Hi! This is going to be a three-shot; the first chapter will be a normal chapter, and the other two will be different endings. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock, otherwise series 3 would have come out a loooong time ago.

Sherlock paced back and forth inside of 221B. John watched him like a hawk, knowing that Sherlock was doing his 'thinking pacing', as he liked to call it. If the pacing didn't work, he'd retreat into his Mind Palace until he found the answer. They were facing a particularly hard case that Mycroft had given them, but it ended up intersecting with another case Lestrade was working on; the perpetrator had both kidnapped the Queen and murdered a guard from a nearby museum. The queen's kidnapping had occurred about a day prior to Lestrade trying to meet up with them about the murder of the guard; Sherlock had figured out that they were connected, but he just had to figure out how.

Lestrade knocked on the door, and John strolled over to let him in. A minute later, they both walked upstairs. "He still hasn't figured it out?" Lestrade questioned incredulously; certainly, it was something that he couldn't figure out alone, but usually Sherlock would have the answer by now, let alone the murderer.

John shook his head. "He's been pacing for the past hour. My guess is, if he doesn't figure it out in the next few minutes, he'll go into his Mind Palace."

Lestrade nodded in agreement. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Just then, Sherlock's phone rang. He groaned and pulled it out of his jacket, flipping it open. "Whoever this is, it better be important." He snapped, and then there was a pause. His face began to whiten, and John stepped forward.

"Sherlock? Are you alright? Who's on the phone?" John asked slowly, carefully walking towards him as though he were a bomb.

"I…just hold on, I'm coming. Stay awake, Mycroft." Sherlock ordered, and suddenly vaulted out of the room, practically jumping down the staircase.

John and Lestrade traded glances. "Did he say Mycroft?" Lestrade whispered. "Is he in some sort of danger?"

John shook his head and grabbed his coat. "I have no idea, but whatever it is, we have to follow Sherlock."

They raced out of Baker Street, turning their heads to find Sherlock already about a block ahead of them. "Sherlock!" John cried, racing after him. Lestrade shook his head after a moment and chased after John.

Sherlock was fast, but he hadn't eaten or slept since the case had started, so he was still physically weaker than John. After a minute or so, John caught up to him and grabbed his arm. "Sherlock!" John shouted, and Sherlock attempted to wrench away from him.

"No, John, I have to get to-" Sherlock started, until he heard a low moan come from a nearby alleyway.

"Mycroft…" Sherlock echoed, stepping back for a moment, and then ran into the alleyway.

Lestrade and John both followed Sherlock, only to see him holding Mycroft in his arms. "Mycroft, come on, wake up!" he ordered, and Mycroft's eyes began to flutter. Sherlock sighed audibly in relief, and John and Lestrade stepped closer.

"You alright?" John asked, pointing his gaze at Mycroft. "What happened?"

Mycroft grunted, stifling a louder groan. "I…I was driving with Anthea, and…t-the car stopped. She…she walked out, and they took out a g-gun and shot her in the head." He lifted his arm slightly to point to the street on the opposite side of the alley. Right at the edge of the road was a body.

John raced over to her and checked her pulse. Instead of a steady heartbeat, he found sullen silence.

John strode back over to them. "She's dead," he announced, and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Obviously. Who do you know that's taken a gun to the head and survived?" Sherlock jabbed, and immediately looked back at Mycroft. "What did they do to you?"

His voice seemed young and worried, like a child. Suddenly, Sherlock took a hand away from where he was holding Mycroft. It was dripping with blood.

"Bloody hell…" Lestrade whispered, and then pulled out his cell phone to call an ambulance.

Sherlock shook his head, aghast. "Mycroft…" he murmured. He ripped off his scarf and tied it to Mycroft's waist, where the blood was coming from. He pushed down on it, cringing when Mycroft let out another groan.

"I'm sorry…" Sherlock whispered. "I need to stop the bleeding. It's going to hurt."

Lestrade finished the call and announced, "The ambulance is going to be here in about ten minutes. Do you think you can last that long?"

Mycroft nodded. "I…I will be fine, Lestrade."

"Mycroft, what did they do to you?" Sherlock repeated, making each word clearer than the last.

"They…there were two of them. Both men. One had…had a knife…" He gestured to his wound, and continued. "They left me here for dead…which is when I called you."

Sherlock looked at him blankly, and after a few moments, his face turned to anger. They had hurt his brother…they were going to pay.

"Why did they do this?" Sherlock asked, his words vicious and cutting. "You still have your wallet, so it wasn't a robbery. Did you see something? Does this have anything to do with the case?"

Mycroft nodded. "I…I saw them. The two men…they were the murderers. I overheard their conversation…it was a conspiracy, the whole thing was a conspiracy…" he trailed off, and his eyes began to close.

"No…No, Mycroft, I need you to stay with me, okay? Mycroft!" Sherlock cried, and began to shake him.

Mycroft's eyes fluttered again, and he groaned. "S…Sherlock?" he shuddered.

"I'm here, Mycroft." Sherlock murmured, squeezing his hand. "It's okay."

"Sherlock…I-I…I want to see…Sherlock…" Mycroft's voice was getting weaker, and he trailed off again.

"Mycroft…Mycroft, it's me, Sherlock. Come on, stay awake. Stay…stay awake for me, okay?" Sherlock whispered.

Mycroft didn't move.

In fact, Mycroft stopped breathing.