"Have you got everything? Did you get his jumper?"
"Yes, for the last time. My dear sister, if you're so concerned about leaving your son in my care…"
"Mycroft, please don't start. I have no doubt you will make sure Max is taken care of, but it's a mother's concern. I've never left him alone for an hour, much less three months." Taking her duffle bag over her shoulder, Layne let out a lengthy sigh. The blades of her muscles were already clenched with an undisturbed tension. To be running off at this particular moment was unnecessarily complicating to the life of solitude she chose to enter. It had been nearly two and a half years since Layne accepted Mycroft's proposal of protective services. While life had infinitely slowed her former bouts of espionage, Layne never passed the opportunity to keep track of her younger brother's occurrences. She thought of her son's room, walls littered with the faces of two famous Londoners skulking around various crime scenes. She had missed them both, honestly. The last time she had spoken to the youngest Holmes sibling, she was recovering from giving birth. A nasty situation that led to John breaking his arm had also left her in labor in a molded basement. Her brother had reached her just in time. At the hospital, he was perched on the end of her bed, refusing contact with his nephew.
"It might be the only time you get to hold him, you git."
"Stop insulting me, I'm not good with…small people."
"You're his uncle, and whether you do or not I would like him to believe you love him."
"I lo-"
"I'm leaving tomorrow, sweetheart. Mycroft's taking us out of here. I have no idea when either of us will see you again. Please…hold your nephew."
And he did, for three hours until Mycroft sent Anthea to gather Layne and her possessions. As she hugged her brother one last time, she felt a wave of affection pass through his hands, allowing him to pat the small of her back.
Max now watched from the living room as Mycroft and Layne continued to chat in the hallway. Mycroft's house was a three story playpen as far as Max was concerned, but he was distracted by his mother's body language. From her locked position of her legs to the bend of lines on her brow, Max Avery Holmes was quite aware something was about to happen. Even while clutching his stuffed armadillo, he knew his mother was leaving him behind. Expelling a soft whine, she tucked back down into a crouching position.
Mycroft crossed his arms and lowered the tip of his chin towards his chest. Layne gave him a cross look and threw a small wave towards her child. Max stood to chase her, but she begged him to stop with the palm of her hand.
"Mommy will be home before you know it, sweet boy." Holding open the door, Mycroft showed her outside, but managed to snag the hem of her sleeve, cementing her steps.
"I hope you know what you're doing, Layne Holmes." Her crystalline eyes turned to fog as she ripped from his hold.
"He helped me when I needed him the most. He was there for the birth of my son and never questioned my moral judgment. Max's father is behind all of this, we both know that. Mycroft, I cannot leave him out there alone knowing I'm the reason he and Moriarty were introduced. I'm going to help Sherlock, and I won't return till he's safe."
With one last loving glance, Layne blew a kiss towards the living room. She briefly wondered if Mycroft would even honor her plans if something was to…she held his gaze in hopes that all the love she could possess for her son would pass through the stare. Max continued to stretch his neck and followed his mother's shadows as the door slammed in her wake.
Entering the black Mercedes Mycroft left waiting outside, she rolled down the window and lit a cigarette.
"221B Baker Street, London. Please."