The Game is On

Dear John

Leaving the detective to rest his eyes, John got up from his bed to go make breakfast.

When he opened the bedroom door, he tried to back up.

Too late.

A pair of men in black jackets grabbed hold of the doctor, dragging him out of the room. Hearing the struggle, Sherlock woke up and immediately jumped out of bed and stumbling to catch up with John, who was now silenced by a strong hand.

"John!"

Reaching forward, Sherlock attempted to pull one man off.

Another abductor came from behind John and the two men and smashed the detective on the head with a crowbar.

"Sherlock!" John managed to cry before he was silenced again and dragged away, out of 221B and into a black car on the street and driven away.

When Sherlock woke, John was gone, and the only thing reminding him of the events was a throbbing pain in his head.

"No."

"No."

"No."

"No no no."

The detective stood, ran out of the room and searched everywhere in the flat. Top to bottom-- The bedrooms, the bathroom, the kitchen, the sitting room, downstairs-- but to no avail.

John was gone.

He failed as a shield.

"No. I promised I would let no harm come to you John. I will find you."

Sherlock jumped into John's bedroom again to find his phone, and noticed the villain left the crowbar he used on the floor.

The detective grabbed the crowbar, some clothes, and his phone to quickly send a text to Lestrade:

"THE ABDUCTION HAS HAPPENED. COME AT ONCE. -SH"

Then, he snuck a text to John's phone:

"DEAR JOHN, HANG TIGHT. -SH"

It wasn't long before Lestrade, Donovan, Anderson and other officers arrived at 221B.

"Sherlock, what happened?" Lestrade asked plainly.

"John was taken a few minutes ago. I was hit with a crowbar," Sherlock held it up.

"The villain made the mistake of leaving the crowbar? I thought he was more clever than that."

"No, he is clever. This wasn't a mistake. He wants me to find John. That's why he only hit me hard enough to knock me out for a few minutes, so he wouldn't have to wait for me long."

"Well, where's the crowbar from?"

"The Fair. It's winter so the Fair will be closed. It's a perfect hideout. The crowbar was taken from a maintenance room."

"Let's go then."

Once at the Fair gates, Sherlock found a way inside. The group walked around, cautiously, until Sherlock saw them.

"There. Atop the Ferris Wheel."

Way up there, you could see John sitting on a chair with a man, alone, pointing a gun at his head.

Sherlock's phone buzzed.

"COME UP ALONE. -ANON"

It was from John's phone.

The villain called himself "Anon".

He'd been watching them.

"Lestrade, I have to ask you to stay here."

"But Sherlock--"

"If you follow me John will get his brains blown out. Stay here."

Sherlock headed up the tall ladder that led to the top of the Ferris Wheel.

"Ah, Sherlock. How good it is to see you."

"Hello Anon. I see you've got a nice catch there."

John gave Sherlock a look.

"Why, yes. And I see you've obliged to my rules. Good thing, too, or I would've blown his head off."

"Then do it."

John froze, and a wicked smile spread across Anon's face, "Why?"

"Well, you want to, and I don't care either way. This man means nothing to me."

Now, John was looking scared.

"Really? Is that why you kissed him?"

"It's all part of the game."

Anon cocked the gun.

"I see. I think you're lying."

"Think what you want, but I assure you John Watson is worthless to me."

"Fine. Suit yourself."

Everyone in the Fair froze as an earsplitting gunshot pierced the air.

John slowly opened his eyes.

It was Sherlock who held the gun.

And Anon who was on the ground.

Sherlock helped John unstrap himself.

"What was that?"

"Saving your life."

"You were going to let him shoot me!"

"Of course not. This gun fires blanks."

Sherlock took the gun out of Anon's hand and fired it into the air.

Blanks.

"How did you know?"

"Because there's a second gun," Sherlock moved the jacket Anon wore to reveal a second pistol strapped onto Anon's belt.

"That proves nothing."

"Yes it does. Why would he carry two guns if one wasn't fake?"

"How do you know the fake one was in his hand?"

"Why would he hide the fake one?"

John sighed deeply, "What is going on?"

"Anon wanted me, John, not you. That's why he left the crowbar in our flat, so I would find you. The fake gun was specially crafted to be identical to the real one, so to trick me into submission. Then, Anon would use the real gun to kill me."

"Why didn't he just kill you then? Why all this?"

"Because he didn't just want me dead. He wanted me to die feeling that I failed. It all adds to the victory."

"Why did he wait so long to take me?"

"So we would get closer."

"You could go to jail now. You shot him."

"He'll be fine."

"How do you know?"

"Because I shot him exactly where a certain someone shot me not so long ago."

John smiled.

"You could still do time for attempted murder."

"No, John. First of all, it was an act of heroism. Second of all, I shot a guy in the face in front of 50 police officers and Mycroft, but here I am."

"Oh, Sherlock. You're too laid back."

"I'm a highly-functioning sociopath. Of course I'm laid back."

The two men went back down the stairs. Lestrade ran up to them in astonishment, "John!"

"Call an ambulance, heal him before he bleeds out," Sherlock motioned to the top of the Ferris Wheel.

"John," Sherlock held John's hand and turned to him, saying loud enough for all to hear, "Let's get married."