Author's Note:

This is where things get interesting! Another short chapter. The next two are intense and I can't wait to share them! Thanks to everyone who's been reviewing!

The surgery had taken hours. They had gone in and completely rebuilt John's right shoulder. A few minutes after Sherlock arrived, they wheeled the Army doctor in, asleep and snoring softly. The doctor hooked him up to a new I-V drip and glanced at Sherlock. "John's fiancé, I assume?" He asked softly, smiling. "He did very well. One surgery left. That will be in a few days to go in and put some new bone fragments in. He iss doing a lot better. The fracture in the back of his skull wasn't as bad as we initially thought and he only has two broken ribs, left side. A real fighter, this one. He should be awake soon. He likes to fight the pain medication for some reason." He smiled warmly and left the room.

Everything around John was nice. Perfect. No machines or pain. He was home with Sherlock and Amy and it was perfect. Except... talking. Those were voices. Doctor. Hospital. Afghanistan. He groaned slightly. He had killed three people, and Sherlock's Dad, and suddenly his eyes were opening slowly. John groaned, realizing suddenly that he was sick to his stomach. His head fell to the side and then he froze. Sherlock. He was here. "Oh," he muttered, smiling a bit. The cuts on his face twisted with his growing grin. "Hi."

Sherlock's gaze trailed to the door when John was wheeled in. He nodded at the doctor's words and then moved his eyes to his fiancé. He gave a small smile when the army doctor's eyes opened. "Hello there my dear doctor. Try not to move or speak to much. You need to save your strength. Get better, so I can take you back home to London."

John shifted slightly in the bed, exhaling loudly and slamming his eyes shut. Shit, that really hurt. How long had he been out? His eyes opened slowly, blurry for a long moment before he managed to focus on Sherlock intently. Dressed nice. Looked exhausted. Funeral. Amy. It had taken a toll on his fiancé. He opened his mouth slowly to talk and snapped it shut. He smiled and moved his left arm, holding his hand out and wiggling his fingers. "Love you."

Sherlock took his fiancé's hand immediately, squeezing it gently. "Love you too." He was quiet a moment. "John, I'm sorry." He fell silent once more, his gaze dropping to the floor. He shifted in his chair uncomfortably. It was obvious he felt guilty for what had happened.

John laced his fingers with Sherlock's instantly, his eyes narrowing in confusion. Sorry? Sherlock was sorry? If anybody in the room should be apologizing it should be him. He had kept secrets from Sherlock, worked behind his back with his Dad, and not told him that he knew he was going to get kidnapped. He had lied. "You shouldn't be sorry," he whispered, wincing at the stress on his chest. "I should be. I fucked up."

"John…I…" Sherlock trailed off, not sure where he should begin. "There are things I didn't tell you. When I got kidnapped when I was in Afghanistan… About Dad…" He sighed. He was usually able to come up with explanations quickly but this time around words were failing him.

More news. Sherlock felt guilty. "What do you mean?" He asked softly, his heart monitor increasing as talking shot pain through his torso. He figured he shouldn't be disappointed because he had done the same thing, hadn't told Sherlock about talking to Siger, but something twisted in his gut and he squeezed Sherlock's hand.

"When those men had me, they were using me to get to you. They knew about Sarah, Amy, even that I call you 'my dear doctor.' They were part of Moriarty's web. I told Mycroft about it, his people did a cleanup and got most of them. There were some ties to terrorists' cells in Afghanistan, they couldn't get to yet. I never told you because you had so much else going on. I thought I was protecting you, but all I did was leave you blindsided. The men who took, also a faction of Moriarty's empire." Sherlock was quiet for a moment before he went on. "John, my father's death is my fault not yours. I asked for his help, even though I knew." More silence. "He once told me that all his plans have a failsafe, to end the mission in suicide to make sure it would be completed. I asked and I didn't care…because…Jesus if Mycroft ever found out, he would probably never forgive me…" He shook his head trailing off.

John listened intently and frowned, closing his eyes. "You asked him to help you because I had gone back, Sherlock. I knew. Your Dad... There weren't ever plans or anything, Sherlock. I was back to get kidnapped. I was doing it to protect you." Despite the situation John smirked. "We were hiding so much from each other. Why didn't you tell me?"

Sherlock shrugged. "At the time, I thought it was the best thing to do. Wait…there were no plans? You got kidnapped on purpose…to protect me…?" He thought back to everything that had happened. "Ugh…how could I have been so stupid? Why didn't I see it sooner? I swear, if the Old Man wasn't already dead, I would have killed himself."

John smiled softly and nodded. "They were after you, Sherlock. I went in as a distraction. I was much more interesting to them when they thought I had secret military plans. We had it all planed out," he muttered. In hindsight it had turned out worse than either of them had expected. Siger had said he would be there in a few minutes, it would all be over quick. They had planned on the Russians staying at Bastion. When John woke up from the blow to the back of his head he recognized Sangin almost instantly. "It's fine, Sherlock. I agreed to go along with it to keep you safe. I wouldn't have let you hurt him."

"Basically he used you as bait. That stupid son of a bitch. Well, now I'm glad the bastard is dead. Serves him right." Sherlock's eyes were narrowed, it was obvious he was not happy with his Old Man.

"Sherlock," John took several shallow breaths and dropped his head back. Calm. Stay calm. His heart monitor was already going a bit faster than he would of liked. "He talked to me about it. It wouldn't have happened if I had said no, alright? I made the decision to go through with it. It all... just went a bit pear shaped once my company got kidnapped." He swallowed hard. More than pear shaped. He was responsible for the death of three of his men. That wasn't something he could tell his fiancé though. "Let's talk about something else," he whispered, squeezing Sherlock's hand. "About how I can't wait to marry you."

Sherlock stayed quiet, the heart monitor catching his attention immediately. He didn't want to upset John further, so he let the subject drop. "Mycroft arranged to have your wedding band sent here. Hopefully it will arrive soon. Little Sandi likes your dog tags, so I'm letting her keep them. We never did decide where to go on our honeymoon." He gave a faint smile, moving the chair closer so his head could rest on John's chest.

John smiled a bit, wincing at the pressure of Sherlock's head on his chest. He loved the contact and decided to hide the pain from his fiancé. Being close to Sherlock was what he had wanted for so many days. "Will your Mum or Mycroft be willing to watch Amy?" He asked softly, glancing down at the top of the other man's head. "I want to find some place with a beach. Private, of course." He was sure he didn't need to spell that out for Sherlock.

When John's body tensed from the pressure he mentally cursed himself and straightened to a sitting position in his chair. "Sorry. And yes, pretty sure they would watch her. A private beach? What about somewhere in Spain or Italy along the Mediterranean?"

John looked at Sherlock and frowned. "Sorry," he whispered softly, biting his bottom lip. He thought he'd hidden the pain but leave it Sherlock to notice almost everything, even the tiniest tense of his body. "We'll figure it out later," he whispered, tugging at Sherlock's hand to bring him forward and gently meet his lips. He was so caught up in the kiss that he didn't notice his doctor walk in and approach them swiftly.

Mycroft collapsed into a chair, glancing up at Lestrade and Amy with a weak smile. The funeral wasn't as tough as he thought it would be, especially with everybody so proud of everything his Dad had done. He figured that was worth it. He picked up the pile of mail on the table beside him and flipped through it in a bored fashion, freezing instantly when one letter caught his attention. "Siger Holmes," he whispered, his voice choked. This wasn't good. He ripped it open without a care and opened the letter.

If you are reading this, I didn't make it back. Moriarty's men still out there. I know Sherlock will want to visit John. You need to keep your brother safe in London.

"No," Mycroft stumbled over his own feet as he stood, looking at the note with wide eyes. "No," he repeated.

Irene Adler hadn't be back in London for almost a year. Of course, that wasn't the name she was going by anymore. She still had connections and contacts. She knew about Sherlock and John. She was certain could help the older Holmes brother find them. She owed the consulting detective at least that. She entered Mycroft's flat with stealth that one could only learn from constantly looking over their shoulder. "Why if it isn't the Iceman," she commented softly, coming out from her hiding spot.

"The Woman," Mycroft replied with a smirk, taking his attention off of the sleeping infant in his arms and turning slightly in his chair to look at her. "Welcome back to London. I assume there's only one reason you are here." He stood slowly, rocking Amy in his arms as she stirred. "You've heard, somehow, about Sherlock's kidnapping and want to help?"

Irene gave a smirk back. "I owe him at least that. I figured you would be tied up watching the little one. I think we might be a bit pressed on time for this time around. I still have some associates I can trust. I have a flight out in a couple hours. You can reach me at this number, though I'm not sure how often it will be on though." She offered the eldest Holmes brother a piece of folded paper.

"I suppose you'll be expecting some sort of favor from the government?" Mycroft asked softly, grimacing when Amy turned against him with a small cry. He reached out and quickly grabbed the paper, moving to console her as her eyes landed on Irene. "We don't even know where they are, Irene. How could you already know that?"

"Actually no. Just repaying a debt to an old friend. I don't have an exact location but I do have a starting point or two. How I came to obtain the information doesn't really matter and frankly none of your business. This was just a curtsey call. So, try not to worry too much." Irene glanced to the baby in Mycroft's arms before looking up to him and giving a faint smile. She reached out and stoked his arm lightly.

"You've got a few hours?" Mycroft asked softly, glancing down at her hand on his arm and smiling softly. "Sit? Relax? I imagine we have a lot to catch up on. The obvious, first." Little Amy squirmed, demanding attention, and her Uncle glanced down at her with a small laugh. "A child. Sherlock's... a Dad, I guess. And you? Expecting any children in the near future?" He asked, half as a joke.

"I know all about Sherlock and John's child and their engagement. I'm not here to catch up or make small talk. I'm here on business. Honestly, Daddy dies and the Holmes brothers are suddenly rendered incapable of anything apparently." That was a bit harsh but that should get the older Holmes brother attention. Irene gave another small smile, though there was no warmth in it. "Now, doesn't it bother you that a cargo plane was stolen right before Captain Watson and his company was taken? I'm surprised neither of you looked into it before. How very reckless and…well…very careless for the Holmes brothers. I'm rather disappointed to be honest."

Mycroft tensed and narrowed his eyes. "Of course it bothered me," he ground out between clinched teeth. "But I was a bit more worried about John. I fear what would have happened to Sherlock if he wouldn't have returned." He straightened his posture and looked down at Irene. "We looked into it and our sources led us to The Golem. Apparently we were wrong."

"The Golem? You two really are losing your touch. You are both letting emotion get in the way. Something that wouldn't have happened a year ago. It would appear coming here was a waste of time. You need someone not attached to the situation, Mycroft." Irene looked at the Government official thoughtfully.

"The pilots were found strangled, Irene. That was Sherlock's first guess." Mycroft was suddenly feeling defensive of his younger brother. "Sherlock was different a year ago but he's changed," there was a pause and he glanced down at Amy. "Hopefully for the better. You would know what emotions do first hand, I find it a bit distasteful that you would speak so poorly of Sherlock when you were once in his position."

"The Golem isn't the only one who goes around strangling people. It was probably done as misdirection. Looks like it worked. The Russians aren't the ones pulling the strings but rather the ones being pulled." Irene gave a small shrug as if it were common knowledge.

Mycroft smirked. Of course she avoided the statement of emotions. Wonderful. "So you are trying to tell me the Russians aren't in charge?" He scoffed, glancing over at Lestrade as he entered the room and gently took Amy. Now he could focus entirely, talk louder if necessary. "We know that much, Irene. It's Moriarty. Or... what's left of him and his criminal web, at least. I'm not that much of an idiot."

"The Russians are just a bunch of bullies. Hired muscle. You are of course correct about this being a faction of Moriarty's network. Shevchenko was just the face, but was getting orders from someone else. Who exactly isn't clear yet, but we are narrowing it down." Irene turned her attention to the Detective Inspector. "Why if it isn't Greg Lestrade, Mycroft's little lap dog."

"Irene," Greg muttered, looking at Mycroft when he stood taller.

"If Greg is anything he is my partner," Mycroft snapped. "Not a lap dog." There was a moment where he suddenly considered telling Irene to leave but the information she had, things she had learned without the help of the government, was needed. "I thought you were here as a courtesy visit, not to catch up." Perfect. Turn her own words against her again. That had to get him somewhere.

Irene's eyes narrowed and then she smirked faintly. "Fine. Perhaps I'll see you boys later then." She turned to take her leave of the other two men.

Mycroft took a step toward her. Wrong result. "Where do you think they are? And are you here to rescue them both?" He needed the information and her just walking off wasn't exactly helpful to the current situation.

Irene stopped and turned toward Mycroft. "They are on longer in Afghanistan. We think they are in North Africa somewhere now. Somewhere in Tunisia or possibly Libya. In some underground bunker probably or an abandoned house if they are feeling uncreative. I doubt Sherlock would leave John behind, so both seem likely to be rescued. Also, your brother probably would never forgive me if I didn't bring the Captain home as well."

Mycroft nodded, looking at her for a long moment. "Tunisia? Smart. Rebuilding their government, it would be easy to smuggle some bodies there." He paused and hesitated slightly. "Be careful, Irene. The last thing we need is to lose you again. I'm not sure how Sherlock would handle it." The admission felt good, the fact that at some point John would feel jealous, know what Sherlock had been going through.

"I'll be fine. Having been 'dead' for a year I have learned a few new tricks and even picked up a new trade. Don't get me wrong, I still have my fun," Irene paused and gave a smirk. "I'll try to keep in touch, but if not I'm sure you'll understand."

At Irene's words Mycroft swallowed hard, looking at her with a small smirk of his own. "Alright," he muttered with a small nod. "Just no fun with Sherlock when you rescue him."

Irene gave a humorless laugh. "I hadn't planned on it. Unless John was interested as well." She raised a brow and laughed again, this time with mirth. "I'll see you around." She turned around left Mycroft's flat.