[Sherlock]

I walked slowly through the twisting hallways and rooms of the Diogenes Club, completely lost in thought. Mycroft had already left, so I didn't have to worry about my thoughts being interrupted. My feet knew the way having done this little journey so many times, and I didn't hurry as I knew my brother would want us to travel in separate vehicles.

What could he possibly have wanted to discuss with me that couldn't be said in the privacy of his office? It was concerning to say the least. There were many possible reasons he required privacy, and many different possibilities as to why he looked so guilty and worried, but I couldn't think of a situation that would require both. Also, the fact that it was somehow worse than the murder of Mrs Hudson was frightfully alarming.

I stopped in my tracks when a thought finally came to me. Something that would make far too much sense. I had to fight the urge to gasp when I realised how probable that particular situation could be. My breath caught in my throat and I was unable to stop the slight tremor in my hands as I tried so very hard to remain calm.

There was only one person who I cared about more than Mrs Hudson, and that was John. My dearest friend... Had something happened to him while I was gone? Could he have been killed too? I fought waves of panic at the notion and began to jog through the last few hallways. I needed to know now what was going on. If John had been killed or even... Killed himself... I shook my head at the notion. The man I knew would never give up his life so easily, he was a fighter and always would be, no matter how hard life was. The problem was, now the idea wouldn't go away and a little voice in the back of my head kept sneakily bringing it to my attention while I jogged. I decided that if anything along those lines had occurred, Mycroft would suffer my wrath wholeheartedly. My brother had sworn to protect those I cared about, and he wouldn't be let off so easily if he had failed such a simple task.

I finally reached the waiting car and climbed in, unsurprised when the driver pulled away without need of further instructions. I leaned back and closed my eyes, searching through my memories of the day I supposedly died and realising I had no idea how my death might have affected John. Had he turned to the bottle in the same way his sister had? I was quite certain he would never have touched any drugs being a doctor himself, but I couldn't be certain he wouldn't have had the temptation. I had felt it often enough myself to know the intense happiness one felt when the real world just slipped away. It was, unsurprisingly, a lot easier to think about John having minor problems after my demise rather than him being gone from this world completely. The irony of such a situation would be unparalleled.

The car came suddenly to a halt, and it only took me a second to realise we could not possibly be at Baker Street yet. I opened my eyes and scanned quickly for the problem, which, unfortunately, was far too easy to spot.

There had been an accident, the car in front had its windows shattered and the front was smoking heavily. I could tell immediately that the cause of this crash had been a bomb, but that wasn't what had me scrambling out of the car as fast as I could. It was the fact that I knew that car. It was Mycroft's.

I ran to the smoking heap and managed to open the side door, ready for the possibility of a gory scene considering the extent of the damage. However, my brother looked to be mostly alright, aside from the gash on his forehead and a possible broken arm.

His gaze met mine, and I was shocked to see panic there when he realised I was trying to help him.

"Leave. Now." He ordered, and I was incredulously about to ask why I would do such a thing when he interrupted me with an explanation.

"I don't have time to explain," he said, and he looked so very weak I didn't have the heart to interrupt him. "You need to go right now, and hide. He must not know you're alive, nor that you are back in London. Go to Lestrade, he'll explain everything. Now Sherlock, dammit! Just go!"

I surprised the both of us by actually following my brother's unjustified command, and sprinted away from the wreckage, head spinning from this new information. Who was he? Why couldn't he know I was alive? Could it possibly be the same person who had murdered my landlady? Could this man have done something to John? The possibilities were endless, and I was determined to find out exactly what I was dealing with here.

I kept to the back alleys and streets as I made my way to Scotland Yard. I would follow Mycroft's advice and have Lestrade explain everything to me. I was slightly troubled by the idea that my brother could be in danger if this man, whoever he was, was after him, but I cleared my head of those thoughts when I neared the Yard.

It was just too easy to slip past the receptionist and loitering police officers- I would remind Lestade that he needed to upgrade his security after all this was over. I made my way to his office, chuckling slightly when Anderson walked past without recognising me. Stupid man.

I didn't bother to knock before opening Lestrade's door, but in hindsight that probably would have been advisable since he was busy drinking coffee when I walked boldly into the room. The DI's eyes widened when he saw me, and he spat out his drink all over his desk in shock and perhaps a bit of fright.

"Sher-Sherlock! You're alive!" He stuttered and I had to force myself not to roll my eyes. "What...how...why.." He began so many questions but seemed unable to choose which one he wanted me to answer first, as he didn't finish any of them.

"That's not important right at this moment," I said, and his eyes narrowed in both confusion and perhaps a slight wariness now that he had gotten over his initial shock of seeing me alive. "What matters is that my brother sent me to you for an explanation of something. I don't know what, but it seemed very important, and may or may not have something to do with Baker Street and/or John. Am I correct in that assumption?" I could tell immediately by his face that I was right. As soon as I had mentioned John, Lestrade had gone as white as a sheet and had looked at me with such sadness that I couldn't help but worry.

"You don't know." He stated, and leant his head on his hands as he took a deep breath.

"Well obviously not or I wouldn't have come to you!" I spat, growing more and more impatient by the second, but also so very afraid. What could have Lestrade, a Detective Inspector no less, who dealed with such horrible crimes everyday, looking like this?

He watched me warily for a few seconds while he tried to figure out a way to tell me what I was now certain was bad, if not terrible, news. I nearly got my answer from him, as he had just opened his mouth to begin, when the door flew open and Donovan skidded into the room, eyes bright with urgency.

"Sir," she began, before she caught sight of me and stopped. I could tell she was wondering what to do, but suddenly she seemed to make the decision and continued, ignoring me completely. It really was urgent, after all.

"You'd better come now, Greg. There's something going on outside. A pub- a public execution. Of Mycroft Holmes, Sir." She looked down, and I could see her visibly shaking. Lestrade stood and ran across the room towards her, grabbing her arms and forcing her to look in his eyes.

"Is it...Him?" Greg asked, and Donovan nodded slowly. He put his head in his hands in what looked an awful lot like anguish, and I couldn't help but stare.

"Who?" I asked, already unnerved, but determined to get an answer.

They both turned to look at me, before giving each other a look I couldn't interpret. There seemed to be an unspoken argument, which it looked like Donovan may have won judging by Lestrade's unhappy sigh. He turned back to me and took a small step closer, not meeting my eye.

"You'd better come with us. It'll be the best way to explain just how fucked up this whole thing is." I nodded hesitantly and followed him out of the room.

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