10 Minutes in the Life of Mycroft Holmes~
For the Redeemer of minutes, the Sudden Salvation. With love~
10 minutes~
Mycroft can practically feel his pocket watch ticking away in his head, as he stands in the control room, watching a silver high-definition screen that acts as a view finder into the bank vault where Lady Smallwood was being held captive.
Now Lady Smallwood is free of her bonds, but Sherlock Holmes is standing in the middle of it all, a USB drive with a vital state secret that was the bargaining chip for Lady Smallwood's life in his hands.
Sherlock. Why, oh why, did his little brother have to be involved in all of his dirty work? Sherlock, in the end, proved to be Mycroft's Achille's heel.
Why did he have to be involved?
Well, of course, because this fight was more Sherlock's fight than it was his own.
The one who had taken Lady Smallwood captive, and held her for ransom, ransom of a secret that is the soul of England, and will be her ticket to freedom, is none other than Mary Watson, the master assassin with the mystery past, not so mysterious anymore, as Sherlock solved his way through Mary's history, to get to Lady Smallwood.
Mary Watson. John Watson's ( who happens to be kneeling beside a hyperventilating Lady Smallwood, giving her medical attention, when he looks like he needs it himself) lying wife, who is in fact NOT carrying his child.
Oh, well, she is very great with child. But the baby isn't John's. It's Jim Moriarty's.
Yes, the master assassin also helped the master of criminals to fake his own suicide in an impossible way, only she and James Moriarty , (and Sherlock Holmes who was able to solve it, but kept it to himself) know how.
Now he is back. Very much alive. Lover to the master assassin, that has pretended to be the doctor's pregnant wife, leading up to this moment, when she hosts a military coup, and captures one of the heads of government, and hosts the robbing of the largest bank in London, in which she now holds her hostage, waiting for the father of her child to claim the valuable state secret from Sherlock's cold dead hands, and uses contacts of her own to form a last-minute network they call, "Alexander's Will", they two will host a guerilla overthrow of the Parliament,and their Anarchy will reign. Paris and Helen to a burning city of Troy.
It seems lovely in theory, and might have worked.
But once again, Sherlock Holmes is standing in the middle of everything. Very much alive, despite all the business he's been through in the last 3 years, including the episode with Magnusson, that lead to the doctor's wife shooting and basically killing him. Very much alive, and very much standing in her way.
And then he has to take matters into his own hands.
Before Mycroft's eyes, Sherlock crushes the USB drive in his hand, and then smashes it under his heel.
"You must wish John dead..." Mary purs,pulling out her pistol, and chambering it, pointing it towards John's head.
John holds his breath, and closes his eyes, knowing exactly why Sherlock has done what he has done.
"Not a chance of that. It's exactly the opposite. The information that was in this drive, is now only in my head, and..." he pulls a knife, and presses it to his own heart.
"If you touch a single hair of his head, it dies with me..."
"Last time you tried to kill yourself, you failed."
"Last time I wasn't trying..."
Mary hesitates...
"What are you doing, Sherlock?"
"Playing the Game..."
"To play the Game, it implies you're holding some of the cards..."
"It's my turn to make you cringe..." Sherlock laughed.
Just then Anthea's microphone blares static and then her own shrieking voice directly into the drums of Mycroft's ears, sounding war.
"SIR!...THE CITY,...THE CITY IS THE BOMB! THEY'VE RIGGED THE CITY,...TO BE A NUCLEAR STRIKE!"
Mycroft holds his breath. Knowing what his duty is.
9 minutes~
"That's impossible!" Mary spat, Sherlock sharing the same news with her, that Anthea has just given Mycroft.
"Did you really think your contacts were on your side?That you were giving your kingdom to the strong? Darling, don't be ridiculous!You solicited the help of supreme anarchists. You cannot be the king and queen, and unborn crown child of an absolute Anarchy; it's incompatible with the definition you imply! They don't want to destroy the Crown, they want to destroy supremacy,they want to destroy you, and watch the world burn with all of us...And so, they made to do your bidding, but they lied to you. And the coup they claimed to be hosting against the Royal Services, was actually the rigging of a massive explosive device that makes the very streets of London its fuse box, and shall be the first nuclear strike,in a series of strikes that will decimate the earth. Consider it the ultimate suicide bombing. The detonator of which, is your lover...Fitting,that he should wear his own explosive vest in the end..."
Mary's jaw dropped. Mycroft spoke into the microphone.
"Anthea, do you have Moriarty's location?"
"You want me to deactivate his device , sir?"
"Yes. And then hold him for arrest."
"What are you going to do, sir?"
"I'm closing in on Sherlock." Mycroft gasped, slowly reaching, and lifting a pistol from the table.
One of his agents looks up. "Sir?"
"It's time I did some field work, ladies and gentlemen..."
It was 6 minutes to the bank, via motorcycle.
Mycroft would need to make it in 5.
8 minutes~
"If that's the case, then why don't I kill you lot, and escape the City,while I can?"
"Because you're not an idiot. You know that there isn't any escape from this. But you also know that I am heavily watched by my superiors ever since that business with Magnusson went south. You know that they have overheard every word of this conversation, and so they are already attempting to intercept the threat. Which gives you a 99. 9 thousand 9's percent chance of death by spontaneous combustion in a manner of now going on 7 minutes. And a 1 percent chance of their success, which means your survival, and falling into their hands. And you are a survivor. You don't leave 1 percent holes in your calculations...you know that the odds are stacked against you, but if you beat the odds, I'm still standing in your way.
So you can do what you do best. Compromise..."
"And how would you have me compromise?"
_Mycroft is tearing through the streets now, the bike swiveling and shrieking around trolleys and cabs,and pedestrians.
He's on fire. Soul grown like glass ready to shatter.
The loss of Sherlock will break his heart. His ice is about to break too, in the fire of his flight.
There's no time. His heart is beating, counting down the last seconds they have left on earth.
His brother. He must be by his side at the end. Spare him any pain that he can.
If the fire doesn't take Sherlock tonight, the sword most definitely will. He can't sit idly by. His obligations may lie with national security, but his duty lies with his brother, who in the end is no murderer, but the sword of justice this nation has needed all along. To protect his brother is to protect national security, and justice itself.
Time bleeds from the streets of London. She's about to give up the ghost, to die in her sleep. If only someone could wake her up, and tell her of her grave danger!
Mycroft tries to breathe, and fails.
Sherlock. his thoughts whisper.
He cannot say goodbye._
7 minutes~
"I'm proposing an exchange..." Sherlock begins, cooly.
"Sherlock, please, for the love of God!" John begs, but Sherlock ignores him.
"You let John Watson go, and annul your false marriage to him. Never come back for your prey ,my lioness. You never need to. Take me instead. And in the unlikely event that the world survives tonight, you can spend the remainder of your days trying to torment this secret out of me...And maybe you will win your game in the end and break me...Maybe you won't. But the secret will be in your possession, yours to unlock. And John Watson goes free..."
"No,Sherlock!"
"Sounds like a bargain, if just to make him squeal. What about my lover and his baby?"
"I suppose I am at the mercy of the Morstan_Moriartys. I suppose you decide what becomes of them..."
"You will help me break Jim out of whatever hole they bolt him up in. And then my daughter will grow up with your blood instead of milk, and your bones to teeth on."
"Agreed. I'll even include my soul... You can burn me. You can burn the HEART out of me..."
She smiles wickedly, looking at John.
"After tonight, you wont' have one." she said, snickering at how this will so utterly ruin John Watson.
_Horns blare, and voices shout. Some are cursing, some are shrieking in terror at what they are witnessing.
Mycroft's head is spinning like the merry-go-round he used to spin Sherlock on when he was little. His stomach is clenched up in knots like the tangles of curls of a child Sherlock's springy hair. His heart is gasping like the gasps of a man that he found dying out on the field in the days of Hiatus. His lungs are as dark and heavy ,and his soul is as empty as the casket he had his people put in the ground when Sherlock was thought to have died...
There is nothing in this moment that doesn't relate back to his brother somehow. His brother, the one person that he knows certainly that he loves. His brother, his exposed nerve, his Achilles heel, the one creature that can actually cause him alarm, and offense, and disappointment, and at the same time earn his respect,and inspire humor, and concealed affection. His brother the bone of his bone, and blood of his blood that is about to be spilled everywhere like lambs on the altar!
Mycroft slides the bike under a delivery truck, his head very barely missing being taken off by the transmission. He can see the bank as he somehow balances the bike back on its two swiveling wheels again.
Not far to go now...
6 minutes~
"Absolutely not! I'm not letting you do something that incredibly stupid!" John gasps, leaping up, hair standing on end.
"It's not incredibly stupid, it's saving. your. life." Sherlock enunciates, annoyed.
"Yeah, well I don't want my life saved! She's going to have to kill us both! Practically already has!"
"I'M NOT GOING TO ALLOW YOU TO MAKE THAT CHOICE , JOHN!"
"SINCE WHEN DO YOU ALLOW OR NOT ALLOW ME TO DO THINGS, SHERLOCK?!"
"Oh, this is precious, you boys are going to fight over who gets to die for who!" Mary teased, as Sherlock shouted something unintelligible, and John pounced on him, and they started rolling on the floor, their fight actually that of a trained soldier and a MI6 agent, truly frightening to witness.
_The bike is demolished ,so Mycroft rolls away from it, taking just a fraction of a moment to lay low as it bursts into flame.
There is quite a commotion in his wake, but now he is shoving and running.
He reaches in his pocket, and pulls out his pass card, his means of getting inside the bank, and its controversial vault...
Just a few more meters, and he's got this!
5 minutes~
"Bloody well comedy this! And totally counterproductive! Exactly what are the both of you trying to get from this? Hmm, some kind of agreement...I could kill you while you squabble like school boys!"
"SHUT UP! YOU'VE DONE ENOUGH, SHUT UP!" John wailed, as Sherlock pinned him to the floor with his knee.
"You could...but you won't...I know you won't because you know I'm right,Mary!"
"ACH!"John shouts, and head butts Sherlock, whose nose busts, splattering blood all throughout John's hair. John rolls over on top of him, a knee in his chest now, and punches him so hard across the jaw that the vault echoes with a crack sound. But rather than giving in to that, Sherlock reaches up and twists his arm. He cries out loudly, and shoves his palm into Sherlock's face, trying to smother him to the passing out point, where he could level it out with Mary himself, how he wasn't sure...
"You either kill us both...or...or just go ahead and kill me...he won't have anything left to live for, he'll just give you the bloody info and be done!"
"Sorry, John, his argument is more convincing, worth a try,though...While you little dears are too busy blacking each others eyes, I can get what I want out of Lady Smallwood, she might still have an inkling..."
"NO!" Sherlock shouts, his voice muffled by John's palm, and he twists John's wrists, where he can sit up enough to breathe.
_Mycroft swipes his card. He's in the bank, ahead of schedule!
Which is a good thing, because of who else is in the bank...
Hired thugs of Mary's...willing for hire because of her lover's reputation. The bigger bloke cracks his knuckles.
Mycroft rolls his eyes, and draws a measured breath, loosening up all of his muscles, ready for the fight.
4 minutes~
"Let me up, John!We can't let her..."
John eases up off of Sherlock,and then immediately collars him.
"You can't. You CAN'T!"
"I'll do what I have to do. GET OUT OF MY WAY!"
"Lovely help you've got, milady. Just boys really. Shame they couldn't act like grownups long enough to help you."
"Admittedly, Morstan, you've already lost..."
"I was always a sore loser..." Mary pouted.
"Together! Alright, fine, we'll work together on this!" Sherlock cries, holding his hands up in a mock surrender.
John swallows, now that their scrapping is over, thumbing some of the blood he's smeared on Sherlock's face off.
"We can't hurt her...she's pregnant."
"What can we do to her, that will stop her without hurting her child?"
John blinks, thinking rapidly.
_Mycroft is having his face smashed against a huge stack of euros, when Anthea calls to him from far away in a train tunnel.
"Sir! I have located Moriarty, and have the device in my hands...It's a number combination code that deactivates it, instead of a simple switch."
"Alright... proceed. I'm in a bit of a bind momentarily, though, Anthea, dear, speak slowly and enunciate."
How can he be expected to go hand to hand with hired thugs, save his baby brother, and stop a bomb from cleaning London off the map all at the same time?
Sometimes his job is not a pleasant one...
3 minutes~
If Mycroft thinks his job is unpleasant...
Lady Smallwood gasps, as John grapples Mary.
"Nurse!"
"Again with the nurse thing!" Sherlock wailed, holding a syringe in a trembling hand.
John has managed to pull a syringe filled with a high dose of synthetic oxytocin out of his medical bag that he had with him for Lady Smallwood's benefit. He had the drugs,because he was supplying himself with things that might help after his wife gave birth, and the drugs were supposed to counter the symptoms of after birth. But now he had a very different purpose for them.
To stop Mary from carrying out her plan to harm the three of them, John and Sherlock had conspired to induce her labor, and deliver her baby there on the bank vault's cold metallic floor.
"Where? I don't know how, why?"
"Stick her with it ,Sherlock! Hurry now, we've got the Apocalypse and a baby on the way!"
Mary growled as Sherlock injected the serum John had made for her, and John started preparing a "delivery room".
"Lady Smallwood, I'd be grateful for your help!" Doctor Watson chirped.
She gave a gasp, and crawled to John, who gave her simple tasks to do, like making a pillow out of her coat for Mary, and pulling his bag closer to him.
"Have you ever delivered a baby before?" Sherlock asked ,nervously.
"Nope. This is all new to me, Nurse. Now shut up and get over here. Oh and put a butterfly stitch on your nose ,busted it pretty good ,didn't I?"
"Not the way I expected to be spending my last few moments..."Sherlock muttered to Lady Smallwood, who helped him peel the butterfly stitch out of its wrapper and apply it to his nose.
"Neither did I, Mr. Holmes."
"Just Sherlock, please. Mr. Holmes is my brother."
_Speaking of brother.
" 3, and a 2, and a 1. Poetic justice, but that should wrap it up."
He hears Anthea type the buttons, and hears her scream over joyed, as the lights begin to flicker off...
"I think...I think we may have just...kept the whole City from blowing to Kingdom Come!"
"Very good, Anthea ,dearest, you just managed to save the world. Now don't let Moriarty go anywhere, and I will attend to my brother, and then we can have his business over with," Mycroft huffed, elbowing the last of his assailants in the nose.
He ran the last few meters to the door that separated him and his brother now.
2 minutes...
The longest few seconds of Mycroft's life. Fumbling on the floor for the pass card he has dropped. Hearing painful screams on the other side ,not knowing who is uttering them.
"If she's hurt you, brother mine. If that witch of a woman has hurt you!"
1 minute...
The world is saved. The door flies open.
Mycroft expects to see Sherlock and John lying on the floor ,slaughtered, Lady Smallwood gasping for breath in a pool of their blood, Mary somehow miraculously fled the scene.
What he does not expect to see is Sherlock and John ,having tied Mary up in the belts and things she had used to bind Lady Smallwood to keep her from thrashing about, nor does he expect Lady Smallwood to be sitting next to Mary coaching her on how to breathe, as Sherlock and John are attempting to deliver Moriarty's baby.
The whole situation is so utterly twisted.
"Oh, hello, Mycroft, that took you long enough. Say, we could use his shoes to make stirrups, couldn't we, John?"
"Or you could hold her legs down like I told you too!" John gasps, exasperated.
The above you have witnessed is merely 10 minutes in the life of Mycroft Holmes.
By the time the night is over, he is holding a squalling baby, that is wrapped in Lady Smallwood's pink sweater, standing outside the bank as police cars swarm the scene like locusts, come to take the hired thugs away, and his own people in an armored vehicle come and whisk Mary and Moriarty away to their, most likely, not so very optimistic future.
Sherlock is pardoned by Mycroft's superiors for all the things he has done wrong as of late, because of this. Then Mycroft is discussing adoption plans for little Grace Morstan- Moriarty with Anthea, and Lady Smallwood is being swarmed by attendants, that are doing everything from washing her hands, to taking her vitals, to reapplying her make up...
Sherlock is standing off to the side, holding an utterly exhausted John close to himself.
Poor Doctor Watson, Mycroft thinks. Caring is such a disadvantage.
Or it can be.
Except tonight Mycroft has never cared so much.
Mycroft hands the little baby to Anthea, who coos to her, assuring her that she is going to be just fine. And Mycroft sincerely hopes she will, for all the trouble it was to bring her into the world...
He goes to his brothers. Plural word,as he has decided that John Watson is a member of his family now that his own has so utterly betrayed him, and therefore must be protected by him, with the same care that he protects Sherlock.
He gathers them both close to himself, one under each arm.
Nothing is said. Nothing needs be said. They all know how it goes.
John will go back to living in Baker Street, just as he used to do. It will take the craziness of Sherlock Holmes, now officially pardoned for all his necessary evils, his stains and sins, again living there on Baker Street right along with him, to heal his broken soul now. They will go on being the world's greatest crime fighting duo that ever breathed.
And Mycroft will always be here, just as he has always been. Their world may have shattered in a matter of 10 minutes. Their world has , but their lives have not. They are still alive. They may be stained a bit in their own blood, but they had been redeemed tonight from out of the midst of certain death by fire, or the sword of a bride...
But ,at the end of the day, they were alive, and as long as they were alive ,Mycroft would go on living, ever vigilant, ever caring, ever keeping watch.
This was the life of Mycroft Holmes. And he meant to live it with every minute.
With them safely by his side...