"I'm sorry sir, but your brother, he's no more." Sherlock heard the doctor say. He couldn't believe his ears. Mycroft, his only brother, was dead.
"Seriously Sherlock, I think you should go back and tell everyone the truth. How many days are you going to live like this?" Mycroft asked Sherlock, who was busy reading the newspaper."When the time is right. If you want me out of the house Mycroft, you should have said that directly" Sherlock replied. It had been three years after the Moriarty incident and he had been living with Mycroft since then, just to make sure everything was alright before moving back to 221B Baker Street. "You know I don't mean to say that. Anyways, I've got a meeting with the JIC, so I might come home late. And please don't burn down the house till I'm back" Mycroft said, grabbing his car key and umbrella. He took one last look at Sherlock, who remained engrossed in reading and left.
Sherlock didn't believe it at first when he saw the news of a bomb blast at Whitehall. He remembered what Mycroft said about the meeting. He took his hoodie and stormed out, leaving the telly on.
"I'm sorry sir, all the injured people have been taken to the hospital" the officer said, pointing towards an ambulance. Sherlock felt scared, his eyes searched for a sign of hope, a sign of Mycroft bring alright. Instead, he saw reporters clamouring for news and pictures and bodies being fished out from the remains.
He had been told to wait was tensed, he really wanted Mycroft to be alright. He waited for two hours, until one of the doctors gave him the news. Sherlock felt as if something inside him had been broken. It was one of the rare moments when you could see someone like Sherlock Holmes cry. "He told me to give you this" the doctor said, giving him what was supposed to be Mycroft's cell phone. Sherlock thanked him and left quickly, in case Lestrade saw him.
Sherlock managed to repair the phone,luckily it had not been much damaged. He flicked through the inbox to check messages and came across one, which said - There's a mole in the MI5. Sherlock was shocked. He could see many such messages and realized that today's meeting had been about the the identity of the mole was not given, Sherlock felt angry at the whole department. He did not care if it meant everyone paying the price of one man's disloyalty. It was his brother who was dead. "They will pay the price" he said to himself.
"Harry, I can't find him" Lucas said, his eyes searching for Michael Renfield, a man who was supposed to have information about the Whitehall bombing. "Have patience Lucas, Callum is trying to track him. Tell me if you need something and I'll send Dimitri." he heard Harry's voice say through the ear-piece. "Thanks Harry" Lucas replied. For a moment, he felt like the line had gone dead. He switched his ear-piece off and on again, but it didn't work. He called Dimitri on his cell but no one seemed to pick it up. Something was definitely wrong. He walked back to Thames House, only to find Michael Renfield's body near an alley. He searched the body to find a memory stock hidden in one of the socks and rushed to Thames House.
He found the place surrounded by dozens of press vans and felt numb. He looked around to see if he could find anyone of his colleagues, but there was no one. He saw Harry's lifeless body being taken away, along with Dimitri's. Lucas felt the tears streaming down his face.
He saw Boris and Daniil Levendis standing near the stands, with Daniil trying to comfort his father. He went to comfort them, but he knew it wouldn't take the pain away. Harry was the closest thing he had to a family and he was gone too. Lucas' pain was now replaced by anger. A raging fury.
Sherlock saw the news while sorting in a cafe having coffee, though he couldn't bring himself to drink it. The whole system had to be punished, he thought. It took him there days to make the bomb, which he placed in a suitcase that was left behind the building. He knew that security at Thames House was strong.
Sherlock felt weird, like he was Jim Moriarty. Except the fact that he had a reason to do it, unlike Jim. Sherlock knew that three years had changed him in a horrible way and this was the final straw. There was nothing, or no one, who could bring him back.