As always, I don't own Sherlock BBC, yadda, yadda... I also don't own the other fandom of which I make mention here (all minor, I assure you, the true crossovers will come later...I just cannot help myself. Though I promise you can survive without having ever read or seen any of them).

I was remiss in saying this before, so I'll do it now. A thousand thank yous to Ariane DeVere for her amazing transcripts. Anything you see of the original dialogue in any of my fics is thanks to her... I truly think the Sherlock BBC fandom wouldn't be what it is without her.

This should have been up last night (my time) but I forgot, apologies for that.

Once again, I have no beta and am not British (I'm Mexican, in case anyone's interested in knowing) so any mistakes are my own.

Arbitrary Decisions

"I don't have friends; I've just got one." SH

Mycroft and Sherlock were standing side by side near an executive plane, with a security man a few feet away, they were waiting...

"Sherlock..." Mycroft began in a quiet but authoritative tone.

"Just wait, wait a little longer." His brother murmured in a soft voice. "He will be here... John will come, I know it."

John had to come... Sherlock needed to say goodbye... if he was going to Eastern Europe, if he was going to die, he needed to say goodbye to John first. There were so many things he hadn't said when he should have... he couldn't lost his last chance! John needed to arrive!

"We cannot wait for much longer, Sherlock." Mycroft stated, even as he turned to face the security man before adding. "Five more minutes."

The man nodded and went to make final preparations for the departure. Mycroft, however, was distracted from those by the sudden rushed approach of his PA who, until then, had been waiting for him inside a nearby government car.

"Sir, we've just received a priority message from Parliament." She stated, almost anxiously.

Sherlock was distracted from eavesdropping on the rest of the conversation (while it was unlikely that his brother would read the message out-loud, there might still have been a discernible response, depending on its contents), by the (late) arrival of the expected black car.

The detective's eyes were on his (best... only) friend the moment he stepped out. He took a moment to process the fact that he seemed to be alone, no Mary; something Sherlock couldn't help but feel thankful for, he might pretend for John's sake (he'd chosen Mary, and the detective had to accept that if he intended to keep John in his life... or had, at least), but he didn't like Mary, though sentiment and the way he'd been compromised by it made it hard to tell if it was because of what she'd done to him or simply because she was the one John had chosen...

The doctor stepped out of the car and, to Sherlock's confusion, closed the door, yet did not step away from it, so Sherlock approached him instead, trusting that Mycroft and his PA were too busy dealing with whatever was in that message from Parliament to bother him, at least for a few minutes (all he needed).

The consulting detective took a deep breath before opening his mouth, mentally preparing a script of all the things he needed to say, reminding himself there wasn't much time.

"Sherlock." John began speaking first. "Do you know what an arbitrary decision is?"

The younger man was so surprised by the question, by the fact that he'd just lost his chance to recite his well-rehearsed speech, that for a few seconds he had no idea what to say. Though eventually his brain focused enough on what John had just asked.

"Really John?" He couldn't help the near-condescending sigh as the question was fully processed. "It's not that hard. Arbitrary would mean it's based on random choice or personal whim rather than any reason or system; or simply with an unrestrained and autocratic use of authority. Therefore you're talking about a decision made under one of those parameters."

"Precisely." John nodded, either not noticing or just ignoring Sherlock's tone. "And what do you have to say about your own arbitrary decisions?"

"No decision of mine is ever made on a whim." The detective sounded honestly offended. "Every decision I make follows careful reasoning, there's a motive to it."

"That's true enough, though it is also true that with some of your decisions you exercise unrestrained authority, without stopping to consider how those very choices might affect others."

"Well, they're my decisions... why should they affect anyone else?"

"You mean like when you chose to meet Moriarty alone in that pool?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, he'd known exactly what he was doing when he went there, not his fault Moriarty had kidnapped John earlier...

"Or when you jumped off Bart's rooftop and faked your own death?"

The detective did wince at the reminder of that one, even if his friend had forgiven him, he'd obviously not forgotten; and Sherlock would never find the right words to explain just how much he wasn't expecting anyone (not even John... especially not John, who knew him best, who'd endured so much already) to care, to miss him...

"Or when you decided not to tell me that my wife was one of Jim Bloody Moriarty's snipers!"

Sherlock breathed in sharply, he wasn't expecting John to know that... how had John found out?! True, he'd kept it from him, for the same reason he'd told John that Mary never meant to kill him, that she was truly retired, for the same reason he hadn't mentioned his suspicions that Mary might have cheated on him, that the baby might not be John's... but he'd chosen Mary, she made him happy, she was his chance at a normal life! Sherlock might have had to tell him about her being the one to shoot him, but that was because of Magnussen, there was no need for John to know more, to know anything that might ruin his chance at a normal, happy life...

"You loved her John and I..." Sherlock bit his own tongue before the words already on the tip of it could come out, instead he said something less compromising, though no less true. "You deserved to be happy. You chose her..."

"I did choose her." John admitted, in the saddest tone anyone had ever heard from him. "And that was perhaps the greatest mistake of my life..."

Abruptly Sherlock became acutely aware of Mary's absence; and while initially he'd been nothing but grateful for the chance to say his goodbyes in silence, he couldn't help but wonder why exactly she wasn't there...

"Where's Mary, John?" The detective asked quietly, almost anxious.

There was a reason why he'd worked so hard at convincing John that it was a good idea to forgive Mary; and while his happiness had certainly played a part, it wasn't the only thing... there had also been the matter of Mary being a sociopathic, narcissistic assassin who might have gone as far as killing both of them in the living room of 221B (and Mrs. Hudson as well) if she'd truly believed that she was losing all she wanted.

"Gone." The doctor shrugged. "I did give her a heads-up, for the sake of her baby if for no other reason; though considering the people after her, I doubt very much she'll get far."

It was strange, but Sherlock couldn't help but wonder what exactly was going on, he didn't understand, that was a first one for him (it also made him wonder how people went through life feeling like that all the time, it was awful).

"John..." The detective began.

"In any case, Mary is irrelevant right now..." The former captain began.

"She's your wife!" Sherlock blurted out, more to himself than to John.

"No she's not. Mary Morstan's not my wife, because she does not exist, the real Mary died more than forty years ago. Which means my marriage isn't real..."

They were interrupted, once again, before either John could say something else, or Sherlock could try and understand what was going on exactly.

"Time's up." It was Mycroft approaching them and he looked uncommonly tense.

"Five more minutes." Sherlock stated, barely glancing at him.

"We don't have 'five more minutes', we have no more minutes." Mycroft stated in his most emotionless tone of voice. "We're out of time, Sherlock..."

Everyone present knew what he really meant: 'Sherlock was out of time...'. But how could that be? How could he be out of time? He hadn't even gotten the chance to say anything yet... and there was so much he needed to say! He needed more time!

"Remember what I just mentioned about arbitrary decisions?" John asked suddenly.

"I regret none of them." If he didn't get the chance to say anything else, at least he would say that, how could he regret anything when he'd done all those things for John?

"Then I won't regret mine." John declared, before re-opening the door beside him.

For a moment Sherlock's mind drew a blank. It was a really awful feeling, not knowing what was going on... the worst he'd ever felt (well, second worst, if he was honest, he doubted anything could be worse than what he'd felt the day of John's and Mary's wedding).

"I believe you've been informed that there was another person joining your little mission to Eastern Europe."

It took a moment for the Holmes's brothers to realize John was addressing Mycroft rather than Sherlock with those words, but eventually they did.

"A volunteer." John added for good measure.

"What...?" Sherlock realized in a second that that was what Mycroft and his PA had been arguing about when John had arrived, but how did John know?

"How could you know about that?" The elder Holmes asked, brow arched.

"Yeah, that would be me." Right then John finally pulled his arm away from the car, pulling out a duffel bag, as well as a set of papers, which he handed to Mycroft.

"That's impossible." Mycroft blurted out, looking a bit more ruffled than John had ever seen him. "I was told the volunteer was MI6."

John just smiled at him, it wasn't a nice smile, it showed edges that Mycroft hadn't known he possessed, and how could he have missed it? How could John Hamish Watson have ever been part of MI6 and Mycroft Holmes not know? It seemed impossible, and at the same time, that seemed to be exactly what was going on...

Sherlock's eyes widened... John was going on a mission... to Eastern Europe... with him?! No!

Everyone turned to look at him then, making him realize he'd actually said the last part of his thought process out-loud.

"John, this is crazy, and extremely dangerous..." The consulting detective tried to be reasonable.

"Yes, because every time you say danger, I run away..." John drawled. "And in any case, it would not be any less dangerous if you were to go alone. We stand a better chance working together. We both know that."

"John I..." How could he explain that there was next to no hope for making it out of there alive?

"I know exactly the kind of mission we're going to." John seemed to have read his mind. "I knew before I volunteered for it. Like I said, we stand a better chance together than any of us does on our own. We've beaten the odds before, we can do it again. And if things do get... shall we say, too hazardous for our health, James and Alec have promised they will fly straight in and get us out of there as fast as they can."

Sherlock followed John and the two boarded the plane together, the younger man still feeling terribly lost; though at the same time a part of him, his heart (which he tended to ignore with vehemency) couldn't help the happiness that filled him at being with his (best... only... truest) friend, his John, once again. Mary was gone, and they were together, just like it ought to be... and in that moment Sherlock couldn't help but believe that, whatever Mycroft might have said earlier, together he and John had more than a decent chance at making it out of Eastern Europe alive.

While I'm still going easy on Mary, I'm warning you all right now, I don't like her. I used to, the first two episodes of season 3. It was almost funny because as much as I hated her coming in between John and Sherlock I couldn't help but like her! And then episode 3 happened... she shot Sherlock. From that moment on... yeah, you get the idea. And since this fics take place after all that...

Mycroft in the other hand, I don't know if I'm understanding him better... or just creating my own headcannon for him, but I find myself being kinder to him in each piece I write (I've written ahead).

Next week will be more of a crossover, though still mostly a minor one. And we'll begin to spin things more widely than just a change in the 'tarmac-conversation' (I have so many plans!) Hope to see you around, and that you'll like what I'm writing.