*Minds of Carat*

~WhiteGloves~

-Who needs season 5?-

WE DO! I demand another story line for the brothers!

While we wait for those brilliant writers to get fired up again :)

*Post S4 & really mental along the way*

*Warning for Mycroft being too awesome and Sherlock the not-so-obvious concerned brother*

-Enjoy Reading!-


Snatched


Sherlock doesn't like losing. Not on a simple board game, no. Yet here he was seated with most of his white pawns outnumbered and his Queen surrounded that made him chew his lips in contempt for he knew defeat when he sees one.

Tempted as he was to topple the board he was never going to win, Sherlock decided to move the last defence of the pawn—it got taken by the dark bishop in an instant. He knew that was coming anyway. Sherlock curled his lips as he the end flashed in his mind—every turn, every step, every movement to the last check—in his mind. It was an inevitable truth. Eyes flashing upward, the detective raised a narrowed look at that lone figure seated opposite him, the only one in the world who could outsmart him once—alright maybe twice—fine, more times than an average man for he was never average— the only man he thought worthy to be an opponent and with warrant to be on the opposite end of a chess game—

Dark queen takes rook.

"Jesus, you child, are you here to use your brain or not?" Mycroft scoffed as he put the white rook on his side with brilliant sharp eyes gazing at his younger brother. "If you plan to humour me I'm telling you, little brother, this is not the way."

Sherlock made no attempt to reply and let his pawn get taken too. That stung again.

"You're winning, why are you complaining?" he threw scathingly at that breathing brain with limbs.

Mycroft didn't even have to look up. "This is not winning—this is annihilation." White bishop disappeared on the board.

Sherlock pursed his lips. "Again— why do you get to complain?"

"There's no victory for a superior mind that does not see a challenge." The older Holmes sat straight, chess puffed out and with that glinting look in his eyes as if he had been offended greatly but it was apparent he was enjoying his tiny speech. "This? This is no challenge nor anywhere near. This is an insult."

"You don't see me raising the white flag."

"I'll raise it for you."

Sherlock made a clicking sound of his tongue between his teeth. Just like his brother to be so impatient when the game could still last for another five minutes. But that's just like his brother to be playing cards at present but mind already ten steps ahead. Right about now Mycroft was no longer with him on the board—in his mind, he has already won and most likely drinking tea. Sherlock was impressed but the curl on his lips said otherwise as he went on—

"I think you should rethink of insult when you've sorted out how and why you allowed yourself to be here."

He received another glare for that as his last white pawn was taken.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mycroft was quiet but the detective saw him grip the side of his metal chair as if only just remembering where they were. Sherlock need not reminding—the very scene itself was new to his understanding.

"Just keep wolfing them down, brothermine." Sherlock whispered as let his last rook get taken and had to lean back the chair to see the board with both elbows on the side of the metal chairs, "I have no reputation to maintain when it comes to beating you— you're the eldest, you get all the pressure when I beat you."

"If—if you beat me." Mycroft's eyes glowed briefly. "And isn't it the opposite where the younger one feels disheartened by his older brother's accomplishment?" he tossed another white bishop on his stack side.

"Really? Where'd that dull idea come from? Your invention?"

"Don't be stupid. It's a family norm I observed from most siblings."

"I didn't know you're interested with sibling interactions—let alone any interaction."

"What do you mean 'interest'? I see it once and everything attaches itself to our brain worse than glue." Mycroft shrugged with an incredulous look at his brother. "Oh, pardon me. I suppose it's just my brain that does that." He pressed a smile that made Sherlock roll his eyes.

"Yes, yes your brain's excellent, carry on."

"As I was saying, observing interactions of humans is a natural thing and if you don't control it, you see everything around you and it is sometimes—"

"Overwhelming?" Sherlock suggested.

"Unpleasant." Mycroft ended with a sigh, "The sibling interactions I've seen were the worst kind just because of envy and pride... funny it always ends awkwardly for them and the next thing you know someone's dead."

"Not so petty our reasons to kill each other off then, in our family." The detective smirked while Mycroft gave him a long thoughtful look. Immediately the detective knew his older brother's thoughts just vanished away to the mysterious island somewhere on the north. Sherlock had to immediately wipe his smirk at that.

"No." The older Holmes agreed, "Her reasons were not petty. Still, the simpletons here still believe she did it out of revenge to me or to us. They have difficulties understanding brilliant minds and I suppose that's to our advantage. The lesser they know, the happier they will be."

"Quite." Sherlock stayed his eyes on the board game but he knew exactly the face Mycroft was making. By she both brothers know there was only one other sibling—unless Sherlock forgot to ask Mycroft again then he knew there was only one more— and she was not petty. She was brilliant. She tried to kill them and nearly managed to.

A poignant silence then—

"Be that as it may," the older Holmes cleared his throat afterwards, "if you're ever inclined to such envy to the capacity of my brain, brothermine—"

"Not interested." Sherlock leaned back on the table and played his queen safe. Mycroft put a dark pawn out as bait and went on—

"But since when have you taken refuge over me being the eldest when you lose? You're not going to make our seven-year-gap difference the excuse every time I defeat you, are you?"

"Mm..." Sherlock finally took the dark knight prancing itself on his area near his queen. "Only if it's convenient for me. But ever heard of age doesn't matter?"

Mycroft looked horrified for a second. "Oh dear god, where'd you learn that expression?"

"Mrs. Hudson—"

"Speak no more." Mycroft waved a hand with a traumatized look on his face. "I just saw the end of reasoning. Imagine a fine wine of sixties not labelled of date landing on the hands of toddlers who adds it on their beverage list after mixing it with blues and oranges or whatever colours beverages are supposed to be these days." He sighed. "Ghastly."

Sherlock was already smiling. "She did that."

Mycroft's eyes narrowed as he looked his brother in the eyes. "I know. That's why I said—toddlers."

"She's not bad."

"I have a whole set of other vocabularies to choose from."

"For god's sake, Mycroft, choose someone your own size." Sherlock eyed his brother's clothes grimly for it never suited his brother. It was not pleasant to the eye when Mycroft was robbed of his usual three piece suit and instead wearing a singular clothing "You lost some of it so it won't be difficult now."

"Believe me I wouldn't opt to talk about her even when she's around or when we're locked together."

"Mycroft." Sherlock said through gritted teeth as he shot his brother a glare. "That's quite enough."

Mycroft looked up haughtily. "You asked for it when you let me slaughter your side of the board."

"You sound surprise." The detective tapped his finger on the side of the table.

"Except that you're being quite amiable about it." Mycroft moved his queen for a check and leaned back on his chair for effect. "Normally we don't even get to see the end of a checkmate because you throw everything away."

Sherlock was contemptuous. "Sorry for being abnormal now but you don't have to be upset about it."

Mycroft Holmes let out a sigh so exasperated it rang in the small, cold room. "It bores me, Sherlock. Nothing quite says 'here, my treat' than you exceptionally losing at a game you like."

"Speak for yourself, I never liked chess."

"Then why are we playing this?"

"Oh, I don't know." Sherlock threw casually with an edge at tone of his voice. "Probably because someone couldn't stay out of prison to do other things."

Mycroft glowered at that because that was exactly where they were in— a prison.

Both brothers were inside a windowless, cold stone building with nothing save the white thick walls and security cameras surrounding them. It was one of those secluded and highly protected Her Majesty's Prison and once upon a time Sherlock remembered being kept there for a week after the fiasco of killing one Charles Magnussen until he was labelled to be unmanageable—yours truly by his caring brother— and got papers approved on being transferred to Eastern Europe. It was a sweet memory.

Then he was cleared of charges by Mycroft himself and his private associates who without a doubt were the controller behind the British Government—which here would mean the cleaner of mess in Sherlock's vocabulary as these experts made alterations to the truth. He was off the hook.

It didn't seem to be the case for his older brother.

Mycroft Holmes looked too out of place wearing the white plaid uniform but he didn't seem to mind. He seemed to have adapted to its appearance and now wore the clothing with much sophistication as he would his usual three-piece suit. Sherlock had rolled his eyes the first time he saw his brother thirty minutes ago. He only had just found out about his brother's imprisonment from his secretary who answered the detective's queries when Sherlock came to investigate the absence of his brother for two weeks. It was mutual to them to be always in touch especially after the events at Sherrinford. With his brother unreached, Sherlock was able to hunt the secretary down in half a day and she proved to be inept of hiding the truth but she forgot she was talking to Sherlock Holmes—fifty minutes later— here he was, well transported by a hired cabby. Apparently Mycroft holds no power during his incarceration, something which Sherlock was unprepared for.

Finding Mycroft waiting for him inside this tiny white room moments ago, Sherlock nearly smiled in amusement while his brother looked exasperated at the found smile. A chess board was on the table. Sherlock's eyebrows rose up on finding it and the moment he sat down, he began with—

"So the queen finally found out the real criminal mind behind her government?"

"Proud to say she doesn't know a thing." Mycroft pressed a common smile. Sherlock returned the opposite and humour left him as quick as it came.

"You plan on playing hide and seek with me?"

"With your persistence? I wouldn't dream of it. I lack the energy. There was never a game."

"And still I found you." There was a sound of dissatisfaction at that. "So let me guess, nobody knows you're here?"

"From your circle at least. But who'd be interested to know?" Mycroft had pointed out then, the chess board untouched.

"John noticed he hadn't been kidnapped for awhile."

Mycroft smiled. "I don't kidnap fathers anymore. Or at least he is off the hook. And so are you."

"Obviously I had to stalk your secretary just to get information." Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his brother. "You didn't make it easy, you. I was a phone call away, you idiot."

The older Holmes pressed his eyes tight at that as if the sound irritated his ears and Sherlock thought of warning him for that word will be jumping out of his mouth judging by the situation. But Mycroft didn't seem disheartened.

"Please, can you imagine me calling you in the middle of the night telling you I'm here?"

Now Sherlock pressed a smile, making his brother's eyebrows rose up in the sky. "See? I won't make anything for your amusement, brothermine."

"Looking past that—you're still in prison. Who else can you tell but me?"

"You're right. But I have a habit of not involving dynamites to a fish pond." Mycroft was grinning. "But only two weeks? I thought you'd never notice."

"You'd be surprised."

"I am surprised." Mycroft admitted as he offered a hand towards the chess board, indicating his younger brother to take the first move for the white were his. Sherlock frowned at that and ended up sighing as his fingers landed on a pawn and ejected it forward.

That was half an hour ago and now that the game was over Sherlock was no longer in the mood for jokes, especially not after observing his brother closely. Prison didn't seem to agree with his older brother no matter how much Mycroft try to not to give away his discomfort. Sherlock gave a long pause with thoughts and observations overflowing in his mind that for awhile he had to shut all other concerns away.

"You trusted I'd be coming here." Sherlock breathed with a start again, thinking in many ways, his brother was snatched out of position. He didn't think Mycroft was that vulnerable.

"You always appear on places you were never invited. Only times when I don't see grass grow under your feet."

"I never stay put long enough. And what invitation?" Sherlock shook his head. "You got yourself locked up. Nobody in London should be having any grass growing anywhere anytime soon when headline reaches tomorrow: British Empire collapses for no apparent reason."

"You flatter me." Mycroft was smiling from ear to ear, "And yes, London should be worried about its time soon. Good heaven knows the kind of people handling the matter at the top." He gave a shiver and looked at the CCTV on his right. "It's gone all horribly wrong up there."

The detective looked sideways too and then back to his older brother who just seemed too untroubled by his predicament. Such paradox, his older brother was. He was already complicated before but then recent events turned him into an even more bad case of enigma. Sherlock had given up trying to know what was playing on his brother's head but after the events with their sister, Eurus, he could not understand how this brother of his was able to go through everything without feeling anything with all the death toll and their sister's condition— no trauma, no emotions, no heart, just—him. John did suggest an idea of Mycroft's well-being when Sherlock casually mentioned it during breakfast and the doctor said something about 'suppressed emotion'.

Something which Sherlock can see clearly now.

Or that's just Mycroft being Mycroft. Still, it didn't feel right. Not with how Mycroft was treated as Sherlock's eyes fell on his brother's wrists.

"You big idiot." He whispered curtly again that got Mycroft looking offended as he frowned. "Why would you let them treat you like this?"

"What? This?" Mycroft raised his wrist where Sherlock could see cuff marks were apparent. He had notice them the moment he stepped in and this didn't add to the detective's already sour look. "Things got a bit out of hand after the Sherrinford incident... certain personnel we try to avoid got wind of some of its details and well... somebody has to answer."

"And that person is you?"

"Who else do you have in mind?" The dead flicker on his eyes reminded Sherlock of the past event at the island too, and then his sister. It would take a great deal of head injury for him to forget all of that. "The Whitehall's been insisting on a full report about the island... I had to tell them some of its truth."

"And your associates didn't feel the need to alter some of the information?"

Mycroft shook his head, his face going blank like how it always does. "Well, it is only reasonable that the Whitehall would send a representative outside the Cabinet Office to investigate since the leader is the suspected instigator. I was presumed on comma on the duration remember? And someone had to take over my place. Information leaked and things were out of our hands even before we saw what was coming."

"You didn't see—?" the younger Holmes sounded so cross and Mycroft had to blink several times to understand the outburst and went on hesitantly—

"I admit... I was a little distracted during those days..."

And Sherlock understood as he saw his brother squirm on his seat all of a sudden, like how he did when their parents had confronted him and reprimanded him on his office, white and shaken. Still, Sherlock was angry enough at the end result of his brother being where he was that he couldn't help gritting his teeth.

"Why didn't Lady Smallwood act then? She's smart enough to do it, or even that so called Sir Edward—"

"Edwin." Mycroft corrected him with a strange look. "They tried, but the questioning from the representative and some other people—cunning people I give you— whom I've dealt with not so kindly in the past were a little... overwhelming."

Sherlock slowly nodded at that. "A case of reaping what you sow? Sounds to me like they don't like you very much."

"Flattery again, brother dear." Mycroft pressed another smile. "We never liked anyone."

Sherlock's eyes widened as he caught his brother's eyes. "Did you tell them about Eurus?"

"Of course." Mycroft met Sherlock's eyes of steel with blades in his eyes. "Worry not, I protected Eurus in my own way. They learned that she as my sister got used against me and against her will. Rest assure they will never bother her, I told them how... broken she was which is the truth. A bit twisting in the story is necessary of course, I was always commended for my ability to create story out of thin air in matter of heart's beat—you've got your first hand experience on that—but the end is still the same. Someone has to answer."

"So why you?"

Mycroft frowned. "Better than you, of course. The credit is just too out of your scope."

Sherlock gritted his teeth. "What are they charging you with? If it was of mental nature of our sister, aren't there laws that gives considerations to—"

"I know the laws having made some of them." Mycroft shrugged. "But it was nothing complicated with regards to our sister... My crime was simply fraternizing with the enemy."

"What?"

"My contact with Jim Moriarty came into light." Mycroft met Sherlock's eyes and that was enough explanation as the detective gave his brother a different look that sent many meaning. The older Holmes ended chuckling softly. "If I remember correctly they said something like treason around the corner."

Sherlock sat quietly on his chair for awhile, his mind diving to the lone criminal mastermind that had been shut down at the deepest corner of his brain—now hunting him again because even when dead, Jim Moriarty still spelt trouble.

"Fair enough." The detective then sighed as he watched his older brother.

"That's what I thought." Mycroft agreed with a touch on his marked wrists.

Sherlock stared hard and long at his cuff marks. "So how long are they keeping you here? It's been two weeks."

"I hear things." The older Holmes looked above the cameras and for a moment there was a touch of darkness that eclipsed his eyes. "It shouldn't be long now. By the life of me, my other visitors make you look adorable."

"Language, brothermine," Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed. "If you don't like them don't accept them."

"I don't have the privilege." Mycroft answered simply with a lost look again, making the detective sense that something was indeed, wrong. But then, Mycroft Holmes being in a cell was already wrong.

"They realise they can't keep you here forever?"

"I should hope so."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Mycroft was about to answer when there were sounds of metal doors being opened from the outside and someone on speaker saying, "I'm sorry to cut short the visit, Mr. Holmes. Urgent visitor from the White Hall. Dr. Norton is here."

Mycroft and Sherlock's eyes fell on each other and the detective saw uneasiness swept his brother's brows.

"See?" the older Holmes sat straight as he put a hand on his forehead. "Anyone can barge in here whenever they want to or at least, those who knew the security and mind you—only a percentage of important people know about me."

Sherlock heard the door behind him get open and had to look behind him with Mycroft still speaking—

"And when they do know about me, it always connote they mean business. Sherlock."

The detective didn't wait for whoever was coming in as he shot his brother a look of defiance.

"You still have a visitor: Me."

Mycroft only gave a small smile but there was something in his eyes that alerted Sherlock to whoever was walking in them, especially when his brother whispered, "Hardly matters. So sorry, Sherlock, but you have to go. This person's mouth is loaded with foulness you can't even begin to fathom."

"What?" the detective was frowning even deeper when a voice spoke behind him that made his skin crawl as if the person's voice itself was enough to give him an idea of something loathsome.

"Hello, my jewel. Oh. I see we have another precious stone today. And here I thought you'd never let us meet."

Sherlock glanced quick behind him. There was a person in white robes atop his three-piece suit that snaked his way into the room without another word and stopped right in the middle of their table. From there, he took his medical bag and dropped it on the table where the chess pieces collapsed everywhere but this was not what made the detective cringe. It was the apparent aura of blood screaming out of him.

"What the hell are you?" was the first thing that came out of Sherlock's mouth. Mycroft looked distant and haughty with his eyes of steel appearing sharper than ever.

"Oh?" the man sounded surprised to a point of mockery as he eyed the younger Holmes and smiled nastily. "I should like to ask you both the same with minds like yours." He chuckled and turned to Mycroft merrily as if seeing something too sparkly it lit his eyes in amusement.

"Miss me?"


-To be Continued-

A/N: My skin's crawling. Oh so sorry Mycroft O.o

Brace yourself, Sherlock!

Thanks for Reading!