**also wrote this randomly at 2am**
Sherlock looked cautiously at John, who gave him a slight nod of his head.
"And I assume my answer has already crossed yours."
Sherlock turned and pointed the gun and the bomb in the middle of the floor. Jim smiled as the red dots continued to dance around his opponents chests.
Nobody moved. Nobody breathed.
Sherlock looked again at John who glanced up then closed his eyes. He returned his gaze to the bomb on the floor. The last thing he heard was the sound of a gunshot echoing of the pool room walls and an explosion that made everything go black.
•••
Sherlock slowly opened his eyes. He was in a white room full of flowers.
For a moment, he thought it was heaven. But only for a moment.
"Took you quite a while to come round, brother mine." Mycroft stepped into view. "You've been out for over a week."
Sherlock groaned and tried to remember his reason for being in the hospital bed. Suddenly it hit him. He sat up quickly and crumpled back down to the bed in pain.
Mycroft smirked. "You've got a few broken ribs little brother. You won't be getting up anytime soon."
"John," Sherlock choked out, "is he alive?"
Mycroft hesitated. Sherlocks heavy breathing pierced the silence of the room.
Mycroft sighed. "He wasn't as lucky as you. He didn't land in the pool." he was quiet again. "Sherlock," he looked down at him warily, "they're not sure he'll make it."
Sherlock closed his eyes.
Mycroft was at loss for words.
"I'm sorry." he slowly walked to the door and left Sherlock alone in silence.
