The elevator no longer denied John access to the elevator, much to his relief. It opened to reveal Mycroft and Anthea, the former looking very smug and leaning on one of his newly-retrieved precious umbrellas, the latter looking as cool and unruffled as ever, and carrying her jacket stylishly over one shoulder.

"No snide comments, little brother?" Mycroft asked as they stepped in, smirking. Sherlock just scowled, and looked away. He barely paid attention as John asked permission to keep The Hobbit, and Mycroft gave his gracious consent.

When the doors of the elevator opened again, they were in the entryway to the bunker, which, now that Sherlock thought about it, was kind of like an enormous bank vault. Sherlock stomped out into the cooler temperature, and noticed that John immediately shrugged his way into his jumper. He then gallantly helped Anthea put on her jacket, while the detective retrieved his regular attire. Soon enough he and John were out the doors of the Diogenes Club, and hailing a cab that would take them back to Mike's place.

As they pulled away from the curb, Sherlock finally said, "You were right."

"Huh?"

"When you said that whenever you get caught in the crossfire between us, something bad happens to you. I'm sorry."

"Sherlock, it wasn't that big a deal this time. It's not like he was keeping me in a padded cell."

Sherlock nodded, and tried to smile. But inwardly, the canker of hurt was still gnawing away; he'd been humiliated by his brother at John's expense, however much he protested that he didn't mind, and the game was officially over. It had been fun, though. They'd have to do it again sometime.

Then he noticed John pull something small out of his pocket. He looked over at Sherlock, the picture of innocence and mildness, similar to after shooting that murderous cabbie. Because clutched in his hand was Anthea's Blackberry.

"It was in her jacket pocket, I just happened to, you know."

After a half-second of shock, the detective's face split into an incredibly wide grin. "John, that-you-you do realize Mycroft is going to murder you?"

"Yeah, but I figured it was my turn to play. After all, you two have been taking all the turns in this game." Then John's facade of nonchalance broke, and he began giggling along with his best friend.

Granted, they had not gone three blocks before they were stopped by an entire squadron of black cars, and forced at gunpoint to give back the phone. But it had totally been worth it to remind Mycroft that as powerful as he might be, they could always get the last laugh.