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Chapter Text

            The final note fades away as I put down my viola. My boss, who now stands in the doorway, prompted this early end to the song. “958.” He addressed me and steps into the room, slowly crossing over to the side table where I’d abandoned my phone. He picks it up and flips it over a few times in his hands. “Funny thing. Texts.” He lets out a short laugh. “You never can be sure who’s on the other end.” I look at him confused. “Get ahold of someone else’s phone, and suddenly- “he drops the phone to the floor, “-you have all the control.” It shatters on impact. “Their opinions changed in an instant. And they wouldn’t be any the wiser.” He grins widely. “Now, 958.”

            “Boss?” I place my bow into the case and stand.

            “I have a job for you.” He kicks aside the broken phone and moves back toward the door. I instinctively follow. “Bring your instrument.”

            The house was dark, as most of them were at this hour. I could do it in broad daylight, but the boss insisted, and I wasn’t about to argue with him, not after what happened to the last guy that tried. I snarl and shake off the memory. I wasn’t one of his lackeys. I was practically his level. Smart. Adaptable. Competent. Hell, I knew my name. Not many in this profession did. But here I was, following orders like a simpleton with no brain. I leap to the balcony and slide open the glass door, suppressing a laugh. Some people were too trusting. Four floors up could hardly stop a burglar, let alone an assassin. These morons were making it too easy.

I end up in a room littered with dirty plates and paper napkins, half eaten slices of pizza and discarded bottlecaps. I grimace, Pigs, then smile at my own dark comparison. I tiptoe over the mess and into the ‘cleaner’ hallway. The man I was after should be in the second bedroom. An open doorway greets me. You couldn’t make this any harder could you? I take one last look at the photo identifying my target and slip inside.

            Empty. But he was here. I had watched him enter the room. I must have missed him moving. Amateur! I quickly glance around the room. His trainers were gone. So he'd left. I breathe out heavily. I could not fail. Boss hates when we fail. Think. Where would he have gone? No cars had gone by while I entered the building, so he hadn’t called a cab. Therefore, wherever he’d gone would be within walking distance. At this time of night, it was mainly pubs that were open, and the nearest one was a few blocks away. I’d need to hurry.

            I exit the building and find my bearings. With a quick leap, I descend from one balcony to another, all the way to the street below. Keeping a low profile, I run west, as close to the buildings as I can until I reach the pub I expected my victim had traveled to. Well, I did ask him to make this harder. I step out into the neon light and cross the street, pulling out my ID as I walk. Once inside, I glance at the patrons. To my delight and, while I’d never admit it aloud, relief, my target sat with two others at a table near the window. I choose another table close by and order a lite beer.

            The snippets of conversation I was able to catch proved to be of little interest. Definitely not a celebratory gathering. I’d need to speed up the process of drunkenness. I wave over a cocktail waitress and order a jungle juice round for the table. With little hesitation, they all down them and order another round. Good. It wasn’t long before my guy headed off to the loo. I leave my tab on the table and follow, waiting just outside for the sound of the urinal flush. As soon as I did, I stumble in, acting drunk. Empty, except for my target. He looks up as I enter, and for a second, looks sympathetic. But then I attack. A quick blow to the side of the head and he was weakened. A hit to his throat and he was unable to speak. I help him vomit into a urinal, the less mess the better, and support his weight as I lead him from the toilets. The bouncer nods to me, and with that, I was out.

            I’m never sure what happens to the people left behind in situations like this. I’m sure they wondered where he’d gone, asked the waitresses if he’d left, been told he was led out by some girl, later found his flat empty and assume he’d been laid at her place, and of course, find him dead the next morning. The only thing that mattered to me though, is that the job was done, and my life was safe. That’s how it would always be because I don’t fail. Or so I believed until the day Boss finally let me in on the real target. Sherlock Holmes.

Chapter Text

            Mycroft stood from his computer desk where he had been observing Sherlock in his flat performing an experiment with clay figurines. He had just watched as Sherlock took a torch to one that held a striking resemblance to Mycroft, then smirk up at the camera. Mycroft picked up his phone and sent his dastardly brother a text.

                        You melted me!?
                        -MH

                        Haha… You deserve it Mycroft.
                        -SH

                        I could have the entire British government at your house in 10 seconds brother.
                        -MH

            Mycroft began pacing his office in agitation, waiting for Sherlock’s reply.

                        Not for a drugs bust. Lestrade hit me with that yesterday. And certainly not because I’m experimenting on clay. Yawn, you’re
                        a bore.
                        -SH

                        Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock. Calling me a bore is like telling Anderson he’s smart. Be careful with your choice of words or
                        I may just have to tell him as much.
                        -MH

                        That was a step too far. How dare you compare yourself to Anderson? He’s more entertaining than you.
                        -SH

            Mycroft started to squeeze his phone in frustration. His brother was such a prat sometimes.

                        Fun is not one of the things I try to be dear brother. Being fun is for children. Not fitting for a sophisticated being such
                        as myself.
                        -MH

                        What’s the point of growing up if you can’t be childish when you want?
                        -SH

                        I do not want to be childish.
                        -MH

                        Why?
                        -SH

                        You are the childish one. Someone has to be “mother” and I am the only one mentally capable.
                        -MH

            He could see Sherlock now, and not even with his camera. His younger brother's face would be screwed up with his tongue out as he mimicked the older brother’s text.

                        And that’s a childhood in a nutshell.
                        -SH

            Mycroft rolled his eyes at his phone and looked over at the computer screen with a sad little frown on his face. He wished he’d stop bringing that up. As he was watching, Sherlock lit the little blob of clay on fire again. Mycroft let out an irritated groan.

                        Really Sherlock?
                        -MH

                        What?
                        -SH

                        You have GOT to be kidding me… why?
                        -MH

                        No. I don't kid. I was just curious if relighting it would produce a gas.
                        -SH

                        Why do I even ask?
                        -MH

                        Because, like all humans, curiosity wins over us all. Some more than others. Your curiosity appears to be attached to me.
                        -SH

            God, Sherlock could be such a prick. Mycroft was starting to lose his cool. He was arguing like a child. “Come on Mycroft. Be the bigger person. Don’t let your little brother get to you.” But Sherlock’s next text threw him off guard.

                        I've been getting texts from Moriarty.
                        -SH

                        And?
                        -MH

            Moriarty was supposed to be in prison. How could he be texting Sherlock?

                        I'll send them to you. Give me a moment. The other day, Lestrade came by and told me that someone had broken
                        into Pentonville Prison. Later I found out that it was Jim. He had turned himself in, and then I got this text:

                                    {Text forwarded}

                                               ‘Roses are Red,
                                                Violets are Blue,
                                                I'm locked up in Pentonville
                                                And thinking of you
                                                -JM'

                        And, I'm not on a case, so I don't understand, but he sent this one.

                                    {Text forwarded}

                                                ‘Bodies are pale,
                                                As white as the snow.
                                                Boring old Sherlock;
                                                You're getting slow.
                                                -JM'

                        -SH

                        Ah...do you want me to lock him in solitary confinement?
                        -MH

                        You did that before. What good did it do? You got me killed.
                        -SH

                        "Killed". You're obviously still here. As for the being slow...well...
                        -MH

                        What are you getting at?
                        -SH

            Mycroft started typing but deleted most of the message.

                        I shouldn't say anything. It's confidential business.
                         -MH

                        Anything pertaining to me is not confidential.
                        -SH

                        There's a case. Just no one’s told you.
                        -MH

                        Why would no one tell me?
                        -SH

            Mycroft let out a sigh. “Because you’re a showoff and a prat.”

                        Because Sherlock, you get to be kind of an asshole when on a case.
                         -MH

                        I'm fucking Sherlock Holmes, I can be what I want, pirate included!
                        -SH

            “My point proven dear brother.”

                        No one likes being outshone Sherlock.
                        -MH

                        Is that what the umbrella is for?
                        -SH

                        My umbrella serves the same purpose as your upturned collar!
                        -MH

                        You carry around those umbrellas to make you look important.
                        -SH

                        I am important.
                        -MH

                        To whom?
                        -SH

                        All of Britain.
                        -MH

                        They don't even know your name. They just know you as the man who ruins the roads, causes wars, and steals tax money.
                        You’re not loved.
                        -SH

                        There's a reason for everything I do. Some people may not like it, but one day, they will thank me for it.
                        -MH

                        Yeah, because we like to thank you for using our money to build your house, and get you fancy cars, which you don't use,
                        by the way.....There's really no need for you.
                        -SH

            “I do too use my cars!” Mycroft yelled into the house before realizing Sherlock wasn’t there.

                        If the government didn’t look the part, which I do, nobody would respect the British government and then where would we
                        be?
                         -MH

                        I think we'd be in America, which in this case, doesn't seem like a horrible option.
                        -SH

                        Nothing good comes from America. Tasteless food, boring sports, and ridiculous taxes. Britain is where we are and where
                        we'll stay
                        -MH

                        Well I guess there’s the American president.
                        -SH

                        Every American president has very well destroyed their country with their attitude. I am at least careful with my power.
                        -MH

                        I don't think ‘careful’ is the right word.
                        -SH

                        I'm actually slightly surprised you haven't already run off to find this case everyone's hiding from you.
                        -MH

            It took Sherlock a few minutes to respond. Mycroft watched him pacing his tiny, cramped kitchen, obviously trying to figure out something. Finally he picked his phone from the table and responded.

                        Does it have to do with Jim?
                         -SH

                        Obviously. He sent you the text about it
                        -MH

                        What am I getting slow at though?
                        -SH

                        The case?
                        -MH

                        What about it though?
                        -SH

                        Excuse me, I have some business to attend to. Good day Sherlock.
                        -MH

            Mycroft placed his phone on the desk beside him and set to work on some overdue paperwork. It went off a few times, but he didn’t respond. Sherlock would figure it out. His brother was smart sometimes. However, why would Moriarty lock himself up then send messages? To get a reaction from Sherlock. Get him involved in a series of serial murders so the real plan could get underway. But they wouldn’t let that happen. Let the detective ruminate on Moriarty until the professionals could get the killer in custody.

                        Mycroft!
                         -SH

                        Tell me! What am I slow at?
                        -SH

                        Fine. Laters!
                        -SH

            Hours passed and Mycroft found his eye lids drooping. Boring paperwork for miles. Another document to look over and sign. Mycroft sighed and pushed his chair back from the desk, head falling back, with arms crossed over his forehead. He sat, breathing for a moment before abruptly sitting up and rolling back to check the security cameras. Sherlock might be up to something. He checked the flat and found a piece of paper covering the camera. ‘Brother Dear, heading to Pentonville to visit Jim. Don’t wait up.’

            “Oh good Lord, what are you getting yourself into Sherlock?” Mycroft’s phone beeps and he hurriedly grabs for it.

                        John updated his blog. Since you didn’t ask.
                        -SH

            Mycroft pulls up Watson’s blog and begins to read.

‘There was a sudden jolt of vibration from Sherlock's shirt pocket. He'd been here twice in the past few days- Sherlock would read the text, the colour would drain from his face and we'd go visit Jim Moriarty at Pentonville prison.

This time was different. Sherlock dragged me off to Pentonville first. He was looking for a case, one which seemed to be being withheld from the practiced detective by his brother. We arrived at the prison and were waiting for word from the DI when the text came in. This time, Sherlock read the text, and his face flushed, but instead of white, it was red with fury. He slammed his phone down on the table and threw open the interrogation room door, spitting the word 'impossible’. He charged down the prison corridor, half-knocking a bewildered Lestrade off his feet and carelessly kicking over a wooden chair. I maneuvered myself through the wave of destruction that was filling the prison, until I caught Sherlock clubbing the large button that released cell 13A.

'Ah Sherlock, this is a pleasant surprise-'

'How are you doing it?!' Sherlock had Moriarty up against the wall of his cell by his throat, gasping for air.

'I- I don't know what you're talking about-' he began to giggle but collapsed into a fit of coughing instead.

'This is your doing, I KNOW it. TELL ME HOW.'

'I've been in prison, I haven't-' Sherlock punched him viciously in the jaw, causing him to bite his tongue. Blood began to drip slowly from the corners of his mouth and shone on his teeth when he grinned.

'Sherlock, you need to stop!' A lump formed in my throat as I watched the horror unfold. Sherlock screamed 'TELL ME' and struck Moriarty two or three more times. His entire face was swelling up and had taken on a multitude of colours, reds and blacks and blues. Lestrade poked his head round the door and swore in disbelief, calling behind him for security backup.

I stepped forward, 'Sherlock please listen to me, you can get help for this, but you need to stop hurting him.' Lestrade called me back. He placed the palm of his hand on Sherlock's shoulder and Moriarty was released, sliding to the ground in a shuddering pile of bruised flesh and blood. Sherlock turned slowly to face me, and I breathed out deeply. The small flecks of blood on Sherlock's delicate features made him seem paler than usual. His pupils were dilated, and his eyes were bloodshot- he looked terrifying. The veins in his neck and forehead were visible and pulsing, and his knuckles were raw and shaking. I reached out to comfort him but was grabbed by Lestrade and Donovan and pulled away. Before he could open his mouth to protest, Sherlock was handcuffed and led to a cell.

Out of the cell, I was led to a cozy room. Inside, I fell to my knees in despair and confusion. Once more, it seemed I was going to lose my best friend. He was confused, and broken, and lost, and there was nothing I could do to help him. I couldn’t help but cry into my arm, refusing any form of comfort Lestrade and other members of the team offered me. From outside my room, I could see Moriarty being led to the medical office, a wide grin on his broken face. Sherlock hadn't even tried to resist arrest- he seemed to have no recollection of what had happened mere seconds before and was likely desperately searching for me to tell him what was wrong.’

            Mycroft stopped reading there. Something was wrong with his brother. He’d never acted this recklessly. Never been this broken up over a case. There must have been something John had missed. What had the text said?

‘I of course, paid for the damages, and the fee to release Sherlock and sat back to wait. I didn’t have to wait long. Lestrade reentered the room, guiding Sherlock. His eyes were blank and unseeing, until they fall upon me. I stand from my position and take the taller man from the DI. ‘Sherlock. What the hell was that?’

‘Later John. Let’s head back to the flat.’

We arrived back at the flat, hardly exchanging a word the whole ride there. The moment we got in, Sherlock headed immediately to the sofa, falling upon it and pulling up his sleeve to apply several nicotine patches. ‘John, quit thinking so hard, you’re making my head hurt’ He turned to face the back of the sofa and hasn’t moved the entire time I’ve been writing.’

            Mycroft sighed. At least his brother was home. He looked at the camera but found the paper to still be in the way.

                        Sherlock, are you feeling alright?
                        -MH

                        I’m feeling fine. Lestrade thinks I’m off my rocker because of the emotional explosion today. John did have to bail me out
                        though.
                        -SH

                        What happened? In your words please.
                        -MH

                        Got the text, got mad. Used…physical force on Jim, and then got arrested. All in a day’s work.
                        -SH

                        What did the text say?
                        -MH

                        It said-

                                    {Text forwarded}

                                                Sherlock you’re here.
                                                Asking me for a clue?
                                                If I threatened John Watson
                                                What then would you do?
                                                -JM

                        -SH

            Mycroft pushed his hand through his receding hair line. It was starting to make sense as to why Sherlock had beat the shit out of Jim. John’s life was on the line. Sherlock had been known to jump off buildings and risk blowing up to protect the army doctor. Why not attack a psychopath in the process?

                        I’ll have John put under government protection. You don’t need to beat up a prisoner to protect him. But I’m not doing it as
                        a favor. Strictly a professional precaution.
                        -MH

                        It might be best. I guess losing him until this blows over is better than losing him altogether. I just… he’s my closest
                        confidant. I need his input.
                        -SH

                        You might be allowed to see him whilst undercover, but I’ll bet Moriarty is somehow watching your every move.
                        -MH

                        I don’t know how. He’s in prison. Without a phone on him.
                        -SH

            Mycroft stood and began pacing the office. How was he doing it? How could an imprisoned man with no means of communicating be sending messages, and with information only he could know? Perhaps he had associates. No one suspicious had moved into Baker Street recently, but perhaps the neighbors were recruited because of their proximity.

                        Have you considered tiny cameras or a rat? Maybe one of your neighbors has something rigged up.
                        -MH

                        Cameras, obviously. I’ve checked every inch of this flat. There aren’t bugs in the flat or on the street. The only camera is the
                        one you’re forcing me to keep, and I’ve covered It. All the traffic cameras are turned away from the flat. I haven’t found
                        any evidence of spying.
                        -SH

                        Perhaps someone you thought you could trust giving info to? One of your homeless network?
                        -MH

                        I trust no one but John. And even he I have a hard time giving information to. You ought to know this.
                        -SH

                        Do you often speak in public?
                        -MH

                        In public how?
                        -SH

                        As in, do you talk about other things while on the streets? Things that don’t pertain to a case?
                        -MH

                        Not really. The only time I go out is when I’m on a case. John does the shopping, and everything like that. I prefer to stay
                        home.
                        -SH

                        Maybe he was being followed? Or bugged?
                        -MH

                        John, bugged?
                        -SH

            “Yes, Sherlock. Bugged. John Watson would be dumb enough to get caught up talking to a lady and have a listening device slipped into his pocket.” Mycroft breathed in deeply and let it out, blowing the air upward in exasperation. One might think the doctor would have gained some common sense after years associating with a Holmes, but he was still… John.

                        It’s a possibility. I’ll go ahead and watch the security cameras around his favorite cafes. Come by the mansion if you wish, but
                        if I were you, I’d stay with John until his escort arrives.
                        -MH

                        I won’t let him out of my sight… the moment he gets back.
                        -SH

            Mycroft laughs at this. Of course John went out at the most inopportune time. Sherlock probably only just noticed before he sent the text.

                        If he comes back. Contact him immediately. I’m going to headquarters. It’s about time I left my house anyways. I’ll get in
                        contact with you if anything comes up. If you see Lestrade, send him my way, would you?
                         -MH

                        Sure, yeah.
                        -SH

                        We will stop him, Sherlock. Even if I die in the process.
                        -MH

                        That’ll be the day. I didn’t think you cared?
                        -SH

            ‘Of course I care’.

                        I don’t partake in sentimental feelings; however, I know you care about John.
                        -MH

                        John, I knew you’d look after. But it never seemed you cared much for me. Even as children, you pushed me away.
                        -SH

            ‘I did that to protect you. I didn’t want to get hurt and take it out on you anymore’.

                        I was 7 years older than you, and Father was pushing me to go to school. I had to focus on that. Not taking care of my kid
                        brother.
                        -MH

            Audio from the flat came through the computer. Sherlock. “School couldn’t have been that hard for you! Perfect Mycroft!’ ‘Sherlock, why can’t you be more like Mycroft?’ ‘Sherlock, your brother got an A in this class, why are you failing?’ ‘Oh, I remember Mycroft. I expect great things from you, Sherlock Holmes.’ Every girl at your beck and call. All the money you could want. Teachers that liked you. No bullies, no problems, not a care in the world for your brother. How could life have been hard for you?” Mycroft’s heart twinged at his brother’s words. He didn’t know. And in contrast, Sherlock didn’t know what he had been through. ‘For the best’. He’d done well in school because he was afraid. Of dad, of failing, disappointing everyone. Wanting to impress but was unable to.

                        Lestrade says he’s on his way.
                        -SH

                        I better get going then. Get in contact with John. Oh and Sherlock… I… Good luck.
                        -MH

                        Thank you.
                        -SH

            There was the sound of a closing door from the computer. John must be back.

                        John’s back.
                        -SH

                        Check his pockets!
                        -MH

Chapter Text

            Mycroft paced the hallways, finger poised over the talk key. Was it worth calling Sherlock up to fill him in? This was a dangerous game, but Sherlock could prove to be as useful as Greg supposed. He settled on a bench and hit talk, pulling the phone up to his ear.

            “Hello, Mycroft. Any word? What did you and Lestrade talk about?”

            “He helped me look through camera footage. We didn’t find anything for sure, but we will, rest assured.”

            “What’s going to happen with John?”

            An officer exited one of the rooms and walked up the hallway in Mycroft’s direction. He turned on the bench until the man had passed. “About that. I managed to find somewhere to place him, but on such short notice, it’s less protected. You’ve filled everywhere else with homicide victim’s families and unresolved murder threatees”

            “It’s not my fault I’m so popular around the inmates and criminals”

            “You’re Sherlock Holmes. The famous detective. You could live up to your name.”

            “I do. You’ve seen the papers over the years. It’s not my fault criminals hold grudges. Just tell me when we’re leaving. The quicker this is over, the quicker I can have my doctor back.”

            Mycroft pulled the phone away from his face briefly and breathed an exasperated sigh. “For now, your doctor will be placed in the M.H. Home for Special Persons.”

            “And when will you be getting him? I’ve yet to tell him. Just can’t seem to break the news. I know he won’t like it.”

            “Tonight. Late. Just tell him the police department received some untraceable notes and we, meaning Greg and I, have deemed it necessary to put John Watson under close supervision for his own protection”

            “He still won’t like it. I’ll stay up and wait for you. I assume I’ll be staying here, in 221B?”

            “Yes. For now. Just pretend nothing’s changed. Hopefully the threat will diffuse.”

            “Pretend nothing’s cha- Mycroft. You’re taking away my only friend. I know it’s to keep him safe, but- he’s all I have. I can’t just pretend… He better come back without a single scratch!”

            “He’ll be in good hands Sherlock. The safest I know.”

            “You may trust them, but you’re well aware that I don’t trust your men. I’ve spent too much time cleaning up their messes.”

            “You think I’d leave him with any of my men? Think Sherlock. I’ve told you exactly who he’s being protected by.”

            “M.H. Home? Yeah, I don’t trust it.”

            “And why not?”

            “It’s your home.”

            “Yes.”

            “Why would you be able to protect John better than me?”

            “Not me. I’ll be much too busy finding this freak and subduing him. No. I’m leaving him in the capable hands of my wife.”

            “Mary? Ha! Funny Mycroft.”

            Mycroft stood abruptly but just as quickly composed himself and walked towards the exit. “I trust her with my child. Why wouldn’t I trust her with John?”

            “Your child is one thing. You helped make Caroline. So of course you’d trust Mary to be a good protector for your daughter. But that doesn’t mean I trust her with John. They’re not the same person, may I remind you.”

            “Mary has the mother’s protective instinct. She loves John. She’s told me several times. There’s no way she’d go down without a fight. Besides, it’s only for a couple days.” He stepped out into the air and pulled out his cigarettes.

            “Are you expecting an ambush on your house or something? That sounds fun! Can I join?”

            Mycroft rolled his eyes. The sarcasm was strong with this one. “It’s just hypothetical, Sherlock. I don’t love the idea either but it’s the only available location.” He lit the end of his smoke, and took a deep breath in.

            “If you’re going to lock John up with Mary and Monster for an undisclosed amount of time, I want to help. Just tell me what’s going on. This line must be encrypted.”

Mycroft sighed. His brother was of course right. There was no reason to continue keeping the case from him. Nobody could be listening in on their conversation. This was a protected line and Sherlock would keep it under wraps until John was safe. Probably. “There’s a murderer loose going by the moniker Midnight Howler.”

            “What’s his MO?”

            “They, according to the families of the victims, are never seen. They catch the victim off guard and then the victim mysteriously shows up again the next morning, drained of blood with a slit in their throat and rope burns on their wrists and ankles.”

            “So tied down. Why would you keep this from me?”

            “We got… a note.”

            “What did it say?”

            “Sherlock…”

            “That’s all?”

            “No.”

            “How am I supposed to save John if I can’t solve this case? I’m desperate here Mycroft! I need to know everything about this case!”

            “We were afraid that if you knew, you’d lose your head. Just look at what you did to Moriarty.” Mycroft took another puff of his cigarette then put it out.

            “Oh please, Mycroft. I can handle it.”

“This has you involved on a personal level. It’s not like other cases.”

            “No shit, Mycroft. I don’t get called in for normal cases. Besides, I’m already involved. Moriarty ensured that.”

            “Fine. Give me a minute. I’ll go get it from evidence.” Mycroft put his phone on mute and walked back into the building. There was no arguing with Sherlock this time. He’d give him the evidence and just hope it was enough to make him turn away from the case; allow everyone else to handle it. He nodded to Lestrade as he entered the evidence locker.

            The older man swiveled in his chair to face Mycroft “Sherlock insisting on being involved?”

            “As usual.” He flipped through the folders until he found the one with the handwritten note from Midnight Howler. “He thinks John’s safety is his problem.”

            “I mean… we could use his help.”

            “We’ve been over this Greg. You read the note. He can’t get involved. Not until we know John is safely out of reach. And even then, I’m reluctant.”

            “I still believe that if he knows John is in danger, he’ll be discreet.”

            “And if he decides to take it upon himself to find this killer? They’re bound to notice.”

            “That’s a risk we’re going to have to take to protect the people.”

            “Fine.” Mycroft growled and unmuted his phone.

            Sherlock’s mocking voice greeted him as he put the phone to his ear. “-and nobody is smarter than me. Don’t try to outshine me, Sherlock. I’ll always win as long as I have cake and my beautiful wife I sto- “

            Mycroft raised an eyebrow. What was Sherlock on about? “Sherlock?”

            “You have the note?”

            “Yes… what was that?”

            “Nothing. Just thinking out loud.”

            “Fine. Sherlock. I’m afraid that you’ll act rashly once you hear this. So please, for the love of God. Stay out of it, for your safety as well as John’s. We’ll take care of it. I promise.”

            “Just read it!”

            Mycroft breathed out deeply before starting.

                        “‘Keep up your search.
                        I dare you to try.
                        But if Sherlock Holmes gets involved,
                        John Watson will die.
                        -Midnight Howler’”

            “How can you honestly expect me to sit here while-?!” Sherlock growled on the other end, “Alright. Fine. It sounds similar to the messages Moriarty has been sending me.”

            “That’s what we concluded. But there’s no way Jim could be working with this Midnight Howler. He’s locked up. It must be a copycat or…”

            “Don’t be so dim Mycroft. It was clearly preplanned. What would you have me do? I’ll solve this case before anyone is the wiser.”

            “I thought I told you…” Mycroft groaned. “Stay home. That’s what you can do.”

            “You won’t get far without my help. Despite how safe your home is, the criminals I work with think differently. I understand them better than anyone on the police force. You know this. I don’t want John getting hurt over their incompetence without me.”

            Mycroft glared at Lestrade. “Mary has been armed with a gun and I’m sure John has one or two that he keeps on his person for just such occasions. We have this handled.”

            “You gave Mary a gun?”

            “Yes. Despite how much I trust her to keep John and Caroline safe, she’s still one woman. She can be overpowered. A gun on the other hand, not so much.”

            “You’re funny Mycroft.”

            Mycroft rolled his eyes in exasperation. “What are you going to do?”

            “I’m thinking.”

            “When aren’t you thinking Sherlock?”

            “Never. I wish I could stop. So, let me get this straight. Your plan is to have me sit at home, while you try to solve a case you’re all clearly unqualified for, and keep John at your home, with a killer on the loose, in the same building as your young daughter?”

            “It’s not a perfect plan, but we don’t have a lot of choice. Our hands are tied.”

            “Mycroft, you may want to see this.” Mycroft looked to Lestrade who was waving him over to some surveillance footage he was looking at.

            “Sherlock, I’ll call you right back.” He hung up and took a seat.

            “Donovan just sent me this.” He hit play on the video and Mycroft watched John walking through a crowd. Behind him, almost step for step, was a man in a blue and red cap carrying a viola case. Lestrade zoomed in on the case and they’re able to make out the glint of a camera lens jutting out from the neck. “Got him!”

            “Good work Greg!” Mycroft clapped Lestrade on the shoulder and stood to call back Sherlock.

            “Donovan found it.”

            Mycroft shrugged and waited for Sherlock to pick up. He answered on the second ring. “Breakthrough!”

            “Yes?”

            “A man with a rigged viola case followed John from the Ace Café.”

            “So, a musician? Who is he?”

            Mycroft looked at Lestrade who mouthed, ask him to come. Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Come to the station if you like. I’ll fill you in when you get here.”

            “God’s yes!” He abruptly hung up and Mycroft pocketed his cell.

            “You better know what you’re doing Greg.” Lestrade just smiled and turned back to his computer.

Chapter Text

            Sherlock arrived not 10 minutes after ending the call with his brother. He was finally going to have some control over John’s survival. No longer relying on someone else to keep his doctor safe. With a slight skip in his step, he entered the building and was met by Lestrade, tailed reluctantly by Mycroft. The look on his face was comical. He didn’t want this. And yet, here Sherlock was. So, he was going to relish in this. “Show me where everything is, Godfrey. I’m itching to start.” He rubbed his hands together with a short glance at Mycroft. He’d been in the same clothes at least 24 hours. Likely hasn’t seen Mary in the same amount of time. He missed his morning coffee and was perhaps too proud to take any from the break room. So, he’d been smoking to make up for it?

            “Alright.” Lestrade’s voice pulled him from his deductions. “Our acquired evidence is in Room D, Sally is examining footage in Room A. We have witnesses in Interrogation Room B- “

            “What witnesses? I thought no one had seen the murderer.” Sherlock cut in.

            “Family and anyone who was close enough to the victims the night of their death who might give us clues into what happened.”

            “I see.” Sherlock adjusted his coat. “Where should I start?”

            “Go talk to the witnesses.” Mycroft spoke up before Lestrade could speak.

            Sherlock nodded and followed Lestrade to the interrogation rooms but stopped as he looked into Room B. “I don’t want to talk to them.”

            “And why not?” Mycroft eyed his brother suspiciously.

            “The man to the left, I incarcerated his sister. She was an art thief. And the woman next to him, her father is the Silencer. Trust me, I’ll be dead before I can step foot in there.”

            “Fine.” Mycroft shifted his weight to his other foot. “What about one of the other rooms?”

            Sherlock looked into two of the other rooms and came to the same conclusion. “No. They’re all families of people I’ve gotten executed or imprisoned. I think that one has made an attempt on my life at some point.” He gestured to a man with a scar through his left eyebrow who was busy picking at his teeth.

            Lestrade nodded, musing over this new information, “Interesting. A connection. I better bring this up with Sally.” He walked back the way they had come and disappeared into Room A.

            Mycroft’s eyes followed Lestrade, “I wonder if they know…” He trailed off then turned to face Sherlock again. “I think this Midnight Howler is rallying the troops. Gathering people with a grudge against you by hurting them where they’ve already been hurt, and for the same reason. You.”

            “But then why would they want to keep me from getting involved?”

            “I don’t know. Reverse psychology? Getting you involved by telling you not to. Either way, nothing else is going to happen. We will catch this guy.”

            “Show me the video.” Sherlock wasn’t sure he believed his brother, but also wasn’t ready to fight him about it without proof that he was wrong. He followed Mycroft with long strides to the room at the end of the hall. Mycroft pushed play on the computer and Sherlock watched the man in question closely.

            Lestrade stood in the doorway watching the two men silently. He entered and took his seat in front of the computer, plugging in a flash drive he must have gotten from Donovan.

            “What’s on there?” Mycroft asked, bringing over another chair to sit beside Lestrade.

            “Photos. Sally managed to procure them from other security cams around the city.” Lestrade clicked open the folder and scrolled through several pictures which clearly showed the man in the hat’s face. “What do you deduce?” He looked up expectantly at Sherlock.

            “Ex-marine. Scottish. But from America. He’s got a thinning issue and walked with an odd gait, like a poorly healed war injury. May also be slightly blind in one eye. Did anything pop up in the database?”

            “Not yet. Still running the pictures through the system.” Mycroft stood while Lestrade responded and moved to the filing cabinet. He rummaged through it before seemingly remembering that what he was looking for was still sitting on the desk. He picked the letter up, but Sherlock quickly snatched it away.

            “You know I was going to give it to you. No need to be so hasty.”

            “Thought it best to take control of the situation. This is that letter right?” Sherlock smirked and pulled on a rubber glove to begin looking over the message. He opened the baggie and sniffed it, lifted it up to look at it through the ceiling light, and even took out a small test kit from his coat to check for chemical droplets. “It’s a woman’s handwriting. Much too controlled to be a man’s. She’s in her late thirties, judging by the way she rounds her G’s and dots her I’s. Her curvature suggests an above average intelligence but also a mild case of PTSD due to the tremor in her writing, seen each time she begins a new word. She tries to control the tremor with alcohol and coincidently has become something of an alcoholic. She spilled some rum on the paper there.” He pointed out the alcohol stain which made the thick paper ever so slightly more transparent. “She likes being in control and dislikes losing it. And while she pretends to be brave, she’s actually quite cowardly. Took her about an hour to write these few lines.”

            “It’s not the same person that was following John then?” Lestrade looked up from his research.

            “Obviously Grim.” Sherlock put the letter back into the bag and handed it back to Mycroft.

            “Still think it’s likely that she’s working with Moriarty?” Mycroft teased and refiled it into the cabinet. Sherlock glared at his turned back.

            “I really don’t know. It’s possible for it to be a copycat. I didn’t get anything from the note that screamed Jim, except the structure.” Sherlock removed the glove and dropped it into the bin by Lestrade’s desk. He noticed it was full of crisp wrappers and more than a few nicotine patch packages. Stress response. This case was something else. “I…” Sherlock sighed. “I’ll talk to the witnesses.”

            Mycroft looked surprised. “You sure? I planned on talking to them in your stead. I’m not as good at investigating, but I’m smart.”

            “I’ll do it. Just give me 5 minutes.” Sherlock walked away briskly and entered the room with the art thief’s brother. After a few minutes of yelling, he stormed from the room and ran face first into Mycroft, who had on his coat and trademark umbrella tucked under one arm.

            Mycroft set the tip of his umbrella on the floor. “You didn’t have to yell. They’re the innocent ones.”

            Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked away. “They started it! I told you, they don’t like me.”

            Mycroft took Sherlock’s shoulder gently. “Why don’t you join my family for dinner tonight? We can pick up John and then head to my mansion. Mary wouldn’t mind, and I’m sure Caroline would be thrilled to see you. You haven’t been to see her in months.”

            “Dinner with your family-! It’s not like she likes me.” Sherlock brushed his brother’s hand off.

            “She likes you well enough.”

            “Is there a bribe?”

            Mycroft leaned on his umbrella. “I guess you could interrogate the staff. Our set of knives has slowly been going missing, and no one seems to know what we’re talking about. Caroline believes it’s the cleaning lady. Mary thinks it’s the gardener.”

            “And you?”

            “Neither. They have no motive.”

            “Why should I care about your missing silverware?”

            “Not kitchen knives, Sherlock. Throwing knives. The silver-plated ones my mother-in-law gave us last Christmas. They have inscriptions from the late 1800’s.”

            Sherlock couldn’t help but laugh. “Your mother-in-law? How often is she over?”

            “Once in the last five years. A few days after Care was born. She’s American and can’t come visit regularly.”

            “I forgot Mary was American. How has Mummy forgiven you?” Mycroft glared at Sherlock, but he just laughed again. “I’d listen to Caroline. She’s right. Nothing against you or Mary of course.”

            “Are you coming or not? I was about to leave.”

            “Do I have a choice?”

            “Not unless you want me to take John home alone.”

            “No! I’ll come, but don’t think I’ll enjoy one minute of it.” Sherlock followed Mycroft from the building, nodding to Lestrade as they walked past. He got in the back of Mycroft’s car and stared out the window. “I never trusted you behind the wheel.”

            Mycroft sunk into the driver’s seat and turned the car on. “Because I can’t drive?”

            “Because you almost got us killed. Do you remember?”

            “Obviously not.” Mycroft pulled out onto the main road and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

            “You were driving us home from the cinema and hit that light pole.” Sherlock heard the sharp intake of air from Mycroft and grinned.

             “That wasn’t my fault! That dog ran in front of the car. I had to swerve, or I would have hit and killed it.”

            Sherlock pushed the image of Redbeard from his mind and changed the subject. “What are we eating?”

            Mycroft seemed equally ready to change the subject as the tone of his voice shifted drastically. “Caroline chose lasagna and garlic bread tonight. It’s her favorite.”

            “Is it her birthday?”

            “No. We switch off who gets to choose dinner. Her birthday is in August. The seventh.”

            Sherlock took a second to file this new information away in his mental family room. “I guess I should know that.” John mentioned that he should try to be a better uncle. Familial ties and all that. He noticed Mycroft looking at him through the rear-view mirror and turned away to stare out the window again.

            “Thank you.”

            Sherlock looked up again. “Why are you thanking me?”

            “For caring.”

            “Thank John. If it were up to me- “

            Mycroft threw Sherlock a half smile. “Nonetheless…”

            Sherlock opened his mouth to respond but thought better of it and remained silent the rest of the way to 221B. When the car pulled up to the curb, he jumped out, hoping Mycroft wouldn’t follow, and raced up the stairs into the flat, “John!?”

            “Sherlock? What’s wrong?” John looked up from his paper, which he had been reading whilst relaxing in his armchair. His blonde hair was messy and wet.

            Sherlock couldn’t help it and licked his lips. “I uh… I was going to tell you, but better late than never I suppose.” Sherlock chuckled nervously and composed himself. “The Police department received some… untraceable notes. Mycroft believes you’d be safer staying elsewhere. So, pack a bag, we’re going to dinner.”

            John looked confused and put the paper on the coffee table. “Safer…?”

            “I’ll have to explain later. We could be being watched.”

            “But I thought you…”

            “I did, but somehow they still know things.” Sherlock walked into the kitchen to alleviate some of the raw energy that coursed through his blood. “Just… get a bag together. Please.” He leaned over the sink and did his best not to retch.

            Behind him, he heard John stand and walk to his room without a word. A few minutes later, he returned, dressed in his usual jumper with a duffel bag in hand. Sherlock sighed in relief at the sight of the bulge of a gun under his belt line. He stood from the sink and John straightened his back, nodding his preparedness to leave. With a slight, reassuring smile, Sherlock turned and led John down the stairs out to the waiting car. Mycroft stood outside the passenger side door, umbrella resting between his feet. “Doctor Watson. Good. Wife’s invited you both to dinner. Thought I’d drive you, since I was just with Sherlock.”

            “Don’t pretend you’re environmental brother.” Sherlock pushed past Mycroft and got into the back seat.

            Mycroft let out a scoff but said nothing; just helped John put his bag in the trunk and climbed into the driver’s seat before pulling the car away from 221B. Sherlock sighed. This was going to be a difficult case indeed.

Chapter Text

            Mycroft kneaded the steering wheel while he waited for the light to turn and peered at Sherlock and John’s reflections. As long as he could remember, they’d been a team. And this fucking case… it could be a trick and John was perfectly safe, but no one wanted to take that chance. As he considered the possibility of turning around and taking John home, Sherlock’s voice broke in. “Mycroft… you need to get home. Now.” Fear. In the mirror, he saw John look over at Sherlock’s phone. Another message?

            A lump formed in his throat and he swallowed. “What does it say?”

                        “’I gave you a warning
                        to take my advice
                        but you didn’t listen
                        Doesn’t Mary look nice?
                        -JM’

            There’s a picture too. Mary’s hurt.” Sherlock replied, clearly weighing Mycroft’s reaction through the mirror.

            “You’re messing with me right?” Mycroft’s heart dropped and he swallowed again, willing Sherlock to flippantly agree. Payback for taking away John.

            “He’s not Mycroft. She’s conscious but it looks like she was hit with a blunt object.” John passed the phone to the front seat and Mycroft took it with a shaking hand. The photo showed Mary sitting at the kitchen table, a blood-soaked cloth pressed to her forehead.

            “Mary… please oh god… please be okay!” The light turned green and Mycroft sped through the intersection and down the road, driving practice coming into play. He loved this car, but rarely got to fully utilize its capabilities whilst on London’s busy streets.

            “Be careful Mycroft!” John sat back and buckled his seatbelt swiftly. “We’re in central London!”

            “Shut up, John!” Mycroft turned onto a side street and reached a main road. Thankfully without incident, they arrived in the driveway of the Holmes mansion, Mycroft parked and leapt from the car, leaving the keys in the ignition as he raced to the door. It was locked. “Mary!” He banged on the door with a clenched fist.

            “Where are your keys?” Sherlock asked as he ran up from behind with John in tow.

            “In the car.” Mycroft didn’t have the patience to deal with Sherlock’s ridicule right now and readied himself for his brother’s snarky comeback, but John intervened before either brother could speak again.

            “Oh, let me.” John gave the door a swift kick and it opened. He pulled his gun out and entered, putting a hand back to let Mycroft and Sherlock know to hold.

            Mycroft couldn’t help it and yelled into the house in a panic. “Mary! Caroline! Where are you?” Mary turned the corner and rose her hands at the gun John instinctively pointed at her. “Mary! John, stand down!” Mycroft ran forward and hugged Mary close. She seemed flustered. “Did anyone come here? What happened to your head?” John slunk past him toward the kitchen, Sherlock following.

            Mary pulled back from Mycroft’s embrace. “I’m fine. Knocked over one of the statues in the garden. Pulled it over with the hose.”

            “You dunce.” Mycroft put his hand tenderly on her cheek. “I was so worried…”

            Mary laughed lightly. “I’m packing. You know I’d be safe if anyone showed up. Wasn’t that the point?”

            “Uncle Sherlock!” Caroline’s little voice rose from the kitchen.

            “We better go tell John…” Mycroft trailed off. Mary wasn’t paying attention. He turned to see what she was looking at.

            “The door.” Mary said, eyeing the busted latch sadly.

            “I’ll take care of it.” Mycroft gave Mary a swift kiss and ushered her off. He’d call someone to fix it in the morning, but for now, he used the bolt lock to keep the door shut. He followed Mary to the kitchen and sunk into one of the dining chairs. Caroline ran over and jumped into his lap. He smiled lightly. “Hi Baby.” Caroline hugged his waist, and he returned the hug with one arm.

            John entered the kitchen from the living room, holstering his gun. “Everything looks clear. Sorry to scare you Mary.”

            “No big deal. What was that about?”

            Sherlock turned from his place at the window and handed his phone to Mary. She took it, read the message and her face turned dark. He repocketed it as he spoke. “We have to move them Mycroft. They’re watching the house.”

            “I… I know.” Mycroft leaned his head back onto the back of the chair and sighed deeply.

            “Daddy! Guess what? I found the knives!” Mycroft looked down at his daughter’s bright eyes and smiled. She always knew what to do to cheer him up.

            “Good work, Sleuth! Where were they?”

            “The cleaning room. I’ll be right back!” She leapt from his lap and raced upstairs before he could stop her. When she returned, she held a piece of paper. “This was in her apron with them.” She handed it to Mycroft, who read it, then stood and handed it to Sherlock.    

                        ‘Side of the Angels
                        Silver plated knives
                        Go on, take a look
                        you can’t save everybody’s lives
                        -MidnightHowler’

            “Take a look? Take a look where?” Sherlock looked up expectantly.

            “I don’t know.” Mycroft rubbed his face discouraged.

            John walked over and stood beside Sherlock. “What are you two going on about?” He quickly read the letter. “Sherlock, why are we here?”

            “We’re all in danger, John.” Mycroft explained.

            Sherlock ignored John’s question, instead addressing Mycroft, “I’m taking him back to 221B. He’s not any safer here.”

            “Safer from what? What’s going on?” John stepped back, his body language demanding answers.

            “John, I…” Sherlock looked between John and Mycroft before slumping against the nearest wall, head in hands.

            With a sad look at Sherlock, Mycroft faced John. “Sherlock and the police department each got messages warning him off a case, threatening your safety if we don’t comply. And now, apparently, they’re threatening Mary’s life as well. We’re being watched, and we don’t know how.”

            “Are you quite sure?” Mary piped up, hugging herself.

            Mycroft nodded. “Yes, Mary. That picture they sent proves it.”

            Sherlock let out a small whimper, and everyone looks over. “Are you okay, Sherly?” Caroline asked, taking a step towards Sherlock who was rocking ever so slightly.

            “Fine!” Sherlock looked up at Caroline so fiercely, John instinctively pulled her back.

            “Let’s leave Sherlock alone for a little while.” He said gently.

            “Sherlock!” Mycroft shouted and kneeled down to Caroline’s level. “Come here, Care.” She ran over and he picked her up, leading both his girls away. He glanced back once, intending to give his brother a word or two of comfort, but decided against it and left the room.

            Sherlock felt John’s hand on his shoulder but didn’t look up. They sat in silence for a few minutes before John finally asked, “Sherlock, what’s wrong? You’ve never acted this way before.”

            “I can’t tell you John.” The world felt like it was crashing around him. “Mycroft…I want Mye.”

            “Mye-? Okay. Stay here. I’ll bring him back.” Sherlock felt John stand and walk off. He didn’t get far before meeting Mycroft.

            ‘Yes. Just have them walk in. And for god’s sake… leave Sherlock alone. Oh, John. Is everything okay with Sherlock?’

            ‘He’s asking for you.’

            ‘Me? Alright. Go sit with Mary. The police are on their way.’ Mycroft shuffled into the room and Sherlock finally looked up. His eyes blurred with tears.

            “Mye…help me. I don’t know what to do. Everything is crashing around me. I’m a danger to the one person I care about, and now, I’ve put your family in danger too.”

            Mycroft helped Sherlock to his feet and pulled him into a hug. “I wish I could tell you everything was going to be alright, but I don’t know either.”

            Sherlock’s chest shook with sobs as he fell into the hug. He hadn’t relied on his brother like this in years. It was comforting. “I’ll forget the case. You have the whole government to take care of it. Just… keep me far away from everyone. Especially John.”

            “Sherlock…”

             “Just promise to keep me informed. I don’t care if you lie. Tell me John is safe. Tell me everything is taken care of. Tell me I’m not a failure and that what I did was imperative. But take me away. Everyone would benefit.”

            “Sherlock, I- They want this. They want to break you, so you’ll be out of the picture. They’re trying to scare you off because they know they’d lose if you get involved. Without you, everyone would be in greater danger. We need you.”

            “You’re not helping!”

            “I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say.”

            “Just focus on John and your family. Keep them safe. Call up your people or whatever and take them away. Hide them like with Irene.”

            “It’s what they want. We can hide them, but they’d still find them. We can’t run and we can’t stand still. I’m just as lost as you, but we need you on this case.”

            “You saw what happened when I got involved Mye. This time was a warning. What will happen if I stay on? Caroline kidnapped? John poisoned? You…“ Sherlock collapsed into sobs again.

            Mycroft released the hug and put Sherlock at arm’s length. “I hate seeing you like this Sherly. I don’t know what I’m doing. Mummy was always better at it.”

            “You know me better than Mummy.”

            “Sherlock, I-“ Mycroft sighed. “Come with me.” Sherlock let Mycroft take his hand and pull him down the stairs to the sitting room. The lights were off and the whole room was much cooler than the sunlit dining room. Mycroft set Sherlock on the couch then moved to close all the curtains, shrouding the room in darkness. Sherlock pulled his knees to his chest while Mycroft grabbed a pillow and settled down next to him. “Close your eyes.” Sherlock obliged and felt his brother pull his head down to the pillow in his lap.

            “Look at me, my body’s betraying me. I’m… scared…” Sherlock trembled from head to toe, but not due to the chill. He wanted it to stop.

            “Hush. Just relax. It’ll be alright. For now, concentrate on your breathing. Get your heartrate down.”

            “John can hardly manage that, but I’ll give it a shot.” Sherlock took a shaky breath in, but his mind was firing too fast to relax. “Talk to me. Make me stop thinking.”

            Mycroft contemplated what to say for a moment. “When we were younger, I used to watch you in the yard through my bedroom window. You had your little ‘Mind Palace’ box with all those silly trinkets. You would run around by yourself, fighting off imaginary enemies with your foam sword, yelling pirate insults at them. Once, you lost your hand in battle and made a makeshift hook out of chicken wire and a small box you found.”

            “I don’t remember that.” Sherlock looked up at Mycroft.

            “Keep your eyes closed.” Sherlock quickly shut his eyes like a child getting in trouble for peeking during prayer. “Anyway, you attempted to eat with it during dinner, but Father ripped it from you yelling, ‘Why can’t you be more civilized like Mycroft!?’ It hurt to see you being picked on at my expense, but I was scared to disappoint Father and go against his wishes, so instead, I tried to look unconcerned and continue eating. You were clearly upset the rest of the meal but went right back to playing pirates after, giving your imaginary ship mates this intricate explanation of how you regrew your hand using your cheek cells mixed with some other things I can’t recall. I would have laughed aloud at how you explained it, but Father was in the room next door and I was meant to be studying.” Sherlock winced briefly as Mycroft’s hand rested on top of his head. When he started stroking his hair like Mummy used to, he sighed and released tension in muscles he didn’t realize he was flexing. “When it got dark, Mummy would call you inside and get you ready for bed. I would listen as she would sing to you, each night a different song. Then, one day, Father yelled at Mummy to stop singing you to sleep. ‘Mycroft doesn’t require it, why should Sherlock? A boy his age shouldn’t need his mother at all.’ I think I lost it. I ran out of my room into the hall and yelled at him. Needless to say, that was the last time I ever stood up for you. I went to school the next day practically purple from all the bruising. It was utterly degrading, let me tell you, but I had to explain to everyone that I ran into a wall. The teachers probably knew the truth, but Father was… influential.”

            “I remember yelling, but… you couldn’t come up with a better story? One that was more believable?”

            “That’s what Father told me to say. I think he wanted to humiliate me.” Sherlock shifted to find a more comfortable position and pulled Mycroft’s hand to his face, indicating he wanted a massage. Mycroft snorted and began rubbing Sherlock’s temples. The trembling came in waves now. “All the students would point and whisper. Few were brave enough to come up to me and demand to know what happened. But those that did would run off laughing to tell their on-looking friends. I punched one boy who pushed me into a wall yelling, ‘Look! Mycroft Holmes got attacked by a wall again!’ I got a call home and Father was furious. Mummy stayed with me through my suspension. That was about the time I really began to push everyone away.”

            “How old were you?”

            “Twelve, I think. You were getting ready to go to school yourself. When I went back to school, the bruising had gone down. One girl came up to me during lunch and I yelled at her because I thought she was going to make fun of me. She didn’t let it sway her. She persisted for the next few weeks. Usually, I ignored her, but didn’t chase her off because I secretly enjoyed her company. Through the rest of primary and into secondary school, she chipped away my barrier until I was pretty social again. Then, one day Father found out I was spending more time with her than with my studies. He nipped that in the bud and sent me to a private school for boys. I cried for a week.”

            “What happened with the girl?” Sherlock propped himself onto his elbow to look Mycroft in the eyes.

            “We tried to keep in touch. I managed to get her a note by sneaking out of the house, breaking into the school, and leaving it at her desk. For a while, we wrote letters, but she moved, and we lost contact. I don’t even remember her name now.”

            “Was it not Mary? Didn’t you know each other growing up?”

            “No. Mary and I didn’t grow close until my last year of secondary.”

            “Tell me more about the private school.” Sherlock settled back and Mycroft resumed playing with his hair.

            “It was totally different from public schooling. The classes were excruciatingly boring, the students acted totally different, the teachers were overly uptight, and the workload was unbearable. But, to avoid Father’s wrath, I studied harder than ever. Consequently, I did well. Top of the class, adored by the teachers, however, I hated every minute of it. I wanted to be like the other boys, the ones stealing eggs from bird’s nests and throwing them at people’s houses, burning paper with a magnifying glass and tossing it into trash cans, chasing each other down with mud paddies. I tried to join them one day when Father was out of town, but I was shunned. They called me the Uptight Holmes Bat.”

            “You decide to prove them right? You’re definitely uptight now.”

            “Eventually, I suppose, but not right away. I just stayed inside.”

            “And did what? I always remember you being outside.”

            “Studied. Watched the boys play. Avoided Father. It’s all I could do. When spring came, I started studying outside. I felt too trapped inside. There was a spot in the garden I would go to let out all my frustrations. You found me there once and I guess it had been a really bad day, because I let you have it. Mummy was furious.”

            “I’m sorry. I probably deserved it. I know I was a really hard child.”

            Mycroft chuckled softly. “Maybe a tad. But that didn’t make it right.”

            “I forgive you.”

            “I…appreciate that.” Sherlock breathed out as Mycroft continued. “Uptight Holmes Bat. That’s what the neighbors called Father behind his back. Was I really becoming my father? I didn’t want to be known as little William Holmes. I hated that man. So I tried being more social. However, everyone either already had their closed group of friends or their studies to worry about. Around that time, I did all my studying outdoors, rain or shine. Even bought myself a larger umbrella. That’s when I met Mary. Her parents wanted her to go to school in Cambridge where we lived, so she stayed with her grandparents during the school year. They were social people and seemed to throw a lot of parties. This particular day, she was out playing badminton and a birdie flew over our fence. She’d climbed the tree to collect it and instead found me, holding it out. I must have looked ridiculous, staring up at her in my fancy clothes, an amused yet irritated look on my face and holding out a birdie, because she almost fell out of the tree with laughter. Over the next week, she would relax in the tree and watch me study, offering the occasional comment her and there. I mostly ignored her, but eventually, I found myself coming outside just to pretend to study so I could talk to her. She seemed to enjoy watching you show off your sword skills and her smile made my heart swell, so I didn’t mind when you came out to play near us. She went back home to America for the summer but returned as school started back up.

            The new school year showed no social improvements. I was still being shunned as some uptight prick, so I started carrying my umbrella everywhere to look the part. If they thought I was too uptight for them, I’d be too uptight. The only person I cared to talk to was Mary anyways. As soon as I got out of school, I was in the garden. The extra “studying” I was doing payed dividends because Father left me alone, and you became his main focus. Mary often asked if you could come out to play with us, but I insisted you would when you could, knowing full well you weren’t allowed. Exams came and went, and I graduated, moved away to university to study business, and took a minor role in the government. I would visit Mummy at home as often as I could, always hoping to see Mary. Eventually, she and I got married and had Caroline. I bought us this house and now, here we are.”

            “I’m sorry Father was so mean to you.”

            “It’s not a big deal. I got over it. I was more worried about you.”

            “Thank you.” Mycroft looked down at Sherlock. His words had been barely audible. “For sticking up for me. All that time, I was feeling sorry for myself, thinking you were the Golden Child who didn’t care about me. I did drugs to forget my troubles and cause you problems. I’m sorry.”

            “You couldn’t have known about my troubles. I made sure of that.”

            Sherlock sat up and turned to face Mycroft. “I think I can face the world again, Mye.”

            There are pounding footsteps upstairs. “I almost forgot I called Greg.”

            “You called… He would be your best bet with my hands tied.”

            “I’m aware. I told them to leave you alone if you want to stay down here.” Mycroft stood.

            “It’s fine.” Sherlock stood carefully, unsure if his legs were ready to support him. He took Mycroft’s offered arm and righted himself. “I’m okay. Let’s go.” They walk upstairs, Mycroft leading, and Sherlock moves immediately to John’s side. “I’m sorry for my outburst earlier. Forgive me.”

            “Always.” John smiled.

            Sherlock looked over at the sound of yelling across the room to see Lestrade nose to nose with Mary. “Looks like Mary made a friend.”

            Mycroft sighed. “I better go clear it up. He may have touched…something or other.” He walked off.

            “They make friends so easily.” John suppressed a laugh.

            “It’s a Holmes trait. Hard to explain.”

            “Will you fill me in on what’s going on yet?”

            “Again, John, forgive me, but the less you know right now, the better off you’ll be. I’ll explain everything in time.” Sherlock watched Mycroft across the room. He put a hand on Mary’s shoulder and Lestrade glanced up at the ceiling, clearly frustrated at something.

            “Will you at least tell me why you had such a breakdown? Even at Baskerville, you didn’t look like that.”

            Sherlock tore his gaze from the scene with Mycroft and Lestrade to look John in the eyes. They appeared bluer than normal today. Like a fading summer storm. It didn’t make keeping secrets any easier. “Just ‘untraceable notes received by the police department’.”

            “You expect me to believe that? I know you better than that Sherlock.”

            “I expect you to trust me like you always have. Even when I let you down.”

            “You’ve never let me down.” John mumbles.

            Sherlock’s heart leapt and he couldn’t help but flash a small, sad smile. “Just trust me John. You need to be far away from me while Mycroft works this out. You’ll all be well taken care of and safe.”

            “But- “

            “I don’t want any arguments, please, John. Everything I’ve done since I’ve met you has been to keep you safe. Now is no different. Just listen to everything Mycroft has to say, and you’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.” Sherlock’s phone vibrated in his pocket and he subconsciously tensed his shoulders before pulling it out.

                        ‘Precautions now
                        While you’ve wasted my time?
                        I thought I could trust you
                        my partner in crime.
                        -JM’

Chapter Text

            “This is getting ridiculous. The fact of the matter is, that door could have hit someone, and your men nearly barreled my daughter over rushing in like that!”

            “We didn’t have a choice. No one was answering.”

            “Well of course no one would answer. There’s a murderer on the loose!”

            “Weren’t you aware we were coming? Did Mycroft not tell you?”

            Mycroft approached and put a hand on his wife's shoulder. “If I could interject Inspector.” The front door was off the hinges and splintered. No fixing it now. “My wife is a little shook up already and then your men broke down our mahogany door. Someone could have been hurt, and I’m not just talking about us. You had my number; you could have just called.”

            “I am sorry about the door Mycroft, however when nobody answered our knocking, we expected the worst, and busted the fucking door-” Lestrade cut himself off as Caroline ran in and grabbed Mycroft’s leg.

            “I thought I told you to go to bed?” Mary looked at Caroline sternly.

            “Can you blame her?” Mycroft picked Caroline up and rested her on his hip. “There are officers searching the entire house. I wouldn’t be able to sleep either.” He kissed the top of her head and she giggled.

            An officer approached and muttered something to Lestrade who nodded. “They found the camera in the dining room.”

            “You’re looking for cameras?” Caroline turned in Mycroft’s arms. “I just found one in my room this morning. Come see!” She struggled to get down and, with a nod from Mary, led the Chief Inspector upstairs.

            Mary’s face had gone white.  “What kind of sick bastard puts a camera in a little girl’s room?” She hugged herself tightly.

            Mycroft noticed her distress and pulled her into a hug. “This one apparently, but don’t worry. I promised to keep you both safe, and I intend to keep that promise. Just give me some time.” Mary nodded and Mycroft rubbed her back gently.

            A few minutes later, Lestrade and Caroline returned. Mary pulled away. “Well?”

            Greg turned the small camera over in his hands. “It seems to be disabled.”

            “Well duh! I didn’t want some creepo watching me while I slept.” Caroline interjected.

            Mycroft observed his daughter proudly. “That’s my girl.” Caroline beamed.

            Lestrade handed the camera off to a passing officer and knelt down to look Caroline in the face. “Caroline, did you happen to find any others?”

            “Just one, in the TV room, but I couldn’t reach it. It’s hidden above the mantle clock.”

            Lestrade nodded. “Hill!” he yelled, and a female officer ran in from the kitchen. “Check the TV room. Caroline here will show you where she saw one.” He ushered Caroline off and stood to his full height again.

            “Mycroft, look at this.” Mycroft turned to face Sherlock and John. He suppressed a groan when he saw what Sherlock was holding, but took the phone anyway and read the message.

            “You used to work with Moriarty?”

            “I don’t work with anyone Mye.”

            “What if it’s not Jim?” Lestrade chimed in. “We already know he couldn’t be the one texting Sherlock. So-”

            Mycroft picked up on to what Greg was implying. “Is there someone you used to work with? Someone who could be impersonating Jim?”

            “I guess I used to work with Sebastian Moran, but that was for one case years ago.”

            “What if this Sebastian was just using the –JM tag to throw us off?” Lestrade seemed excited by the possibility.

            “I suppose that’s possible. But even so, I’m not working with anyone. Unless…” Sherlock glanced to John who did a double-take and looked shocked and hurt.

            “Don’t look at me! I’m not doing it! Why would you even think that?”

            “I’m sorry John. I didn’t mean…” Sherlock sighed. “You know what, forget this for the moment. Let’s focus on getting the girls safe.”

            Mycroft looked at Sherlock gratefully. “Thanks for thinking of my family Sherlock.”

            “Just the consequences of the predicament… I assure you.” Sherlock turned away, effectively ending the conversation.

            Mycroft shook his head, amused. “I’ll go ahead and make the arrangements.” He walked outside to call in a few favors. Whilst there, he remembered the car he’d carelessly left running in his dash to save his family. It was still in the driveway, and someone had turned it off. He made a mental note to find out who and thank them. When he returned to the sitting room, Mary was cuddling with Caroline and Sherlock sat on the couch beside John drumming his fingers on his leg.

            Sherlock looked up. “Am I taking John with me, or is he staying here?”

            “John is free to return to 221B with you. I’ll send for you both when we’re ready.”

            “Alright John let’s go. I’ve had enough of my brother for one outing.” Sherlock stood and offered a hand to John who took it and rose.

            Mycroft adjusted his standing position to look more regal. “Good day Sherlock. Don’t go chasing the killer on your own now.”

            “If John’s safety is dependent on my lack of responsibility, then I will stay out of the way. But if there’s something I can do to stop it, I will. I can assure you that.”

            “Just go.”

            “Fine.” Sherlock walked past Mycroft and whispered, “Sorry about Father. Text me. I need it.”

            “No one knows that as much as I,” Mycroft mumbled back, almost inaudibly.

            Before he left, Sherlock turned to face the girls. “Goodnight Mary. Caroline, Monster, Thing.” Mycroft frowned at Sherlock’s remark. “Oh, don’t give me that look, Mycroft. All children are monsters. That’s why I’ll never get one.”

            “You’ll never get one because you push everyone away.” Mycroft smirked. “When was the last time you got laid?”

            “I’m still here, he didn’t push me-“ John stopped speaking as Mycroft’s comment sunk in. “-you know what I mean.” Sherlock simply stared at John. “I willingly spend almost every living, breathing second with him.”

            “Strictly for business purposes.”

            Sherlock glared at Mycroft, “Come John. We’re leaving now.” He spun on his heel and left.

            Mary released her daughter as soon as they two men had gone, “Caroline, bed.” Caroline whined in protest. “It’s late, and it seems as though Daddy has a big day planned for us tomorrow. Isn’t that right Mycroft?”

            “I do.” Mycroft nodded then addressed Mary, “I think I’ll send the rest of the officers home for the night. They can continue their search in the morning.”

            “Thank you Mycro.” Mary gave Mycroft a quick kiss and led Caroline away.

            Later that night, Mycroft lay in bed beside his sleeping wife, unable to find rest himself. Sherlock had stopped responding to his texts around midnight, but he couldn’t stop his mind racing, working overtime to figure out what this Midnight Howler and the man with the viola case wanted with his family and Sherlock. Why put cameras in his home when it was Sherlock whom they desired? He sighed and kicked his feet over the side of the bed and into his slippers. He wasn’t going to sleep anyway, may as well allow Mary some sleep without his constant tossing and turning. He grabbed his phone, stood, and exited the room. Upon unlocking the screen, he saw he’d missed a text from Lestrade about an hour ago.

                        Moriarty’s gone. Be on high alert.
                        -Greg

            “Shit.” He mumbled and immediately called Sherlock.

            The detective answered in a groggy voice. “What the hell do you want Mycroft? It’s-“ There was the sound of rustling as Sherlock pulled the phone away from his face, “-1:30 in the morning.”

            “I am sorry Sherlock, this is important.”

            Sherlock sighed. “Alright. Let me step out so I don’t wake John.”

            “I see. So when did you make it official?”

            “It’s not like that!” Sherlock said defensively then lowered his voice. “We both decided it would be safer to take a hotel room for the night, since we don’t know how we are being watched at our flat.”

            “Separate beds then?”

            “Shut up Mycroft,” Sherlock shot back, and Mycroft snorted. “So, why did you call me at this ungodly hour?”

            “Lestrade messaged me. Jim is-“

            Sherlock cut him off. “He’s free, isn’t he?”

            “Yes.” Mycroft yawned, but there was little likelihood of him sleeping now.

            The phone buzzed on the other end. Sherlock breathed out deeply. “I just got another text from Jim.”

            “What does it say?”

            “Give me a moment.” Sherlock placed the call on hold. Mycroft sat back on the couch. Would this ever end? “Mycroft.” Sherlock came back on suddenly, fear in his voice.

            He sat up, wide awake now. “Sherlock. What’s wrong?”

            Sherlock read the text aloud.

                        “Look Sherlock,
                        I’m free!
                        Someone will die
                        If you don’t find me
                        -JM”

            “Was that all?”

            “I need you to go to my flat and make sure Mrs. Hudson is safe.” His voice was shaking, but he was clearly trying to steady it.

            “Is everything alright?" Mycroft caught himself, "Of course it’s not. You wouldn’t ask me to help you otherwise. Alright. Is the key still in the flap under the steps?”

            “No. John moved it. It's in the porch light now.”

            “Okay. Is there anything I need to know before I get there?”

            Sherlock was silent for a moment before answering, signifying to Mycroft that he wasn’t being totally honest. “No. It was just a picture of the flat. I’m overreacting. But please, check on her. For me. Just in case.””

            “Alright. But you owe me. The leg work…”

            “You know you can use it. Sitting behind a desk all day, eating cake.”

            “The diet is fine. Thank you.” Mycroft smiled then hung up the phone. He headed upstairs and threw on his civilian clothes before driving to 221B. He parked the car on the curb, pulled the key out of the light and walked up the steps to the front door. It’s already open. He let himself in. “Hello? Mrs. Hudson. It’s Mycroft. Sherlock sent me.” No response. He shut the door behind him and was immediately grabbed.

            “Well, well, well. Wrong Holmes. This will be quite fun.”

Chapter Text

            Sherlock paced between the hotel bathroom and the door. He’d woken John about 30 minutes ago and he was now quietly watching late night telly. There’d been no response or text from his brother for nearly 45 minutes. “John. Stay here. I’ll be back soon. Something’s wrong.”

            “Why don’t you just call him?” John looked up at Sherlock.

            “I have. I just get a busy signal.”

            “Maybe he’s talking to someone?”

            “I know my brother. If he’d found her safe, he’d have texted me before doing anything else.”

            John flipped off the TV. “I’ll come with.”

            Sherlock shook his head. “No. I’ll text you the second I get there, just… stay here. Please.”

            “I can handle myself. Let me come.”

            “I’d feel better if you stayed here. Get some rest. I’ll be quiet coming back.” Sherlock quickly left, giving John no time to rebuttal. As he ran, he called for a cab which met him a couple blocks away. Halfway to 221B, he received a text.

                        Oh Sherlock, how very dull.
                        Sending your brother in your stead?
                        Hurry up, and do, bring John.
                        Or I just might, blow off his head? (Hehe)
                        -JM

            Mycroft’s car took up the only open curb space, so Sherlock jumped out and paid. He made his way through the front doorway which fell open much too easily. It had been broken open. But the key was gone. Must have been before Mycroft arrived. Someone else was here. The scene in the front hallway reminded him of the one from Scandal in Belgravia. Signs of a struggle: fresh claw marks, scuff marks on the stairs, and a broken rail support; all too intentionally placed to be real. Jim was here, and he was trying to send a message. Sherlock rolled his eyes. So unoriginal. “Dull.” He muttered and took a step further into the flat, his foot landing upon Mycroft’s umbrella. He scoffed. Even when no one would see him, Mye still brought his security cane. But why hadn’t he used the hidden knife inside it? He must have been jumped. He picked up the umbrella, texted Lestrade, and headed up to his flat.

            He slowly pushed open the door and called into the room. “Mycroft? Mycroft Holmes?” A noise came from the bedroom and he cautiously made his way over. “Mye?” He pushed open the door to see Mycroft on the bed, tied back to back with Mrs. Hudson. Both parties were gagged. “Never thought I’d be unfortunate enough to see you like this Mye.” He smirked and glanced around the room. Nobody but the two captives so he moved to untie them.

            Jim’s cold voice sounded behind him. “Nuh, uh, uh.” Then, in a sing song voice, “You don’t have what I asked for.”

            Sherlock froze. “And what would that be?”

            “John, Sherlock. John!” Jim stepped into the room.

            “What do you need John for? You have me.” Sherlock remained facing the bed but stood straight.

            “That would give away the secret, now wouldn’t it?”

            Sherlock placed his hands behind his back. “What secret?”

            “My secret Sherlock. Mine.” Jim whined. Sherlock’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out.

                        Have you seen the ghost of John?
                        Long white bones and the rest all gone,
                        Ooh, ooh, wouldn’t it be chilly with no skin on?
                        -MidnightHowler

            He finally turned and thrust his phone at Jim. “Tell me who this is!”

            Jim smiled widely and linked his hands together. “Look who just got a text. Hm. I wonder who it could be. Maybe someone who’s angry you didn’t do as I asked?” He stepped up to Sherlock. “I’m only trying to help Sherlock, really I am, but if you don’t do anything to help me… well…” He turned on his heel and imitated the sound of a crashing plane.

            “How are you doing this? Why?”

            Jim turned back around. “I can’t go around giving out my secrets willy-nilly. Then I wouldn’t be unique anymore.” He thrust out his bottom lip in a mock pout.

            Sherlock snorted. “Oh, sure. Unique. Using the American way to break into my flat and kidnap my friends.”

            “I try.” Jim stretched his arms over his head, “John goes with you everywhere. So what happened this time? Were you trying to protect him?” He tilted his head accusingly.

            Sherlock suppressed an eye twitch as he lied. “Of course not. He’s expendable.”

            Jim grinned wickedly. “Then you wouldn’t mind if I just” he pulled a device out of his pocket, “pressed this detonate button here?”

            Sherlock’s mind began to race. There was no way he knew where they’d ended up tonight. “Where does it lead?”

            “Man Sherlock. You are getting slow.” Jim laughed and walked to the foot of the bed. “You and I both know where you turned in tonight.”

            “How do I know you’re not lying?”

            “Truth. Lies. In the end, it doesn’t matter. Someone’s still going to die.”

            “And what if I call for help?”

            “Are you willing to test me and find out? I love games, Sherlock. But I don’t think you’re willing to accept losing.” Mycroft started to squirm in his bonds and Jim hit him atop the head. Mycroft groaned and Mrs. Hudson sobbed into her gag.  

            “I don’t think you’ll really do it.” Sherlock looked Moriarty up and down. “Why would you go to the trouble of asking me to bring John then threaten to blow him up when I don’t bring oblige? You need him for something.”

            “You’re the one who told me he’s expendable, and wouldn’t you know it, I’ve already found his replacement.” Jim looked over at Mycroft who glared. “Oh, Mycroft. I really don’t like that face.” He slammed the detonator over Mycroft’s head, and he went limp. “Much better. 573 may be a handful but she does make a great device. Look, not even a dent in the craftsmanship.” He held it out for Sherlock to see.

            Sherlock ignored the device, and stared Jim in the eyes. “He knows better than to trust you now. Nothing you do or say will sway him. What could you possibly expect to gain?”

            “Your cooperation.”

            “You think I care about him more than I do.”

            “I’m sure that’s not quite true. I’ve seen you recently.”

            Sherlock’s cheeks burned. “I see.”

            “Always plan for the unexpected.” Jim pulled the detonator back and turned to the window, fingering the button with his thumb. “Should I do it Sherlock? I’d really like to.”

            “Go ahead.” Mrs. Hudson reacted to Sherlock’s heartless tone with a disdainful squeal.

            “Good. I’m grateful for your permission. I was going to do it anyway, but now John’s death can be on your head. Now, where was I? Oh yes. Pressing the big red button.” Lestrade burst into the room and undercover of Jim’s momentary distraction, Sherlock knocked the detonator from his hand. He pressed Jim's face into the wall, arms behind his back. “You’re not going to kill me Sherlock. You’re too good for that.”

            “No James. Not kill.” Lestrade took him from Sherlock. “Greg here is going to take you away.”

            “I’ll see you again Sherlock. Guaranteed. Also,” Jim looked to where the detonator landed, “whoopsy. Someone forgot, I’m the bad guy.” He giggled manically as Lestrade pushed him from the room.

            Sherlock looked regretfully to Mrs. Hudson then down to the device whose button had already been pressed. He closed his eyes tight. Of course he wouldn’t play by the rules. How could I have been so stupid? He raced down the stairs. “Lestrade, untie them when you’re done. And for the love of God… make sure he can’t get away!” He ran into the street, right in front of an oncoming cab.

            “Are you mad?” Lestrade yelled after him.

            “Maybe.” Sherlock called back and climbed in.

            Mary awoke to a loud beep. She squeezed her eyes closed, then opened them, blinking away sleep. Another, quieter beep assured her that she’d definitely heard it. She rose from bed and pulled on her robe to investigate. Couldn’t be a smoke detector battery. Much too quiet. She waited for another beep and followed the noise to the source. Caroline sleepily toddled up behind Mary as she glanced inside the vent.

            “Mommy. What’s that noise?”

            “I’m not sure baby. Can you go grab Mommy a Philips screwdriver from downstairs?”

            “Sure.” Caroline nodded. While she waited, Mary retrieved a flashlight from the bedroom. Caroline returned and handed her the screwdriver. She held the flashlight while Mary undid the screws. “Do you want me to call Daddy? He left somewhere right?”

            Mary put the screwdriver on the floor and removed the vent cover. “He did. But let’s not bother him.” She took the flashlight from her daughter. “Let’s find out what’s making the noise first.” Another beep sounded, and Mary shone the light into the vent. She couldn’t see anything, so she turned to Caroline. “Think you can get in there?”

            “But it’s dirty.” Caroline whined and Mary laughed.

            “I know. But how about this. Once we stop the beeping, I’ll let you take a bath in my tub.” Caroline nodded enthusiastically and took the flashlight from Mary before crawling into the vent. Mary waited a moment before calling after her. “See it?”

            “Yeah. It’s uh…” Caroline paused to look over the device before describing it to her mother. “It’s like a spy movie briefcase. Metal. But it doesn’t have any latches. It’s also got a timer on it.”

            “A timer? Read it to me.”

            “It’s counting down from 2000.”

            “Shit…I’ve got to call John.” Mary stood. “Caroline, get out of there now. You did very well.” Caroline crawled out of the air vent, brushing as much dust off her pjs as she could. “Go ahead and change. Quickly. Then meet me outside.”

Chapter Text

            Sherlock called John several times, but each time, there was no answer. It wasn’t until the cab pulled up to the intact hotel, that he finally received a response from John.

            “John! What the hell?! Why weren’t you answering your phone?!”

            John sounded out of breath, as though he’d run from the hotel to the Holmes mansion. But that was miles away. He’d have to have been a fool. “I’m sorry Sherlock. Mary called me. There was a bomb in her home.”

            Sherlock’s heard leapt. “Is everyone alright?”

            “Yes. But I think you should come over. We need to talk in person.” Caroline’s laugh could be heard in the background.

            “I’ll be right there.” Sherlock hung up the phone and directed the cabbie to Mycroft’s. When he arrived, there were several cop cars with lights blaring already in the driveway. Despite protests from policemen, Sherlock pushed his way into the house. He found John and Mary in the kitchen; both being looked over by paramedics, and Caroline who was busy chatting with Sally. He immediately hugged John, then Mary. He placed a kiss on her cheek. “You’re both alright.” He sighed. “John, where is it?”

            “The bomb? The bomb squad took care of it, after I took care of it.”

            “You?”

            “Well, Caroline did the work. I just told her what to do. I couldn’t reach it, and didn’t want her to move it, just in case, so with my instruction she disarmed it.”

            Sherlock ran a hand through his hair and looked over to the small child. “How?”

            “She’s brilliant.”

            “And how did you know…”

            “After the incident with the trolley car, I did some research. I’m surprised you don’t remember. You were in the room when they came to test… actually, no. I’m not surprised. I trained for this.”

            Sherlock turned away and scanned the room for Mycroft. “Where’s Mye? I thought he’d be here by now.”

            Mary folded her arms and looked to her daughter. “Isn’t he with you?”

            Sherlock shook his head. “I left him with Lestrade. He’s fine by the way.”

            “Alright.” Mary dropped her arms to her side and fiddled with the hem of her jeans.

            “Are you and Caroline going to be alright?” Sherlock asked.

            “We’ll be fine.” Mary’s worried face gave her away, but Sherlock dropped the subject.

            John turned his head so Mary couldn’t see and whispered to Sherlock. “She’s been like this since I arrived. Still in shock I think.”

            “And what about you?”

            “I’ve seen worse things in my day.”

            Sherlock nodded. “I think we should all stay here tonight. I’ll wait outside for Mycroft, then we’ll decide where we’re all going come morning. I… I’m glad you’re safe. I don’t know what I’d do if…” Sherlock turned to hide his rapidly warming cheeks. What was going on with him lately?

            John looked confused. “Thanks Sherlock. I think. You’re just going to be outside right? You’re not about to run off again?”

            “Of course not.” Sherlock couldn’t look John in the eyes. “I’ll be right out front.” Sherlock pat John on the shoulder and made his way outside. He wandered down the street, hoping to find a cab. After several blocks from Mycroft’s home without any luck, he decided to turn back. John would probably come looking soon. He stopped when he came to a wall plastered in posters and fliers.

            Sherlock stared intensely at one flier in particular. It looked relatively normal. White with a simple graphic of an umbrella on the top, but it was the text underneath that held his attention.

                        -I gave you a warning,
                        Thinking that’s all that you’d need,
                        So continue if you must,
                        But that little blonde girl will bleed.
                        -Midnight Howler-

            Mycroft came to, still strapped to Mrs. Hudson on Sherlock’s bed. “Oh, you’re finally awake. Are you alright dear? I hope you don’t mind. I had to use my teeth to untie your gag. Mine came loose on its own, but I didn’t want you to choke. I didn’t know how else-”

            Mycroft cut her off, “It’s fine.” He groaned. “Wh…what happened? Where is everyone?”

            “Well, James, or whatever his name is, you know, the Irish fellow, he was about to push that button,” she tilted her head toward the detonator, “when the DI burst in. Sherlock, bless him, kicked the button from his hands, then the DI took him away. Sherlock left soon after in quite a rush. No care for us might I add. It’s been almost ten minutes.” Mrs. Hudson grunted disapprovingly.

            Mycroft looked to where Mrs. Hudson had gestured and noticed the pressed button. He started to struggle against the bonds.

            “Stop struggling. Mycroft. Mycroft Holmes!” Mrs. Hudson yelled, and Mycroft stopped briefly. “It’s no use. I’m sure someone will be back soon. It hasn’t been that long.”

            “I’ll struggle if I damn well feel like struggling!” Mycroft resumed his wiggling. “There’s nothing some old hag is going to say that will stop-“

            “Mycroft!!” Lestrade stepped into the room and Mycroft froze. Mrs. Hudson had begun to cry.

            “Untie me immediately!”

            “There’s no need to shout.”

            “Just untie me Greg!”

            “I’m getting there.” Lestrade untied the pair. “I trust you can get your feet?”

            “Already done. Now. Where’s my phone?” Mycroft spied it on the desk by the window along with his umbrella. He picked up both and called Mary. There’s no answer. He tried again but still, no answer. “Fuck.” He hurried outside and hailed the first cab he saw.

            Sherlock pulled out his phone and took a photo of the poster just as a cab turned the corner. Determined to not let this one go, he ran directly into its path, giving it barely enough time to screech to a halt. “I need a ride.” He moved to the door behind the driver and pulled it open. “Mycroft?!”

            “Sherlock?”

            Sherlock looked into the cab, finding Mycroft alone. “What are you doing?”

            “I’m going home. The detonator was pressed. Mary wasn’t answering her phone. I am afraid… I need to make sure she’s safe.”

            “They’re fine. For now. I just came from there. Where’s Mrs. Hudson? She needs to be here.”

            “Why should I care about your landlady?”

            Sherlock hit the side of the car. “Damn you! You never think things through!”

            “She was blubbering. I was not taking that with me.”

            “You sodding git! Move over.” Sherlock shoved his way into the cab. “221B Baker Street. I’ll pay the difference.”

            “The only people I care about is my family. Why should she matter?”

            “Mycroft! I told you they’re fine.”

            “You said they’re fine for now, but they need me there. Stop the cab. I’ll find my own way home.”

            “Move the bloody cab." To Mycroft, "You don’t think they can keep themselves safe? Besides, John is there now. They’ll be fine.”

            “If you don’t stop the cab this instant, I will have you fired!” The cab pulled over immediately and Mycroft climbed out.

            “Mycroft!” Sherlock groaned. “Just go. I’ll pay his fare too.” He fell back into his seat and hit the door with a clenched fist. “Damn the man.” The cab returned to Baker Street which was now entirely blocked off. Sherlock told the cabbie to wait for him and sped through emergency personnel until he reached Lestrade. “Gilbert, where’s Mrs. Hudson?”

            Lestrade turned to face him. “Gilbert? Alright…. What happened to you Sherlock? Where did you run off to?”

            “It doesn’t matter. Just tell me where she is.”

            “She’s inside. Medics are looking her over.”

            Without hesitation, Sherlock rushed into the building. As Lestrade had said, she was sitting in her kitchen, being examined by medical professionals. “Dearie me Sherlock. Aren’t you a sight-?“

            “You’re coming with me. You’re not safe here,” he interrupted.

            “Sherlock, please. I’m fine.”

            “But-“ Sherlock tried to protest but Mrs. Hudson held up a hand.

            “Honestly. The Inspector has taken care of the flat. It’s you I’m worried about Dear. You look dreadful.”

            Sherlock turned to look into the mirror hanging on the wall. His hair was a mess of curls, he had bags under his eyes, and his coat collar was askew. He quickly ruffled his hair and straightened his collar to its usual standing position. “Of course.” He grunted. “I uh… I was simply worried about you after that whole… and then my brother left you-“

            “Oh don’t mind me. A woman of my age has a few tricks up her sleeve and years of favors piled up. I’ll be fine. Come morning, I’ll have fully recovered.”

            Sherlock subconsciously imitated John’s military nod and backed towards the door. “I’ll be… I’ll be going then. You know my number.”

            Mrs. Hudson laughed. “John’s waiting. Go.”

            He arrived back at Holmes manor, slightly ashamed at the fit he’d thrown at Mycroft. The squad cars were gone, and everything was quiet again. At the front door, he took a deep breath, pushed his shoulders back, straightened his coat, and entered. He found everyone in the kitchen, including Mycroft who was fretting over his wife and daughter. John stood a few feet away.

            “He find out about Caroline and the bomb?” He muttered, out of earshot of Mycroft.

            “Oh yeah.”

            “Did you tell him she stopped it?”

            “Nope.”

            “I’d suggest we not.”

            Sherlock turned to look at Mycroft who had deliberately turned his back on them. Such a child. He walked over to his brother. “I told you they were fine.”

            Caroline piped up when Mycroft stayed silent. “Of course I was Sherly.”

            “Your father doesn’t like to believe me. Been eating cake lately Mye? You’ve got some crumbs on your jacket, and some frosting just there.” He tapped the side of his lips to indicate the damning evidence on Mycroft.

            “No.” Mycroft mumbled, brushing a sleeve over his mouth.

            “He has. He gave me the rest.” Caroline beamed proudly.

            Sherlock smirked. “I’m sure he did. Tsk tsk. What would Mummy say?”

            “Leave me be.” Mycroft turned away, hiding his embarrassment.

            “You’ve been a right bloody sod tonight. I hope you know that.”

            “Go away Sherlock!” Mycroft shot back.

            “How mature of you…”

            John took Sherlock’s arm before he could retort. “Behave. Both of you. This time, Mycroft, Sherlock is right. But we need to get along. We’re in this together.”

            “Of course I’m right. I’m always… this time?” Sherlock shot a look to John just as a paper airplane flew in from the window and hit him in the head. Mycroft set Caroline down and ran to the window it came from. Sherlock picked it up and unfolded it. It was a note.

                        ‘I know where you’re headed
                        You can’t hide from me.
                        Mycroft Holmes is a fool,
                        Trying safety for three?
                        -MidnightHowler’

            “Is there anyone out there Mye?”

            “Nothing. It’s too dark to see.” He pulled the window closed and shut the curtains.

            Sherlock crushed the paper in his fist and threw it to the ground. “We need to get them out of here. Somewhere new. They know what you’d had planned.” Mycroft walked over and picked up the balled-up paper. He unfurled it and read, a crease growing between his eyebrows. He handed the note off to Mary and ran a hand over his head.

            “We need to talk. In private.” Sherlock pulled out his phone and subtly flourished it, indicating what he wished to talk about. He glanced to Mary before adding, “Just to the side. Won’t be a minute.”

            Mycroft looked uneasily at Mary who patted her hip, reminding him of the gun she was carrying. He breathed out. “Alright.”

            Sherlock led him to a side room and held out his phone, which was opened to the photo of the flier. “This was hanging on Cornilles Drive. I doubt it’s there now. They’re threatening everyone. And now we know they’re serious. We were lucky with the bomb.” Mycroft read the flier, dropped the phone, and sunk to the floor, all his strength gone. Sherlock knelt beside him. “We’re going to have to separate you three.” Mycroft tensed up. “I know you don’t…” Sherlock sighed and sat beside his brother. “We’ve both reached our extremes, haven’t we?”

            Mycroft buried his face into Sherlock’s shoulder, “I don’t want to go back to school Sherly. The kids are mean to me.”

            Sherlock looked at his brother confused. “You don’t have to Mye. I promise. Never again.” He slowly embraced him. “I know school was hard for you, but this isn’t school. It’s just a math equation. Put two parts together, solve for ‘x’, and prove it. It won’t be hard. Plus, you’ve got me, and John, and Mary, and… and… and Caroline. She’s so bright Mycroft. She’ll outsmart us both if we’re not careful.” He laughed lightly.

            “Caroline. My daughter. My beautiful, brilliant daughter…” Mycroft tried to smile, but broke into tears. "They're going to kill her."

            Sherlock’s eyes widened. He didn’t know how to deal with this. “I’m going to protect them. I’d die to save them, Mye. Not that I like them that much, but” he forced a laugh. “I’ll do my best.” Mycroft pressed his face deeper into Sherlock’s chest and he pat his back cautiously. “I don’t… I’ve never seen you like this Mye. Should I get Mary?”

            “No!” Mycroft quickly pulled away, eyes red with tears. His voice shook violently. “I don’t want her to see me like this.”

            “Alright. Take a deep breath for me okay? You’re hyperventilating. Deep breath. In.” Mycroft breathed in a shaky breath. “Good. Now out.” Mycroft obeyed. “Mummy used to do this for me. Father would…” Sherlock paused, debating whether to admit what he said next, “he beat me. After you left for school, he was relentless. Nothing I did was alright in his eyes. So he hit me. Mummy tried to get him to stop but then he’d hit her too. Despite her own wounds, she’d hold me as I cried.”

            “Father hit you?”

            Sherlock nodded. “Constantly. Any chance he got. He said I deserved it; I was different. I was a shame to the family. No one would come to help me, so I let it happen.” Sherlock looked away.

            “I… I didn’t know. I knew he could be violent, but I thought he’d let up.” Mycroft sat up and dried his tears. “I never should have left.”

            “It’s not your fault Mye.” Sherlock rubbed Mycroft’s back. “You feeling better?”

            “A little, given the circumstances.”

            “Anything else you need?”

            “Cake.”

            Sherlock chuckled. “You just had some, but I think I’ll let it slide, this once.”

            “I’m supposed to be strong, for Caroline, for everyone, but look at me. Weaker than I ever remember being and relying on the brother I shut out.”

            “You and me both.” Sherlock thought back to last night. “Everybody breaks down Mycroft. I’m honestly surprised you didn’t break sooner.” Sherlock stood and offered his hand to Mycroft. “Come on. Let’s go take care of accommodations and catch this sonofabitch.”

            He took it and stood. “Yeah. Let’s.” He grinned sheepishly and followed Sherlock. “Mary, get the car packed, would you?”

            Mary nodded, “Sure.” She left the room.

            Mycroft picked Caroline up and she flipped to face him. “Daddy, why are you sad?”

            “Oh. I just got my insides hurt. They feel better now. Nothing to worry about.”

            “No, Daddy. You’re worried about me. I’ll be fine. Me and Mummy are strong and I’m small and smart. You just need to worry about yourself.”

            Mycroft looked over to Sherlock who shrugged. “She’s your girl, not mine.”

            Caroline planted a kiss to Mycroft’s nose. “Don’t worry so much Daddy. It’s degrading.” She turned and Mycroft set her down.

            “Okay. I’ll try not to worry so much.” Caroline rushed off to be with Mary.

            Sherlock watched her leave. “Be bloody proud of her.”

            Mycroft nodded. “I am. I always will be.”

            Mary returned with two suitcases in hand. Caroline followed close behind, struggling with her own suitcase. “Oh good, pack the car. Mye, we ought to remove the plates, just in case. John, call Lestrade and let him know. Don’t want to get pulled over.” John and Mary left to their tasks, and Sherlock turned to Mycroft. “Do you still remember the code we made up as kids?”

            “How could I forget it?”

            “I think we should use it. At least when we’re figuring out details.”

            “I agree. Good plan, Brother Mine.”

            “Sherlock, Mycroft, you coming?” Mary called from the garage.

            “Coming Darling.” Mycroft gestured for Sherlock to lead, and away they went.

Chapter Text

           Mycroft opens the door to the motel and steps aside to let everyone file in. Someone flips on the light to the relatively small room. “I’m sorry it’s so tiny Mary. Trying to lay low until we can get everyone safe.”

            “John and I can take the floor.” Sherlock places Mary’s overnight bag by the dresser and shrugs his coat onto the armchair.

            “No. Care can stay in our bed. One of you take the other.” Mycroft places his hand on top of Caroline’s head and ruffles her hair.

            “Dad!” Caroline protests.      

            Sherlock shakes his head. “Let the kid have her own bed. John can take the couch, and I don’t sleep on a case.” Caroline wanders further into the room and flops down. “Looks like we have our answer. John, shall we go see if the café is open?”

            John nods. “I’m famished. But I thought you didn’t eat on a case.”

            “I don’t, but I promised Mye here some cake.” Sherlock gestures to Mycroft.” Let’s go.” The two of them turn to leave.

            “I’ll come too. Mycroft, can you get Caroline tucked in?” Mary follows the two men outside and closes the door without waiting for a response.

            Mycroft rolls his eyes and turns to Caroline who’d made her way up to the headboard while they were talking and buried herself in the pillows.

            “Get on his level.” Caroline’s voice sounded muffled and sleepy.

            “What do you-?”

            “Sherlock’s. You’re having a hard time understanding him.” Caroline flips over and sits up. “But that’s because you always act as if you’re higher than everyone else. If you want to understand, as Mummy says, put on their shoes and walk in them.” Mycroft sits on the edge of the bed, and Caroline crawls over to sit on his lap. “People aren’t that hard to understand if you really try.”

            Mycroft laughs lightly. “Sometimes I wonder how you’re only four.”

            “I just think.”

            “Well then, I suppose, if I’m going to understand Sherlock, I’m going to need some of that thinking. Give it here.” Mycroft picks Caroline up and tosses her playfully back up to the pillows. He growls like a tiger and she laughs, trying to escape, but he catches her and tickles her relentlessly.

            They’re both laughing when Mary interrupts. “You call that putting her to bed?” Mary pushes her shoulder off the wall she was leaning on. “I came back for some cash and here you are, riling her up. Come on Sweetheart. Into bed.”

            Mycroft wipes the smile off his face and nods. “Yes. Of course. Sorry.” Mary shakes her head, amused, and holds up the sheets while Caroline settles under them.

            “Where’s Teddy?” Caroline sits up and looks to where her bag was abandoned on the floor.

            “I’ll get him.” Mycroft walks over to her suitcase and unzips the top, revealing Caroline’s brown teddy bear neatly stacked on a pile of clothes. He lifts Teddy from his prison and hands him off to Mary who tucks him into the bed beside Caroline. She kisses the top of the girl’s head and steps aside to allow Mycroft to do the same.

            Caroline closes her eyes as Mycroft kisses her forehead. “I love you Daddy.”

            Mycroft is slightly taken aback. “I love you too Care.”

            “Everything will be okay.”

            “I know. I’ll make sure of it.”

            Mary holds up a small stack of bills and waves it. “Want anything while I’m down there?”

            Mycroft looks up from his daughter. “Some coffee would be nice. And a scone.”

            “Right. Jam?”

            “Always.” Mycroft smiles lovingly at his wife and she leaves the room.

            Caroline’s voice draws him back. “Can I have a story?”

            Mycroft brushes her blonde curls out of her face. “What kind of story?”

            Caroline thinks for a second then responds. “One of Uncle Sherly’s cases… that you helped solve!”

            “Alright. Let me think of one. There was the Bolivia scandal. And the photo lab…”

            “That one!” Caroline grabs her teddy and pulls it close while Mycroft flips on the bedside lamp.

            “You ready?” Caroline nods. “This one was weird. So, I was at the Diogenes Club a few years back. You know the one. That club where everyone is always silent?” Caroline nods again. “Well, I got a phone call. I’d forgotten to turn off my ringer, so it was loud. I had to leave quickly. Anyhow, the call was from the police chief. She told me I was needed down Franklin Avenue right away. As soon as the call ended, I left the club and headed there. Sherlock was already on the scene, deducing most everything.”

            “Then what?” Caroline asked.

            “Well, he and I weren’t on good terms, so the air was rather tense, however, this was business, so we pushed aside our differences with a few insults. The DI had decided the mess of a photography lab was nothing more than the owner packing up and leaving, but Sherlock believed otherwise. Through careful examination of the surrounding area, he’d noted a broken doorknob, a film cartridge which had been left behind, and scuff marks on the sidewalk where the person had obviously lost grip on the equipment and dropped some of it in their rush.”

            “Maybe the dead man did it?”

            “Dead man? How did you…?”

            “Well, obviously. Mummy says Lestrade wouldn’t call Sherlock for anything less than a body case so… Elementary.”

            Mycroft laughed. “Anyways, this particular photo lab had no security system, and it just so happened to have been developing very important government photos. When we went inside, there was a dead man. The DI decided the man had been in late to get pictures, found the owner returning, and the owner, frightened, killed the man so he couldn’t tell anyone he had left while dealing with such important photos. Then after killing him, he packed up everything and left. Sherlock again disagreed. By the angle of the stab wounds, and the direction of the blood splatters, it was a suicide. The dead man WAS the owner. This is where I come in. With permission, I examined the crime scene and procured an abandoned photo of the dead man standing behind a recently shot official and the queen. The picture clearly showed a gun in his hand. Whoever this guy was developing for had captured the moment before a murder and the owner knew it.

            I handed the photo off to the nearest police officer and proceeded to make a few calls. By examining street security, we found the owner had come late last night, and, in an effort to make it look like a break in, kicked the doorknob to break it. He took all the equipment and dumped it in the harbor, then came back to the lab and completely ransacked the place before killing himself with several stab wounds to the chest. It was all a set up. I’m sure there were more incriminating photos but when the officers retrieved the equipment, we found the water had destroyed all the photos.”

            “You’re like a superhero, huh Daddy?”

            “I guess kind of.” Mycroft lowered his eyes, remembering all the people whose lives he’d destroyed.

            “Perfect bedtime story Mycroft. Now she’ll never sleep.” Mary said closing the door after she, Sherlock and John had filed in.

            “Oh she’ll be fine.” Sherlock says, moving the curtain aside and looking out into the night.

            Mary hands Mycroft his snacks and sits on the bed. “Daddy, I want to be just like you when I grow up.” Caroline tosses the covers aside and jumps up to hug Mycroft around the neck.

            “She’ll be totally fine Mary.” Mycroft sets the coffee on the bedside table and hugs Caroline back.

            “Here.” John holds out a slice of white cake in a box and a fork. Mycroft looks to Sherlock confused.

            “Oh just take it. I’d have a fag right now if I had any. Just take the cake. I promised.”

            Mycroft takes the cake from John with a grateful nod and places both the scone and the cake in the mini fridge beside the bathroom. “I hardly believe you don’t have one stashed somewhere on your person.” He sips his coffee contentedly.

            “Not at the moment. I left them all at your place. Never mind that now. John, come here.” Sherlock beckons John over.

            “Yes?” John steps around the bed and stands in front of Sherlock.

            Sherlock lowers his voice. “I want you to go with Caroline when we split them up. Don’t tell Mary or Mye. None of them, do you understand? She’ll be your daughter while you’re gone.” Mycroft could still make out what he’s saying, but pretends not to hear and tucks Caroline in.

            “Yes. Yes. I understand. My...“ John pauses, “daughter. But why can’t she go with Mary or Mycroft?”

            “She’s safer with you. You know how to defend yourself. Hell, you’re a soldier. Mye’s lucky to be standing at the moment. Mary… she’s sweet, but she can’t defend herself as well as you. Knowing my brother, he’ll want his kid to be as safe as possible. I believe that’s with you.”

            Mycroft nods, looking his little girl in the face. John would be a better guardian than either of them right now. Mary was untrained, and while she could handle a gun, John would be better at keeping himself and Caroline safe at the same time.

            John spoke again, but his words were too quiet to make out.

            “Yes. For someone so dim, you are rather bright John.” Sherlock said blatantly.

            “Thanks? I think?”

            “Welcome.” Sherlock turns and addresses everyone. “I believe you all should get some rest.”

            “Yes of course.” Mycroft kisses Care’s forehead. “Goodnight. No more getting up or Mummy will get mad.” Mycroft winks and Care giggles. “Alright boys let’s let Mary change. Come outside for a minute.” He stands and leads Sherlock and John from the room. “Sherlock, tonight, we need to work.”

            “No, John and I are going to work on the locations. You’re getting some rest.” Sherlock tries to speak with an authoritative tone, but Mycroft scoffs. “I’m serious. You need to sleep. Let us take care of the details.”

            “No.” Mycroft’s eyes widen briefly. “John can sleep. You and I will do the work.”

            “You’ve been up all night. You must be exhausted.” Sherlock must have noticed Mycroft’s change in demeanor.

            “I’m not. I’m more concerned about where you two would send my family.” Mycroft lied.

            “Then John and I will figure the details and you can approve them, but you’re going to sleep while we do.”

            “A-alright.” Mycroft knocks on the door. “Mary, are you done?”

            “Almost, give me one minute.” Mary calls back.

            “John, I’ll teach you the code and we’ll come up some locations. Smokey, hand me your lighter.” Sherlock holds out his hand.

            Of course Sherlock noticed he’d taken up smoking again. “I thought you said you didn’t have any cigarettes?” Mycroft reaches into his jacket and pauses with his hand on his pack and lighter, waiting for Sherlock’s reply.

            “I don’t. I just need the lighter to burn the papers when we’re done.” Sherlock twitches his fingers, once again instructing Mycroft to hand over the lighter. Mycroft pulls out his pack and takes out one of the cigarettes, handing it and the lighter over. “I thought you stopped smoking.”

            “I get stressed sometimes too Sherlock.” Mycroft puts the pack back in his jacket.

            Sherlock lights the cigarette. “You need sleep. You’ll feel better.”

            Mycroft swallows the lump in his throat and looks down. “I don’t want to,” he says quietly.

            Sherlock takes a long drag. “Don’t you trust me to keep all of you safe? Go.”

            “Of course I do. I just don’t-“ Mycroft’s legs suddenly refuse to hold his weight and he stumbles into the wall, barely managing to stay standing. John rushes forward and helps support him while Sherlock knocks on the door.

            “Mary? Can we come in now?”

            “Yes. Just be quiet. Caroline just fell asleep.” John helps Mycroft to the bed. “He alright?”

            Sherlock looks out the window again, now obviously looking for something or someone. “He’s fine Mary. Just tired. Practically dropped where he stood.”

            “I’ll take it from here. You two do what you need to.” Mary takes Mycroft from John and the two other men head back out.

            A few hours later, John has fallen asleep on the couch and Sherlock is once again staring out the window. Their plans were all set up, and the notes burned in the outside ash tray. Sherlock looks up at a small moan from Mycroft. In the early dawn light, small beads of sweat can be seen glistening on his forehead. After yet another shuffle, Sherlock stands and shakes Mycroft’s shoulder. “Mye.” Sherlock whispers, trying not to wake Mary. “Hey. Mycroft. Wake up would you?” There’s no response, so Sherlock grabs a water bottle from the fridge and carefully drips the water onto Mycroft’s face. He sits bolt upright, bouncing the bed and causing Mary to turn in her sleep. His breathing is labored, and it takes him a moment to shake the dream from his mind and focus his eyes on Sherlock. “You alright?” Sherlock whispers. He struggles to keep his balance as Mycroft grabs at his shirt. “Mye. It was just a dream. You’re safe, alright?”

            Mycroft stays silent for several moments, slowing his breathing and holding tightly to Sherlock. He swings his legs off the bed before speaking, “I’m… fine.”

            “Mye, look at me.”

            “Nothing’s wrong. Just a dream.”

            “Whenever we’d stay with Auntie, you never had nightmares that bad. What happened?” Sherlock stopped. “It was me wasn’t it?”

            Mycroft shifts his gaze to the left, clear indication of a lie. “No.”

            “Don’t lie to me Mycroft.”

            “It’s nothing. Really.”

            Sherlock takes Mycroft’s hand awkwardly, imitating compassion he often sees from others. “How long have they been happening?”

            Mycroft stares at Sherlock’s hand as he reluctantly responds, “About a week. Every one about someone else. Mary shot, Caroline tortured, you-“ Mycroft’s already quiet voice breaks.

            “It sounds like you’re punishing yourself. Your subconscious is showing you what you’re most afraid of. You don’t believe you’ve helped enough or been there enough. But listen Mye. You’ve done more than Father ever did for us, that’s a giant leap right there.”

            Mycroft suddenly looks ill and runs to the sink, vomiting violently. Sherlock follows calmly and rubs his brother’s back. Mycroft spits the taste of bile from his mouth. Sherlock offers him the water bottle and he takes it, swishing the water in his mouth. “Thanks.” Sherlock leads Mycroft to the armchair and lifts his coat out of the way so Mycroft can sit. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately.”

            “Try… being scared. That’s an emotion the humans feel right?” Sherlock perches on the armrest. “What happened to me?”

            “You…” Mycroft takes a gulp of water and composes himself. “There was a man. He had a gun, and… he, he blew your head off, then continued to pump your corpse full of bullets all whilst laughing and staring at me. I couldn’t move.”

            “So that’s how much you love me.” Mycroft looks up, horrified, but Sherlock interrupts his protest, “I’m only joking. Did you get a good look at his face?”

            “I… it kept changing. One minute, it was Moriarty, the next, Sebastian, and then a man I’ve never seen before.”

            “Describe him.”

            Mycroft looks up. “Who? The unknown man?” Sherlock nods. “About 1.8 meters (5’11) tall with dark hair and snakelike green eyes. Bulky arms and a short neck.”

            “Thank you Mycroft. You’ve just described a criminal. I’d hoped your subconscious would point out someone you’d seen recently. You’re sure you’ve never seen him before? Not on a street corner, or while you were working with Lestrade? Did he come by your house trying to sell you something? Anything?”

            Mycroft shook his head. “No. Why does it matter? He was a man in my nightmare.”

            “Our subconsciousness can make up situations but has a hard time making up faces. If you see a face, you’ve seen them somewhere before.”

            “But that doesn’t make him a murderer.”

            “You’re right, but it doesn’t rule it out. You made him the bad guy. There has to be a reason. Why did he want to kill me? What did I do?”

            “Nothing. He just came out of an alleyway and shot you.”

            Sherlock closes his eyes, thinking. “Alright. Go back to sleep Mye. John and I finished deciding tomorrow's travel. May have stolen your fags and had another one, or two. Maybe three.”

            “I don’t blame you. I think I’ve eaten more cake in the last 2 days than in the whole month combined.”

            Sherlock exhales. “I was doing so well too.” He looks at his brother again. “You would have been so proud of me.”

            “Who says I’m not?” Mycroft shifts his position in the chair to better face Sherlock.

            “You? Proud of me?” Sherlock scoffs. “Yeah right.”

            “Why not? You’re not a total lost cause. You’ve got some brain in you.”

            “Not like you. We could play a game of Scrabble and you’d beat me, hands down.”

            “So I do a lot of crossword puzzles at the club. And?”

            “Afraid of old age?” Sherlock chuckles and Mycroft pushes him lightly. “Alright fine. Any board game, you’d win. You’re just…” Sherlock catches himself in the admission.

            “Just what?” Mycroft presses.

            “Better.” Sherlock leans over and holds his fingers against his lips. “You always were.”

            “You’re a better detective than me.” Mycroft mimics Sherlock’s pose and looks up at his face. Sherlock snorts sarcastically. “Let’s go walk around a bit. I don’t want to sleep anyways.”

            Sherlock glances at the window hesitantly, but slowly stands. He shakes John’s shoulder. “Mycroft and I are going out. Won’t be long.”

            John sits up, rubbing his eyes. “Alright.” He yawns and stretches.

            Sherlock puts his coat on and walks to the door. “Coming Mycroft?”

            Mycroft looks over his girls and then at John, who nods. He’d protect them. “Yeah. I’m coming.”

            “He doesn’t mind. I promise.” Sherlock takes Mycroft’s shoulder and squeezes it. “They’re perfectly safe.” Sherlock closes the door and glances out into the dark parking lot. “Why we out here? Did something else happen in your dream?”

            Mycroft takes the stairs down to the parking lot. “No, just need to walk. You were just massacred before my eyes.”

            “I thought you’d be used to that by now. Besides, I always come back.” Sherlock struggles to keep up with Mycroft’s swift pace. “Slow down would you?”

             “You’re still human Sherlock. Humans do die eventually.” Mycroft slows his pace slightly.

            “That’s what they want you to think.”

            “But they do. Our older brother did. Our unborn sister did.”

            Sherlock stops. “What was Sherrinford like? I never got the chance to meet him.”

            Mycroft walks back to meet Sherlock. “He was the kind of man to look up to. Strong, kind, brave. It was a shock to find out bravery was his downfall.”

            “What happened?”

            “He was a soldier, like John, but he fought close to the front lines. One night, the enemy bombed his base. Never even found a body. There was nothing left but his dog tags which were found nearly a kilometer away.” Mycroft turns and continues to walk toward a park nearby.

            Sherlock follows close behind. “How do we know he was there when it exploded?”

            “One of the other bases. A member of the brigade saw him there. Saw the base destroyed.”

            Sherlock lowers his eyes. “Oh.”

            “It was a war. No one can be sure of anything. But if he were alive, wouldn’t he have come back to us by now?”

            “It took me several years, didn’t it?”

            “Sure, but the war’s been over for almost 30 years.”

            “Were we really that far apart? How old was I?”

            “You may have been about three when we got the news.”

            Sherlock continued walking, taking the lead on the path around the park. “And that’s all he was? Just someone to look up to. How did Father treat him?”

            “Like he was God.” Mycroft fell into a powerwalk, already starting to forget the nightmare he’d woken from.

            “For some reason, that doesn’t surprise me. Did you actually look up to him, or was that Father telling you to?”

            “I looked up to him. Father didn’t become… Father, until Sherrinford left. He was a nice man until Share announced he’d signed up for the military to pay for school. Father wanted him to take over the family business.”

            “If Sherrinford was alive, do you think Father would have…”

            “Probably not.” Mycroft slows his pace and puts his hands behind his head.

            “Right. Feeling better yet?”

            “Yeah. It’s nice not being cooped up.” They come to a park bench and sit down to rest.

            “Smoke?” Sherlock holds out Mycroft’s pack of cigarettes.

            “Just finished a run and already making it harder for me to breathe?” Mycroft rolls his eyes amused. “Sure, why not. These are unusual circumstances. Why not keep it unusual?” Mycroft takes the pack and hands one cigarette back to Sherlock.

            Sherlock lights both smokes. “It’s going to take a while to get me back off of these. God, why did I start?” Sherlock shakes his head and takes a deep breath of smoke.

            “It’s my fault. I wasn’t there for you. You were being rejected everywhere. You got stressed and began using. Cigarettes were just the beginning.” Mycroft breathes out the smoke watching it dissipate above him. “I shouldn’t have let my anger out on you. I was supposed to be there for you, and I wasn’t.”

            “It wasn’t your fault I started using, Mye.”

            “Too bad. I’m taking the blame.”

            Sherlock drops his head back against the bench. “God, you’re as stubborn as Father.”

            “But not quite so uptight?” Mycroft smiles at Sherlock’s snort of laughter and breathes in another puff. “Mummy would be furious with us.”

            “We’re grown. What she doesn’t know won’t kill her.”

            The two sat in silence for a few minutes. It was Mycroft who broke the silence. “She came back for you, you know. Mary did. However, you were so caught up in your drugs and ‘under the counter’ detective cases, you failed to notice that crucial detail. She needed someone to pay attention to her. And I… hey, are you okay?” Sherlock was staring off, seemingly not hearing anything Mycroft was saying, and his hand was shaking so hard he couldn’t get the fag back in his mouth.

            “Yeah… fine. Just… th-thinking.” Sherlock clears his throat. “Thinking.”

            “How many have you had?” Mycroft asks, gesturing to the cigarette between Sherlock’s fingers.

            “Inc-including this o-one?” Sherlock lifts a hand to count on one hand but it’s shaking so badly, he puts it under one leg. “Six.”

            “Give it to me.” Mycroft holds out his hand.

            “What’s wr-wrong with th-that? I used to be-be a chain-s-smoker, remember?”

            “And you’ve been clean for 10 months now. You’re not used to all the nicotine, and certainly not that much in the span of three hours.” Mycroft stomps out his cigarette on the sidewalk.

            “I’ve used a dozen patches in an hour. I’m f-fine. Just let me have th-this one. I’ll be-be okay.”

            “Give me the rest.”

            “You t-took the p-pack back.”

            “Sherlock. I know you kept a few. Give them here.” Mycroft looks at Sherlock over top of his nose. Sherlock rolls his eyes and pulls three from his coat pocket. “Thank you.” He returns them to the pack and puts it away.

            “Whatever.” Sherlock mumbles and sucks the last bit out of his smoke before stomping it out as well.

            “Have you taken anything else tonight?”

            Sherlock shakes his head. “I’m clean, Mye. I s-stopped everything a long t-time ago.”

            “Just had to check.”

            “That sh-shouldn’t concern y-you.” Sherlock stood from the bench.

            “I’m always concerned. I worry about you constantly.” Mycroft follows Sherlock’s example and the two start to walk toward the park entrance.

            “You shouldn’t.”

            “And yet, I do.” They arrive back at the motel just as the sky is beginning to lighten. “Stay here. I’m going to grab Caroline so she can see this once before we’re separated.” Mycroft heads inside and comes back with Caroline’s sleepy form in his arms.

            “Morning Care.”

            Caroline yawns. “Morning Uncle Sherlock.”

            “Think you can handle the roof?” Mycroft asks Sherlock.

            “Sure.”

            “The roof?” Caroline looks up.

            Mycroft smiles down at Caroline. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep him far from the edge.” They make their way around the side of the building where there’s a ladder attached to the wall. Mycroft sets Caroline down and she climbs up behind Sherlock, Mycroft bringing up the rear. Once up, they find a place to sit and Mycroft pulls Caroline into his lap. “Ready?” Caroline nods and they watch the sunrise in silence. Caroline jumps up just as the sun breaks the horizon and begins to light up the entire world. Mycroft instinctively grabs for her but misses as she runs for the edge.

            She stops, her hands on the brick wall. “Wow!”

            “Told you it’d be worth it.” Mycroft steps up beside her and admires the light. Caroline nods enthusiastically, a huge smile on her face. After a moment, Mycroft turns to Sherlock. “How did you do it?”

            “Do what?” Sherlock blinks in the sunlight and Mycroft moves so his shadow is over Sherlock’s face.

            “Fall.”

            “You sure we should discuss this in front of Caroline?”

            Caroline turns and takes Mycroft’s hand. “I’ve been wondering that too. Heights are scary.”

            “You mean, just how I fell? Not lived or anything? Just how I made myself fall? I just… closed my eyes, told myself John needed it, and… plummeted.”

            “Why did John need you to die?” Caroline steps up onto Mycroft’s feet and he grabs her other hand to help her keep balanced.

            Sherlock kneels in front of Caroline. “There was a very bad man that would have hurt John if I didn’t do it.”

            “I’m not stupid Sherlock. You can tell me who, and why.”

            “I don’t think your mother or father would appreciate me telling you.” Sherlock glances briefly up to Mycroft.

            “I can take it. I’m not a kid.” Caroline thrusts out her bottom lip and tries to look tough.

            “He was, and is, a mad man.” Mycroft stepped back, trying to shake Caroline off but she just steps with him.

            “No madder than me. I just have more control.” Sherlock stands.

            “You didn’t break into every building in London just to sit on a throne and wear a crown.”

            “No, but it’s something I may have done, given more beatings from Father.”

            “Our father… won’t do anything else.” Mycroft lifts Caroline up by her arms and lowers her to the rooftop, walking back to the edge. At first, he doesn’t see anything, but then a man catches his eye. He observes him carefully and then something clicks. It was him. “Sherlock!”

            “What?”

            “It’s that man. The one I was telling you about.”

            Sherlock looks to where Mycroft is pointing. He pulls Mycroft and Caroline back. “Go, get everyone in the car. Do it, now.”

            “Baby, I want you to run. Get Mommy and John. Tell them we have to go. Can you do that?” Caroline nods at Mycroft’s urgent tone. She squeezes her eyes shut and climbs down the ladder.

            Sherlock grabs Mycroft’s arm as he moves to follow. “Get them all to the airport. They’ll be heading out today. John knows the ticket numbers. I’ll pack up everything and meet you there. Do you understand?”

            “Yes. But what if he finds you?”

            Sherlock looks Mycroft dead in the eyes. “I don’t matter at the moment.”

            “There won’t be anyone to save you.”

            “I don’t care!”

            Mycroft stands to his full height. “Well I do.”

            “Mycroft don’t fight me! Just do as I say.”

            “But Sherlock…”

            Sherlock pushes Mycroft to the ladder. “Just go.”

            Mycroft fights back. “Fine, but you have to take this.” He pulls out his gun and hands it to Sherlock.

            “Guns and I don’t mix.” He pushes the gun back, but Mycroft insists.

            “Take it or I’m not leaving.”

            “Goddamn it Mye!”

            “Take the fucking gun Sherlock.” Mycroft presses it into Sherlock’s hand and turns to the ladder, climbing on. “Point, and shoot. I know you’ve done it before.”

            “Doesn’t mean I like to do it.”

            “God, you’re impossible. I’m going now. Just don’t die on me. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

            Sherlock calls down the ladder, “I’ll get a new phone and text you in our code.”

            Mycroft pauses his descent and nods. “I’m trusting you.”

Chapter Text

            Sherlock waits for their cab to drive away before entering the motel and picking up two of the bags. The man from the roof sits at a table outside one of the other rooms. He’s in his 50’s, wearing a black long-sleeve shirt, rolled at the hems to the elbows. He has a nasty burn on his right hand, rendering it nearly paralyzed. His carefully styled, greying hair still shows traces of red, and his strong jaw features well-trimmed stubble. Sherlock pretends to have not noticed his presence, instead carrying the bags to the street and hailing a cab. He places the bags in the trunk before heading back for the rest. When he returns, the man is gone, probably hoping to jump Sherlock inside the room. He slowly enters, checking behind the doors and in the bathroom without finding the mystery man. Deciding he must have been mistaken, Sherlock picks up the remaining bags and locks the door behind him. He bumps shoulders with the man coming up the stairs. “Excuse me sir. I’m terribly sorry.”

            “It’s not a probl-" The man looks up, feigning surprise, "Sherlock Holmes?” His voice is deep and sinister, but clearly not his normal voice.

            Sherlock suppresses a laugh. “You know who I am?”

            “But of course I know you. You’re the famous Consulting Detective.” He holds out a hand to shake but Sherlock ignores it, flourishing the bags he’s holding.

            “I’d love to stay and chat, sign something, the like, but I have a cab on the meter and I’m in  a bit of a hurry. Mye’s wife’s having a baby. Left a few minutes ago for the hospital.”

            “You don’t have a wife.”

            Sherlock laughs, “You’re quite right. Slip of the tongue. Mye is a nickname for my brother. His wife. She doesn’t look it, but you know how hips work. Lovely to meet you, but please excuse me.” Sherlock starts down the stairs, but the man grabs his shoulder.

            “She’s not pregnant.” The man pulls out a gun and a resident, who’d just stepped out of their room, screamed, and slammed the door. “You’re not going anywhere Sherlock.”

            Sherlock slowly sets the bags down and raises his hands. “Who are you and what do you want?

            “I’ve been sent to kill you.”

            “You couldn’t have done it a little less in the open?” Sherlock glances over to the window nearest them and the curtains quickly shut. “Humans don’t typically enjoy watching other people die. Besides, you’re much less likely to get caught if you shoot me discreetly. You know,” Sherlock lowers his hands slowly. “I believe you’re the first to pull a gun on me out in the open. Must be pretty sure of yourself.” Sherlock gestures to the street. “Mind if I pay the cabbie? Then you’re welcome to take me to a better location.”

            The man nods. “Sure. Go ahead. Make it quick and don’t try anything.”

            “Thanks.” He hands the man the key. “Mind dropping those in my room?” He points to the bags and heads to the cab without waiting for an answer. “How much do I owe you?” He asks the driver, pretending to flip through bills while actually typing into his phone. He sends his brother the text telling him he’s leaving the motel and pays the driver, taking the bags from the back and returning to the man. “Ready to go?” He drops the bags off and follows the man up the street. “Hate to be a backseat driver in my own murder, but mind hiding the gun, so we don’t draw attention to ourselves?” The man shakes his head, pushing Sherlock forward with the gun to his back. “Fine. Could I at least know your name? I’d like to know who to turn into the police.”

            “My name is of little importance, especially not to a dead man.” The man is doing his best to hide his irritation.

            “Like you’ll manage to kill me. I can’t even kill myself.”

            The man laughs sarcastically. “Because no one can kill the great Sherlock Holmes. Not even a bullet directly into the cranium. Because he’s. Not. Human.”

            Sherlock looks back, “You’re the first one to understand that. I could kiss you! Thank you.”

            “Oh shut up.” The man lifts his gun threateningly and Sherlock continues walking.

            “So, where are we going? Do you have a car parked somewhere? Is there an abandoned building nearby? Or maybe over a bridge I can push you off of?”

            “You’re funny Sherlock. Quite funny. Just walk.” The man is not having any of Sherlock’s sass, but Sherlock decides to press his luck.

            “You really think so? I’ve always thought I could take up comedy. My brother of course thought otherwise. Tell me your name so I can prove to him someone thinks I could make it.”

            “Amusingly enough, I can’t seem to recall my name at the moment. Maybe I will when you’re dead. I’ll be sure to tell him for you.”

            Sherlock stops in his tracks. Behind the annoyance, he can tell this man isn’t lying. “You can’t remember?” He turns to face him. “You really can’t remember your name?”

            “Nope.” The man keeps the gun steadily pointed at Sherlock’s middle.

            Sherlock tilts his head slightly. “Doesn’t that seem strange to you?”

            “Not really. I’ve always been 958 to my employer.”

            “Your employer?”

            “Yeah? I told you I was sent to kill you.” 958 relaxes his grip on the gun.

            “So you’re a part of a secret organization of assassins. This is getting exciting!” Sherlock drums his fingers over his lips. “The Guy Fox Society? The Malicious Moor? The Devil’s Expansion? Oh, please tell me you’re from there.” Sherlock gently claps his hands together eagerly but 958’s expression doesn’t change. Sherlock drops his excited grin and sighs. “You’re not. So then, where are you from? Why me? Why now? And for what reasons?”

            “I don’t have answers for you. I just do as I’m told.”

            “Your employer must be very smart, very demanding, and very angry. They know what they want and will do whatever has to be done to get it.”

            “Precisely. I’d never willingly cross him.”

            “I see. A dictator. And then there’s you. 958. One of…how many of you are there?”

            “Don’t be fooled by the number, Mr. Holmes. It’s just my spot in the book. Including me, there are,” He does a quick count in his head, “24 of us still alive.”

            “A book huh? Must be a rather long running organization. So, does he get everyone from the army, or just you?”

            “How-“ 958 looked momentarily shocked, but his face quickly returned to its normal, emotionless state. “But of course. You’re Sherlock Holmes. You would have figured that wouldn’t you? Tell me, what gave it away?”

            “Without including the obvious physical signs, your demeanor. For starters, you have great discipline and aren’t easily distracted. You have high control of your emotions. In the presence of authority, you hold your tongue in cheek. And you keep glancing at your watch which indicates you’re good at keeping time and are determined to get this over with. All signs of a seasoned soldier.”

            “Observant. But I’m afraid I have to stop your game here. We’ve strayed far enough from civilization. I think it’s time for you to die.”

            Sherlock looked around at the alley they’d stopped in. A couple finches are busy bathing in the water which had accumulated in the center of the walkway. It was still early, so none of the shops had yet opened. One shop keeper had a hanging ivy plant beside the window adding a little color to the red and brown brick. “Here? Now? I’m slightly disappointed.”

            “What were you expecting? An oasis in the middle of nowhere? I’d have gladly killed you at the motel, but it was you who insisted we do it somewhere less crowded.”

            “I admit, it would be much preferable to die somewhere prettier than here. But I’m inclined to believe your employer would want proof of my death, which would mean bringing him my body. Seems rather difficult to have to carry my body from here without being detected.”

            958 laughs heartily. “The death of Sherlock Holmes would be widely broadcast. There would be no need to take you back. I’d simply need to leave the body somewhere it would be sure to be found and recognized. Here is perfect.” He raises the gun, aiming it at Sherlock’s head. “Any final words? I’m itching to get this over with and learn who I am.”

            “What’s that supposed to mean? How do you not know who you are?” Sherlock furrows his eyebrows, genuinely curious.

            “Haven’t we already been through this?”

            “Not knowing your name, and not knowing who you are, are different.” Sherlock took a cautious step forward, and while 958 did flinch his gun a little, he didn’t seem concerned. Sherlock continued circling 958, observing everything about him. “You know nothing? Just that you were a soldier?”

            “That’s all I’ve been told.” 958 followed Sherlock with his gun but continued to face the same direction, back almost perpendicular to the wall.

            “So what? Do you receive information in return for each kill?“

            He nods. “Each mission we accomplish grants us a small reward. Each failure results in punishment. Earn enough successes and we get better rewards. This particular success would mean I learn my name, and a chunk of my past. I have to say, I’m quite eager.”

            Sherlock gestures to 958’s hand. “Is that what the burn is from? A failed mission?”

            He lifts his scarred hand, examining it. “This?” Sherlock reaches to take his hand, and he quickly pulls away. “This was my first injury. I can no longer feel it, but they continue to burn the flesh so I am reminded of what they can and will do to me.” While he speaks, Sherlock receives a text.

                        HSPCP ESP SPWW LCP JZF HP NSPNVPO TY LY SZFC LRZ LYO JZF DETWW LCPYE SPCP HP XPLYTYR UZSY LYO T LCP RPEETYR LYITZFD. –XS ( M1)

                        UFDE SLGP UZSY DPYO JZF LYO XLCJ ZQQ SPWW HLENS NLCP TX QTYP UFDE TY ECLQQTN –DS (S1)

            958 holsters the gun and snatches the phone from Sherlock’s hands. Sherlock immediately protests. “Could I have my phone back please?”

            958 examines the text messages, completely flabbergasted by the jumbled letters and lack of punctuation. He looks up to Sherlock who’s stopped less than a stride away. “What does it say?”

            “By the looks of it, gibberish.”

            “But you understand it. You sent a response.”

            “Oh yes. I understand it. But,” Sherlock shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets, “I think it’s a little beyond you.”

            “Would it be?”

            “I tried to teach John, but he didn’t understand it.”

            “John is dim.”

            Sherlock scowls at him, “How about you talk to him, then come back and tell me that.”

            “I’ve been watching you all for a while now. He’s thick.”

            Sherlock can feel his blood beginning to boil. “Take that back!”

            958 gestures to the gun on his belt. “I’m the one with the gun.”

            Sherlock waves his hands mockingly. “Oh no! A gun. I’m so afraid.” He holds out his hand, palm up. “Give me back my phone, and do not insult John in front of me again.”

            “I’ll do as I please.” Sherlock’s phone buzzes and 958 examines the screen. Still unable to read the code, he reluctantly hands it back. “That’s not what I’m here for. Take it. Your colleague won’t be able to help you now anyway.”

            Sherlock grabs it, glad he removed the contact name years ago and reads the response.

                        TX RWLO JZFCP LWCTRSE OTO JZF DPP ESLE XLY ZY JZFC HLJ ZFE -XS (M2)

                        JPD OZYE HZCCJ SP WPQE YZHSPCP TY DTRSE LRLTY UFDE RZ TWW EPIE JZF ZY XJ YPH YFXMPC HSPY T RPE EZ ESP LTCAZCE -DS (S2)

            “You may continue.” Sherlock sends his reply and pockets his phone, holding out his hands in surrender.

            “I may continue? You’re on death’s door, and all you can do is crack jokes.” 958 laughs and draws his gun again.

            Sherlock shrugs unenthused. “Been there, done that. It’s all boring now.” He holds up a finger as another text comes in.

            958 rolls his eyes. “Sure. Whatever. Take your time.”

            Sherlock smirks. “I like you. You’re patient.”

                        RZ HSPCP JZF OTOYE RPE XP L AWLYP –XS (M3)

                        ELVP XTYP T HLD RZTYR EZ RZ ZFE LYO HZCV QCZX LQLC UFDE ELVP XJ AWLNP TWW NZXP FA HTES L YPH ZYP ZY ESP HLJ ESPCP OZYE HZCCJ ZGPC TE ELWV DZZY –DS (S3)

            “Apologies. This may take a moment. Clearing up a case for a rather confused DI.”

            “I do believe in final goodbyes. May as well add that when you finish.”

                        ZV QTYP TED PGPCJZYP PWDP SPCP ESLED TY OLYRPC NFCCPYEWJ LYJHLJD DLQP OCTGP –XS (M4)

            Sherlock glances up briefly. “While I take care of this, why don’t you give me a history lesson? What’s brought you into the organization?”

                        ESLYV JZF DPP JZF DZZY AWPLDP EPWW UZSY T YPPO EZ MZCCZH L BFLCEPC QZC L DXZVP HSPY T RPE ESPCP –DS (S4)

                        T ESZFRSE JZF HLYEPO ZQQ ZQ ESZDP –XS (M5)

            “I was picked up after the war maybe 25 years ago. 30? They taught me to kill and promised to help me remember who I was. Met my wife Midnight during training. We got married and now, I’m here, one of the top members.”

            “Midnight? Curious name.” Sherlock replied distractedly.

                        UFDE EPWW STX XLJMP T YPPO L WTEEWP PIECL SPWA –DS (S5)

            “She used to be 793 but earned her name after an especially profitable theft from a jeweler in Persia.”

            “You two sound perfect for each other. Already had criminal in common. Any kids?”

                        QTYP –XS (M6)

                        ESLYV JZF –DS (S6)

            “No, kids aren’t allowed, for obvious reasons.”

            “But you want one. I can tell. You’ve wanted one for a while.” Sherlock shoved his phone away and eyed 958 as he moved his finger onto the trigger.

            “Goodbye Mr. Holmes.”

Text Conversation:
(M1)Where the hell are you? We checked in an hour ago, and you still aren’t here. We, meaning John and I, are getting anxious. -MH
(S1)Just have John send you and Mary off. He’ll watch Care. I’m fine, just in traffic. -SH
(M2)I’m glad you’re alright. Did you see that man on your way out? -MH
(S2)Yes. Don’t worry, he left. Nowhere in sight. Again, just go. I’ll text you on my new number when I get to the airport. -SH
(M3)Go where? You didn’t get me a plane. -MH
(S3)Take mine. I was going to go out and work from afar. Just take my place. I’ll come up with a new one on the way there. Don’t worry over it. Talk soon. -SH
(M4)Ok fine. It’s everyone else here that’s in danger currently anyways. Safe drive. -MH
(S4)Thank you. See you soon. Please tell John that I need to borrow a quarter for a smoke when I get there. -SH
(M5)I thought you wanted off of those. -MH
(S5)Just tell him. Maybe I need a little extra help. -SH
(M6)Fine. -MH
(S6)Thank you. -SH

Chapter Text

            *Click* Sherlock folds his arms behind his back with a slight smile and looks around at the walls surrounding them. “Hm. Try again. I don’t think that worked.”

            958 pulls the trigger again and again, each time it comes out blank. In frustration, he aims the gun at the ground and pulls the trigger once more, effectively shooting himself in the foot with the only real bullet in the entire gun. “Fuck! You have got to be kidding me!”

            Sherlock laughs as 958 falls to the ground, cradling his injury. “Well, this has been a sufficiently interesting encounter. Shall I call the police now? Or would you like some help with your foot first?”

            “I’m fine thank you!” 958 spits through gritted teeth. “What did you do to my gun?”

            Sherlock shrugs, turning on his heel mockingly. “Snatched it from you while you were busy with my phone. Emptied most of the chambers and… actually, don’t worry over it.” Sherlock pulls out his phone and generates a text to Mycroft. “I really must thank you for all the time you gave me.”

            T ESTYV TGP LAACPSPYOPO ZFC XLY OZY’E HZCCJ LMZFE TE QZC YZH UFDE DETNV EZ ESP AWLY TWW SLGP JZF LWW QWJ SZXP HSPY TED NZXAWPEPWJ DLQP EPWW UZSY EZ QZCRPE ESP BFLCEPC T YPPO EZ NZYDFWE HTES WPDECLOP DZ TED RZTYR EZ MP L QPH SZFCD MPQZCP T RPE EZ ESP LTCAZCE UFDE RZ ZY HTSEZFE XP TWW DPP JZF DZZY –DS (S1)

            “I could put in a good word with the DI for you. Maybe help clear your name and find out who you are. Or perhaps I’ll just leave you to be tried with attempted murder. Your choice.”

            JZF DLTO...! DSPCWZNV! T LX RZTYR EZ VTWW JZF! ESLE HLD DEFATO! JZF WPQE XJ RFY ZY ESP CZZQ OTOYE JZF? QTYP HSLEPGPC RPE SPCP DZ T NLY DWLFRSEPC JZF XJDPWQ! –XS (M1)

            DZ T WTPO NLWX OZHY TWW RPE JZF L YPH RFY TX APCQPNEWJ DLQP SZWO FA JZFC PYO ZQ ESP OPLW LYO QWJ ZFE ZY ESP YPIE QWTRSE JZF SPLC XP -DS (S2)

            Sherlock receives a response almost immediately, but when he reads it, it’s not from Mycroft.

            I've been watching your every move.
            Good work, you're still alive.
            But unfortunately now you will have to choose
            Between the bee and the hive.
            -MidnightHowler.

            958 who has now removed his shoe and sock and was applying pressure to the wound, looks up and grins at Sherlock’s flabbergasted face. “By that look, I figure you’ve just received a text from Midnight, am I wrong? She’s always got my back, or she did, seeing how I’m about to die. But no matter. You should go. My people will be closing in on me.” He turns back to his foot.

            ESTD TD HSJ T SLCOWJ PGPC ECFDE JZF WPLGP ESP RFY T OZYE CPLWWJ NLCP TEWW SLCOWJ MP ZQ FDP LE ESTD AZTYE TQ HSLE JZFCP DLJTYR TD ECFP LWDZ ESPCPD YZ HLJ TX RZTYR LWW ESP HLJ EZ SZYR VZYR ZY L NZXXPCNTLW QWTRSE -XS (M2)

            ‘You could probably use the exercise and reduction in calories.’ Sherlock grumbles and pockets his phone. He looks up and around for possible vantage points. “Where is Midnight now?” There was the glint of a scope from the only rooftop with a view of this alley. “That’s not her. She’d have shot me as soon as you hit the ground. Must be here for you then.” The wall effectively covers 958 from prospective attacks so Sherlock moves into position to cover his front. The grit of the wall digs into his palm as he steadies himself over 958, his coat billowing over to cover him from the sniper’s sightline. “You’ve come to terms with death rather quickly, despite having chosen this alley on purpose due to its hidden nature. I take it you want to live.”

            958 can’t seem to withhold his emotion anymore and bursts, dropping his fake accented voice. “Yes! I want to live! I want to.”

            Sherlock nods. “Alright then.” He pushes off the wall, careful to stay between 958 and the sniper.

            DSPCWZNV! ESPJ UFDE NWZDPO ESP PYETCP LTCAZCE YZ ZYP VYZHD HSLED RZTYR ZY PGPCJ RLEP TD DPLWPO LYO YZ AWLYPD LCP OPALCETYR -XS (M3)

            HPWW ESPY RPE ESP SPWW ZFE ZQ ESPCP RZOOLXXTE FDP JZFC SPLO XJP T SLGP ZESPC ESTYRD EZ OPLW HTES-DS (S3)

            T NLYE PGPCJ PITE TD WZNVPO YZ ZYP NLY RPE TY ZC ZFE -XS (M4)

            OTO UZSYD QWTRSE WPLGP LWCPLOJ YZ XLEEPC SPWW MP QTYP JZF YPPO EZ DELJ NLWX LYO FDP JZFC SPLO JZFCP DXLCE JZFWW RPE ZFE ZQ ESTD VPPA XP FAOLEPO -DS (S4)

            Sherlock lowers his voice, “Listen carefully. I know you can’t do much with your foot, but we need to come up with a plan, quickly. My understanding is that they won’t shoot me while you’re still on orders and won’t shoot you until I walk away unscathed, yes?” 958 nods. “Here’s what I want you to do. See that bookstore behind me? The owner always keeps the door unlocked. On three, I want you to run in there, do you understand? Run through to the back. There should be a door behind the counter which leads to the wine cellar. In the cellar is another door on the left which will take you to a hall leading to… well, you’ll know it when you smell it. Go right. Take the first exit which will come out by the river. I’ll meet you there and help you with your foot. Then you’re going to help me with Midnight’s message. Got it?”

            958 nods. “I’ll try, but I don’t know how far I’ll get.” He inspects his still bleeding foot and tries to pull on his sock but winces and tosses it aside.

            T NLY ECJ MFE ESP RFLCOD LCP ECJTYR EZ VPPA PGPCJZYP NLWX YZ ZYP NLY XZGP YZE PGPY XP TWW ECJ EZ XLVP FA LY PINFDP MFE T OZFME TE HTWW HZCV HTES LWW ESP APZAWP ALYTNVTYR WTVP ESTD JPD UZSY XLCJ LYO NLCZWTYP WPQE DLQPWJ -XS (M5)

             “Weren’t you a soldier? You’ll be fine. Besides, I’ve got your back.” Sherlock distractedly kicks the gun back toward 958. “Stand, aim that at me and go on my count.” 958 picks up the gun and slowly stands while Sherlock texts back, pretending to be unaware of his surroundings. He aims the gun at Sherlock.

            XLVP TE L ACPEEJ OLXY RZZO PINFDP T XTRSE YZE MP LMWP EZ LYDHPC QZC L XTYFEP ZC EHZ. OZYE HZCCJ -DS (S5)

            “Alright. One. Two. Three.” 958 dashes for the bookstore and Sherlock pulls Mycroft’s gun from his coat. He aims at the sniper’s position and shoots, of course missing but at least drawing their attention from aiming. A sharp pain courses through his dominant arm as a bullet hit him from behind. He whirls around and misses the shot at the would-be assassin. The man ducks behind the wall. Sherlock cautiously steps around the corner ready to fire again but gets shoved into the wall. One of the attacker’s arms presses against his throat and the other hits his injured arm, causing him to drop the gun. The assassin’s face is inches from Sherlock’s and his breath is rancid. “Breath mint?” Sherlock manages to ask and stomps down hard on the man’s foot, right at the ridge of the ankle. This gives him enough leverage to push him off. He dives for the gun right as the man lunges forward. He shoots and the man falls to the ground, lifeless.

            Sherlock lies where he landed for a moment, choking for breath. As soon as he can speak, he calls the body in to Lestrade and leaves the alley, slipping between parked cars and buildings.

            ECTPO SPCP ZY MFDTYPDD QZC ESP BFPPY TE HZCVPO ESPJ RLGP XP L MLORP DZ LE WPLDE T NLY HLWV LCZFYO YZH ECJTYR EZ QTYO L HLJ ZFE DZ QLC YZESTYR. DETWW ZY ESP DPLCNS -XS (M6)

            No sooner does he read the text when the phone starts ringing. It’s Mycroft. “Mycroft, I don’t have time-“ There’s a gunshot on Mycroft’s end. “Mye!”

            958 runs to the back of the store as instructed, ignoring the jarring pain in his foot. ‘I’ve had worse.’ he keeps telling himself and enters the wine cellar. He sees the door to the left Sherlock spoke of, but before he can get to it, the smell of fermented fruit wafts over him and he’s hit with a sudden flash of memory. Just finished a day of training. But not assassin training. Four other guys sat in their bunks holding glasses of fragrant wine. They were celebrating something. Everyone clinked their glasses together. All eyes fall on 958 and he smiles. “Three cheers for Sherrinford’s new record!”

            958’s head starts pounding as the memories flood his mind. ‘My name is Sherrinford?’ He grabs his face in both hands and groans. ‘Sherrinford… Holmes. Holmes? Holmes?’ His eyes shoot open. “Sherlock!” He runs to the left door into a drafty hallway, closing the door behind him. He missteps on his injured foot as he runs and falls, screaming in pain. He crawls to the wall and lets the cold of the cement soak through his clothes, cooling his rising body temperature. His phone dings and he yanks it from his pocket, head pressed firmly to the wall.

            They’re after you. Trying to hold them off. I love you. I always will. –Midnight

            He quickly messages her back.

            Nigh, I know who I am. Also, I’m injured. Shot myself in the foot, would you believe it? Please stay safe. Follow Sherlock. I love you too. –Sherrinford

            Sherrinford stands shakily and hobbles along into the sewer, one hand on the wall to hold himself steady. Sherlock wasn’t kidding when he said he would know where he was by the smell. He glances down at his bare foot and sighs. Probably wasn’t a great idea to go barefoot. ‘Damn this hand’ He could have carried his shoe with him, but he was forced to choose the gun. At least he would look armed. After considering the consequences for a good minute, he decides to deal with his foot getting infected later and shuffles along close to the wall. Just as he was coming upon the first exit, he hears the door to the wine cellar opening. ‘Well, shit.’

Text Conversation:

(S1) I think I’ve apprehended our man. Don’t worry about it. For now, just stick to the plan. I’ll have you all fly home when it’s completely safe. Tell John to forget the quarter. I need to consult with Lestrade, so it’s going to be a few hours before I get to the airport. Just go without me. I’ll see you soon. –SH

(M1) You said…! Sherlock! I am going to kill you! That was stupid! You left my gun on the roof didn’t you? Fine. Whatever. Get her so I can slaughter you myself! -MH

(S2) So I lied. Calm down. I’ll get you a new gun. I’m perfectly safe. Hold up your end of the deal and fly out on the next flight, you hear me? -SH

(M2) This is why I hardly ever trust you. Leave the gun, I don’t really care. It’ll hardly be of use at this point if what you’re saying is true. Also, there’s no way I’m going all the way to Hong Kong on a commercial flight. -MH

(M3) Sherlock! They just closed the entire airport. No one knows what’s going on. Every gate is sealed, and no planes are departing. -MH

(S3) Well then, get the hell out of there! Goddammit! Use your head Mye! I have other things to deal with. -SH

(M4) I can’t. Every exit is locked. No one can get in or out. -MH

(S4) Did John’s flight leave already? No matter. He’ll be fine. You need to stay calm and use your head. You’re smart. You’ll get out of this. Keep me updated. -SH

(M5) I can try but the guards are trying to keep everyone calm. No one can move, not even me. I’ll try to make up an excuse, but I doubt it will work with all the people panicking like this. (Yes, John, Mary and Caroline left safely.) -MH

(S5) Make it a pretty damn good excuse. I might not be able to answer for a minute or two. Don’t worry. -SH

(M6) Tried ‘here on business for the queen’. It worked. They gave me a badge so at least I can walk around now. Trying to find a way out. So far, nothing. Still on the search. -MH

Chapter Text

            Mycroft had just hit send on the update text when he trips over a person lying on the floor. His phone goes flying and is caught by a midsized man dressed as a security guard. He has a gun in his free hand. “Thank you.” Mycroft says, retrieving his balance and flashing his badge, but the man ignores it and points the gun at Mycroft’s chest. “What are you-?” The man flicks the gun and Mycroft stops, hands up. The man lowers Mycroft’s phone to his side and Mycroft can hear the faint sound of it dialing. He watches in horror as he slowly raises the gun to the ceiling, a satisfied smirk on his pale lips.

            A woman behind Mycroft takes notice and screams, “Get down, everyone!” The man shoots into the air to warn everyone back. Mycroft drops to the floor, covering his head. People nearby are screaming and calling for help as the man makes his way over, waving the gun around. He stops a few feet away and deliberately hangs up the phone, watching for a reaction from Mycroft who gives him none. He lifts Mycroft from the floor by his suit collar and holds the pistol to his head.

            “What do you want with me?” Mycroft asks.

            “I want you to text Sherlock that you are safe. Then I will strap you down and leave you to explode with everyone else.” The man pushes Mycroft through to a waiting area and seats him in a chair, yelling at everyone in the area to evacuate. He hands Mycroft the phone. “Don’t try anything or I’ll shoot you.” Mycroft nods and types in a distress text, intended to look the same as every other coded message, but the signature gives away the SOS. ‘Please get it Sherlock. Please.’

                        A SE KSXW –XS (M1)

            The man takes the phone and checks the lettering. “Good. Now keep still.” He ties Mycroft securely to the seat.

            Sherlock arrives at the river and takes a seat on a nearby bench. If 958 followed instructions, he should pop out of the manhole on Sherlock’s right. Sherlock’s arm is bleeding profusely, soaking his shirt in scarlet. “Damn.” He inspects the injury, noting that there’s no exit wound. The bullet was still inside him. He groans. “Hurry up. Your escape boat leaves in less than ten minutes.” The sound of metal brings his attention to the manhole being lifted. 958 climbs out and drops it back in place quietly, as if trying to avoid alerting someone below. “Good, you made it.” Sherlock pushes himself to his feet and winces at the strain to his arm. He grasps it. “Let’s get going.”

            958 doesn’t move right away. “Sherlock. I realized something while I was down there.”

            “Yes? Actually hold off.” Sherlock shakes his head, fighting his instinct to know things. “We’ll talk on the boat. It should be arriving any minute. It looks like you need to get moving.” Sherlock tilts his head, indicating the manhole. “How far back?”

            “They were in the wine cellar.”

            “We’ll be fine.” Sherlock starts walking toward the gangway.

            958 follows, limping on his injured foot. “I don’t know how long we have before they find out where I went.”

            “The boat will be here long before they get out. They won’t be expecting you to exit so quickly.” Sherlock stops at a bench near the gangway. “Sit down. Your foot must be killing you.”

            958 sinks onto the seat gratefully. “Thank you for helping me…Brother.” He leans his head back and closes his eyes.

            Sherlock stares at him, confused. “What did you call me?”

            Sherrinford opens his eyes. “I said, Brother.”

            “I-I’m not your brother.”

            “I told you I realized something down there. The wine triggered a memory. My real name is Sherrinford Holmes, and I was kidnapped from the army 29 years ago.”

            “I’m not your brother.” Sherlock sinks onto the bench opposite Sherrinford, crossing one leg over his knee huffily.

            “I promise you; I’m not pulling your leg. My name really is Sherrinford Holmes. I’m 49 years old and I am your eldest brother.”

            “Mycroft is my only brother. Sherrinford died.”

            Sherrinford holds his arms out wide. “I didn’t. See? I was captured, and my memories altered, but I’m very much alive.”

            Sherlock looks him over once and is about to rebuttal when a woman with dark brown hair limps into view. Her leg is tied with a temporary tourniquet made from a scrap of her shirt. Why she chose to tear her shirt instead of using her blue scarf was beyond Sherlock’s comprehension. Sherrinford takes notice of Sherlock’s gaze and smiles when he sees her. “I’m guessing you’re Midnight?” Sherlock asks. The woman before him was much younger than Sherrinford, early thirties at the least. “You seem rather young to be his wife.”

            “Yes. He’s 15 years older than me, but who cares when you love someone?” Midnight makes her way to them and sits down beside Sherrinford, dismissing Sherlock.

            “Are you okay?” Sherrinford leans forward to look at her leg.

            “Nothing that can’t be fixed. Got in a fight with 642 and 1031. They managed to hit me with a knife, but I took them out.” She pulls at the tourniquet and gasps at the pain of blood rushing to the wound. Sherrinford rests his good hand on Midnight’s thigh.

            Sherlock clears his throat. “While this reunion is rather touching,” Sherlock uncrosses his legs, placing both feet flat on the ground, “our boat has arrived.” Behind them, the loud horn of the ferry sounds. “What does-“ Sherlock pulls out his phone, intending to show Midnight’s last text but instead finds a missed text from Mye. ‘I am safe. -FA’ Danger. “Change of plans. Get on the boat. I have to take care of something.”

            “I am surprised you’re letting me go.” Midnight stands shakily with help from Sherrinford.

            “I’m letting your husband go. You just got lucky. Besides, one day’s head-start can’t hurt. I know where the boat is going so technically, you’re at a disadvantage. I’ll catch up as soon as I finish with this.”

            “I could kill you here and now and save us both-“

            Sherlock interrupts Midnight. “You’re both injured. I’m not worried.”

            Midnight’s glare could have lit paper on fire. “Instead,” she continues, “I’m giving you time to make a choice. You have 90 minutes. The hive, or the bee?”

            “Bee or the hive?” Sherlock thinks. Home and flying insects. Must be the airport and a plane. But which one? John’s? “The hive refers to the airport and the bee is one of the planes? What happens if I choose one and not the other?” Sherlock looks between Midnight, who holds her fiery gaze, and Sherrinford, who seems to have gained a conscience and looks away.

            “Good day, Sherlock.” Midnight limps with Sherrinford onto the boat, just as the horn sounds again to signal its departure.

            “Wait!” Sherlock is fighting panic when he remembers his conversation with Mycroft the other day. The Sherrinford he spoke of was brave. He wouldn’t let Mycroft die. “Sherrinford Holmes?”

            Sherrinford turns and leans over the railing. “Yes? I told you this.”

            “They said you were dead… Mycroft was devastated. Sherrinford, please. I need your help. Mye is in danger. I know you’re in no physical state, and it’s been years since you last saw him, but please, help me save him!”

            Sherrinford’s face drops guiltily, “I’m a dead man, remember. This may be my only chance to survive.” The boat begins to pull away from the dock.

            Sherlock’s mind is racing, looking for some way to convince him. “I saved you once, I can save you again. But first, we need to save him. He deserves to know you’re alive.”

            “I…” Sherrinford looks between Sherlock and Midnight and groans. He gives her a kiss and tosses his phone to Sherlock before climbing over the railing and into the salty water below. Sherlock races to the water’s edge and tosses a rope down to help him out.

            “Bet that felt nice,” Sherlock motioned a hand to Sherrinford’s foot, which had started bleeding again. He hands over Sherrinford’s phone. “Thank you.”

            Sherrinford grunts, “Might as well try to help someone before I die.” He looks back one last time to Midnight, but she was gone.

            “You won’t die.” Sherlock helps Sherrinford to his feet and grimaces, clutching his arm again. With the adrenaline fading, he’s starting to feel the throbbing pain.

            Sherrinford squeezes the water out of his clothes as best he can. “Our people are very efficient. I can’t run forever.”

            “We’ll come up with something.” Sherrinford limps forward and almost falls. Sherlock catches him and puts his good arm around his waist.

            “Thank you.” Sherrinford shivers. “When we’re done saving Mycroft, I’m going to need dry clothes.”

            Sherlock chuckles. “And maybe later, we can get your wound covered up.” Sherrinford rolls his eyes and manages to hop along with Sherlock’s help. A minute or two of silence goes by before Sherlock finally can’t help but ask, “How did you survive?”

            Sherrinford starts at the sudden question. “Survive…the war?”

            “Yes. Mycroft said your base was bombed.”

            He struggles to remember, “They saved me, pulled me from the wreckage.”

            “What then? You were saying your memories were altered. What did they do?”

            “They…tortured me but… I forget.” Sherrinford scrunches his face as he tries to think.

            “Don’t push yourself. Can you stand on your own for a minute? I’m going to hail a cab.” Sherrinford nods and Sherlock lifts a hand to a passing cab. “Airport. And don’t give me shit. We have a crisis to deal with.” The driver reluctantly nods and Sherlock collects Sherrinford, sliding in the back of the cab beside him.

            Sherrinford holds out a hand. “Let me see your arm.” He pulls a small kit out of his satchel and shakes the excess water off. “This will hurt quite a bit, but I’ve got to get the bullet out.”

            “I’m sure I’ve felt worse. Was shot in the chest a few years back. Barely lived.”

            “You’ll have to catch me up on that story someday. For now, remove your coat and hand me your scarf.” Sherlock complies and Sherrinford lays the coat down on the seat and ties the scarf above the wound. “Ready?”

            “Just fucking do it.” Sherlock grits his teeth in preparation for the pain he knows is coming. Sherrinford sticks a pair of pliers in the wound, searching for the bullet, but not five seconds later, “God stop!” He’s clutching tightly to the door, knuckles already turning white.

            “You’ve had worse huh?” Sherrinford laughs and pulls the pliers back.

            “Never anything that hurt this badly before. Must have hit a muscle or something. Just leave it in.”

            “You’re going to get sick if we do that. It’s a lead bullet. What you’re feeling is the poison taking effect. Contracting the muscles.”

            “Who uses lead anymore?” Sherlock’s breath feels stuck in his chest and he can’t bring himself to open his eyes.

            “Our gunmen. Effective.”

            “Fine. Continue, but gently.” Sherrinford nods and proceeds. “I said gently!” Sherlock growls through gritted teeth.

            “I’m trying. It’s pretty deep in there.” The taxi turns a corner and Sherrinford jabs a nerve. Sherlock punches the door. “God! Just leave it in. I’ll be dead, and then they won’t kill you, how about that?”

            “How about you stop moving?” Sherrinford pins Sherlock’s arm against the back of the seat. “I think I got it.”

            “Good, give me back my arm now. I’m going to enjoy prodding at your foot.”

            Sherrinford yanks the bullet out, “There.”

            Sherlock immediately snatches his arm back and grasps the wound to staunch the bleeding. He leans forward, fighting the pain. Through deep, tense breaths he asks, “The bullet didn’t shatter, did it? I’m not letting you get those out if it did.”

            “Lead doesn’t do that kind of thing. Now, I’m going to inject an antibody. Give me back your arm.”

            “Please don’t tell me you have to use a needle. Needles and I don’t have a kind past.”

            Sherrinford shakes his head. “I don’t have to use a needle, I can just…” He jabs a needle into his arm.

            “Goddammit Sherrinford!”

            He looks pleased as he starts stitching up the wound. “You wouldn’t have let me.”

            “If you would have told me the truth, I might have!”

            “I wasn’t about to leave it to chance.” Sherrinford bites off the stitch.

            “You act like you know me so well.”

            “I based my conclusion on how you acted when I was pulling the bullet out.” Sherrinford side glances at Sherlock. “Okay, that should do it.” Sherrinford hands Sherlock his kit and sits back, grabbing the door. “Don’t ruin it.” He lifts his foot for Sherlock to examine. The wound looks as though when the bullet hit, it went through the bones to the concrete and lodged some rock into the base of his foot.

            “I can’t believe you were walking on this.” Sherlock pokes the pliers into the wound.

            Sherrinford grinds his teeth. “I’m a soldier, I can take a little pAAAAAin!” He shouts the last word.

            “Sure,” Sherlock chuckles. “Your foot is broken. You can see where the metatarsal bones-” He laughs to himself. “I sound like John.” He pauses and looks up at Sherrinford. “Is he really dim?”

            Sherrinford flexes his arms against the door. “In comparison to you? Yes. Compared to other people?” He breathes out slowly. “John takes things way too literally. However, he’s much smarter than most of your police force.” Sherlock drops a piece of concrete onto the coat and starts digging for another when Sherrinford jerks his foot back. “Fuck!”

            “Statistics show that a person who swears a lot is very trustworthy. But it’s also been proven that cussing does not minimize pain.” Sherlock smiles lightly. “Give me back your foot. I’m almost finished.” Sherlock checks for remaining pieces of rock and puts the tools down when he’s satisfied. “There. Do you have a wrap in that bag of yours? I usually use Polyfilla to make a cast, but I don’t have any right now.”

            “Unfortunately, no. I can only carry so much.”

            “What about a knife?” Sherrinford hands over his knife. “Thanks. Mind sending Mycroft a text for me? It’s in my coat pocket. I’ll tell you what letters to type.” Sherrinford collects the phone. “First unknown number in messages. Ready?” Sherlock uses the knife to cut the unbloodied sleeve of his shirt into two pieces. “D-E-L-W-W L-E L-W-W L-Y-J H-L-J A-Z-D-D-T-M-W-P L-W-X-Z-D-E E-S-P-C-P A-C-Z-X-T-D-P -D-S. You got it?”

            “I think so,” Sherrinford holds the phone up for Sherlock to look over.

            “Send it.” Sherlock hands back the knife and wraps Sherrinford’s foot as tightly as he can. “This will have to do. At least nothing else can get into the wound.” Sherlock sits back and stares out the window.

            Sherrinford uses the other piece of fabric to wrap Sherlock’s wound. “How’s little Micro been since I left? What’s he been up to?”

            Sherlock observes Sherrinford’s reflection in the window. “Micro?” he laughs. “You make him sound small. I always called him Mye. He got married and has a daughter. Her name is Caroline, but I call her Care, and he holds a ‘minor position in the British Government’ but we all know he calls the shots.”

            Sherrinford laughs. “Sounds like Micro isn’t so little anymore.”

            “I wonder what Mummy would think of you now, if she’d still recognize you.”

           “She’s still alive?”

            “If you can call it living. She’s in a home. Early stages of dementia. Haven’t been to see her in a month or so.”

            “What about Dad?”

            Sherlock takes a long while to answer, focusing instead on one of the approaching airport signs. “Alive. Sherrinford. Can I call you Sherri?” He doesn’t wait for a response. “Sherri, Father…abused all of us. Mummy. Mye. Me…”

            “Dad, abusive? I never-”

            “Physically, sexually… yeah.” Sherlock chokes back a sob, not wanting to appear weak in front of Sherrinford, but the memories burn his eyes as tears begin to form. “Mye and I went to school with bruises all the time. And then Mye left and… Father, he…”

            Sherrinford reaches over and puts a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, his face soft and sympathetic. “You don’t have to tell me.”

            Sherlock shakes his head, wiping away the tears, “No, you should know the truth. He…” He breathes out slowly. “He molested me.”

            “Did you tell anyone? Mummy? Micro?”

            Sherlock shakes his head again. “He scared me. He threatened to make it worse if I screamed… if I told anyone. Mummy was at work, so no one was around to hear if I did scream. I…” Sherlock’s voice breaks and Sherrinford squeezes Sherlock’s forearm.

            “Do you see him often now?”

            “I try not to. Mycroft may go to see him sometimes, but we’ve all gone our separate ways since Mye left for Uni. It wasn’t until Jim Moriarty returned that Mye and I spoke to eachother.”

            “Who's Jim Moriarty?”

            “Irish bloke. Dark hair. May be on assignment with Midnight. He started sending texts around the same time as she did.”

            Sherrinford thinks for a couple seconds, “You say he’s Irish? Dark eyes?”

            “So you know him?” Sherlock perks up a little.

            “Not really. He came by to give me the task of killing you. That’s all. Haven’t seen him much otherwise. He mainly worked with Nigh.”

            “We’ll talk more about this later. We’re here.” Sherlock pays the cabbie handsomely, promising to have his car compensated for, and helps Sherrinford out.

            Sherrinford almost falls as he steps down. “I can’t feel my foot. But considering it’s broken, and I have to walk on it, maybe that’s a good thing.”

            “You’re welcome to stay here.”

            “I’m coming idiot!”

            “Then you best keep up. Hand me your gun.” Sherlock holds out a hand as he speed walks toward the building.

            “It’s got no bullets remember?”

            “Yep.” Sherlock leads Sherrinford around the side, knowing the front doors would be shut fast. “Should be a fire escape on the second story. Can you climb?”

            "I’ve been walking haven’t I?”

            “Let me rephrase. Are you up for a climb?”

            “Hell's yes!”

            “Eager.” Sherlock laughs. “Let’s go then.”

Text Conversation:

(M1) I am safe. -FA
(S1) Stall at all? Any way possible? Almost there. Promise. -SH

Chapter Text

            Sherlock locates the ladder to the roof, but the bottom half is locked by a protective grate to prevent unauthorized people from climbing it. He turns to Sherrinford, “Any ideas?”

            Sherrinford had already pulled out a lockpicking kit and gets busy on the lock. “Yep. And got it.” He drops the padlock to the ground and swings aside the grate. “Up we go.” Once up, Sherlock looks around. There’s no building access. “Looks like you chose the wrong building,” Sherrinford laughs.

            “Shut up Sherrinford,” Sherlock snaps.

            Sherrinford limps over to an air vent and glances inside. “Do you even have a plan for when we get inside?”

            Sherlock stops. In his haste to save his brother, he hadn’t stopped to think about the fact that Sherrinford knew what was going on with the airport. “You’re the one with insider knowledge. Why haven’t you said anything?”

            “Got sort of busy saving your life.”

            “After you tried to take it.” Sherlock shot back.

            “I was just following orders.” Sherrinford sighs heavily. “We sent a brigade of men to rig the building with a bomb tied to a wireless detonator, much like the one used in the Homes’ mansion, but bigger. There’s another placed inside the plane carrying John. All the agent with the detonator needs is your decision.”

            Sherlock sits and reloads the gun with the bullets he took earlier as he listens. “I haven’t given an answer.”

            “If we don’t get an answer from you, we default to the airport. We stationed people inside and got the whole place locked down.”

            “How long do we have?”

            “Maybe 45 minutes.”

            “Then I suppose we better get going. The vent system should lead through most of the airport. We’ll go through there, get to Mye, then deal with the bomb.” Sherlock stands and tries to pull off the vent cover but fails. “Hand me your knife.” He slips the blade between the vent and pops it open, then stuffs the blade into his belt. “You first.  I don’t know if I fully trust you yet. You did try to kill me after all.”

            Sherrinford looks slightly hurt, but crawls into the vent. Sherlock follows just behind, closing the gate behind him. “We will save our brother and stop the bombs from detonating. Follow my lead, listen for any human activity and for god’s sake… be quiet!”

            “You’re telling ME what to do now? Don’t make me laugh.”

            Sherrinford glares back. “I’ve climbed through more air ducts than I can count, broken into hundreds of buildings multiple times, and am fully used to sneaking around unseen. I think I know what I’m doing.”

            “Take a left up here.” Sherrinford ignores Sherlock’s instruction and continues straight. “I said left!” Sherlock yells in a whisper.

            “And I know where I’m going, so shut your mouth.”

            “How would you know?”

            “I already told you. Now would you please shut up? I’m trying to listen.”

            “Fine. But I’m going left. See you on the other side.”

            “You’re going to get caught, Stupid.” Sherrinford growls under his breath.

            “I heard that.” Sherlock huffily turns into the left duct and crawls a ways in. He stops near a grate with some light shining through and pulls out his phone.

                        XJP HSPCP LCP JZF PILNEWJ -DS (S1)

                        TX MJ RLEP ESTCEPPY EPCXTYLW QZFC ETPO FA LYO LE RFYAZTYE -XS (M1)

            Sherlock considers his next words carefully.

                        TQ DSPCCTYQZCO HPCP DETWW LWTGP HZFWO T HLYE EZ QZWWZH STX -DS (S2)

                        HSLE VTYO ZQ BFPDETZY TD ESLE -XS (M2)

                        TX ECJTYR EZ DLGP JZFC WTQP OLXY TE UFDE LYDHPC ESP BFPDETZY -DS (S3)

                        SZH DSZFWO T VYZH T HLD DPGPY HSPY TWLDE DLH STX DTYNP ESPY SP SLO MPPY TY L HLC LYO OTPO -XS (M3)

            Sherlock sighs in frustration. Older brothers were such a pain.

                        TQ SP HPCPYE OPLO HZFWO JZF MLDPO ZY HSLE JZF CPXPXMPC ZQ STX HZFWO JZF DETWW ECFDE LYO QZWWZH STX EZOLJ -DS (S4)

                        JPD DSPCWZNV T HZFWO T HZFWO QZWWZH XJ ZWOPC MCZESPC MPNLFDP T HZFWOY’E HLYE EZ WZDP STX LRLTY YZH BFTE LDVTYR DFNS BFPDETZYD TE SFCED PYZFRS LD TE TD -XS (M4)

                        ESLYV JZF XJP -DS (S5)

            Sherlock pockets his phone and keeps crawling. He can hear Sherrinford ahead of him and meets him in a connecting duct. “I told you to turn left. Would have cut off a lot of the crawling.”

            “Not really,” Sherrinford huffs. “Now will you finally shut your trap hole?”

            “Why don’t you make me?” Sherlock grins teasingly, “You know, if Mye thinks you are trustworthy, then I’ll follow you.” Sherrinford nods gratefully. “You’ll want to turn right up ahead. You can hear voices-“ Sherlock points, but lowers his arm at the look from Sherrinford. “Right, sorry. Go ahead.”

            Sherrinford blinks slowly, fighting back a retort, and looks ahead, still listening. He decides to keep going straight. Sherlock looks at the right duct as they pass it. He sees a vent on the floor of the duct, through which, the distinct sound of a crying child is heard. Sherrinford was right. But he’d never admit that to his face. “You’re an interesting human being Sherlock.”

            “Most don’t think that. They see me as someone with mental issues who needs professional help. Even John has said it a few times.”

            “I’m not most people.”

            “So I’ve learned. But your IQ is about as low.” Sherrinford doesn’t respond. “Oh come on, you shot yourself in the foot. And let me live despite having every opportunity to kill me. You became sentimental towards me, and if I hadn’t needed your help, you’d be dead because of it.”

            Sherrinford stops crawling and turns to face Sherlock. “Everyone makes stupid mistakes, even you.”

            Sherlock laughs. “Never.” He sits up and his head begins to spin. “What was in that medicine you gave me. I feel dizzy.”

            “When was the last time you ate? You didn’t eat at the café.”

            “I don’t eat on a case!” Sherlock snapped back.

            “That’s just stupid!”

            “It’s never hindered me before. What did you give me?”

            “Ethylenediaminetetraacetic acid. It binds to the metals in your blood, rendering them useless to you. You’re likely suffering from anemia, both from your injury and the lack of minerals.”

            “You should have known better than…” Sherlock blinks his eyes several times, finding it suddenly hard to focus. “My hands are numb. What did you say it was again?”

            “Eth-yl-ene-diamin-et-etra-acetic acid.”

            “EDTA” Sherlock mumbles, “Formaldehyde, sodium cyanide, thalassemia, benzalkonium chloride, thiomersal…”

            “Yeah. What about it?” Sherrinford looks at Sherlock curiously.

            “I’m trying to figure out what it is in that that has made me sick.” Sherlock returns to his mumbling. “Diaminoethane-tetra acetic acid…”

            “You’re feeling sick because your body has used up its supply. You need something to eat. And quickly.” Sherrinford turns and continues to crawl through the duct.

            Sherlock stares at his hands, they still feel numb and he can hardly focus. “We need to find Mye. Then we’ll talk about me eating.”

            “Sorry Sherlock, but if you don’t eat, you’re not going to be of much use to Mycroft.” Sherrinford crawls into a duct that smells strongly of food.

            “Sherri, I swear to god, if we lose Mye because you’re concerned with forcing me to eat…”

            Sherrinford opens a vent in the floor of the duct. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” He drops down and Sherlock crawls over, looking down into an airport kitchen. Sherrinford was out of sight but quickly returned handing up a hamburger bun and a cup of black coffee. “Take mine too. I’m coming back up.” He hands Sherlock another cup.

            “So you make yourself a creamed coffee and leave me with black?” Sherlock mocks but sips his cup anyway. Sherrinford had put in two sugars. Maybe he really did know more about him than Sherlock would like, or at the very least, his boss did. He moves back to give Sherrinford room.

            “So I like mine creamy.” Sherrinford pulls himself into the duct and covers the vent back up. “Sue me. Just finish what I gave you.”

            “You sound like Mummy.” Sherlock smirks and takes a tentative bite of the bun. Buttery and light. Probably meant to be toasted. A few bites in, Sherlock begins to get feeling in his hands again. He tests their mobility, opening and closing his fists several times.

            “How do you feel?” Sherrinford gulps down his drink as though he hadn’t had anything quite so tasty in years.

            “Like doing something stupid.”

            “And that would be?”

            Sherlock finishes off his coffee. “I’m still not sure I trust you enough to tell you all my plans. Let’s go.” He tosses the cup aside and crawls past Sherrinford.

            “Take the left up ahead.” Sherrinford calls after him. Sherlock waves a hand back and continues on the straight path. Sherrinford grumbles but follows, leaving his empty cup behind.

            Before long Sherlock stops. “Here. We’ll exit here.” The area is quiet, nearly abandoned. Sherlock lifts the vent out and looks back to Sherrinford. “If you land on your foot wrong, I’m leaving you behind.”

            “Good to know.” Sherrinford scoffs. The ground is a good 20 feet below. Sherlock goes first, holding to the edge of the duct and letting himself drop, rolling into the fall.

            Sherlock grabs his arm, the weight of rolling over it having ripped a stitch. “Your turn.” Sherrinford drops as well, much more skilled in the art of falling and jumps up, uninjured. They’ve come out in an airport gate. Sherlock glances around for a sign. Gate 23. “He’s at gate 13.” He starts running up, following signs for gates 12-17.  

Sherlock pulls out the gun he took and hands it to Sherrinford. “This is where I do something stupid.”

            “I’m not going to shoot you.” Sherrinford takes the gun and checks the cylinder.

            “Not what I meant. Put it away for now and follow my lead.” Sherlock peeks around the corner. He’s relieved to see Mycroft tied to one of the waiting chairs, his captor standing a few feet away, gun at the ready. Sherlock meets Mycroft’s eyes and he nods. “Good thing I’m your height.” Sherlock grabs Sherrinford by the shoulders and pushes him forward, using him as a shield. He addresses Mycroft’s captor, “Drop your weapon or he dies.”

            The man turns. “It’s about time you showed up. Little early to be making threats.” He holds his gun to Mycroft’s head.

            “Rather young for a killer.”

            “We’ve got younger.” The captor chuckles, fingering the trigger.

            Sherlock pushes his gun into Sherrinford’s neck. “Let him go and I’ll give you 958. Your man for mine. Try anything funny and I will not hesitate to kill him and then you.”

            “Go ahead.” The captor shrugs.

            Sherlock shoots the gun into the air and puts it back on Sherrinford. “Untie him now. I swear to God…”

            “He’s not important. Boss wants him dead anyway. I’m just here to fulfill my mission.”

            “And if you don’t, you die. I’ve been informed. I’m here to make sure you don’t succeed, which means you’re going to fail, so either you let him go and I’ll kill you quickly, or don’t and I’ll make your suffering last a few minutes. Your choice.”

            “How about option C? I kill you all here and now.” The man lifts his gun toward Sherlock. Without hesitation, Sherlock drops Sherrinford and shoots the captor, hitting him in the stomach.

            “Sherri, untie Mye.” Sherrinford runs over to Mycroft as Sherlock approaches the captor, who is now kneeling on the ground, holding his stomach, and choking. “Where are the other men?”

            He looks up at Sherlock, blood shining on his teeth. “You tell me, Sherlock Holmes.” He spits out a glob of blood.

            Sherlock scans the terminal map in his mind palace. “One would be by security, another guarding the bomb wherever that is, and one in the stairwell to stop anyone from coming up or leaving. Am I missing any?”

            The captor laughs. “Just the one behind you.” Sherlock ducks just in time to throw the new assassin over his back and into the injured one. The new assassin leaps forward again and starts to struggle with Sherlock.

            Sherrinford helps Mycroft to his feet and sees the injured assassin aiming his gun at Sherlock. “Sherlock, look out!” Sherlock pulls his attacker sideways to avoid the shot and they end up on the ground. Sherlock gains control and pins the new assassin. Sherrinford limps over and quickly snaps the injured man’s neck, letting him fall lifeless to the floor. He pulls the gun out of the man’s grip, checks the mag and curses. “Hey, Micro…oft. Happen to see where he left his pack? He’s out of bullets.”

            Mycroft shakes his head. “He handed it off to someone else. Claimed he wouldn’t be needing it.”

            Sherrinford nods and looks over as Sherlock grunts. He’s still struggling with the assassin. “A little help over here Brother?” Mycroft hurries over and aims a kick at the assassin’s head. They double over and Sherlock rolls off. “Thanks,” Sherlock manages, breathlessly.

            Sherrinford helps Mycroft subdue the new assassin. They pull off the head covering to reveal a woman with cropped brown hair, dark eye shadow and thin lips. They pat her down. “She’s clean.”

            Sherlock eyes the woman and circles her slowly. “What’s your name? Or are you still just a number?”

            “1093.” She mumbles crossly.

            “Why, thank you. I want you up, with your hands behind your back. You’re going to take me to the bomb. Mye, find a way to unlock the building and get everyone out. Take him with you.” He gestures at Sherrinford.

            Mycroft glares at Sherlock. “If there’s really a bomb, there’s no way I’m letting you deal with it. You’ve risked your life enough times today. You’re coming with me and we’re getting out of this airport together.”

            “Just do as I say, Mye! We don’t have time to argue. I’m going to go block the wireless signal. Won’t take 10 minutes. Here, take your gun.” Sherlock hands Mycroft the gun who snatches it away angrily.

            “You had it all along didn’t you? Mother fu-”

            Sherlock ignores the question. “Should be three shots left. Make them count. I’ll meet you out front in half an hour. Promise. Don’t let him out of your sight.” He adds to Sherrinford.

            “And why exactly is he coming with me?” Mycroft asks.

            “He’s a target. He’s capable of taking care of himself but his foot is broken so he can’t escape if things get hairy. I’ve got my hands tied with this, so I’m trusting him with you.” Sherlock pulls out Sherrinford’s knife and holds it at the assassin’s throat. “Let’s go.”

            “Hold on a minute Sherlock.” Sherrinford takes Sherlock’s upper arm. He whispers into his ear so no one else will hear. “Promise me you won’t do anything else. For him.”

            “I’ll be careful.” Sherlock leads the assassin off.

            Sherrinford watches Sherlock leave and turns. Mycroft had disappeared. “Mycroft? Mycroft!”

            “Keep up.” Sherrinford follows Mycroft’s voice to the stairs leading to the ground floor.

            “You heard Sherlock. There are other assassins around here. You shouldn’t just run off.”

            “And how are you meant to help me more than this gun? You’re limping like crazy.” Mycroft gestures to Sherrinford’s foot.

            “I know their training.”

            “And why should I trust you? For all I know, you’re one of them.”

            “Mycro, look at me.”

            Mycroft stops. “What did you just call me?”

            “Mycro. Sherlock says it makes you sound small, but I guess you’ll always be my little brother.”

            Mycroft turns away. “No. Sherrinford died in the war 30 years ago. This is some sick joke. An attempt to get into my head. Well, I’m not going to let you.”

            Sherrinford steps closer. “Your fifth birthday, I took you on the roof to watch the stars. I let you use my telescope, but you didn’t like seeing just one part of the sky at a time.”

            “You’re not him. You’ve simply done your research.” Mycroft pulls the gun on Sherrinford. “You need to leave. Get back to your people and get the hell out of my way.”

            Sherrinford raises his hands. “Woah, woah. I can prove it.” He steps closer, grabbing at his sleeve. Mycroft puts a hand under the gun to steady his aim and Sherrinford slowly pulls his jacket sleeve down, revealing a horizontal scar along his inner wrist. “I used to cut, remember? And you found me. You may have been five or six years old.” Sherrinford points to Mycroft’s wrists and he instinctively pulls his sleeve down. “You did it to yourself, to get me to stop. For every cut I made, you would make one too.”

            “Two. For every one, I’d make two.” Mycroft pulls the sleeve up briefly flashing a red mark before pulling it back and switching to his right sleeve, revealing similar scars to Sherrinford’s.

            Sherrinford quickly hides the concern on his face. “It’s me, Mycro.”

            “Share? Is it honest to god you?” Mycroft’s eyes are brimming with tears as he looks his brother in the face.

            “Honest to God.” A tear falls down Mycroft’s cheek and he falls forward into Sherrinford. He stumbles back but hugs Mycroft. “It’s alright Mycro. I’m alright. I’m here.”

            Mycroft pushes Sherrinford back. “You weren’t dead, and you didn’t come home! Why didn’t you come home?” He falls back into Sherrinford’s arms.

            “I’m sorry. I would have come home if I-“ Sherrinford stops and shoves Mycroft back, lifting his gun at the woman who’d just arrived, ascending the stairway. “Kylie.”

            The woman holds her aim steadily at Sherrinford’s head and flips her blonde curls over her shoulder with one swoop. “958. Pity seeing you here. Could have sworn someone would have eliminated you by now. Who’d have expected it would  be me.”

            “I’m a quicker shot than you and you know that. Lower your weapon and I’ll let you live.”

            “And what purpose would that serve me? Satisfaction of sparing an old friend?” Kylie scoffs. “Yeah right. We had to off the girl Sherlock abducted because of you.”

            “Where’s the bomb Kylie?” Sherrinford cocks the hammer.

            “Like I’m going to tell you, Traitor.” She takes a step up.

            “I have the high ground here. And you’re outnumbered. Just tell me what I want to know and be on your way.”

            “You’re too late. My mission has been fulfilled.” Kylie grins. “Boss would be proud.” She flinches her finger and true to his word, Sherrinford pulls the trigger of his revolver. She falls backward down the stairs, lifeless. Mycroft turns and retches.

            “Get ahold of yourself. She was going to kill us.” Sherrinford helps Mycroft to his feet. “We have to go. Text Sherlock. The bomb’s been activated.” Mycroft wipes his mouth and pulls out his phone. “Can your ‘minor government position’ get this place opened up?”

            “Of course it can.” Mycroft looks at Sherrinford who was staring distractedly in the direction Sherlock had gone. “You’re not thinking of going after him are you? We need to get out.”

            “No no. Of course not…” Sherrinford trails off. “I’ll be right back. Get everyone herded to the entrance.”

            Mycroft grabs Sherrinford’s wrist. “There’s no way I’m letting you go again.”

            “Just go. Please. I know what I’m doing.” Sherrinford shakes Mycroft off and runs down the walkway.

            “No. Share!” Mycroft chases after.

            “You still have a hard time following instruction don’t you.”

            “Rules don’t define me.”

            “Government huh?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Then you should be accustomed to rules. We need to get everyone we can out. I don’t know how long we have.”

            “All the more reason you need to come with me. I can’t lose you again.”

            “Sherlock isn’t going to stop until he finds that bomb. We both know that. The quicker we find it, the quicker we can all get out. But we need to evacuate and only you can make that happen.” Sherrinford hugs Mycroft. “Please. Just go. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

            “What about you? I don’t want you getting hurt either.”

            Sherrinford sighs. “Mycro. You’ve been used to me being dead for 30 years now. If this is our goodbye, not much will change for you.”

            “It doesn’t have to be goodbye.”

            Sherrinford places a kiss to Mycroft’s head. “You’ve grown into a man that I… I’m so proud of you.”

            Mycroft sees a man in a strange uniform running past at the bottom of the stairs. “Share, you better meet me outside alive or I’ll kill you myself. Find Sherlock.” He runs off after the bomber. He receives a text just as he sends one out.

                        Sherlock I just saw the bomber. It’s too late to block the bomb signal. Sherrinford is on his way to you. You both better get out.
                        -MH

                        Mye, I found it, it’s on the second floor, fifth corridor. Janitor’s closet. Can you believe how predictable they are?
                        -SH

            Mycroft holds himself back from slamming his phone against the wall. He spots a security guard making the rounds. “Get those doors open this instant, by order of the British Government. This is an emergency.” He flashes his ID and the guard runs off, not long after, an alarm sounds, and he can hear shouting to evacuate. ‘At least someone can follow instructions.’

                        Don’t touch it Dumbo! You’re not a bomb squad! Just get out. They’re evacuating.
                        -MH

                        Dumbo? Ha, Mycroft you make me laugh.
                        -SH

                        I swear if you touch it Sherlock…
                        -MH

                        Don’t swear Mye. What would Mary say?
                        -SH
                        PS, it has a timer, and an extra display. I believe it’s the one attached to the bomb on the plane. John’s plane. If I cut any of the wires, even the correct one, that could set off the other timer and the other bomb. I assume, by the way the wires are set, if I cut the wrong one, it’ll set off both bombs. Sounds fun. Shall I try it?

                        No dammit! Just leave it and get out!
                        -MH

                        Can’t do that Mye, and you know it. I can stop this. Trust me.
                        -SH

            Mycroft lowers his phone, torn between going after his brothers and getting out to wait for them. He’s just turning to follow the crowd when he feels a hand take his shoulder. “Sherrinford? Where’s Sherlock.”

            “We have to get out of here. Now!” Sherrinford grabs Mycroft by the waist and starts pulling him out.

            Mycroft fights back. “Tell me what’s going on. Where is Sherlock?”

            “He called me. Wouldn’t say where he was but asked me to help him disarm the bomb.”

            “So you told him?!”

            “Yes. I know my boss. He’s not going to play by the rules. My niece is on that plane. If Sherlock doesn’t do something, we’re all as good as dead.”

            Mycroft’s phone buzzes and he pulls it out. “Hold that thought.”

                                                ((*Author’s Note, Listen to this while you read the next part.* https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T17Bl1R0OZk))

                        Protect him. He’s playing a game of death at the moment because he spared my life. Both of you, survive.
                        -SH

                        Don’t talk like that. You’re going to get out. You promised. I won’t let you die.
                        -MH

            “Your niece?” Mycroft asks, turning back to Sherrinford.

            “Care, I think her name was.”

                        Goddamn it Mye. Just do as I said. Your daughter’s life depends on what I’m about to do. Get out, for her.
                        -SH

            “Yes. Of course. Caroline.” Mycroft resigns.

                        Fine. You win. Just save Caroline. T SZAP JZF RPE ZFE LWTGP T OZYE VYZH HSLE TO OZ TQ T WZDE JZF LRLTY Good luck Sherlock.
                        -MH (M5)

                        Monster will be safe. I swear it. HP PLNS RPE ZYP CPEFCY QCZX ESP OPLO T SLO XTYP YZH JZF RZE DSPCCTYQZCO ELVP ESLE LD L MWPDDTYR ACZXTDP YZE EZ EPWW XFXXJ LMZFE XP
                        -DS (S6)

                        TX YZE ACZXTDTYR JZF LYJESTYR ZGPC EPIE JZF MLDELCO -XS (M6)

            He shoves his phone angrily into his pocket and allows Sherrinford to lead him far from the building. His heart feels torn in two. Sherlock just had to be the hero. He just had to get involved and force Mycroft to choose between his brother whom he would always protect, and his daughter. “Fuck!” he yells to the sky and falls into Sherrinford’s embrace, defeated and angry.

            Sherlock wipes the tears from his eyes and breathes in deeply. There’s less than 5 minutes remaining on the main display. Following Sherrinford’s instruction, he cuts the first wire. The second screen turns on with a loud beep and he cuts the second wire to turn it off. Then he simultaneously cuts the two blue wires and connects them, triggering another loud beep. To his dismay, the timer is still counting down. Sherrinford warned him that that may be the case. Sherlock stands and leaves the closet. There’s nothing he can do to stop the airport exploding now. But at least the plane was safe. He syncs the timer on the bomb to his phone’s timer and starts to walk back the way he came. He dials John.

            “Doctor John H. Watson’s phone. You missed me but leave a message. I’ll call you back.”

            “Hey. It’s me. I just wanted to say goodbye. This time, it might be real. I’m sorry. If by some miracle, it’s not, I’ll call you at seven. On the dot. Promise. Don’t worry about me. I’ve lived a good life. Just know that you were my best friend. And I- well. I’ll tell you later.” Sherlock hangs up as he reaches the stairs. The airport has fallen silent. He types one final text into his phone and sends it.

            Mycroft anxiously opens the message but drops it as the airport suddenly erupts into flames. “No! Sherlock!!!”

Text conversation:

(S1) Mye, where are you exactly? -SH

(M1) I’m by gate thirteen. Terminal four. Tied up and at gunpoint. -MH

(S2) If Sherrinford were still alive, would I want to follow him? -SH

(M2) What kind of question is that? -MH

(S3) I’m trying to save your life, damn it! Just answer the question! -SH

(M3) How should I know? I was seven when I last saw him. Since then, he had been in a war and died! -MH

(S4) If he weren’t dead, would you? Based on what you remember of him, would you still trust and follow him today? -SH

(M4) Yes, Sherlock! I would! I would follow my older brother because I wouldn’t want to lose him again! Now quit asking such questions! It hurts enough as it is. -MH

(S5) Thank you, Mye. -SH

(M5) I hope you get out alive. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you again. -MH

(S6) We each get one return from the dead. I had mine. Now you got Sherrinford. Take that as a blessing. Promise not to tell Mummy about me. -SH

(M6) I’m not promising you anything over text you bastard! -MH

Chapter Text

                                    I love you Mye.
                                    -SH

            Mycroft reads the text over and over as Sherrinford holds him, tears streaming from his eyes. Sherrinford slowly pulls himself from Mycroft. “It’s been half an hour. He’s not coming out. We should go.”

            Mycroft nods and stands. His foot kicks something and he glances down at his feet where the gun lay abandoned. “You should probably hold onto that.” Sherrinford reaches down and shoves the gun into his pocket.

            “I’m sorry. I really am. He was a pain in the arse, and wouldn’t shut up to save his life, but he was bright. His loss is a tragedy.”

            Mycroft doesn’t seem to be listening and punches a nearby tree. “He lied to me!” Mycroft yells anger taking over the sadness in his chest.

            “Come on Mycro. Let’s get inside somewhere.” Sherrinford leads Mycroft to a café and sits him down. He clears his throat and the waitress, who was busy watching the news coverage of the airport explosion, looks over.

            “Oh, sorry.” She makes her way to their table. “What can I get you boys?” A piece of hair pokes out from under her uniform bandana and she pokes it back in place.

            “Two coffees please.”

            “Black?”

            “I’ll have mine with cream. Mycro?” Sherrinford turns to Mycroft who simply grunts, examining his lightly bleeding hand. “Black for him. And can we get a cup of water with some paper napkins?” She nods and leaves. “Hey. Look at me. You’ll be alright.” Mycroft averts his gaze. The waitress returns with their order and places it on the table. Sherrinford bows his head in thanks and she leaves again, returning to watch the news. Mycroft stares into his cup but makes no move to pick it up or drink it. “Mycroft.” Sherrinford sighs. “Maybe you should call John. Talk to your daughter. They should have landed by now.”

            “Sure. Yeah.” He fumbles with his phone for a minute, trying to recall John’s phone number before dialing it. “John. It’s Mycroft. Is Caroline with you?”

            “Yeah. She’s here. We’re just leaving the airport. You arrived alright then?”

            “Fine. May I speak with her?”

            John hands the phone over to Caroline. “Daddy?”

            “Hi baby.” Mycroft’s eyes brim with tears at the sound of his daughter’s sweet voice. “I need you to go somewhere private okay. I have to tell you something and John can’t hear.”

            “Sure. He just stepped away to get a cab for us.”

            “This is a secret. You can’t tell John. Not yet. Promise?”

            “Pinkie promise.”

            Mycroft flexes his pinkie in response and breathes out deeply. “You’re probably going to hear about it soon, but there was an explosion…” Mycroft’s voice catches in his throat and he struggles to clear it. “Sherlock…”

            Caroline interrupts. “He left John a message. Is Uncle Sherly okay?”

            Mycroft startles. “Did you hear what it said?”

            “No. But whatever he said made John really mad.”

            “He must have called before detonation. Listen, Caroline. I’m not 100% certain but until we know for sure, I need you to protect John. Keep him from hearing too much about the airport. If something happened to him, Sherlock wouldn’t want John to mourn. And I don’t want him hurt again. Not while he’s got you to look out for.”

            “Alright Daddy.” She was definitely trying to hide it, but Mycroft could tell she was choking back tears.

            “That’s my girl.”

            “I miss you Daddy.”

            “I miss you too. We’ll be together again soon. Call me if you need anything. Or if you hear anything. Seems like…” Mycroft didn’t want to even entertain the idea that Sherlock was still alive. It would just make it hurt more if it turned out to be false.

            “Seems like what?”

            “Nothing. Just a passing thought. I’ll talk to you later alright? I love you so much.”

            “I love you too Daddy. Bye.” Caroline hangs up the phone and Mycroft lowers his hand, resting it on the table.

            “Feel better?” He looks up, forgetting that Sherrinford was sitting across from him.

            “Hm? Oh. A little.”

            Sherrinford dips the napkin in the water and gently wipes Mycroft’s knuckles. “Anything I can do?”

            Mycroft pulls his hand away. “Thanks, but no.” He picks up his cup of coffee and downs it, ignoring the fact that it was still piping hot.

            “You don’t have to put up a front with me. You just lost your brother. It’s supposed to hurt.”

            Mycroft shakes his head and stands, dropping some money on the table. “Caring isn’t an advantage. It’s a weakness manifested in lesser men.”

            “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

            “Let’s just get going. I don’t want to keep hearing about the airport.” He tips his head in the direction of the TV.

            They leave the café and walk in silence for a few blocks. Suddenly, Sherrinford speaks, “Hey, got a fag?” Mycroft pulls his pack out and hands it over. “Thanks.” He sticks one between his lips and lights it. “Haven’t had one of these in months,” he mumbles and hands the pack back to Mycroft. “You know, it sucks, having only one functioning hand.”

            “What happened? You never got around to telling me that story.”

            Sherrinford holds up his lame hand and stares at it as he speaks, bringing back the memories one at a time. “Started with the bunker bombing. Third degree burns. They administered first aid when they picked me up but used it as a form of torture later on. Burning it over and over to remind me why I must always succeed my mission. To make me forget where the burns truly came from. Got to hand it to them. Utilizing PTSD in prisoners of war is genius.”

            “I’m glad you’re back.” Mycroft grabs his brother’s shoulder and steps past him. “There’s a hotel up ahead. Let’s bunker down there and rest for the night. We’ll decide what to do in the morning.” Sherrinford agrees and they check into their room.

            “Mind if I shower?”

            Mycroft shakes his head. “Fine by me.”

            “Don’t do anything stupid, alright?”

            “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Mycroft sighs and sits on the edge of the bed. His head is pounding but he welcomes the pain. Just as the shower turns on, he lays back, staring at the ceiling. When he was a kid, he and Sherrinford had found shapes in the texture. Mycroft smiles lightly, recalling the argument about a particular shape being a rabbit versus a duck. Then his smile dropped. Things weren’t that simple anymore. He wasn’t sure they ever would be again. Mycroft places his phone and wallet on the bedside table, sure to have the picture of Mary and Caroline open as he drifts off into a troubled sleep.

            Sherlock steps tentatively up to the door of the flat. It’d been a while since the last time he’d seen her, but he felt it prudent to stop here first. He raps on the door twice and hears a chair slide back across the floor. The door unlocks and a girl about five with dirty blonde hair opens it. “Hi, is your mom here?” She looks up at Sherlock with scared eyes and turns back to look inside the house. The door blocks his view, but Sherlock can hear approaching footsteps.

            “Who is it Love?” Molly Hooper steps into view and freezes at the sight of Sherlock. “Sherlock!” She starts, grabbing at her escaping breath.

            “Hi Molly.” Sherlock attempts a smile. “Can I come in?”

            “Yes, yes of course, come in.” Molly holds the door open and Sherlock steps inside. “Can I take your coat or…something?”

            “That’s alright. I’m not staying long.” Sherlock eyes the little girl who hides behind Molly. “You may not remember me. Last time I saw you, you were just about this big.” Sherlock spreads his hands out to what would be the size of a 1 year old. The girl simply shy’s further behind Molly’s leg.

            “It’s okay Rosie. This is Sherlock. He’s a friend.” Molly puts a hand behind Rosie and pushes her lightly.

            Sherlock kneels down to her height. “Nice to formerly meet you.” He holds out a gloved hand which Rosie takes tentatively. “Sherlock Holmes. I… I used to work with your parents.”

            “Rosamund. But everybody just calls me Rosie.” She takes her hand back and nervously sucks on the side of her finger.

            “Rosie. Why don’t you go play while I talk with Sherlock for a minute?” Molly ushers Rosie off and Sherlock stands. “Why are you here?”

            “Came to check on you.”

            “For you or for John?”

            “I’m coming of my own accord if that’s what you’re asking.”

            Molly crosses her arms and shifts her weight to one leg, concern showing between her eyebrows. “What did you do?”

            “Nothing. Nothing. Everything’s fine.”

            “You know you can’t lie to me right? What happened to John? He’s not-“

            “No. He had to fly out of country for a bit but he’s alive and well.”

            Molly walks into her sitting room and takes a seat by the window. “Then why have you come?”

            Sherlock doesn’t answer, instead opting to examine the family photos which hang in the entryway. The first shows Molly and her then boyfriend holding Rosie in front of a large park tree. Molly had adopted Rosie when she was barely a year old. John had fallen into a deep depression as they approached his wedding anniversary and left Rosie uncared for. Due to the timely arrival of Mrs. Hudson, who’d come to check on the boys, Rosie lived. The godparents met to discuss what should happen with the child. John certainly couldn’t. Her presence was tearing him apart day by day. Sherlock was in no state to care for a child, and while Mrs. Hudson offered to take Rosie, it was decided that Molly would be the best candidate to raise a child. John signed over the adoption papers and Rosie was all hers. Rosamund Mary Hooper. “For the best,” Sherlock mumbled, moving to the next photo.

            “What was that?” Molly asks, stepping up behind Sherlock.

            “What? Oh. Nothing. Just thinking.”

            Molly took Sherlock’s hand kindly as he looked at the next photo. Christmas day. Rosie was older now and had gotten a doctor’s set. She was listening to the cat’s heartbeat in front of the decorated tree. “She’s thinking of being a vet when she gets older.”

            Sherlock looks skeptically at Molly. “A child’s first choice is rarely the end result.”

            “Maybe that’s true, but she isn’t so different from John deep inside.”

            “You see similarities where there are none. Children pick up traits from the adults they trust. You are-“

            “Why do you always have to take things so literally?” Molly drops Sherlock’s hand. There was anger in her voice, but the look in her eyes was more along the lines of pity.

            “I tell things as they are. That is all.” Sherlock turns back to the pictures. The rest show Rosie in cliché scenarios; fishing with grandad, first day of school, hanging upside down on a tire swing. She’s had a good childhood with Molly as her mother. “You’ve been well?”

            “Of course I have. Why-?”

            Sherlock interrupts, “I blew up the airport,” Molly was silent. “There was a bomb and I… I tried to disarm it, to save John, which I did, but-“

            “You can’t leave well enough alone can you?” Sherlock’s chest tightened at her words. She reminded him of John in this moment, scolding him for trying to show off. “You will always be the thrill seeker, searching for new ways to get your high. What about all the people who love you? What happens to them? How long before they die by your foolishness?” She had tears in her eyes now. Sherlock reaches out, but Molly dodges his advance. “You’re smarter than this Sherlock. When are you going to start acting like it?”

            “I’m sorry Molly. I had to try.”

            “Had to huh? Had to?” Molly shoves Sherlock and he stumbles back. “Rosie and I are fine. Thanks for stopping by. Tell John hello for me.” She turns on her heel and storms off. Taking the hint, Sherlock leaves quietly.

            As promised, Sherlock calls John at seven on the dot, using a brand-new phone he purchased with cash. Caroline answers. “Hello?”

            “Hey baby, I need to talk to John. Is that alright?”

            “He’s out getting dinner. Uncle Sherlock? Daddy said you died.”

            “I’m very not dead. A little singed sure, but alive.” Sherlock sighs. ”When will he be back? I told him seven.”

            “I don’t know. He left 45 minutes ago. Said he’d only be 15. Left his phone for me in case Mummy or Daddy called.”

            “He left you alone?”

            “I’m fine.”

            “You’re too young to be left on your own.” Sherlock made a mental note to scold John as soon as he got ahold of him. “Did he say exactly where he was going?”

            “No, but the Belgian food market was about 10 minutes from here. He probably got caught up.”

            “I want you to stay on the line with me until he gets back. Alright?”

            “Fine. This show was getting boring anyway. Too predictable.”

            Sherlock chuckles. “What time did you speak with your father?”

            “About 4 this afternoon.”

            “Okay. Is there a phone in the room you can call him on?”

            “Other than this one?”

            Sherlock sighs. “I’ll take that as a no. Okay. I want you to call him and then call me right back.”

            “What do I say?”

            “What do you normally say? Just check on him. Make sure he’s doing okay. Don’t mention anything about me. Can you do that?”

            “Of course I can. Talk to you soon.” Caroline hangs up the phone and calls up Mycroft. “Hi Daddy.”

            “Caroline? Is everything okay?” Mycroft yawns. He must have been woken by the call.

            “Yes. John went to get dinner. Left his phone in case you or Mummy called but figured I shouldn’t be left alone. Have you talked to Mummy yet?” Caroline jumps back on the bed and settles into the squishy pillow.

            “Not yet. I got a hotel here and went right to bed. I’ll call her first thing in the morning.”

            “Don’t you want to know if she landed safely?”

            Mycroft was taken aback. “Of course. With everything that happened at the airport, it must have slipped my mind.”

            Caroline frowned. “I’m sure she’d call if something was amiss. She’s probably tired too.”

            “I’m sure. She’s had a long day.” Mycroft breathed out. “I want you to stay on the phone until John comes back.”

            Caroline thinks quickly, she was supposed to call Sherlock. “Daddy, I’m going to have to call you back. I think John might be trying to call his phone.”

            “Okay. Have him call me right when you’re done. I love you.”

            “I love you too.” She hangs up quickly and calls Sherlock back.

            “Caroline?”

            “Yup.”

            “What did he say?”

            “He went to get a hotel and fell asleep without calling Mummy.”

            “Thank you Caroline. Did he seem… not himself?”

            “Other than being tired, no. I was a little worried that he hadn’t tried to call Mummy yet.”

            “I’m sure he just forgot. Nothing to worry about. Any sign of John?”

            “Nothing. Yet.”

            “Dammit John!”

            “Don’t swear Uncle Sherly. I’m fine, I promise. If anyone were to break in, I’m small enough and smart enough to get away.”

            “But what if a monster were to climb out of the toilet? Would you be able to handle that?”

            Caroline’s eyes widen. “I must close it!” She runs to the bathroom and slams the lid closed. “Stay in there Monster!”

            “I was kidding,” Sherlock laughs, “but I’m glad you’re safe from the loo monsters.”

            Caroline runs back to the bedroom and jumps onto the bed, also laughing. “I know, but one can’t be too careful.” The two laugh for a minute longer before Caroline finally asks, “Why did Daddy think you were dead?”

            Sherlock freezes at the question. “I… I probably should be.” Caroline drops the phone when she hears footsteps approaching the door. “Caroline? Caroline, what is it?”

            The lock jiggles and John enters, carrying two plastic bags, “John!” She jumps up and takes one of the bags. “What took you so long? You said you’d be back 45 minutes ago!”

            “I’m sorry. Stopped to grab a disposable phone. Anyone call while I was out?” John sets the other bag on the bed beside the phone. Caroline runs over, trying to grab the phone away but John picks it up. “Sherlock?”

            “Hi John.” Sherlock says shyly.

            “You complete and utter git! Fuck you. You fucking scared me to death!”

            “Language around the girl John.” John looks over at Caroline who had covered her ears. Sherlock continues, “I’m sorry. When I called you…I really thought it was the end for me.”

            John turns to address Caroline. “Carly, I want you to go out onto the balcony and shut the door please.” She does as she’s told and John turns back to the phone.

            “Watch her through the window, will you?”

            “It’s a balcony, not a fire escape. There’s not much that can happen to her. Quit changing the subject. Do you realize what would have happened if I lost you after another note like that? If I saw you on a slab somewhere after being murdered by a criminal mastermind, maybe I’d be okay, but you call me to tell me goodbye? Again? It was you that caused that explosion wasn’t it? Oh, I should have guessed. I hate you Sherlock Holmes. I fucking hate you!”

            “I know you don’t hate me. I saved your life.”

            “At this moment, I really don’t care. You don’t have to risk your life to save mine. Do you know how it feels to lose the person you care most for? It sucks! I lost you for two years. I lost Mary. I lost Rosie, and now, I get on a plane and get off to find that I might have lost you again. You play this game like I’m not going to mind that you’re dead again and play it off like you only did it to save me!”

            “I did say I might survive, and that I’d call you. Why did you leave so close to the time I said I would call? And why the hell did you leave Caroline? She’s much too young to be left alone! You of all people should know better.”

            John cringed at Sherlock’s accusation. He was of course right. He’d lost Rosie for much the same reason, and this time, they were in a foreign country with terrorists after them. There’s a knock on the window. Caroline is standing there, hugging herself and shivering. “God Sherlock. I can’t deal with this right now. Caroline is standing in the cold. I’m going to bring her inside, warm her up and feed her. I’m done talking to you tonight.”

            “John don’t go. Please.”

            “Goodbye Sherlock.” John hangs up and tosses the phone aside. Caroline opens the door and John greets her with a blanket he pulls from the foot of the bed. He wraps her up and pulls her in close. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

            “I could hear you shouting through the glass. Don’t you think you could have been a little nicer? Most people die without warning. In his last moments, he decided he wanted to call you and tell you goodbye. You should be grateful. He has a heart, but sometimes, he’s not quite sure how to use it.”

            John blinks at Caroline, one eyebrow crinkled down. “He didn’t have to risk his life for me. I’ll bet he was just trying to show off and it backfired.”

            “With your life on the line? I don’t think so. He loves you John.”

            “He…loves me?”

            “Well, yeah. Didn’t you know that? I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

            John’s face flushes slightly. “It’s just…never mind. I’ll call him in the morning and apologize.”

            “No. Call him now. Tomorrow might be too late.”

            “I can’t do that. I’m still too heated. Let me sleep on it and I promise, the second I wake up, I’ll call him.”

            “I’ll do it for you. You need to tell him that you’re sorry!” Caroline pulls away just as the phone starts to ring. “Sherlock?”

            John picks the phone up, “No, it’s your dad. Hello?”

            “John! You’re back. Thank God. Is Caroline there?” Mycroft sounds flustered.

            “Of course. Why wouldn’t she be?” Caroline climbs up onto the bed to listen.

            “She called me earlier saying you weren’t with her. She said she’d have you call me after getting off the phone with you and then I didn’t hear back.”

            John looks at Caroline whose eyes widened. She’d forgotten about that. “Oh yeah. I called to let her know I was on my way back. She stayed on the phone with me and we were just about to start dinner.” Caroline relaxes beside him. “Hey, have you heard from Sherlock yet?”

            “Uh… yes. Why?”

            Caroline grabs John’s arm and gestures to cut the conversation. “Just checking.”

            “Has he talked to you?”

            “N-no. I’m sure he’ll reach out. He said he needed to get a new phone. The uh, assassins found him, so he didn’t fly out. Typical Sherlock. Taking on the bad guys by himself.” John lets out a nervous laugh.

            “I’m sure everything is just fine. He’s got the police involved, so I’m sure, now that we’re all safely out of reach, it won’t take long to disband the organization. I’ll let you know right away if I hear anything.” Mycroft was a good liar. “Give Care a kiss for me, would you? Goodnight John.”

            “Sure. Bye.” John turns to Caroline. “You knew didn’t you?”

            Caroline goes white. “Daddy asked me to stop you finding out about Sherlock and Sherlock asked me not to tell him. I’m just a little girl! I can’t take all these secrets!”

            “It’s alright Carly. You did a good job.” He grabs her under his arm and gives her a noogie. “But you’re not going to keep keeping secrets from me from now on right?”

            Caroline laughs and tries to pull away. “No! No I promise.” John lets go.

            “Good. Now what do you say we make us some dinner huh?”

Chapter Text

            Sherlock arrives at the hotel nearest the airport and asks the receptionist for the room under Holmes. With a deep breath he knocks on the door for the room they gave him. Mycroft groans on the other side. “Share! Didn’t you put the do not disturb sign up?” Sherlock looks down at the handle. He had indeed.

            “Yes.” Sherrinford responds.

            “Then tell whoever that is to piss off!”

            Sherrinford opens the door and stares, dumbfounded, at Sherlock. Quietly, so as to not alert Mycroft, “What are you…”

            “I need to see Mye.”

            “You sure that’s wise? He’s not happy with you.”

            “If he’s going to slap me, I won’t fight back, but I need to see him.”

            Sherrinford glances back. “Throw you out the window more likely.”

            “Who is it Share?” Mycroft asks from within.

            “Just an old friend. I’m handling it. Stay where you are.” Sherrinford waves Mycroft back, then turns back to Sherlock. “You need to leave. Seeing you would be no good for him right now.”

            “Who are you to say what’s good or bad? You haven’t seen him in over 30 years.” Sherlock shoulders his way past Sherrinford.

            “Sherlock. No!”

            Mycroft sits up. “Sherlock?”

            Sherlock raises his hands. “Before you do anything, just know-“

            “What in God’s bloody hell is wrong with you?” Mycroft jumps up from the bed and advances on Sherlock. “I told you to get out! I told you to leave the bomb alone! And you-”

            Sherlock interrupts, “You know that I had to-“

            Mycroft shoves Sherlock’s shoulders. “You didn’t have to do anything! The bloody airport would have exploded regardless! I thought you were dead!”

            Sherlock throws Mycroft an experimental smile, “But I’m not.”

            Mycroft pushes Sherlock again, knocking him into the wall. “Bloody hell you’re not! What stunt did you pull this time? Helicopter out through a second story window?”

            “No, I just-“

            “Why didn’t you listen to me?” Angry tears brim in Mycroft’s eyes. “Why do you never listen? And who’s left to deal with the aftermath? Me. Because my idiot little brother doesn’t want to follow clear instructions.”

            “It’s been less than 24 hours. I-”

            “You didn’t even call! You called John, but did it not occur to you to call me and let me know you weren’t dead?!”

            “My phone was fried. I had to get a new one. I only just got a hold of John a couple hours ago.”

            “But not me? Instead, you drop by my hotel room, unannounced, and expect me to be okay with the fact that you’re standing here?” Mycroft turns, hands perched on his head, clearly holding himself back.

            “Mycro, calm down.” Sherrinford pipes in from his perch on the bed.

            “Calm down? Share, you saw firsthand how this twat’s- “ Mycroft turns and punches Sherlock in the gut, “’death’ affected me!”

            Sherlock stumbles back, clutching at his middle. “I deserved that. But you could probably use a little train-” Mycroft throws another punch, this time hitting him in the face. Blood begins pouring from his nose. “Fuck. Sherri, can you get me a towel? Thanks.” Sherlock walks into the bathroom pinching the bridge to quell the bleeding. “Mycroft, I- if I could have done anything different, I would have.”

            “There were about a hundred things you could have done differently. It wouldn’t have changed the outcome.” Mycroft takes a seat on the edge of the bed, extending his arms out to his knees.

            Sherrinford hands Sherlock the towel who uses it to clean up his hands and face before speaking again. “I had the opportunity to stop the bomb from exploding at all. I absolutely had to try. Yes, I failed to stop the airport exploding, but at least I made an effort.”

            “You risked my daughter’s life. You chose to try to stop the airport exploding knowing full well that it could start up the bomb on the plane.” Mycroft could feel his blood beginning to boil again. “And what if you hadn’t stopped the plane? What if your carelessness had killed Caroline?”

            “Do you think I didn’t consider that? It would have killed John too!”

            “If you ever thought about anything except being the goddamned hero, maybe you’d find, and use, your brain once in a while!”

            Sherlock walks out of the bathroom, towel pressed to his face, and stands in front of Mycroft. “I wasn’t trying to be the hero.”

            “Like hell you weren’t.” Mycroft stands suddenly and Sherlock stumbles back in surprise, ramming his injured arm into the corner of the doorway to the bathroom.

“Shit,” Sherlock gasps, dropping the towel in order to cradle his now throbbing arm. The bleeding from his nose had thankfully suppressed a bit, but there was still some blood dripping down his face.

            “Sherrinford mentioned you’d gotten yourself shot.” Mycroft stood and reached out to inspect the wound, but Sherlock instinctively pulled back. “Let me see.”

            “No. It’s nothing.” Sherlock let his arm go and bent down to pick up the towel, but his arm still throbbed.

            “Don’t lie to me.” Mycroft grabbed Sherlock’s arm forcefully and gripped it tighter when Sherlock tried to pull away.

            Sherlock winces. “Let me go.”

            “Admit you were wrong, and I’ll let you go.” Mycroft’s grip tightened slightly on the stitches.

            Sherlock grits his teeth against the pain. “I can’t admit that. I’d be lying.” He sinks to the floor to try and break free of Mycroft’s grasp. “Goddamn it Mye! Your monster is fine!”

            Something dark snaps in Mycroft’s eyes at Sherlock’s words and he drops the arm, only to press down on it with his foot. “She’s not a goddamn monster.” There was signs of red on the hand, indicating he’d reopened the wound. “Admit that what you did was stupid, and you won’t ever do something to threaten the life of my wife and daughter again.”

            “Stop. Please,” Sherlock begs, but Mycroft only presses down harder. “Sherri, make-make him…Mye!” The feeling in Sherlock’s fingers was beginning to fade, and tears were seeping from his eyes as the pain and pressure gradually increased. He paws weakly at Mycroft’s foot, but can’t get leverage without increasing the pain.

            Mycroft digs his foot in harder, and screams, “Admit it!” He knew how much he was hurting his brother and he knew he should stop, but he couldn’t make himself. He had to follow through. His anger demanded it.

            “Mycroft! Stop! I’m begging you.” Sherlock sobs.

            “I won’t stop Sherlock. I will continue until you pass out or admit you were wrong.”

            “Mycroft… What I did… what I did was right. I don’t see-“ Lights were beginning to flash in his eyesight as his body started to shut the pain off. “You’re hurting me Mye. Stop. Please. You’re acting like D-dad.”

            “Shut up!” Mycroft grit his teeth, but tears were also streaming from his face. “Don’t say that! I’m not Father!” He twists his foot into the wound, blood pooling out from under the coat. Sherrinford finally stands and pulls Mycroft off Sherlock, his strong arms pinning Mycroft’s to his side. “Put me down!”

            Sherlock curls inward on himself, clutching his arm and sobbing weakly. “Maybe I should have let your daughter die.”

            Mycroft’s heart dropped as the adrenaline of the moment faded in an instant. He fell limp and Sherrinford released his grip. “I…” He sinks onto the bed and stares blankly at the floor. “What have I done?” He pulls his feet up and lays back, holding his knees close to his chest.

            Sherlock carefully stands and stumbles into the bathroom. He peels his jacket away from his arm and winces as it lifts the skin. Sherrinford helps him out of his shirt, which now shines crimson, but Sherlock shrugs him off when he tries to help clean up the blood. “I probably deserved it. Go check on him.” Sherlock ties a rag above the bleeding wound and does his best to clean up the bloody messes, giving up on the floor after a few dabs with his soiled shirt. He feels weak but he still steps up to the bed beside Mycroft. “I… Mycroft. I never intended my actions to hurt you. I just really felt I was doing the right thing.” Mycroft doesn’t react. Sherlock sits and whispers, “I’m sorry I said you were like Dad.”

            “Yeah. Whatever.” Mycroft chokes out. He’d been silently crying. “I hurt you Sherly. Just like when we were kids.” His words were broken, like a child who couldn’t catch his breath. “I was acting exactly like Father.” Mycroft turns his head and stares up at Sherlock with puffy red eyes. “Did I break it?”

            Sherlock shakes his head. “No.” He puts a hand on Mycroft’s shoulder. “I’ll live.” Mycroft flips over and curls into Sherlock’s lap like a child searching for comfort.

            “I’m sorry I hurt you. I had no right.” Mycroft breaks into a new fit of sobs. “I could have killed you!”

            “Not likely.” Sherlock runs a hand over Mycroft’s head. “Let’s just forget about it. I’m still in pain and I have a brother who doesn’t need any more reminders at the moment.”

            The room was silent for a few minutes before Sherrinford speaks up from his spot in the corner. “Was that really how Dad was after I left?”

            “Worse.” Sherlock said. “I think that part of him was always there, it just manifested itself after he lost his oldest son.” He felt faint and he closed his eyes, but that just made the spinning worse.

            Mycroft pulls himself away from Sherlock as he felt something wet on his back, and looks down at the bed, on which a pool of blood had formed. “Share, can you come take a look at Sherlock’s arm?”

            “Sure.” Sherrinford stands and gingerly takes it up.

            “Is it badly damaged?”

            “Not that can’t be repaired, but he’s lost a lot of blood.”

            “Damn it! I’m so sorry Sherlock. I lost my head. I…”

            Sherlock interrupts weakly. “I’ll be alright. Promise. Just need to sleep.” His face had gone deathly white.

            “You look white as a sheet. Most of your blood is spilled on the floor. It’s become one of your crime scenes in here,” Sherrinford jokes lightly.

            “Blame Mycroft.”

            “I’ve already taken the blame.”

            “I was teasing Mye.”

            Mycroft shoots Sherlock a sad smile. “I know.”

            “Sherri, can you fix it? I feel faint.” Sherlock’s vision swims and he can no longer focus his eyesight on anything.

            “You mean stitch it? I can try, but I think it’d be best if we got you to an emergency room.”

            “No! I’m supposed to be dead. I can’t go to a hospital. They’d ask too many questions. And what if your people found out I was alive?”

            “Yes. Of course.” Sherrinford collects his small suture kit again. “Never thought I’d use this. Now I’m using it twice in the same day.” He pulls out a needle and thread. “Can you make it to the armchair?”

            “Maybe.” Sherlock shakily stands and stumbles to the armchair where he rests his head back.

            Sherrinford nods approvingly. “Mycro, can you get me a bottle of vodka?”

            “What’s the vodka for?” Sherlock asks, watching Mycroft pull a bottle from the cabinet.

            “To sterilize the wound.”

            “You mean I don’t get to drink it?” When Sherrinford doesn’t answer, Sherlock speaks again. “Why didn’t you step in sooner?”

            “I’ve watched people being tortured for 30 years. Old habit to not interfere or risk being tortured myself.” Sherrinford finishes sterilizing the needle and hands the bottle to Sherlock, who takes a swig before passing it to Mycroft. “Ready?”

            Sherlock nods. “Sure.”

            Mycroft watches like a hawk as Sherrinford finishes each stitch. “You’re doing better than with the bullet.”

            “How would you know?” Sherlock shoots back.

            Mycroft laughs. “Just what I heard, but maybe I was wrong.” Sherlock glares at Mycroft. “I’ll order some food. You need to eat.”

            “I don’t eat on a case!”

            “He’s right.” Sherrinford cuts off the stitch and strings up the last. “Mycroft I mean. You lost a lot of blood and exerted a shit ton of energy. Unless you eat, you’re not going to be doing anything with any case.”

            “I’m fine. Just try and stop me. Are you finished yet?” He growls angrily at Sherrinford who is finishing tying the last stitch.

            “Just about. Mycro, hand me the bottle and something to clean this with?” Mycroft hands over the vodka and a washcloth from the bathroom. “Thanks.” Sherlock grabs Mycroft’s hand instinctively and squeezes, trying to hold back a scream as the alcohol stings the wound. Mycroft winces but squeezes back, comfortingly. “All done.” Sherrinford zips his kit closed and hands the bottle back to Sherlock who drinks from it deeply.

            “God. This shit burns.” He looks at the label but can’t focus his eyesight enough to read it. “I need my phone. Or yours, Mye. I’m going to contact Lestrade. Find out where Jim Moriarty is.” He tries to stand but falls back into the chair. His arms and legs are shaking. “You don’t have to hold me like a lifeline.”

            Mycroft looks down at his hand which is still gripping Sherlock’s as though if he let go, Sherlock would slip away. “Yes, of course. I knew that.” He lets go and picks up his phone from the bedside table, takes a second to compose himself and dials Lestrade before returning and handing the phone to Sherlock. “Here.”

            “Thank you Mye.” He lifts the phone to his ear. Voicemail. “Lestrade, call me back when you get the chance. I have a question for you. It’s about Jim.” He hangs up and hands the phone back to Mycroft. “If you’re going to force me to eat, order me something light.” He rests back into the chair and stares at the ceiling, trying to keep from vomiting.

            Mycroft shares a look with Sherrinford who limps to the hotel phone and picks up the laminated menu. “What does he eat? Sushi? Chicken parmesan? Orange glazed kabobs?”

            “Nothing?” Mycroft says tensely, failing at making a joke.

            “I said light!” Sherlock says loudly, but then groans at the sound of his own voice as it makes his head pound.

            “You’re going to eat what I order you, no excuses.” Sherrinford commands.

            “Don’t tell me what to do.” Sherlock leans forward briefly but immediately falls back with a deep breath. “Just because you’re my older brother doesn’t mean…” He licks his chapped lips and takes another swig of the vodka. “Honestly, I don’t think I could keep anything down if you ordered it. But do as you will.” Mycroft stares at the bottle, realizing it was a bad idea to give it to Sherlock. “If you think it’s that bad for me, take the damn thing away.”

            “I…” Mycroft stutters but Sherlock flourishes the bottle his way and he takes it reluctantly.

            “What do you want to drink?” Sherrinford asks, referring to his order. Mycroft shrugs. “Okay. A lime water, a hydrolyte, and a Coke.” He looks down at the menu again. “Could I also get a double chocolate cake?” He side glances Mycroft who grins sheepishly. “Thanks. Oh, could you also send up some extra sheets. Thank you. Goodnight.” Sherrinford hangs up the phone and stretches. “Shit. I could sleep for a month.”

            “Then do it. I’m not going to eat anything that you ordered. Especially not the sheets.” Sherlock’s eyelids are drooping.

            “I’ll call John if you don’t at least try.”

            “Really Mye? Threatening me with John? He won’t even talk to me at the moment. Hey! I wouldn’t walk on that if I were you.” Sherlock looks up at Sherrinford who’d just stepped down on his foot at an awkward angle and winced loudly.

            “Yeah. I’m settling.” Sherrinford sits down on the sofa and gingerly cradles his foot. “I planned on getting a cast tomorrow.”

            “Sherlock. I don’t care what’s going on between you and John. But it’s important that you eat.” Mycroft brings the conversation back.

            “Your guilt isn’t going to make me change my mind.” Sherlock grumbles, leaning back in the armchair again. “Ung. It feels like I’m going to be sick.”

            Mycroft groans with a frustrated laugh and runs a hand over his head. “You are so difficult. You know that right?”

            “I aim to be predictable.”

            Mycroft chortles, “Sure. Let me put it this way, if you don’t get some nutrients in you, you’re going to be in a hospital for a month.”

            Sherlock’s eyes blink open, slightly worried. “They’d kick me out.”

            “Not if I order them not to.”

            “Has that worked before?”

            “Yes. But I’d rather not be forced to do that. You will eat tonight if it kills me.”

            “What kind of flowers would you like at your funeral?”

            “Boys!” Sherrinford raises his voice commandingly. “Mycroft quit with the threats. And Sherlock quit fighting it. You know you have to eat.”

            “I really don’t want to.”

            “At least try? Just a bite?” Mycroft pulls the sheets off the bed and bundles them in a pile in the corner.

            “No,” Sherlock grunts and the room falls silent. After a few minutes where no one speaks, there’s finally a knock on the door.

            “Share, can you get it? Take my wallet.” Mycroft tosses Sherrinford his wallet who catches it and limps off.

            “I need some air.” Sherlock tries to stand and falls back. “Don’t say a word,” he warns and tries again, using the furniture to get out onto the balcony. He only just makes it out before he’s on all fours, vomiting up the vodka. The chilly air helps a little to cool his burning skin and he struggles into one of the balcony chairs.

            Mycroft appears, holding an orange bottle. “Drink this.” He cracks open the seal and hands it to Sherlock who pushes it away.

            “Mye, please.”

            Mycroft breathes in deeply from his nose. “Just this for now. I beg of you. Please.”

            “Alright fine but be gentle.” Sherlock gives in, losing the strength to fight back. Mycroft releases the tension in his shoulders, relieved, and slowly tips the bottle against Sherlock’s pale lips. He gets a few swallows in before he turns his head away. “No more. I’ll just throw it up too.” Mycroft closes the lid and sets it down. The two look out on the sleeping city for a few minutes. “Hey…” Sherlock says weakly, “I-I forgive you.”

            “Thanks. It’s not necessary but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

            The glass door slides open and Sherrinford steps out. “Food’s getting cold.”

            Mycroft nods and puts a hand around Sherlock’s waist. “Come on. Let’s get you in bed.” Sherlock couldn’t even fight it; he was so weak. No sooner does he reach the bedroom then he collapses onto it. Mycroft removes Sherlock’s shoes.

            “Careful how far you undress me. That’s John’s job.” Sherlock cocks a peak at Mycroft to gauge his reaction.

            “I’m just trying to make you more comfortable.”

            “Also John’s job.”

            Mycroft glares. “Very funny. No stop. I can’t breathe.” Sherlock just smiles lightly. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to get something to eat. You going to be okay?” Sherlock just nods briefly. Mycroft walks over to the trolley and lifts the lid on the plate of kabobs. He scarfs one down and then a second. Behind him, Sherlock groans.

            “Mye…”

            “What?” Mycroft says around a mouthful of food.

            “I-I need a cup or something. I’m going to be sick.” Mycroft brings him one of the lids which he sets on the pillow by his head. Sherlock grabs his hand as he turns to walk back to the living room area. “Stay? Please?” Mycroft sighs and finishes off the kabob, setting the stick on the table before sitting on the edge of the bed. Sleepily, Sherlock mumbles, “Stay.”

            “I won’t leave you,” Mycroft whispers quietly back. He gently strokes Sherlock’s sweaty curls off his forehead. He could have been nothing but a child again with how small the taller man looked in this moment.

            “Promise?” Sherlock yawns.

            “Pinkie promise.” Mycroft crawls into the bed and settles behind Sherlock, leveling his body and sliding one arm under Sherlock’s head. “Please don’t let me do that to you again.”

            “You won’t.”

            “I hope not.” Mycroft pulls Sherlock in close, careful to avoid bumping his injured arm. “Just go to sleep little brother.” Sherlock breathes out and relaxes into Mycroft’s warm body.

            “Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Sherrinford steps into the room. “A cuddle party and no one invited me?”

            “The bed is large enough.” Sherlock mumbles.

            “The rest of the food is in the fridge.” Sherrinford says to Mycroft before settling in behind the pair.

            “Thank you Share.” Mycroft shifts to allow Sherrinford some room.

            “Is this how it should have been? The three Holmes brothers?” Sherlock asks quietly.

            “It’s how it could have been, were it not for Father, and Sherrinford’s leaving.” Mycroft replies.

            “I’m sorry.” Sherrinford places his strong arm over the pair, resting it atop Sherlock’s elbow.

            “Don’t worry about it now. You’re alive and on the right side.”

            “Only just barely. Sherlock spared my life. Sure, he’s a pain but he can be heroic.”

            Sherlock sighs. “We wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for me.”

            Mycroft hugs Sherlock tightly. “Well, try to listen every once in a while and you wouldn’t be such a pain in my arse.”

            “Well, it’s easy to prick it, since it’s so tight.” Sherlock bumps Mycroft with his leg teasingly.

            “I could push you off this bed you know.” Mycroft teases back.

            “You wouldn’t.”

            “No. Not tonight.” Mycroft lets his eyelids fall, feeling very safe and comfortable, sandwiched between his two brothers. Sherlock’s breathing slows as he falls into sleep.

            “Is he always like this?” Sherrinford asks quietly so as to not disturb Sherlock. “Stubborn, annoying, antisocial?”

            “Yeah. Pretty much.” Mycroft chuckles.

            “Is he worth it to you?”

            Mycroft takes a deep breath in. “Yeah. He’s my little brother. I worry about him. But it’s worth it.” He yawns.

            “I feel the same way about you.” Sherrinford says but Mycroft has already drifted off into sleep. He laughs. “Goodnight Mycro.”

Chapter Text

            Sherlock awakens with a splitting headache and a weight on his side. It takes him a moment to realize it is Mycroft’s arm. “What the hell?” He quickly throws it off only to immediately regret the movement as his arm swells with pain.

            Mycroft blinks drowsily, forgetting where he was for the briefest moment. When he realizes the person holding him isn’t Mary, he sits up and shimmies off the bed.

            “I don’t feel very good.” Sherlock sits up, putting a hand to his head. “What happened last night? Why was I snuggling your fat arse?”

            “The diet is going fine thank you very much!”

            “What happened?!” Sherlock yells, digging his fingers into his skull. His head is pounding.

            “You, uh.” Mycroft shakes sleep from his eyes, trying to remember last night. “You came here, I attacked you and you bled everywhere. Sherrinford stitched you up and we ordered food, which I want you to eat by the way-”

            “No. I mean, why was I in bed with you?” Sherlock stumbles over to the balcony window and pulls it open. “I really don’t feel good.”

            “Come eat something. I’m sure that’ll help. What would you like?” Mycroft moves toward the fridge.

            “Nothing,” Sherlock spits, “I’m not going to eat!” He sits on the balcony chair reveling in the cool morning air on his sweaty brow.

            Sherrinford chucks a pillow at the balcony window. “I’m trying to sleep. Can you keep it down?”

            “Would you tell him to eat?” Mycroft asks, pulling out the cake and searching for a fork.

            “Sherlock. I don’t care if you don’t eat on a case. I don’t care if you don’t like the food you’re presented. I’m tired and if I hear one more complaint about you not eating, I will tie you down and shove the food down your gullet with a screwdriver. Do I make myself clear?”

            “You wouldn’t.” The look on Sherlock’s face is a mix between shock and disbelief.

            “I would, and I would relish in it. So quit being a sodding git and eat the fucking food so I can go back to sleep without you bitching about it.”

            Sherlock smirks, his child-like rebellion presenting itself, “No.”

            Sherrinford turns over and pulls a pillow over his head. “I tried. He’s all yours. Don’t make me threaten you too Micro. I’m going back to sleep.”

            Mycroft grins lightly. “God dammit Sherlock.” He stands in the balcony doorway, face full of cake. “You’re acting like a two-year-old who won’t eat her cheese puffs.”

            “I assume you’re referring to an experience with Monster. I am neither two, nor a girl, and I don’t like cheese puffs. American junk.”

            “I could call Father.”

            Sherlock freezes. He wouldn’t. “Has Lestrade called back?” he asks in a desperate attempt to change the subject.

            “Lestrade?”

            “Yes. I called him yesterday asking about Jim. Has he returned my call?”

            “Don’t think so.”

            “Check.” Sherlock leans back in his chair again, unable to hold himself upright.

            “Hold this.” Mycroft hands Sherlock the cake and reenters the hotel, returning with his phone. “Jim is still in jail. Checked this morning. -Lestrade”

            “Tell him to check again!”

            “Done. Sherlock.” Mycroft says sternly, taking back the cake. “Three days. Regular meals. That’s all I’m asking.”

            “Too many.”

            “God Sherlock. I don’t want to have to call Father just to get you to eat. Why do you have to be so stubborn?”

            “Then don’t do it! You don’t want to talk to him anymore than I do.”

            “I don’t know what else to do Sherlock.”

            “Don’t do this. Think of something else.”

            Mycroft reluctantly dials the number he’d been forced to memorize. “Promise me, you will eat. At least try. For three days.”

            “No.” Sherlock’s eyes brim with tears and he turns his face away.

            “I will hang up right now. Please Sherlock. I hate him as much as you do.” Mycroft’s stomach clenches as he listens to the phone ringing. Please Sherlock. He closes his eyes when a man’s voice answers.

            “Hello?”

            “Hello Father.” Sherlock’s eyes widen as he silently pleads with Mycroft to stop.

            “Mycroft! I was just thinking I’d call you. Haven’t heard from you in a while. How’s the public treating you?”

            “Same as usual Father.” Mycroft turns to Sherlock and mouths, ‘Promise me. Please.’ Sherlock shakes his head. “Tax fraud. Criminal involvement. The like.”

            “How’s the family? Finally beat some sense into Caroline since her balk-talk the last time you visited me?”

            Mycroft’s stomach is in knots. He would never beat Caroline. “Y-yeah. She’s very polite and obedient now.”

            “Good for you. Taking matters into your own hands. I knew you’d make a great leader. After all, you take after me. Big man on campus. Won’t take no for an answer.”

            “Actually Father, that’s why I’m calling. I have a problem. I was hoping you could offer some ‘incentive’ ideas to persuade a particularly difficult…client.”

            Sherlock mouths desperately. ‘Hang up.’

            Mycroft mouths back. ‘You have to promise.’

            “Incentive huh?” Mr. Holmes chuckles. “Been ages since I’ve incentivized someone. Text me the address. I’d love to come help. I think I’m getting rusty.”

            ‘Don’t do it!’ Sherlock’s face is drenched in sweat and Mycroft can’t help but feel sorry.

            “Oh Father. I can handle him. I’ve just run out of ide-“

            “I insist. Would give me an excuse to see my son. When was the last time we worked together anyway?”

            “I…um…”

            “Um is not a word Boy!” Mycroft jumps at the sudden outburst from his father and almost drops his phone.

            “Apologies. Won’t happen again Sir.” Mycroft’s face pleads with Sherlock. ‘Last chance.’

            Sherlock turns away, forcing himself to not throw up, but the taste of bile is prevalent in his mouth.

            Mycroft sighs. He was going to regret this, he could tell. “Father. I have to go. Got another client that just walked in. I’ll text you the address. Good day.” He hangs up. “Sherlock! Why?”

            “Why me!? Why would you?” Sherlock is shivering violently. “Mye.” He quickly stands and vomits over the railing. Mycroft puts a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, but he throws it off. “Don’t touch me!” He wipes his mouth and storms off, grabbing his bloody coat and slamming the hotel door behind him.

            “Sherlock!” Mycroft attempts to follow but is stopped by Sherrinford who had gotten out of bed and dressed.

            “Let me. You’ve done enough.” The disappointment in Sherrinford’s voice breaks Mycroft’s heart but he allows Sherrinford to chase after Sherlock alone. The hotel room falls silent and Mycroft turns and grips the railing of the balcony, trying not to scream.

            Sherlock hears lopsided footsteps behind him. “Leave me alone Sherrinford.”

            “Dammit Sherlock! Wait up. I can’t move as fast as you.”

            “If you want to walk with me, you’ll have to keep up.” Sherlock keeps up his pace, buttoning up the last button of his coat with fumbling fingers.

            Sherrinford jogs to keep up, ignoring the stabbing pain in his foot and snatches Sherlock’s good arm. “Sherlock, stop will you?”

            “Why? So you can take me back to that bag of nonsense in the room? Or didn’t you hear? Father’s coming. The man who-”

            “Yes. You told me. You’re not going to get very far in just a coat and jeans.” Sherrinford points to Sherlock’s bare feet.

            “Just watch me. I once wore a sheet to Buckingham Palace.”

            “Just a sheet?” Sherrinford laughs.

            “Yup.” Sherlock pulls his arm free and continues up the hall.

            Sherrinford doesn’t move. “Have you told Mycroft what Father did?”

            Sherlock stops in his tracks. “Not entirely.”

            “How much does he know?” Sherlock doesn’t answer. Sherrinford follows him to the elevator and they almost make it to the ground floor when Sherrinford hits the emergency stop button.

            “What was that for?” Sherlock demands, trying to get to the control panel but Sherrinford holds him back.

            “My foot is killing me and I’m not about to go chasing you all over London. I want you to talk to me.”

            “Why?”

            “Because, Sherlock, I can’t help you if I don’t know you.”

            “No one can help me.”

            “John could,” Sherrinford says softly. Sherlock doesn’t say anything, just turns his head away. “You love him. It’s obvious by the way you say his name. It’s why you risked your life in the airport. Am I wrong?”

            Sherlock scowls and sinks to the floor resting his back against the wall. “I don’t love anybody.”

            “It’s just us. I’m not going to blackmail you because you love a man.” Sherrinford sits beside Sherlock. “Does he know?”

            “No.”

            “What are you afraid of? John isn’t like other people. He knows you, cares about you.”

            “He told me he hated me.”

            “He couldn’t have meant it.” Sherrinford stands. “You should tell him.”

            “Tell him what?”

            “How you feel. It couldn’t hurt.” Sherrinford stands and hits the elevator button.

            “I can’t.”

            “Why not?”

            “Two words. The Woman.”

            The elevator doors open and Sherrinford helps Sherlock to his feet. “And this woman?”

            “Is my…girlfriend.” Sherlock sways a little but gains his composure and leads them outside where he sits on the first bench he finds, which just so happens to be at a bus stop.

            “You don’t have a girlfriend.” Sherrinford sits beside him and begins massaging his own aching foot. “Who is she?”

            “Irene Adler. The Woman. Prostitute. Or ex prostitute.”

            “Prostitute huh? Sure do know how to pick them.”

            “She picked me I believe.” Sherlock continues, “Very attractive and we both like each other. Set her own text alert noise. I hardly ever text back.”

            “So she’s in contact with you but you’re not in contact with her. Interesting. When did you last see her?”

            “Been a few years.” Sherlock mumbles.

            “So why do you think she’s your girlfriend if you don’t talk to her and haven’t seen her?”

            “She had to go into hiding after a death sentence from some Iranians. Otherwise I’d see her more often.”

            “You know what I think?” Sherlock starts to respond but Sherrinford quickly cuts him off, “I think you’d prefer John, but he’s dating other people and you feel you can’t step in, so you cling to a relationship from years ago to make yourself feel less alone.”

            “Why should I listen to you? I only met you a couple days ago.”

            Sherrinford shrugs. “We slept together.”

            “Do not remind me of that!” Sherlock yells then groans.

            “There must be something you trust about me. I mean, you told me about what Dad did, but you didn’t tell Mycroft.”

            “Need to know basis.” Sherlock dismisses Sherrinford.

            “Fine. If that’s your excuse.” Sherrinford lowers his foot back to the ground. “How about this. Call John. Tell him how you feel. If he doesn’t respond well, you don’t have to eat.”

            “This again?”

            “Hear me out! If John doesn’t take your confession well, and it seems to me you believe he won’t, you win. I’ll convince Mycroft to stop pestering you, and you don’t have to eat. However, if he doesn’t immediately hang up on you and gets flustered, you still win on the love front, BUT you have to come back up to the hotel room and try to eat. Deal?”

            Sherlock looks Sherrinford over and decides he’s being sincere. “Fine,” he sighs. He pulls out his phone and dials John.

            “I’m going to check on your arm.” Sherrinford carefully takes Sherlock’s arm and pulls up the bandaging to check for infection. Sherlock winces. “Sorry.”

            “It’s fine.” The phone rings a few times, and Sherlock’s stomach clenches harder than it already was. Then John picks up.

            “Hello?”

            “Hi John. I… It’s me.”

            “What do you want Sherlock?” John asks darkly.

            “I just… I wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

            John takes a deep breath. “I’m not sure I believe you this time.”

            Sherlock looks over at Sherrinford who urges him on. “I don’t expect you to. It’s, well, I’d do anything to protect you John. I… I’m afraid of losing you.” John doesn’t respond and Sherlock checks to make sure the line is still connected. “I understand if you want to hang up on me.”

            “No. I… Fuck Sherlock! You make everything so difficult.”

            “So I’ve been made aware.” Sherlock laughs nervously.

            “Is everything alright? You wouldn’t call just to tell me you’re sorry. It’s not…you.”

            “I uh…I miss you. Or well…John. I…”

            “Just say it already!” Caroline yells from the background.

            “Care?” Sherlock looks surprised.

            “Whoops. Sorry.” Caroline’s footsteps can be heard running away from the phone.

            John sighs. “I’m sorry Sherlock. I’d answered on speaker since I was still getting ready. She was supposed to be watching cartoons.”

            “It’s fine.” Sherlock gasps as Sherrinford lowers the sleeve over the injury again.

            “You alright?” John sounds genuinely concerned.

            “Fine. I’m fine. I love you,” Sherlock spits out then loses any color he still had in his face. “I-I mean...”

            “Why are you telling me this?” John asks disbelievingly. “Did Irene end it?”

            “No. No. We’re still…texting…it’s just…you. You’re always in the back of my mind palace. And I can’t shake you off.”

            “So I’m like a rebound thing? Just there in the back of your head, just as an in-case?”

            “You know what I mean!” Sherlock is getting increasingly flustered. “I do a lot of thinking, moving things around, filing and tossing. You’re like that one window that won’t stay closed.”

            “So I’m annoying?”

            “No!” Sherlock looks to Sherrinford for help, but he offers none, opting to lean back and just smile. “Damn, I suck at this. John, I don’t…I want you in my life.”

            John pauses before answering. “You mean that?”

            “I do. I can’t file away my feelings for you. They just keep-“

            “Stop there,” John laughs breathily. “Sherlock. I don’t know what to say.”

            “You could start by saying you don’t hate me.” Sherlock half-smiles hopefully.

            “How could I hate you?” John’s voice breaks. He’s clearly on the verge of tears. “Why tell me this now? Why not before we left or- or…” He breathes in sharply. “Damn you Sherlock.”

            “Quite right too.” Sherlock scoffs. “Goodbye John.” Sherlock lowers the phone.

            “I love you too, Sherlock.” Sherlock smiles in relief and hangs up.

            “So, your arm’s looking good.” Sherrinford smirks.

            “Oh, don’t pretend you’re not bloody pleased with yourself.” Sherlock tries to stand and immediately collapses back onto the bench. “That’s not good…”

            “Come on,” Sherrinford grunts and stands. “Let’s get you back upstairs. You need to rest and eat.” He holds out his hand which Sherlock takes and shakily stands, leaning his full weight into Sherrinford. His breathing is heavy and unsteady. “Do you need me to carry you?”

            “Out in public? No. Just get me to the elevator and make sure I don’t fall over.”

            Sherrinford flashes him a small smile. “Alright you git. Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

            Sherrinford takes Sherlock by the waist and steps forward, but Sherlock doesn’t move. “You have to walk if I’m going to be your support.”

            “I am walking.” Sherlock insists.

            “No, you haven’t moved.” Sherrinford lifts Sherlock to gain a better grip. “Come on.” He nudges the back of one of Sherlock’s legs and he steps forward only for the leg to buckle, almost dragging both of them to the sidewalk. Sherrinford catches his balance and picks Sherlock up bridal style. “Careful now. I’ve got you.” Sherrinford carries Sherlock into the hotel lobby and sets him down in one of the chairs by the decorative fireplace. “I need you to open your eyes and look at me.”

            “My eyes are open Sherri.” Sherlock’s head slumps sideways but his eyes remain closed.

            “No. They’re not.” Sherrinford turns Sherlock’s head back towards him. He then pries open Sherlock’s eyelids. His eyes have rolled back, showing only the whites. “Tell me how you feel.”

            “Everything is spinning. Make it stop Sherri. Please.” Sherlock’s voice is desperate. “This is worse than the worst drug trip I’ve ever been on.”

            “Your body is turning against you.” Sherrinford stands. “Okay.” He snaps his fingers at a young teenager standing by the door. “Bellboy!”

            He rushes over. “Yes sir?” He stands at attention, eager to please, but clearly nervous.

            “I need you to ring up room 363. Get Mycroft down here to the lobby. Tell him it’s urgent.” The bellboy nods and rushes off to the counter to call. Sherrinford kneels back in front of Sherlock. “You still with me?”

            “I thought I was going to be with John.” Sherlock’s voice is slightly garbled.

            “You need to stay awake. If you start seeing a checkerboard or spots, you need to tell me right away. Understand?”

            “You mean like…hallucinating?”

            “No. Like you’re going to pass out. If you do, you might have seizures or slip into a coma. So this is really important. Stay with me.” Sherrinford pats Sherlock’s cheek forcefully but without hurting him.

            Sherlock opens his eyes and focuses on something behind Sherrinford. “Look. Butterflies.” Sherrinford looks back but sees nothing.

            “Sherlock, please focus.” Sherrinford watches Sherlock’s eyes carefully as they slowly train and focus on his face. “Good.”

            “Did you know mosquitos carry needles on their face?” Sherlock giggles. “That’s funny.”

            “What are you talking about?”

            “The fairies…” Sherlock leans over and starts dry heaving just as the elevator doors open and Mycroft barrels out.

            “Mycro!” Sherrinford waves Mycroft over.

            He runs over, pushing Sherrinford aside and grabs Sherlock’s pale face. “What happened?”

            Sherrinford rights himself. “He and I were talking, then he tried to stand up, collapsed and now he’s starting to hallucinate. Sherlock talk to me. Are you seeing polka dots or spots?” Sherlock blinks three times. “Are you hearing me? Are you seeing polka dots or spots?”

            Sherlock struggles for a second then says, “Polka dots. I like polka. And circles. So round and sparkly!” He pokes at invisible bubbles and laughs.

            “God, he’s losing it.” Sherrinford stands and starts pacing anxiously. “We need to get the paramedics here pronto. Lay him down,” he commands and helps Mycroft lay Sherlock on the floor. “Keep his head steady. Call and get us an ambulance, and then give me the phone. I’ll call the detective working on Jim’s case while you keep him conscious.”

            “I can handle calling Greg.” Mycroft insists, pulling out his phone. He dials 999. “This is Mycroft Holmes. I need an ambulance here now. Diablo hotel. No. Just the ambulance. I’ll be waiting.” He hangs up and dials Lestrade. “Greg! Tell me where Jim Moriarty is. I swear to God. If he is out of his cell again…”

            Sherrinford snatches the phone from Mycroft. “I need you to tell me where this Jim person is. Don’t have a ton of time to talk.”

            “Who is this?” Lestrade asks.

            “It doesn’t matter right now. It’s imperative that we know where he is and if he’s managed to contact anyone.”

            “I’ll need to head to the office. Can I call you back?” Lestrade yawns and stretches, obviously woken by the phone call.

            “Fine but make it snappy!” Sherrinford hangs up and dials the number labelled John Watson, turning away from Mycroft who stands and tries to grab the phone back. Sherrinford points to Sherlock who is giggling and apparently counting something floating above his head. “Take care of him. I’m not going to do anything dangerous.” Mycroft glares at Sherrinford but does as he’s told.

            John answers, “Mycroft?”

            “John! I need a favor.” Sherrinford walks to the window to watch for any incoming emergency personnel.

            “Who is this? Why do you have Mycroft’s phone?”

            “There’s no time to explain. Sherlock’s in a bit of trouble and needs you here.”

            “I can’t just get there. I’m in Belgium.”

            “He’s in the hospital, John.”

            Caroline steals the phone, “Is Uncle Sherlock okay?!”

            Sherrinford smiles at the little voice. “You must be Caroline. Pleasure to meet you. Mycroft speaks volumes of you.” Sirens are heard approaching. “He’ll probably be fine.”

            John takes the phone back, “What do you mean he’s in the hospital? I spoke to him not 15 minutes ago!”

            “Did he fall and break his head open? I heard sirens.” Caroline yells in order to be heard. John sighs and puts the phone on speaker.

            “No. No. No. But he’s very sick.” Sherrinford walks back over to Sherlock and Mycroft.

            “Is it something you gave him?” Caroline asks accusingly. “What are you? An assassin?”

            Sherrinford kneels down and checks Sherlock’s pupils as he speaks. “N-No. Why would I give my brother something that could kill him?” Mycroft tries to take the phone again. “Mycroft stop!”

            “Daddy!?” Caroline says excitedly.

            “He’s here, just occupied.” Sherrinford thrusts his head toward the front doors, indicating to Mycroft to go get the paramedics. “We’re getting Sherlock into an ambulance as we speak. John. He needs you here.”

            “Let me talk to Mycroft.”

            “Fine. Here.” Sherrinford holds the phone out. “Mycroft. John wants to talk to you. I’ll get them.”

            Mycroft takes the phone from Sherrinford who greets the paramedics and starts telling them what happened. “John?”

            “Mycroft. The only planes out of here don’t leave until almost 1300 hours. Please tell me you have a jet.”

            “I can get one sent to you, but there’s no way I’m letting Caroline fly in something that fast.” Mycroft watches as a pair of paramedics try to load Sherlock onto a stretcher.

            “Hello fairies! Can we play a game? How about hide and seek? I count! Ready? 3, 9, 4, 1, 11… no that can’t be right. What comes after seventeeneight?” Sherlock fights the man and woman who patiently try to get him to lay down. The man gives him a shot of something, and he is almost immediately relaxed.

            Caroline about bursts from excitement. “Hi Daddy!”

            “Hi, my little sugar dumpling.” Mycroft smiles widely.

            “Uncle John has been so fun! We got waffles! Mine had chocolate and whipped cream and strawberries on it! I want to fly in a jet! You don’t have to worry! I’ll wear my seatbelt and everything. Can we make waffles?” Caroline sounds as though she’s bouncing off the walls.

            Mycroft scoffs in amusement. “Fine. We’ll make waffles. John, I’ll send a jet out. It should arrive long before any commercial flight. I’ll text you the boarding details. Just keep Caroline safe.”  

            “I will. And Mycroft…” John’s voice softens, “Keep Sherlock alive until I get there.” 

            Mycroft notices the change in tone but chooses to ignore it. “I don’t plan on letting him die.” 

            “Just…make sure.”  

            “You have my word.” 

            “Thank you.” John calls to Caroline who seems to have skipped off distractedly, “Carly, come say goodbye to your dad.”  

            “Bye Daddy!” Caroline yells from across the room. John hangs up the call.  

            “Bye,” Mycroft sighs and sends messages out for some favors before texting John the details. Sherrinford comes over as Mycroft is texting William Holmes.

            Father, new client broke other client for me. Thanks for agreeing to help, but I no longer need your assistance. I apologize. I failed you. It won’t happen again.
            -Mycroft Holmes 

            Sherrinford watches the ambulance pull away as he speaks, “Mycro. Let’s grab a cab and head to the hospital. We’ll come back later. Any word from the officer?”

            “None yet.” Mycroft rubs his head. “Fuck. Let’s just go.” He leads Sherrinford out to the road and grabs a cab to the hospital. As they ride in silence, the phone starts ringing. Sherrinford snatches it away. “Would you quit doing that?” 

            “Sorry. It’s for me.” Sherrinford looks at the caller ID, Greg. “Hello. You the man with my news on Jim?” 

            “Yes. Though I still don’t know who you are. Jim is still locked up and under strict surveillance and guard. Nothing has changed.” 

            “Good. Don’t let anyone see him. He has workers out to kill Mycroft, Sherlock…me. The lot of us.” 

            “Are you going to fill me in on who ‘me’ is?”  

            Sherrinford closes his eyes and sighs. “I’m Sherrinford Holmes. Sherlock and Mycroft’s older brother.” 

            “Older?” Lestrade breathes out, obviously taken aback by this new information. “Alright. Whatever. Don’t you worry about it Sherrinford. He’s got no contact with the outside world.” 

            “Check again. Make sure he hasn’t bribed anyone,” Sherrinford says sternly. 

            “Check again he says,” Lestrade mumbles under his breath. “Fine.” 

            “Look. Detective-” 

            “Chief,” Lestrade interrupts. 

            “Chief. Mycroft and I are heading to the hospital with Sherlock. He started hallucinating. We’ll call you again when things settle down and we know more.” 

            “Is everything alright?” 

            Sherrinford pauses, “I hope so,” then hangs up and pockets the phone. The taxi arrives at the hospital and they rush inside. Mycroft immediately demands to know where Sherlock had been taken.

            A woman who resembles Molly calmly directs them down the hall. “You said you’re his brother?”

            “Yes.”

            “They wanted me to tell you that he had a seizure on the way here.” 

            Sherrinford catches Mycroft as he moves to run down the hall. “How long was it?” 

            “The seizure?” She looks down at the paperwork. “It says here 45 seconds to a minute.” 

            Sherrinford turns to Mycroft. “I’m sure he’s fine. You need to take a deep breath okay? We’ll go see him when you’ve calmed down a little.” Suddenly, the glass doors behind them shatter. A sharp pain surges through Sherrinford’s left rib cage and he clutches at it, sinking to the floor. A few of the staff gather to calm the lobby and move them away from the windows while two nurses drop their clip boards and rush to assist Sherrinford. He blinks, fighting the pain. “They wouldn’t miss on purpose, Mycroft. See if you can find who it was. Be careful.” Mycroft nods and runs outside, scanning the nearby buildings for the gunman, but nothing catches his attention. He heatedly steps back inside where Sherrinford had already been taken away. 

            “Where’d they take him?” Mycroft demands to the room at large.  

            The woman from before speaks up behind the counter, “Please sir, calm down.” 

            “Don’t tell me to calm down. That is not what I asked. Where did they take my brother?” She looks shocked but points the same way she’d directed them with Sherlock. Mycroft takes off running. Behind the double doors, people are scurrying like ants over a disturbed hill. He sees the wheelchair carrying Sherrinford turning the corner up ahead. “Stop!” Mycroft continues running up the hall after Sherrinford. Several doctors and nurses try to stop him, but he gives them a look that says stop me, you lose your job and they immediately back down. Despite being a lone man, he still struggles to keep up. As he weaves through the hall, he almost collides with another stretcher being guided out of a side room. He leaps aside with the agility of a much younger man and yells after Sherrinford again. “Stop!” The nurse pushing him slows and Mycroft finally catches up, out of breath. “Mycroft Holmes. This is my business.” He reaches into Sherrinford’s pocket and pulls out his phone. “Thank you. Carry on.” 

            “Really Mycro? And I thought you cared.” Sherrinford jokes but groans as the laugh shakes his bleeding chest. “Go find out what happened to Sherlock. I’ll be fine.” He attempts a smile. The nurse waves Mycroft off and pushes Sherrinford away toward the emergency room.

            Mycroft groans and turns to the nearest nurse. “Where do they take ambulance patients?”

Chapter Text

            John parks the rental car and he and Caroline walk inside the hospital. They find Mycroft sitting in the waiting room, a hand over his mouth and eyes staring straight ahead, unseeing. “Mycroft?”

            “Daddy!” Caroline runs over and throws her arms around Mycroft’s neck. He looks up and halfheartedly puts one arm around her.

            “Where’s Sherlock?” John asks, stepping closer. Mycroft motions toward the hall leading to the ER with his head but his expression doesn’t change from a dead-eyed stare. “How is he? Actually, first tell me what happened. Why is he in there?”

            Caroline drops the hug and explores the room. Mycroft watches her for a second as she looks at a poster depicting a nurse administering a shot to a patient. His eyes train back on John and immediately fill with tears. “He’s here because of me. I lost my head and…and…”

            “What the hell did you do to him?”

            “I hurt him. I almost killed him! I got too caught up in getting him to apologize. If it weren’t for me, he wouldn’t…” Mycroft’s voice breaks. “I watched him die John. Or what I thought was him dying until he shows up at my hotel. I lost my temper. Opened up wounds that caused him to bleed profusely. I-”

            “So why is he here?” John paces in front of Mycroft trying to keep from hitting him.

            “Last night, he was vomiting up blood. And this morning, he started hallucinating and couldn’t hold his own weight. He’s severely anemic.”

            “Did he… did he have any seizures? It’s common in situations like these.” John stops pacing and puts his hands on his head.

            Mycroft bites his lower lip to keep from breaking into sobs. “Yes. For the past 3 hours.”

            John sinks into the chair beside Mycroft. “God…” He leans over and holds his head in his hands for a few minutes without speaking. “He told me he loved me.”

            Mycroft looks up, slightly shocked. “Like… as a friend or…?”

            “He’s not one to show that kind of emotion. What do you think he meant Mycroft?”

            “When?” Mycroft turns in his seat to face John.

            “Early. This morning.”

            “After he left the hotel…” Mycroft mumbles to himself. “I’m not sure you can trust what he said. He started losing it this morning.”

            “I promise you he was more than sincere about it.”

            “Has he ever done something like that, ever, in his time with you?” Mycroft asks, an air of disbelief in his tone.

            “No. He wasn’t the type. It surprised me too when he came out with a confession like that. Did he ever show…signs of…this, growing up?”

            “Not that I’m aware of. Course, I was gone for that specific period of his life. I guess I always thought of him as more asexual. I always assumed you knew more about my brother’s love life than I did.” Mycroft looks over at Caroline who has settled at a table and was quietly coloring. “I hope you don’t plan on acting on it.”

            “What I do in my personal life is my business. You don’t get a say,” John huffs. A nurse calls Mycroft over and John, relieved to end that conversation, stands to join Caroline. “What’re you drawing?” he asks, kneeling beside her and picking up a pink crayon. 

            “Mummy and Daddy.” The picture definitely shows two figures holding hands, but art was not Caroline’s strong suit. She adds in a few more blades of grass and slides it over to John to inspect.

            “Oh yes, I see the resemblance now.” John chooses a piece of paper of his own and starts drawing Caroline. “Hand me the yellow would ya?” He finishes drawing the small blonde girl in a pink overalls dress. Caroline scrutinizes it for a moment before taking it and crudely drawing a man standing beside her likeness. The grey hair, jeans and grey jumper tells John it was supposed to be him.  

            “Now it’s perfect.” Caroline hands it back to John proudly.  

John chuckles. “But why me and not your parents?”

            “You’re my dad right now remember?”

            “That was while we were in Belgium.”

            “But unless you have a fridge drawing in your wallet, who’s going to believe that you’re a single dad?” Caroline argues.

            John shakes his head. This girl was too smart for her own good. “You’re right.” He takes the drawing and folds it up, putting it into his wallet. Would Rosie have done the same? He smiles sadly just as Mycroft returns. “Well? How is he?” John stands to meet Mycroft who doesn’t answer. “Tell me!”

            A man in a wheelchair enters the waiting room. His chest is tightly wrapped, and his casted foot is propped up in front. “Mycroft. Glad to see you’re still here.” 

            John abandons his attempts to get Mycroft to speak and walks up to meet the new arrival. “You must be Sherrinford.” They shake hands. 

            “And you’re John Watson.” Sherrinford leans back in the chair with a groan. “I’m sorry by the way. I’m the one who got Sherlock shot.” John looks surprised. “Oh. You didn’t tell him the whole story Mycro?” Mycroft breaks into full on tears and sinks to the ground. Sherrinford hurriedly rolls over but John gets to him first, kneeling beside the broken man, his concern more for news on Sherlock than for him.

            “Mycroft. It can’t be that bad can it? Ple-please tell me it’s not that bad.” 

            Mycroft continues to sob, unable to form words. Sherrinford speaks up as people start staring. “Bloody hell Mycro! He’s not dead is he?” This causes Mycroft to cry harder. A nurse approaches and asks that they move into another room. John happily obliges, helping Mycroft to his feet and following the nurse into an empty room nearby. John closes the door behind Sherrinford and Caroline. 

            “Mycroft. Sit up,” John orders. Mycroft turns from his laying position in the chair and looks up. His body shakes with dry sobs and his eyes are red and puffy. John had never seen the usually so together man this human before. “Good. Now, tell me what the nurse told you.” 

            Mycroft focuses his eyes on Caroline and takes a minute to steady his breath. She smiles at him. “It’s okay Daddy.” She walks up and grabs his hand. She squeezes it comfortingly and he squeezes back.  

            With a breath in, Mycroft speaks, “They t-took Sherlock in fo-for surgery, an-and he had a st-stream of seizures that-“ his voice breaks again.  

            “Dammit Mycroft! What?!” John’s heart is racing. He’s not sure he’s prepared to hear what comes next, but he’d need to know eventually. 

            “They did some brain scans that showed major reduction in bl-blood flow to the hippocampus, the amygdala, and portions of the c-cortex. They aren’t sure what this m-means yet, but all the sei-seizures… he’s not waking up.” 

            “He’s…” John’s stomach drops, and it takes everything he has to keep standing. “He’s in a coma?” John’s knees buckle and he grabs onto a chair for support. He stares blankly at the ground, entirely in shock. 

            “It’s all my fault! What if we lose him?” Mycroft cries.  

            “It’s not your fault Mycro,” Sherrinford insists. 

            “No. It is. It is. I’ll never forgive myself!” Mycroft leans forward and sobs into his hands.

            Sherrinford clears his throat and adopts a serious tone, “Mycroft. I don’t want you to leave my sight. No matter where you go, I want you to bring somebody with you. The bathroom included. Do you understand?”

            Mycroft looks over at Sherrinford. “You think I’d kill myself over this?”  

            “With the amount of guilt you are feeling and the mental state I’ve watched progress in you, I’m afraid I do consider that a possibility.”  

            “As a doctor, I have to agree. Mycroft, the best thing for you is that you rest. Do you have somewhere nearby we can stay?”

            “I do, but I’m not going to rest until Sherlock-“ Mycroft begins to argue. 

            “Mycroft!” Sherrinford cuts him off. “Listen to the medical man. You will return to our hotel room with John and Caroline, eat and get some proper sleep.” 

            “No. I won’t be able to sleep and anything I eat would just sit heavy in my stomach. I’m staying here to watch over my brother.” 

            “You won’t do any good here. You’ll just be in the way. You need to get out of the hospital and gain a proper head space,” Sherrinford growls.

            “I’m not leaving him!” Mycroft stands and advances on Sherrinford. 

            “Mycroft! He won’t be alone. I’m stuck here for a few days at least.” 

            “Yeah, because I can definitely trust you with him.” Mycroft glowers at Sherrinford. 

            “Caroline, go grab Mycroft a cup of water from the lobby,” John instructs, sensing the sudden tension. Caroline jumps from the chair and obediently runs out of the room.

            “Where the hell is this coming from?” Sherrinford asks, suddenly defensive. It seems to John that he wasn’t expecting this mistrust from his brother. In all honesty, neither had he.

            “You tried to kill us all. Why should I trust leaving you alone with a man who can’t fight back?”  

            “I saved you all!” Sherrinford rolls his wheelchair as close to Mycroft as he can and sits up tall, despite the pain it must cause him.  

            “You didn’t even step in and try to stop me when I was… when I hurt him.” Mycroft and Sherrinford were about nose to nose. “This must be part of your boss’ master plan!”

            “I got shot! You really believe I’m still on their side?!” 

            “Boys!” John steps in and pushes Mycroft back. “Your brother is dying,” his voice breaks on the word dying but he collects his voice and continues, “Now, I don’t really know you Sherrinford, but I’ve worked close enough with you Mycroft to know that you think you know better than everyone else. In this instance, you need to put away your pride and think about what’s best for Sherlock. I have lost enough people I love over you damn Holmes’s. Hell if I lose another!” John turns and clenches his fists. “You…” He catches himself and walks out of the room, slamming the door behind him. He passes Caroline as he walks up the hall. She stops momentarily but drops the water off to Mycroft before running to catch up with John. 

            “Do you trust Sherrinford?” She asks, trying to keep step with John.

            “I don’t know. Sherlock seemed to.” John stares straight ahead, not really sure where he was going but sure he wanted to get away from Mycroft.

            “Will Sherlock be alright?” Caroline asks, taking John’s hand to help her keep up. 

            John slows and thinks for a second about how to respond. “Carly, you’re a smart girl so I’m not going to sugar coat this. I’ve seen a lot of coma patients in my time. Some wake up and some don’t. There isn’t anything quantifiable that tells me what makes a person come out of a coma, but from what Mycroft told me, Sherlock won’t-“ his voice breaks and he sinks to the floor of the hallway. The tears he’d been holding back finally pour from his eyes. 

            “He’ll wake up. He’s strong. Plus, he loves you. And you love him. He wouldn’t just leave that. He’ll fight. Promise.” Caroline holds out her pinkie finger. John smiles sadly but doesn’t link to it. 

            “And if he can’t?” John sniffs. 

            “That’s not even a possibility.” Caroline still stands holding out her pinkie finger, waiting to complete the pinkie promise. 

            John looks away and wipes the tears from his cheeks. “Everything is a possibility.”  

            Caroline lowers her hand and sits beside him, propping her back against the wall, feet straight out ahead of her. “Do you really love Sherlock?” 

            “Yes,” John responds hesitantly. 

            “How come?” 

            “Because” John pauses, choosing his words carefully, “he completes me. When we spoke last night, I told him I hated him out of anger and fear. I didn’t know how to respond so instead, I bit back. I didn’t mean it. He means everything to me. But I do love him.” 

            “Do you want to marry him?” Caroline’s bright blue eyes stare up at John’s.

            “I…We’ll have to see when he wakes up. If he wakes up.”  

            “I don’t want to go over this again. He will wake up!”  

            “And how do you know that?” John crosses his legs and faces Caroline. 

            “I just do.”

            “Don’t tell me you’re going to go make a deal with the devil for his life.”

            “Me? A deal with the devil? No sir. Hades. I’d make a deal with him. Or the Fates, I guess. I’ll steal away Sherlock’s string from them, and they’ll never be able to cut it.” Caroline taps her feet together absently. 

            “I think I understand why Mycroft likes you so much.” John smile softly. “No one in their right mind could not.”

            “Well, I find myself annoying. I don’t think I could be friends with myself. I talk too much and-“ John laughs. “I’m serious!”

            “You just have a lot to say, that’s all. All that brain in such a little body.” John tickles Caroline. “You should share before it explodes out of you.” Caroline laughs loudly and John finds himself laughing alongside her.

            “John?” Caroline asks after catching her breath. John grunts. “Do you like Sherlock’s laugh too?” 

            “Too?”

            “Sherlock told me he likes your laugh.”

            “He did?” John blushes. “I, uh, I guess I like his. It’s very deep and…” He trails off. 

            “Yes?” Caroline says teasingly.

            “Nothing. What do you say we go get your father some food?” 

            “Sure.” Caroline stands and starts skipping up the hall singing, “John’s gonna be my uncle. He’s gonna marry Sherlock.” John snickers and follows suit.

Chapter Text

            Mycroft is sitting away from Sherrinford when the two return. Caroline cheerfully announces their arrival, “We brought food!” Mycroft sneers and she raises a finger. “Oh, stop it Daddy. You need to eat. No excuses or I’ll tell Mummy.”

            John chortles and hands both men plates with mini burgers and sloppy beans. “It’s not the best food on the planet but it’ll help.”

            Caroline settles in the chair beside Sherrinford’s wheelchair. “You’re the oldest right?” She bites into her mini burger.

            “Yes. Sherrinford. Nice to formerly meet you Caroline.” He holds out his left hand to shake hers.

            “Your hands are very rough. What do you do for a living?”

            Sherrinford is taken aback by her question. “I don’t work… I don’t earn… I’m…”

            John speaks up. He too was curious. “Yes?” He looks Sherrinford over once, using skills learned from his time with Sherlock to make a few observations. “You’d have to make money somehow. Your necklace you’re wearing is expensive. Gold right? I doubt your employer got it for you and you no longer wear your wedding ring, you have a faint tan line on your ring finger, so it wasn’t from your partner. So you must have bought it yourself.”

            “I fulfill assignments for a private business. They pay me based on my performance.”

            “What kind of assignments? Are you an artist or a businessman?” Caroline joins in.

            “Strictly business.”

            “What kind?”

            “The private kind.” Sherrinford is trying desperately to throw off the young girl but she doesn’t relent.

            “Like an investigator?”

            “Kinda.”

            “Do you look for people or recover things?”

            “Both?”

            “Lost things or ending things?” Caroline smiles widely, enjoying the incessant questions especially since they seemed to make Sherrinford uncomfortable.

            “Whatever I’m needed for things.”

            “Are they things that involve-“

            “By law, I’m not allowed to tell you.” Sherrinford is starting to get frustrated. John beams proudly at her persistence.

            “What do you do for fun?”

            “Kill people.”

            The room goes momentarily silent as everyone stares at Sherrinford. “Really?” Caroline asks.

            “Yeah. I love it. It fills me with adrenaline. Kinda an adrenaline junkie myself.”

            “Do you lie for a living? You seem fully confident in your lies but as soon as you speak the truth, your lies become blatant.”

            “I’m sorry?” Sherrinford is taken aback.

            Caroline shrugs. “Just an observation. Daddy said you tried to kill us, so I already knew about the killing. You held onto your burger through my whole interrogation and set it down the second I asked about your hobby. It’s the little things. You’ve had practice, but you’ve gotten too comfortable.”

            “In my line of work, if I couldn’t convince my clients about what I needed to lie to them about, I wouldn’t be good at what I do.”

            “And that is?” Caroline raises an eyebrow at Sherrinford. 

            “I told you!” Sherrinford sighs. “I can’t tell you.” 

            Caroline thinks for a second. “What instrument do you play?”

            Sherrinford is taken aback. “How did you know?”

            “Callouses. Concentrated on the tips of the fingers on your left hand. So string instrument. Since you can’t use your right hand very well, I’d say not the guitar, so something with a bow. Violin?”

            Sherrinford shakes his head. “Viola. I’m impressed. Your dad must have taught you the art of deduction.” 

            Caroline nods. “I’m still learning but I picked it up faster than my mom. I doubt she’ll ever get it. So, what happened to your wife?”

            “Nothing. We’re still married.”

            “Then why don’t you wear your ring?

            Sherrinford glances down at his hand and digs in his pocket, pulling out his ring. “Gets in the way and don’t want to damage it.” He slips it on his finger. “That’s all.”

            Caroline let’s out a small, resigned laugh. “Ya know, normally I can place people’s professions but with you, I can’t. All I know for sure is you used to be a soldier. Wouldn’t you agree John?”

            John looks up from his hands where he’d been fiddling with his wedding ring which he now wore on his right hand. “What? Oh. Yeah. I can see it.”

            “I was indeed.” Sherrinford clears his throat. “I was part of the British Armed forces then taken as a POW. I don’t remember much about my life after that.”

            “Did you hit your head?” Caroline asks.

            “No.” John speaks up. “It’s more likely he was tortured in some way. Look at his right hand. He’s burned it several times.” Around the pale pink of the wound, was the scarring of at least 3 different instances.

            Caroline frowns, looking over the rest of Sherrinford’s injuries. “What happened to your eye? You’re half blind.” 

            “Stabbed it with a pencil.” Sherrinford replies dryly. 

            Caroline laughs sarcastically. “Sure. Because you’d do something so stupid. I’d say you’re blind for the same reason your hand is lame. Some sort of inhumane punishment. So you must still be a POW? Is that the job?” She air quotes the word job.

            “I’m not a prisoner…anymore.” Sherrinford sighs. John can’t help but grin. Caroline trapped him. “You got me. I work for my captors.”

            “If you weren’t a prisoner, why did you stay?”

            “Didn’t know any better?” Sherrinford shrugs. “My employers rewrote my memories soon after I was captured. They had means of returning memories, but we had to earn those.”

            “Interesting. So you were an amnesiac. How’d you earn back memories?”

            “Finishing jobs mostly. For every success, we’d earn a reward. Whether money or booze. Enough successes we would earn some detail about our life before. Our real name was especially rare. Only given for top tier jobs. Usually, we’re known by our number. I was 958. Whenever we’d fail, however, we’d get punished and sometimes killed.”

            “Is that why you got shot?” John finds himself invested in Sherrinford’s story now.

            “Yes. I was supposed to kill Sherlock, but something held me back. Then Sherlock outsmarted me, and I was a goner, but he saved me; sent me down into the sewers, where I learned my name, and got me here. I owe my life to Sherlock.”

            “Don’t we all.” John mutters.

            “Well then,” Sherrinford breathes in deeply, ready to change the subject, “what else do you notice about me Little One?”

            “Well, you totally ship Sherlock with John.”

            “Ship?”

            “It’s a modern term. It means you want to see them together.” Caroline looks tentatively to John who tries to hide his embarrassment by eating. “I think they’d be super happy together.”

            “I don’t know them well enough to ‘ship’ them. I simply believe no one should hide their feelings for others. Sherlock has it bad from what I’ve observed, so I pushed him to confess.

            Caroline giggles. “I know. John has it bad too.” She looks at John who is bright red in the face.  

            “Too often, we lose those we love, pretending to be something we’re not.”

            “I wouldn’t know.”

            “Good. Keep it that way.” Sherrinford nudges Caroline’s shoulder playfully. “Anything else you’ve noticed?”

            “Well, you’re not as observant as my daddy or Uncle Sherly.”

            “What makes you say that?”

            “Couple reasons. You don’t enter a room the same as them. They take everything in while you just focus on your target. You’re a terrible liar; it reads all over your face, even if your words sound genuine. And, most obviously, you still haven’t noticed my dad is gone.”

            Sherrinford immediately looks to the corner where Mycroft had been sitting and just as Caroline had said, he was gone. He turns back to glare at Caroline. “Fuck! And you didn’t think to mention it till now?!”

            Caroline shrugs, “What my dad does isn’t under my jurisdiction. I’m his child, not his guardian.”

            “He’s in danger. Do you understand what suicidal means?” Sherrinford’s tone is condescending.

            John stands angrily, “Don’t you dare speak to her that way!” He’s about to give Sherrinford a piece of his mind when he notices the look of worry upon his face. He’d deal with his disrespect later; tonight was a danger night. John opens the door to the hallway, hoping Mycroft just stepped out for some air, but he is nowhere to be seen. “How long ago did he leave?” he asks Caroline.

            “Maybe 5 minutes?”

            “Dammit! I’m going to go find him. Sherrinford, you stay with Caroline.”

            “Why do I have to stay with him?” Caroline whines.

            “As your acting father, I don’t want any complaints from you.”

            “Just because you’re supposed to be protecting me-“ Caroline starts. John lifts a finger warningly and she shuts her mouth obediently but pouts about it.

            “Thank you. I’ll be back as soon as I find him. Goddammit Mycroft.” John quickly leaves and runs up the hall, looking in every door for a nurse or doctor. He stops for a second to think. Where would Mycroft go? The roof? No. Cliché. He supposes he could have gone home, but with everything going on, he must still be here. So Sherlock’s room. He sees a nurse walking nearby and runs up to her. “Ma’am, yes. Hi. I’ve been waiting for forever. I’m looking for a Sherlock Holmes’ room. I’m…” He bites his lip. “His spouse. Can you help?”

            “I’m really sorry. You’ll have to get that from the front desk.”

            “I’ve talked to the front desk. They haven’t been able to give me any information. My brother-in-law, Mycroft Holmes, is trying to keep it on the downlow and didn’t tell them about me. Please. I need to see him.” John conjures up real emotion.

            The nurse sighs. “Visiting hours are almost over but… If I remember correctly, he’s being held up the hall, closest room to the ER.”

            “Bless you.” John smiles, choking back tears. “Bless you.” He runs off toward the ER, wiping at his eyes. He arrives at the door closest to the ER, knowing full well what he’s likely to see. A patient this close to the ER isn’t in good condition. With a deep breath in, he opens the door. What he sees, he wasn’t prepared for. Mycroft was laying with his head up on Sherlock’s bed, a pool of blood collecting at his feet.

Chapter Text

**Keeping this chapter short. Severe cutting trigger warning. Read at your own discretion** 

             “Callouses. Concentrated on the tips of the fingers on your left hand” Mycroft smiles at his daughter’s deduction skills. She was a fast learner. He silently closes the door behind him and waits for a moment. When nobody comes after him, he breathes a sigh of relief and walks down the hall, checking rooms as he passes them. He needed to get away; needed to see Sherlock with his own eyes.

            As he nears the sign which reads Emergency room, his heart rate increases. Maybe he wasn’t on this floor. Maybe they moved him. The next two rooms he looks in are empty, then he reaches the last door in this corridor. He leans one hand on the wall and catches his breath. If he weren’t here, he’d go back. No sense in wandering the whole hospital. He slowly opens the door, and to his dismay, hears the sound of the beeping heart monitor. Please be a stranger. He peeks his head in and sees Sherlock. His heart lurches. 

            Mycroft closes the door quietly behind him. “I’m so sorry Sherlock.” The lean man was dressed in a terrible blue hospital gown. Numerous tubes and cords extend from various locations and bags of liquid are suspended beside the bed and hooked up to his still body. Mycroft steps up tentatively. He brushes the curls from Sherlock’s forehead, then kisses it gently. “How could I let it come to this?” He takes Sherlock’s cold hand, careful about the heart rate monitor on his finger, and squeezes. His chest tightens at the lack of response and he sinks to the floor. “Fuck!”

            He rests his back against the bed and lets his head fall, staring numbly at the ceiling. They’d turned the lights off at least. Odd, considering they wouldn’t bother the patient, but still, Mycroft was glad for the lack of light. Something clatters to the floor and Mycroft jumps. He looks over and sees his pocketknife laying on the ground beside him. It must have slipped from his pocket. “Two. For every one, I’d make two.” The words ring like a bell, clanging around in his head as he picks up the knife. He moves to put it back in his pocket then pauses. The cool metal of the casing felt nice in his palm. He drops Sherlock’s hand and opens the blade. Its reflective surface gleams as he twists it in his hand. For a moment, he finds himself lost in the flashes of light it catches, then he catches a glimpse of Sherlock’s reflection and returns to the present.

            Mycroft looks over his shoulder at Sherlock. “What now? What am I supposed to do?” He turns back and fingers the edge of the blade. "It should be me in that bed. Me in a coma. Me fighting for my life. Not you. You don't deserve this." He cuts his thumb by mistake and jumps, dropping the knife. He pinches the skin around the cut, causing a drop of scarlet blood to form on its surface. As he sucks at the wound, Mycroft’s eyes flick down to the knife then back at Sherlock. His chest tightens as the feeling of guilt once again overwhelms him. He clenches his jaw and scrunches his face with a deep breath in and out. It would be so easy. He certainly deserved the pain. A small repayment for the anguish he’d caused already. And it wouldn’t affect anyone save himself. Right?

            Mycroft swallows the lump in his throat and picks up the knife with a shaking hand. Practiced fingers open and close the blade as his indecision taunts him. Someone was bound to notice. Caroline would assuredly tell Mary, and Sherrinford would likely scold him. Plus, he had no change of clothes here. But then the lingering anger creeps back into his head. Anger at Sherlock for being such a stubborn prick. Anger at Sherrinford for not reaching out and letting him believe all this time that he had really died in the war. Anger at whomever was sending the texts and messages, threatening his family, and putting him in this position in the first place. But most of all, anger at himself for not being strong enough. For letting himself lose control. For allowing Sherlock to stay behind at the motel. For not anticipating the dangers.

            He lets the blade slide across his wrist, wincing and then relishing in the pain. He leans his head back and focuses on the cold tingling of nerves and finally the blood dripping down his arm toward his elbow. Just as the initial pain begins to subside, he makes another cut, just above the first. Two more on his right arm to mirror his left, then he relaxes back, breathing in the faint smell of Sherlock’s cologne, simply allowing the blood to flow freely and begin to collect on the floor. Just as he begins to feel his heartbeat in each individual cut, the door opens. He keeps his eyes shut until he hears John calling his name.

            “Mycroft. What the fuck?” John immediately runs over and kneels beside Mycroft, checking his vitals. “What the hell were you thinking?”

            “This is all my fault.” Mycroft allows John to inspect the wounds while glaring duly at the wall.

            “That doesn’t give you the right to do this to yourself! This. This is why Sherrinford didn’t want us to leave you alone.” John looks around for a first aid kit and spies it near the door. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.” He grabs Mycroft’s upper arm and leads him to the bathroom. He sits Mycroft on the toilet seat and wets a towel in the sink. He starts to gently clean the cuts to better assess the damage.

            Mycroft lets his head hang. “I had to see him. So I waited until you were distracted and took the chance to sneak away. I didn’t plan on this. It just…it just kind of happened. Please don’t tell Sherrinford.”

            “I won’t. Here. Hold this down.” John presses the towel to the wounds on his right arm which were deeper and less controlled. Mycroft obeys and John walks over to the first aid kit. He unfortunately finds it empty, save a few bandages and rubbing alcohol. “Who’s in charge of filling these?” John returns. “Look, I need to go find a nurse so we can get you fixed up. There’s nothing useful in this room. However, I’m afraid to leave you alone.”

            “Take the knife then.” Mycroft motions to where it was laying abandoned by Sherlock’s bed. “I’ll be alright here.”

            “You don’t have anything else on you?”

            “No.”

            “Alright. I’ll be right back then.” John retrieves the knife and shakes drops of blood from it. “What the hell Mycroft,” he mutters and leaves the room.

            Mycroft stares at the tiled floor, a tear joining a drop of blood. Suddenly, his pocket vibrates, and he struggles to pull out his phone. He reads the message over and over without comprehending the words.

            ‘You’re trying hard
            Applause you’ll get
            But if Sherlock lives
            You can’t reset
            -JM’

Chapter Text

            John returns with a nurse who immediately takes to wrapping Mycroft’s wounds. He looks utterly devastated. “I’ve been gone 5 minutes. What the hell happened?” Mycroft’s gaze falls on his phone which lays abandoned on the ground at his feet. John picks it up and reads the message. “Just ignore it,” John shrugs. “It means nothing. He’s just trying to scare you.”

            The nurse finishes up and stands, “Alright. I’m all done. Per your request, I’ll keep this under the radar, but you’re going to have to watch him. I don’t think we can cover it up a second time.” John nods his thanks and she continues. “I am going to have to ask you to leave though. Visiting hours are over. You can come back tomorrow.”

            “No! What if he needs me?” Mycroft cries desperately, looking to John for support.

            “He’s in a coma, Mycroft. I don’t think-“

            “What if he stops breathing or…or his heart stops…or someone comes in and drugs him?”

            “There’s plenty of medical equipment that will prevent that from happening. He’ll be fine for a few hours. Nobody can even find his room right now. It took… convincing to get the room number myself,” John assures, but the panic in Mycroft’s eyes didn’t subside.

            “And who’s to say someone else couldn’t ‘convince’ the room number out of someone?”

            “Because-“ John stops. He’d told the nurse he was Sherlock’s husband. His face starts to turn red.

            “You didn’t…” Mycroft suddenly looks slightly angry.

            “So what if I did? It’s almost true.”

            “Not if I have any say in it. My little brother is my responsibility. If you allow the relationship to progress, I will intervene.”

            “Who your brother chooses to marry is not your responsibility, you prat!”

            “I’m sorry to interrupt.” The nurse speaks up and both men look over heatedly. “I really do need you to vacate the room.”  

            “Fine.” Mycroft nods and stands. “But I’m staying in the hallway. I want his room monitored and I don’t trust anyone to do it but me.”

            “I… I’ll see what I can do.” The nurse ushers them out and closes Sherlock’s door before rushing up the hall.

            “Why does it matter so much?” John lowers his voice, returning to the earlier conversation. “You know me. Are you expecting that I would hurt him or something?”

            “I just don’t think you’re the best option for him.” Mycroft gingerly folds his arms, avoiding the bandaging.

            “And who is? Irene?” John takes a deep breath. “Whatever. You’re not in the right headspace right now. I’m not going to fight with you over this. I’m going to go get Carly and your brother. You stay here,” he commands and walks off. Mycroft glares at his turned back.

            John returns a few minutes later with Caroline and Sherrinford. Mycroft is sitting in a chair the nurse must have brought. Sherrinford rolls his wheelchair in front of Mycroft. “I can’t stay long. The staff insists I return to my room to rest. All this activity is ‘bad for my healing’ or some other bullshit.”

            “If you’re here to lecture me, I’m not going to hear it.” 

            “Yes, John told me what happened. I think the little one might have overheard.”

            Right on cue, Caroline crawls into Mycroft’s lap. “Daddy, what did you do to your arms?” Mycroft glares at John.

            John catches the look and raises his eyebrows as if to say, ‘you brought this on yourself’. “Walk with me for a second Sherrinford.” Sherrinford shrugs and rolls up the hall with John. 

            Mycroft glances down at his daughter and shrugs her question off. “Nothing. They’re fine.” 

            “Alright…” Caroline is unconvinced, “is that why John is sad?” 

            “What are you talking about?” 

            “He looks sad now.” Caroline leans into Mycroft’s chest. “Really sad. He was happy a little while ago, and then he came to get us and now he’s not happy anymore. And then he said-” 

            Mycroft cuts her off, “Caroline. See that sign?” He points to the Emergency Room sign. 

            “Yeah. So?” 

            “Sherlock’s room isn’t here by coincidence. He could go from stable to critical without any notice. They have him close because-“ 

            “Daddy, can’t you focus on something else? Like…like having Mummy come back?” 

            “She’s safe where she’s at,” Mycroft says dryly.  

            “I’ll bet if you called her, you’d feel better. You’re acting weird.” 

            “I’m not in the mood.” 

            Caroline frowns. “Come on Daddy. You’re not giving me much to work with here.” 

            “I just…” Mycroft sighs. “I need to sleep.” 

            “I could get you a pillow! We have my stuff in John’s car.” 

            “If you want,” Mycroft yawns. 

            “Okay!” Caroline struggles down and runs over to grab John’s hand. “Can we get my pillow and blanky for Daddy?” 

            “I guess that’ll be alright. You got your eye on him?” John asks Sherrinford. 

            “Yeah. I’ll be here until you get back.” Sherrinford is silent until John and Caroline are out of earshot before turning on Mycroft. “You started cutting.” 

            Mycroft’s stomach drops at the scrutinous tone of his brother’s voice. He’d hoped they wouldn’t have to discuss it. “Yes.” 

            “Why?”

            Mycroft’s eyes fill with tears again, “I… I didn’t plan on it. I just-“

            “Don’t be me Mycroft. Especially now in life. You need to be stronger than the urge. For Caroline. She looks up to you.”

            “I know!” Mycroft drops his head into his hands. “I know. It was just… the pain. It felt like I deserved it and-“

            “You could have killed yourself,” Sherrinford scolds.

            “I could smother myself accidently while sleeping. Your point?”

            Sherrinford closes his eyes. “I just don’t want you hurt. Do you understand? Seeing Sherlock like this, yeah. It’s a heartbreaker. But it was mostly your anger that got him here in the first place. Your feelings of guilt don’t warrant that kind of behavior,” he gestures to Mycroft’s wrists. “You need to get your emotions under control. Maybe he had it coming, I don’t know. I didn’t know him all that well, but-”

            Mycroft stands suddenly. “Well I did! He shouldn’t have been acting like that. He knows what happened the last time he almost died! How it affected me. How it affected everyone who gives a damn about him!” Sherrinford stares back, surprised, unsure of what to say. Mycroft sits back down, slightly stunned at his own outburst.

            “You look shocked.”

            “I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”

            “Don’t apologize.” Sherrinford puts a hand gently on Mycroft’s shoulder.

            “I know I shouldn’t have cut again. The opportunity came along, and- and my emotions took over. It felt good to… feel something.” 

            Sherrinford groans. “Why did you leave? I told you to stay where someone could watch you. This is precisely why. I knew you’d do something stupid.” 

            “It was a mistake. I just wanted to see Sherlock. Wanted to-” 

            “I don’t blame you for what you did, Mycroft, but when I tell you to do something, it’s for your own good.” 

            “I can make decisions for myself.” 

            “That’s obviously not the case. Don’t try to argue with me Mycro. You always lost.” Sherrinford raises an eyebrow warningly. 

            Mycroft struggles for a comeback but then closes his mouth in defeat. “Fine. Just…give me some leeway.”  

            “After the stunt you just pulled? I don’t trust giving you leeway.” Sherrinford smirks.  

            “John has the knife I used and you’re welcome to frisk me if you like.”  

            Sherrinford examines Mycroft’s face closely, looking for any change of expression. “That’s not what I’m afraid of.”  

            “I know.” Mycroft tries to keep eye contact but ends up backing down and looks away. “I couldn’t do that to Caroline.”  

            “But you would cause yourself harm. What is she supposed to think? It’s not like you can hide it from her. She’s much more observant than others her age.”  

            “I know! I know.” Mycroft’s chin trembles as he fights back tears. “I’m supposed to be strong. I’m supposed to be unbreakable. I’m supposed to be a superhero and never let anyone down, but I can’t. I’ve done nothing but let everyone down.”  

            “You can’t be strong all the time Mycro. You have to let yourself be vulnerable. Besides, you have me to lean on now.”  

            “You’re not in much of a condition to hold me up. Shot in the chest, broken foot, wheelchair ridden…” Mycroft gestures at each infliction.  

            “Don’t even start with me, little brother. We could play a game of tag right now and I’d have you beat.”  

            Mycroft chuckles. “I’m sure.”  

            Sherrinford smiles back. “I’ve missed you Mycroft. Really, I have. I… uh… I’ve been meaning to thank you. For not judging me.”  

            “We all make mistakes.” Mycroft glances briefly at Sherlock’s closed door.  

            “My mistake, if I got convicted, would grant me multiple death sentences. I just…”  

            “The past is behind you now. No one else has to know.” 

            “I still know it happened.”  

            “It’s not your fault. You were being manipulated.” 

            “I appreciate that. But if it came to-“ Loud beeping from Sherlock’s room interrupts and Mycroft stands abruptly. 

            Over the intercom, a woman’s voice says, “Code blue, room 173. Code blue, room 173.” Several doctors and nurses flock to Sherlock’s hospital room and Mycroft pushes Sherrinford’s wheelchair out of the way. 

            “What’s going on?” John returns with Caroline, who’s carrying her travel pillow and blanket, close behind. 

            “I don’t know. You must have heard the announcement. Code blue? I can only assume that’s no good considering the reaction.” Mycroft’s hands are trembling, and he shoves them in his pockets to still them. 

            “Damn right that’s not good!” 

            From inside the room, a nurse yells, “Clear!” and Mycroft immediately charges toward the open doorway, crying out Sherlock’s name. John’s reflexes are much faster and he all but tackles him to the ground. 

            “No. You’ll just be in the way. Come on. We need to move. Mycroft!” John commands. 

            “I can’t lose him!” Mycroft cries as John fights to pull him away.

            “What’s going on with Sherlock?” Caroline’s voice sounds scared for the first time all day. Sherrinford picks her up and places her in his lap, rolling his wheelchair quickly down the hall away from the ER.

            Just as they disappear around the corner, Sherlock’s bed is wheeled from the room. At the sight of Sherlock’s open gown and masked face, Mycroft collapses and John cautiously releases his hold. “There’s nothing you can do for him now.” John’s voice is strained but forceful. “You have to trust them, and if not them, me. Sherlock will pull through.”

            The last nurse leaves the room, speaking into an earpiece, “Patient went into cardiac arrest. Managed to get heart started again. Heading in for emergency surgery now.”

            Mycroft chokes and slams his fist into the ground. John turns and kicks the chair over, breathing heavily, trying to keep from breaking something. He glances down at a tug on his jeans and sees Mycroft holding to the fabric, as though attempting to keep himself grounded. John sits on the floor beside him and breaks into tears. Maybe Mycroft was right. They were going to lose Sherlock, the only man he’d ever loved, and he couldn’t hold it in anymore. He allows himself to cry alongside Mycroft and honestly, it felt good to not be the strong one. 

Chapter Text

Hey peeps. I just wanted to let everyone know that I am technically still working on this fic. Things happened in my life that sorta took the joy out of writing this particular fan fiction but I want to leave it complete so, rather than write it as it was initially intended, I decided to rewrite mainly just the ending, which in turn took a lot of the set up plot points out of the picture. This meant that I needed to rewrite past chapters as well as upcoming chapters. However, I still wanted to have my smutty scene with John and Sherlock so I took to adding that in in a separate part of the story which still allowed it to continue with the continuity of the story. This has all been difficult, without putting into play my absolute lack of motivation from depression and burnout. I have worked my way through chapter 4 with the partial rewrite and am in the process of adding the smut in currently. So yeah, chapter 4. haha! As much as I want to keep my small numbers for this current version of the fic, and simply editing and reentering the chapters, I have come to the decision to completely repost the fic one chapter at a time, hopefully tricking the algorithm into gaining a new following of readers. I don't know, the internet is hard these days. ANYWAYS. rambling aside. I hope you can forgive me and choose to come back to For The Love of A Genius II. I hope to begin posting the first part of the chapters in the next few months, I just need to be sure to have some backlogged and completed chapters that I know I don't need to tweak in order to keep the continuity with my planned execution of the new outlook for this tale of two brothers and their lost sibling and Moriarty too. Also, it is going to include some pretty deep subjects that dive a little into my own life experiences, so it should be pretty exciting I suppose.
With that, I want to thank you for being my readers. I know it isn't great, but I do really appreciate you coming by nonetheless. I had a poor structure to work with and it was a lot harder than younger me thought it would be when I was way too excited to share my girlfriend and I's love child. heh... God. I just really want this to be a completed project. I will make it happen. Thank you so much and look forward to seeing you again real soon. Much love, - Me.