Hello there my dears :D This little plot bunny bounced (well I say bounced, more like screamed) through my brain during dinner this afternoon. I got a very startled Watson 'That's brilliant!' look and had to bite my lip to stop myself from shouting Eureka :L Well here goes, remember, reviews = love.
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Sherlock stepped up onto the ledge of St. Bart's Hospital, clasping at his mobile like a lifeline. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins. He couldn't understand why he was so nervous; he had planned everything out to the last minute detail with Molly, nothing could go wrong. Well, there's always the chance it does go wrong... Sherlock's pessimistic side sang. Oh shut up was the only reply.
"Goodbye John." Sherlock croaked then threw his mobile aside. He took another gulp of air before launching himself off the side.
Falling, Sherlock observed, was a strange feeling. Wonderful yet dark. As the wind danced around him, all Sherlock could do was shut his eyes and – despite not being a religious man himself – pray to whatever power ruled the worlds. It could have been many seconds or hours before Sherlock felt the expected thump of a body catching him around the waist then the tugging sensation of being lifted high in the air. He opened his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief.
"You do not believe in me brother dear." Said the familiar, albeit amused, voice of Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock looked up and grimaced.
"Well if the results of your latest diet attempt are anything to go by..." He stopped before he could properly insult the elder Holmes. He did not wish to be dropped by him. The man in question was holding Sherlock tightly around the waist – the closest either of them had ever come to hugging – with one arm, the other outstretched; clasping an open umbrella high in the air as they gently flew across the bustling streets of London. Sherlock gazed across his city.
After what may have been an hour or so, they drifted to an empty street on the outskirts of the great London town. Across the road, stood the form of Anthea, leaning against a sleek black car, head momentarily popping up from behind her blackberry to acknowledge the pair landing on the ground. Mycroft let go of Sherlock quickly and lent on his beloved umbrella. He then gestured towards the car.
"The car is waiting to take you to Heathrow. But you must tell me, where exactly are you going?" Mycroft gazed at his younger sibling, the ghost of concern sweeping across his face.
"I'm afraid I can't tell you that Mycroft, all I can tell you is, Moriarty had a web of criminals...I must destroy them all. You must not tell anyone I am alive. Only you and Molly know, and it must stay that way." He paused momentarily. "Look after John. Please." Sherlock turned away from his older brother and swept into the car, but stopped before closing the door. "Aren't you coming?" Mycroft gazed lovingly at his umbrella and the back at Sherlock.
"No, I think I'll take her for another spin. I don't get to do this very often. He gestured to the umbrella before smiling at Sherlock. "Good luck."
"Thank you. And," Sherlock looked at the umbrella awkwardly, "Thanks for...what you did."
"Oh no, it isn't me you should be thanking." Mycroft chuckled. Sherlock rolled his eyes and shut the car door before Mycroft made him literally thank the umbrella.
As the car sped away, Sherlock momentarily turned to look behind them, to see the silhouette of Mycroft Holmes, the British Government itself, flying away gracefully with the aid of his trusted umbrella.
