The Fifth (and Final) Attempt

'That was probably a step too far' John mused as he lowered Sherlock's unconscious form carefully to the couch. In all the attempts that Sherlock had made to 'kidnap' John since their little… game? Challenge? Contretemps had begun, this was the only attempt where Sherlock had outright attacked John, attempting to overpower and manhandle him.

John's training had kicked in and he'd locked Sherlock into a sleeper hold before he'd stopped to consider what he was doing. Sherlock had struggled and then passed out, that marvellous brain of his unable to cope without a supply of oxygen.

"Breathing's not so boring now, is it?" John asked the unconscious man ruefully, and went to fetch a cold flannel, a glass of water and some pain killers for the headache that Sherlock would undoubtedly wake with. He added the orange blanket from the Pink case and sighed, fussing so things were just right. Thankfully, today was the last day of their little bet.

The downstairs door burst open and footsteps clattered hurriedly up the stairs. The door to the flat banged open and John wasn't sure what was more shocking: Mycroft Holmes running up the stairs to his brothers flat or Mycroft Holmes pointing a gun at him.

%&%&

'That was probably a step too far' Sherlock mused as consciousness crept back on reluctant feet. His head was pounding, but someone had made him comfortable, putting him on his couch, with a blanket, cold flannel and a cushion under his head.

'John' was the next thought; unfortunately it was one that involved opening his eyes. His ears were reporting that someone was standing quite close to him, and that there was another person a little distance away breathing calmly. He could smell gun oil and vanilla custard – Mycroft was close to him then and John was probably the one breathing calmly some distance away. Mycroft's surveillance must have picked up their latest little game and misinterpreted it.

Opening his eyes without changing his breathing pattern was more of a challenge than usual as his brain protested the sudden reintroduction of light. It was, to coin a phrase, a bit not good.

Even worse was the sight of John, sitting in his armchair with his ankles crossed, fingers linked loosely across his stomach while Mycroft pointed a gun at him.

In a flash, Sherlock was sitting up, distracting his older brother. John's union jack pillow went sailing across the room, knocking the gun aside and Sherlock had it out of Mycroft's hands in an instant, ejecting the clip and kicking it under the couch.

"Round in the breech, Sherlock," John settled back into his chair once more as Sherlock ejected said round before tossing the gun into the kitchen while Mycroft shouted uselessly and regained his balance.

"You do not point guns at John, Mycroft," Sherlock hissed, his eyes narrowed in fury as men from MI6 breached the downstairs corridor and swarmed towards the flat to protect their boss.

"You'd better take the pain killers, Sherlock," John recommended mildly, "I'd imagine your head is throbbing."

"Mmm," Sherlock muttered and took the pills as the door burst open, swallowing them as men fanned into the room in a classic SAS containment manoeuvre. In the back ground, Sherlock heard Mrs Hudson approaching, under her own steam, enquiring what all the noise was about.

"Hello Ted. How's the missus?" John asked the one on the left, much to Mycroft's poorly hidden shock. Or at least it was poorly hidden by Sherlock's standards, "I take it that leg wound healed properly?"

"Thanks to you, Doc John," Ted replied in an even tone, "And Susie is very well. I'll give her your regards."

The man's weapon didn't lower or falter during the exchange, nor did John's calm and easy demeanour. It was as if there weren't three other heavily armed men, the British Government and his little brother and an outraged landlady present at all. The two men could have been talking in the aisle of their local supermarket after a chance meeting.

"If you're quite finished," Mycroft wasn't used to having his presence, or his threats, ignored. Mrs Hudson made a worried sound from behind the third gunman, pressing herself against the wall.

"Put the guns away," John said softly, "There is no need for them. You're frightening Mrs Hudson."

"Do it Mycroft," Sherlock added his own demand to John's, "How dare you come in here with a gun, let alone bring friends with guns as well."

The f-word was deliberately chosen. Sherlock wanted his contempt for Mycroft's actions perfectly clear.

"Sir?" Ted asked and Mycroft nodded reluctantly. The four men lowered their guns at once, stepping back to move into positions where they could monitor the room without posing an overt threat. Sherlock dismissed them at once, looking at Mrs Hudson instead.

"It's alright Mrs Hudson. Mycroft is overreacting again. Why don't you go downstairs?" he suggested. Mrs Hudson fixed him with a gimlet eye but nodded.

"I'll bring you some tea for that headache, Sherlock," she offered and tutted at Mycroft on the way out, "Next time, young man, leave the guns at home."

Mycroft ignored her of course; too busy trying to intimidate John with a glare. John, naturally, was ignoring him in favour of cataloguing Sherlock as he sat up properly.

"Any spots or flashes on your vision?" John asked mildly. Sherlock shook his head, waving a hand to deny any symptoms.

"Perhaps one of you would be so good as to enlighten me," Mycroft clearly didn't like the idea that he didn't know what was going on. Sherlock thought it was brilliant – he did so love getting one over on his brother.

"Sherlock was under the impression that I was an easy target for abduction. He wanted to test that hypothesis and we've been working on it for the past week," John spoke up in his mildest tone. Sherlock secretly liked that tone quite a bit – it was warm and comforting and completely at odds with the dangerous man that he knew John to be. The dichotomy was delicious.

"And that required you to strangle him to the point of unconsciousness?" Mycroft's tone on the other hand was pointed and cold. Sherlock didn't like that tone being directed at John, but before he could register his dislike John sent him the Look.

"Unfortunately, Sherlock hit a trigger. My instincts kicked in and I neutralised him without thinking about it," John was actually remorseful about it, which would not do.

"It was the correct response, John," Sherlock interjected, "Force should be met with force and it's not like I've been injured in any way. In the future, your first action after knocking out an assailant should not be making them comfortable."

"Sherlock if someone was attacking me, I wouldn't be worrying about their comfort afterwards, believe me. I made an exception in your case," John informed him dryly and Sherlock quirked a little grin at his flatmate. John made a lot of exceptions for Sherlock – it was Good.

"Are we done, now Mycroft?" Sherlock injected a lot of boredom into that tone and the soldier called Ted had to hide a quick grin.

"Very well," Mycroft gestured with one hand. Before Sherlock could shout a warning the man nearest to John attacked him.

There was a flurry of movement as Mycroft tangled Sherlock in the blanket John had placed over him to keep him out of harms way and the other three soldiers shifted out of the field of combat, because that's what was happening in front of the mantelpiece.

John had been attacked from behind, but he'd been out of the chair in a flash, knocking it over as he did. The two men traded blows in silence, moving so quickly that it was hard to follow what was going on. A hand gun and two knives clattered to the floor as John disarmed his opponent rapidly. When they finally came to a halt John had the mans own weapon pointed at his head, the man himself on his knees in front of the former soldier.

"We're done," Mycroft jerked his head and the other three left, walking past Mrs Hudson as she hurried up the stairs with her tray of tea things.

"You lead with your left," John told the man he'd just beaten; "You want to watch that."

John ejected the clip and pocketed it, handing the empty gun back and stepping away cautiously. The armoured man grunted and got up, also heading for the door, which he actually held for Mrs Hudson.

"Goodbye Mycroft," John's tone was cold and hard, not at all welcoming. Sherlock's older brother nodded and left, which was brilliant as far as Sherlock was concerned.

"Oh dear," Mrs Hudson murmured, "You've hurt yourself John."

"It's nothing, Mrs Hudson. I'll wash up and be back in a mo'," John replied, dabbing at the cut on his lip and glancing over bloodied knuckles. He headed for the door, righting his chair as he did so, "I'm dying for a proper cuppa."

"John?" Sherlock called as his flatmate reached the door, "You were right. I retract my earlier statement."

John nodded, his eyes wide. Fortunately he chose not to make a fuss over Sherlock admitting that his flatmate had a point. If that had happened Sherlock may never have admitted it again.

END