As promised here is your early chapter. I'll talk to you guys when I'm back from California. Enjoy your chapter!

Chapter18

"It wasn't his fault," Lestrade tried to reason, holding his head as he turned to the elder Holmes. "The hospital just made him think he was still…there." Mycroft didn't say anything. Instead he just stared at his little brother. John watched him. He waited for the mask to slip off his face and for big brother that cared for his younger brother to jump out. This didn't happen. Mycroft just stared at Sherlock now like he was nothing but a speck of dust. This made john's blood boil, but he kept his mouth shut. Instead he let Lestrade do the talking. "Did any of the doctors make it?" Lestrade asked. Mycroft peeled his eyes off his little brother for a second and he stare down at Lestrade like he was nothing but a peasant.

"No, your team shot first and asked questions later," he stated simply before allowing his eyes to slip back to Sherlock as he lay there on the white bed looking so still and so pale anyone would have said he was dead if it wasn't for the beeping of the machine.

"Well, like you don't do that," John spat, taking his seat in a chair next to Sherlock's bed, where Sherlock would see him when he woke up again. Mycroft frowned at John and straightened up taller like it would make John more afraid. He wasn't.

"Dr. Watson, we will need you and Sherlock to tell us what happened." Mycroft stated suddenly, twirling his umbrella. John scoffed at this, shaking his head and glaring at the elder Holmes.

"Do you not see what state your brother is in Mycroft?" John hissed, poison in his voice. "He lost enough blood to kill two men and all you can think is this damn case…" John trailed off as Sherlock flinched at the rise of John's voice. John went silent, watching as Sherlock calmed and fell deep back into sleep. With a sigh John whispered,

"Listen, I'll tell you everything…just…" John shook his head. "Never mind." John turned his chair so he was now facing both Lestrade and Mycroft. He took in a shaky breath before explaining the past ten days he spent with Sherlock in the asylum. He told them everything and by the time he was done he was parched and dying for a cool glass of water.

"If you saw me, Molly, Donavan, and Anderson then why didn't you see Mycroft?" Lestrade asked suddenly. John stared at him. Of all the questions to ask he has to ask why the British Government wasn't there?

"It's simple isn't it?" Mycroft hissed, walking over to the window and staring out into the drizzling streets of London. John and Lestrade both looked at each other with blank expressions and then focused back onto the elder Holmes. "Neither of them trust me," he answered. John did a double take.

"Since when do I trust Donavan and Anderson-"

"You trust them to be honest with you," Mycroft interrupted. "Donavan and Anderson shared their honest opinions about Sherlock to you. They didn't lie so you trust them. Like when you first met Sherlock in the Asylum. You trusted him because your mind was leaking out certain memories of him, steering you in the right direction. I on the other hand have left you in the dark about so much and have done things…horrible things that will never be forgiven." John's mind instantly flashed back to his discussion with Mycroft before Sherlock had…jumped.

"Well, you certainly haven't done anything to change my mind about it," John snapped in defense.

"True," Mycroft sighed, glaring through the window. John stared out with him, watching as a crow sat in a tree not far from the window. John frowned at the crow. Had he seen that crow before? John thought for a moment. Wasn't that the crow Sherlock had been watching through the window of their mental asylum? John shook himself, realizing that Mycroft was now staring at him with slit eyes. "There is one thing I need to ask you, John."

"What?" John spat, growing impatient with the elder Holmes. He had had enough of being questioned today. A smile curled over Mycroft's face and he reached into his pocket, pulling out thick square glasses and placing them on his face.

"Did you really think you could escape us that easily?" John paled as the image of Mycroft evaporated like liquid and Mr. Darcie stood in his place, smiling cruelly. John whirled around, but instead of Lestrade standing behind him Henry was. John snapped his head back to Darcie, who had now pulled out a gun.

"NO!" John screamed, but it was too late. The bullet flew and struck his body in a searing pain.

PS: CLIFFY! Mwahahahaha!