Chapter summary: John finds himself wearing a jacket with enough semtex to blow him up and the unexpected happens.

Author's note: Special thanks to arianedevere (livejournal) for the brilliant transcriptions of all the episodes.

Apologies in advance for my mistakes. Thanks for reading and please, review!

"Brought you a little getting-to-know-you present. Oh, that's what it's all been for, hasn't it? All your little puzzles," Sherlock said and smiled. "making me dance... all to distract me from this."

He was standing alone in a pool. In the same pool an old classmate had died more than twenty years ago, 'drowned'. Sherlock remembered telling everyone about it - that Carl Powers hadn't died - that he had been killed.

But no one listened to him.

No one.

Or that's what Sherlock thought. Because what the detective ignored and not because he wanted to but because he couldn't to was that John was there with him. John held his hand and smiled at him, reassuringly, softly, tenderly and told him he did believe in him.

But John was not in Sherlock's memories any more.

Sherlock held the memory stick up and paced in a circle... and when he was not looking a door was opened.

No.

John?

What?

"Evening."

Sherlock looked at his flatmate, at his blogger, at the man he was starting to consider a 'friend' and at the man he liked.

"John?"

John said no word.

"John?" Sherlock repeated, not believing what his eyes were seeing.

"This is a turn-up, isn't it, Sherlock?" John said clenching his teeth trying to say with his face what he couldn't with his voice - that they were in danger and that he had nothing to do with what was happening. "Bet you never saw this coming."

And for a moment, John watched Sherlock's facial features softening - and for a moment Sherlock was again that young man John remembered.

That young man who laughed and loved his family.

Sherlock listened to John trying to say something under his breath.

"Run."

"No," Sherlock said, stepping closer to John. "Not without you."

Oh God.

The doctor opened the jacket he was wearing and showed Sherlock the reason why he wanted him to run.

John was carrying a bomb.

"Sherlock, run," John muttered under his breath, tightly. "Please, run."

"John -"

There was a red dot dancing around John's chest and a single tear rolled down the doctor's pale face. John was not going to let Sherlock die. John was going to save his brother. He was determined to do what he should have done years ago - he knew he should have stayed with Sherlock and never join the army. John knew he had been the reason why his brother, his brother Sherlock who had always felt more like a 'biological' brother than anything else in the world hurt himself, did drugs and almost lost his own mind.

As they were the same age they had been always told they were more like twin brothers who had grown together in their mother's belly than two boys who were born separately, and from different mothers. And even when they knew they were not real siblings, that never mattered, because both loved each other.

"What... would you like me.. to make him say... next?" John said almost reluctantly, repeating the words he was being told. "Gottle o'gear... gottle o'gear... gottle o'gear..."

"Stop it!"

John wiped the tears off his face. "Nice touch, this... the pool where little Carl died. I stopped him," the doctor felt like dying because he had seen the news and they knew Carl Powers... and this maniac killed him. "I can stop John Watson too," John looked down to the red dot on his chest. "Stop his heart."

Sherlock looked around, trying to find the sniper but everything was dark. "Who are you? Why are you doing this?"

There was a door being opened.

And an Irish accent.

"I gave you my number... I thought you might call."

It was Jim from IT. It was Jim, Molly's boyfriend.

Jim... the man who flirted with Sherlock.

"Is that British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket..." Jim almost sang and Sherlock reached for John's gun from his pocket. "or are you just pleased to see me?"

John looked into Sherlock's eyes.

They were dark.

Almost scary.

"Both."

The man smiled. "Jim Moriarty," he chuckled. "Hi!"

Sherlock and John remained silent. "I know, right?" Jim said, faking a surprise tone. "Jim? Jim from the hospital? Oh. Did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then, I suppose, that was rather the point."

The dot on John's chest moved up to his forehead. And Sherlock felt his heart beating faster.

"Don't be silly. Someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty." Jim took a deep breath and let out a long sigh, and smiled to the detective. "I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I've got going on out there in the big bad world. I'm a specialist, you see..."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Like you!"

"Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister?" Sherlock said sarcastically, still aiming to Jim's head. "Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America?"

Jim nodded.

"Consulting criminal," Sherlock smiled. "Brilliant."

"Isn't it? No one ever gets to me and no one ever will."

"I did."

"You've come the closest. Now you're in my way."

"Thank you."

Jim frowned. "Didn't mean it as a compliment."

"Yes you did."

"Yeah, okay, I did. But the flirting is over, Sherlock..." Jim smiled darkly and his perverse eyes danced between the detective and the doctor. "Daddy's had enough now!"

What seemed to have started as a game... a game in which both men were trying to read each other changed when Jim's eyes fixed on John, on the man everyone thought was Sherlock's flatmate and who a few had mistaken as Sherlock's boyfriend.

But Jim knew there was not all.

Jim knew that was just a lie.

Because Jim knew who John really was.

John Hamish Watson was just a fake name... a name written on a fake ID Mycroft Holmes once got the doctor when he joined the army. John didn't want to be a Holmes in Afghanistan because he didn't want people to know his father had been the PM. And therefore, John didn't want to be treated differently from his mates. John Watson was meant to die once John returned to London, but Sherlock had a collapse and he had deleted John.

John Hamish Holmes died the day Sherlock told him he was nothing. And now the only person left was John Hamish Watson.

Jim knew it.

And dear Sherlock was going to knew it as well.

"I've shown you what I can do. I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even thirty million quid just to get you to come out and play..." Jim walked towards them until he was standing next to John. "So take this as a friendly warning, my dear. Back off. Although I have loved this... this little game of ours... Playing Jim from IT," Jim smiled widely, darkly. "Playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear? Oh but I'm not your type, am I?"

"Shut up."

"Oh," Jim's eyes widened. "But little Johnny here knows."

"Don't -"

"Have you told him?" Jim asked, cutting Sherlock off. "Have you told him how much you want him?"

Sherlock's eyes moved to John just for a moment.

And he saw a pink blush on John's cheeks and tears in his blue eyes.

"People have died," Sherlock said, changing the subject.

"That's what people DO!" Jim screamed, angrily, furiously.

Sherlock shook his head. "I will stop you."

"No, you won't!" Jim sang, returning back to soft.

This was madness.

"You all right?"

Jim smiled to John. "You can talk, Johnny boy. Go ahead."

John nodded, miserably.

"Take it," Sherlock said, holding the memory stick for Jim to take it. "Take it and let him go. This is between you and me."

"The missile plans!" Jim took the memory stick off Sherlock's hands but threw it to the pool. "Boring!" The consulting criminal bit his lip and smiled, his eyes focused on John. "What about you, Johnny? Have you told Sherly?"

"Tell me what?"

John shook his head. "Nothing."

"Your little secret... because you've got a secret you've been keeping from dear Sherlock for years."

Sherlock frowned. His grey eyes moved from John to Jim, but he was still holding the gun and aiming at Jim's head. "Shut up."

"It's a secret about him..." Jim whispered. "and about you too. Don't you want to know?"

"Know what?" Sherlock asked to Jim but then he turned to John. "Know what?"

"Nothing!" John shouted, angrily. "He's a maniac!"

"I'm a maniac?" Jim shook his head. "I'm disappointed in you, Johnny boy."

Sherlock turned to Jim. "Let him go."

"Ah, isn't this sweet? Sherlock Holmes trying to save the man he doesn't know is his own bro-"

John threw his arms around Jim's neck, from behind, and pushed him off Sherlock.

"Sherlock, run!"

But Jim just laughed.

He laughed.

"Good! Very good!"

"If your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr. Moriarty, then we both go up."

Jim's eyes were on Sherlock.

"Isn't he sweet? I can see why you like having him around. But then people do get so sentimental about their pets," John's grip on Jim's neck tightened. "They're so touchingly loyal. But, Ops!" Jim turned just a bit to see John in the eye. "You've rather shown your hand there, Doctor Watson..."

There was a red dot on Sherlock's forehead.

No.

God, no.

Jim smiled darkly. "Gotcha!"

John released Jim and stepped back, his hands on the air.

Suddenly, there was no coming back.

"Westwood!" Jim said, straightening his suit.

John closed his blue eyes and gasped. "Please."

"D'you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock, to you?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically. "Oh, let me guess - I get killed."

"Kill you?" Jim asked, sarcastically. "No, don't be obvious. I mean, I'm gonna kill you anyway some day. I don't wanna rush it, though. I'm saving it up for something special. No-no-no-no-no. If you don't stop prying, I'll burn you..." Jim's dark eyes focused on Sherlock's. "I'll burn the heart out of you."

John looked into Sherlock's there was something that looked like tears.

"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one."

"But we both know that's not quite true," Jim said, turning to John. "Isn't it, John?"

John said no word.

"Well, I'd better be off. So nice to have had a proper chat."

Sherlock bent his head. "What if I was to shoot you now, right now?"

"I'd be surprised, Sherlock. I really would," Jim rolled his eyes. "And just a teensy bit disappointed. And of course you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long... Ciao, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock followed Jim's form with the gun until he was out of sight. "Catch... you... later."

"No you won't!"

He dropped the gun and fell on his knees to the floor. He was in front of John and his long, cold fingers were making their own way to John's chest, trying to take that coat and the bomb off him before it could be too late. "All right?"

John said nothing, just gasped for air and took deep breaths.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah... yeah... I'm fine..." John felt Sherlock's hands slipping under the coat and caressing his chest more than necessary. "Sherlock? Sherlock! Are you okay?" John asked once Sherlock had taken the coat and the bomb off him.

"Me?" Sherlock asked, pacing around with the gun still on his hand and scratching his head with it. "Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine. Fine," the detective turned to John and lowered his eyes. "That, er, thing that you, er, that you did... that, um... you offered to do. That was, um... good."

John fell to the floor and breathed dramatically. "I'm glad no one saw that."

"Hmm?"

"You, ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk."

Sherlock smiled. "People do little else."

The detective offered his hand and John took it.

"John."

"Yeah?"

With a quick movement, Sherlock grabbed John by the collar of his shirt and pulled him close for a kiss. The detective allowed himself to close his eyes and just feel John's thin, pink, soft lips against his. The detective cupped the doctor's face and deepened the kiss. Soon one hand migrated to the back of John's neck and he moaned into the kiss.

And soon their tongues were dancing together.

"John."

The doctor opened his eyes and met his brother's.

"Yeah?"

John couldn't remember how it happened, but in mere seconds and with a quick movement, Sherlock had pushed him until he was leaning against a wall and he was kissing him.

Sherlock, his brother, the man he had grown up with, the man he used to play with as kids, the man he used to call 'brother' as kids was now kissing him.

Sherlock was kissing him.

The doctor saw Sherlock's eyes closed, felt his hands cupping his face and then one on the back of his neck, deepening the kiss. And soon John found himself closing his eyes, opening his mouth and their tongues were dancing together.

It felt different.

It felt nice, soft, warm.

The kiss was doing things to him.

And soon John felt something being pressed against his thigh.

And John remembered Mycroft's words.

"Sherlock bringing his sex toy to Baker Street and having loud sex wasn't casual. He's trying to get you into his bed. And he will do it."

"We're brothers!"

"Technically speaking, it wouldn't be incest."

"Mycroft, please! I can't -"

"I'm not asking you to get into our brother's bed and satisfy him. I'm merely warning you. Because Sherlock does not stop until he gets what he wants. You know that. He insisted for more than five years until Mummy got him that skull."

John opened his eyes and as soon as he felt Sherlock's hand touching him there, in his private places, he pushed him off him with more force than necessary.

"Don't touch me!"

This was what he had wanted to do since he had met him. Sherlock felt like Heaven, as if he had injected himself enough cocaine to make things feel better and to forget everything. John's mouth was warm, he tasted like tea and strawberry jam. His lips were so thin, but yet so soft. The skin of his neck felt soft, almost like silk.

And Sherlock couldn't help but moan into the kiss, into John's lip and press himself against John, only to make him feel his hardness, to make John feel how hard John made him. Sherlock couldn't help but move a hand down to reach John's member, that part of him Sherlock knew was as hard as his was. Because Sherlock knew it: John was bi. John liked women, breasts and wide hips. And John also liked flat chests, narrow hips and cocks.

The detective felt John's hands on his chest, but not caressing him but shoving him off - away from him.

Almost violently.

"Don't touch me!"

Sherlock blinked once, twice.

"John, I thought -"

"Don't ever touch me again!"

It hurt.

Sherlock looked at John's blushed face.

John looked sick.

Sick.

"I'm -"

"Don't you dare to touch me again!" John shouted angrily.

It hurt.

And then everything fell into its place and Sherlock understood what Jim tried to say.

"You?" Sherlock said, hurt.

And then memories he thought he had deleted were back.

It was a Christmas - a fantastic Christmas because Mummy finally got him a skull. Sherlock remembered Mycroft's face when he deduced the night before Christmas day that he was getting new clothes because he was fat.

"And Mycroft is getting new clothes because he put on weight again, five to seven pounds, and a new and classy bag for university."

"That's fantastic, Sherlock!"

"You know you do that aloud?"

'That's fantastic!' Who said that?

John.

Sherlock remembered that summer night - that hot night in which he ruined the jumper his Mummy had knitted for him. Sherlock remembered having dinner altogether and something happened - something happened because he remembered Mummy crying.

But what had happened?

"Am I your brother, Sherlock?"

Who said that?

John.

John said something to his parents... Mummy cried -

"I know it was a mistake to say that, but it's the truth and -"

"Don't be so stupid, John. You're my brother."

That shadow always present in those vague, almost deleted memories of his childhood was John.

The man he had just kissed was his brother - that boy his parents adopted.

That boy who when grew up became and doctor and joined the army and left him.

John Watson was his brother John - John Hamish Holmes.

"Sherlock, listen -"

"Sorry, boys! I'm soooooo changeable!" Jim said, stepping into the pool again. "It is a weakness with me but, to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness."

Sherlock's eyes fell on John's.

This was the end.

"You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't. I would try to convince you but," Jim laughed sarcastically. "everything I have to say has already crossed your mind!"

There was a red dot on Sherlock's chest. "Probably my answer has crossed yours."

John turned to Jim and watched him nodding - giving the sniper the signal.

"Sherlock!"

There was a shot.

And someone fell to the floor.