*Alright I think this is the second to last chapter. I plan on changing the status of this story to complete, but please know that I will be adding one shots on the end. If you guys have one shot you would like me to write, leave it in a review, or just PM me. The one shots will be chronological progression, and could be any character. R and R and enjoy!
Sherlock was utterly confused-which rarely happened. He had heard a shot ring out. Moriarty was the only one in the hall with a gun. The sniper was dead, Sherlock's gun had been abandoned on the floor next to John awhile ago, and last Sherlock had checked, John had been unconscious. So why hadn't Sherlock felt any pain, save the pain from his knee's impact with the floor. And, pray tell, why, had Moriarty crumpled to the ground.
Just to be sure, Sherlock spun to check John. He was still unconscious on the floor. The bleeding seemed to have, at least, slowed, and there were no other injuries on John's body, save the bullet wound in his arm. He scrambled up and over to Moriarty's body, limping heavily, but doing his best to ignore the pain in his knee, eager to solve this new puzzle. As he approached the body, he observed a bullet hole in the right side of his head. The placement and angle of the exit wound in relation to the entry site suggested the bullet was fired from a lower elevation, from the direction of the stage. Sherlock turned to look, wondering what on Earth was going on.
There on the stage, he saw the most glorious sight. Standing center stage, stood Mycroft Holmes, gun lowered at his side, looking calm and collected, as if he had not just shot the world's only consulting criminal.
"M-My, what are you- How did you?" For once, the consulting detective seemed at a loss for words. Even from the distance, he could see the quiet fury in his brother's eyes. This was the dark, dangerous side of Mycroft Holmes that no one ever saw. The side that was hidden away behind the charismatic politician that dominated his life. Few people ever saw this side, and fewer lived to tell the tale. Another person was behind Mycroft, and he slowly walked up to meet the quietly enraged British Government.
"Myc, its okay. Everyone is fine, you can drop the gun." On the last two words, Lestrade closed the gap between the two, and clamped down firmly on his boyfriend's arm. The Detective Inspector's touch seemed to do the trick. Immediately, Mycroft's grip on the gun loosened, and the darkness left the politician. He turned into Greg, who pulled him into a hug.
"Its okay, love. Sherlock's fine." Greg cooed, gently rubbing the younger man's back.
"Utterly sickening." Sherlock shouted from the top of the auditorium, quickly loosing his patience now that the puzzle was solved, "Now if you two would be so kind as to separate yourselves for a few minutes, John could really use our help!" Sherlock quickly turned back to his blogger and limped as quickly as he could to where he was lying supine on the floor. He whipped out the disposable phone, which thankfully still had a minute left on it. He quickly dialed 999.
As soon as someone picked up on the other line, Sherlock shouted "I need an ambulance ASAP at Roseburg Hall. John Watson has been shot in the arm, possibly nicked the brachial artery and I have been told to inform you that Mycroft Holmes will have to get personally involved if you do not get here in the next five minutes. The patient is critical and needs a hospital and treatment immediately." He paused for a moment to catch his breath, and before the dispatcher on the other end could say anything, the call cut out. The time was expired. Sherlock chucked the phone as hard as he could away from himself, only controlling it enough to ensure that it wouldn't hit either of his-as much as he hated to admit this- saviors.
The two men, upon hearing Sherlock's plea, had released each other and raced up the aisle. When they got to the top, and looked to where Sherlock was, they immediately raced over to the two men on the ground. The detective inspector murmured some explicative, while the politician angrily muttered "Moriarty". If I hadn't already killed him, I should very much have liked to have a go at him, this time with my knife. Mycroft thought darkly. He was pulled from his musings by warm fingers interlacing with his own. He turned his head to stare into Greg's eyes. The men shared a glance that showed each other's appreciation that it wasn't the other lying on the floor. Both men had dangerous jobs that made the possibility very likely.
The three conscious men could do nothing but wait the arrival of the ambulance. Sherlock's threat seemed to have worked, for the ambulance could be heard no longer than four minutes later. When the sound of the siren reached the group, Greg took it upon himself to go lead the paramedics to their location. The paramedics rushed into the hall, and quickly loaded John onto a stretcher. Sherlock was much to numb to try and argue with the paramedics about riding with John. They carried John, who was almost as pale as Sherlock, out, and everyone vacated the hall. Greg had disappeared early on, probably to explain the situation to the driver of the second ambulance, which had the body of James Moriarty-for real, this time-loaded in it. Finally, it was just Sherlock and Mycroft.
"My..."Sherlock whispered. He was still crouching where John's body had been. Mycroft had sunken into a chair at the top of the auditorium. Upon hearing Sherlock, he stood up and walked over to where he was crouched. He placed a hand gently on his little brother's shoulder in reply.
"My...thanks for..you know, that thing you did. It was...um, good."" Sherlock muttered. Mycroft just gave the shoulder a small squeeze. Neither Holmes was good with emotion, but when it was just them, they could understand each other perfectly. Mycroft withdrew his hand, and was surprised when Sherlock came with it. The younger Holmes wrapped his arms around his brother and buried his face in the neck of a very startled Mycroft.
"Mycroft, promise me he'll be okay." Sherlock said as he stifled a small sob. Mycroft awkwardly patted him on the back.
"There, there Sherly, John will be just fine."Mycroft said, attempting to console his brother. Sherlock pulled away to glare at his brother.
"Only John can call me Sherly!" he proclaimed. Mycroft chuckled and pulled Sherlock back into him.
"Fine. Lockie, he will be okay." Sherlock gave a small harumph, but didn't pull away. The two Holmes brothers stayed in the hug until Lestrade came back in. He smile and leaned against the doorway as he took in the tender scene.