfectly understandable considering the circumstances. His best friend didn't deserve to go to jail. He needed John at his side. A year ago he hadn't even know of his existence, and now he couldn't imagine life without him. Sentiment. How the doctor had changed his life.

And, no matter what happened, he wouldn't let him go to jail.

"I'm not the one who should leave, John."

John stared at him, determined. "I am not leaving you behind."

"I'm not asking you too, I just want you to hide until – "

"Moran dies of old age? Sherlock, do you really think that's a good idea?"

Sherlock looked as determined as John felt. At this moment the doctor's phone rang.

It was Greg.

"John?" He was whispering; it was obvious the DI didn't want anyone to overhear his call.

"Yes?" He asked as calmly as possible.

"Anderson was quick for once and compared the fingerprints he found on the gun to the ones in your service record. I'm sorry, John – we have to arrest you. Me and Donavan will be there in ten minutes".

It was clear what the DI wanted, and there was a part of John that wanted nothing more than to run away. But if he did, Sherlock would certainly want to accompany him – and no one could protect him then. Moran would find a way to kill him and to make John watch. Sherlock would die and it would be John's fault. Moran would make sure to make good of Moriarty's threat.

He had to let himself be arrested. It was the only way to save Sherlock.

He hung up, exhaling slowly. "That was Greg. They are on their way." He looked at Sherlock. "Please don't do anything. It's alright. It really is".

His eyes grew soft. "Sherlock, just – I want to thank you. For everything."

Before Sherlock could answer, they could hear knocks on the door and Donavan shoving Mrs. Hudson aside as soon as their landlady had gone to look who was there.

Donavan looked very pleased with herself, although she didn't say anything. Greg must have warned her.

The DI climbed up the stairs much more slowly than his Sergeant had done, looking at Sherlock and John in turn, regret in his eyes.

"John Watson, your are under arrest for the murder of Timothy Wallace".

Author's note: Shorter chapter again, but I haven't much time today. Oh, and sorry for the cliffhanger. Who am I kidding? I love cliffhangers. But I'm sorry for your frustration.

You can tell where I got the idea from? Why am I even asking. We all know it. But I thought it interesting to have John be the one to be arrested – and for something he actually did. I probably shouldn't say that developing this idea is fun, but it is. Oh, and surprisingly (sarcasm), this story is going to be longer than I thought. And apparently a lot more complicated.

You want to make my day, you leave a review – even if you're one of the silent readers (hehehe, emotional blackmail – I'm sorry).