Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock… it belongs to its respective owners of which I am not… Although if I was that would be pretty awesome... not gonna lie.
Prologue
"I can't take it any more, Mycroft. I'm more sure than ever of my decision," said the boy, or young man really, standing in front of Mycroft Holmes.
"John, they didn't mean it. Don't do it," said Mycroft, trying to talk him out of his decision. Damn his brother and sister. They had no idea what was on the line and look what happened. How could this have happened?
John shook his head and said, "They did. I know they did. It's okay though, Mycroft. I know it was just the alcohol and drugs talking mostly, some of it was them I'm sure, but I just can't do it anymore. I need to get away and start my own life."
"So you decided to join the Army? Brother, there are other ways," started Mycroft.
"No, Mycroft. This is where I can be of more use. I can help people," said John.
"You can help people without getting shot at here," countered Mycroft. He didn't want his younger brother in that kind of danger.
"Please, Mycroft, don't fight me on this. I can't stand it if I'm not on speaking terms with at least one of my siblings before I go," said John, sounding exhausted and hurt.
Mycroft looked at his younger brother, the brother he swore to protect from the moment he was born and he had all those complications, it wasn't easy being the youngest twin delivered after all, and he saw the determination, exhaustion of what had been happening over the past couple years and the hurt and he couldn't refuse him. Not this, though he wanted to so desperately. They were in the middle of a war. There was a serious risk of John being injured or dying. Mycroft did the only thing that was left.
"You take care, brother, and be careful," said Mycroft, giving his brother one of his rare hugs.
"I will, Mycroft," said John, hugging his brother, and, trying to make a joke to lighten the mood, he continued, "try not to interfere with my career too much, yeah?"
"John," said Mycroft, pulling back and giving his brother a look, "You know me well enough to know that will never happen, though I will try not to be too heavy handed. You will have to earn everything." Mycroft actually did want his brother to earn everything. He didn't want his head to get big and therefore cocky and then he would get himself killed. No John would have to work extra hard to earn anything.
"I don't like hand-outs, Mycroft, I never did. It's why I'm enlisting under John H. Watson," said John with a slight scowl.
Mycroft smirked slightly and said, "Does the 'H' said for Hamish or Holmes."
John just smiled and didn't give an answer.
After a moment, Mycroft asked, "When do you ship out?"
"Tomorrow," answered John and then he continued softer, "It's probably for the best."
"Probably," said Mycroft, nodding his agreement even if he wanted to say no it most certainly wasn't for the best and take John far away from what he was about to do.
John hesitated and then he asked, "Will you tell Harry and Sherlock that I said good-bye? They probably won't be awake and sober by the time I have to leave but I don't want them to –"
"Stop babbling, John," said Mycroft. "Of course, I will tell them." And Mycroft meant it. He would tell them John said good-bye along with a lot of other things he, himself, wanted to tell them.
"Don't, Mycroft," said John.
"Don't what, John," said Mycroft, raising an eyebrow.
"They haven't listened to anything we've said before and me leaving won't change their ways," said John, shaking his head. "Don't bother. Just tell them I said good-bye."
Mycroft looked at John again. The hurt and bitterness now showing through.
"Come," said Mycroft and he led John into his house, an arm over his shoulders, and they spent the night like they used to, when Mycroft had the time even back then, back when things were simpler. They watched movies all night and laughed until they both fell asleep.
The next day, Mycroft had just come back to his house after watching his brother get on the bus that was going to take him to his basic training. He had half the notion to go back and get his brother or have a few of the agents that now worked for him pull the bus over and get his brother, but he had promised John he would let him do this and by God, Mycroft was going to let him do this, no matter how hard it was.
Mycroft walked over to his bar area and poured himself one drink, that was all he allowed himself to drink due to his family history, and sat down in his preferred, Mycroft didn't have favorites, armchair in his television room, their mess from last night cleaned up by the housekeeper. He almost wished she had left it as a reminder.
His doorbell rung and his housekeeper went to answer it.
Before he knew what was happening, his youngest brother had swept into the room along with their sister. Mycroft down his drink before his siblings tried to ask him for some. He wasn't supporting their habit, regardless if they were old enough to drink. They weren't old enough to do it responsibly apparently.
"Where is he?" asked Sherlock.
"Who, Sherlock?" said Mycroft, tilting his head.
"Don't play dumb, Mycroft. It's unbecoming," said Sherlock glaring at him. He needed to apologize. He didn't mean what he said. He promised John he wouldn't say something like that to him again because of the drugs but he did anyway. He needed to apologize.
Mycroft glared at him and Harry, who didn't look entirely sobered up yet and so she wasn't paying complete attention, and said, "He left."
Sherlock stopped short at what he was going to say to Mycroft and said, instead as Harry's head snapped in Mycroft's direction paying attention now, "What?"
"You heard me. You both did. You are not deaf. He wanted me to tell you both good-bye," said Mycroft, holding his tongue on what else he wanted to say to them, though it was nothing more or less than they had heard before from him.
"Where did he go?" asked Harry, finally joining in the conversation. She felt guilty for the conversation she had last night with John as well, not nearly as much as Sherlock, she wasn't going to promise something she new she was going to break, but she didn't like the hurt she had seen on her twin's face, that she had put there.
Mycroft, still glaring at them and they both held their tongue for once, said, calmly which was a complete contrast to the look still on his face, "If you both would have listened to him and not just talked to him when you needed something and that was it or to steal his money, you would know that he has been thinking and talking about joining the Army for a while and he did it. He left for his basic training today."
"You can't let him do that," said Harry. She knew there was a war going on. She didn't want what she said to him last night to be the last thing he heard from her if something happened to him.
"Bring him back," said Sherlock, at once. He didn't want his brother over there. What if some happened and he never got to apologize?
"It's already done and I can't. He'll be angry with me if I did and I can't stand to have all three of my siblings angry at me if I did that," said Mycroft and he let out a sigh and stopped his glaring.
Harry and Sherlock didn't know what to say to that. It was true, John was the only one who was civil with Mycroft anymore, mostly because Mycroft was the only who was civil with him as Sherlock and Harry spent most of their time drunk, high on drugs or looking for their next fix, and when Mycroft stopped them, which was more times than not, they were angry at him and John.
"Mycroft," said both Harry and Sherlock but Mycroft interrupted them.
"Don't," said Mycroft, shaking his head at them. "Don't unless you can promise for good and actually get clean."
"I will," said Sherlock. He had promised John and he broke it and he didn't get a chance to fix it before he left. Mycroft was giving him a second chance, albeit not with John directly and it was more like his fifth or sixth chance but that was besides the point.
Mycroft didn't look like he believed him but Sherlock would make him believe him.
Sherlock and Mycroft turned to Harry, who said, "I'll try." For some reason John's face from last night, the hurt face, kept popping up and she couldn't shake it. If something happened, John would remember her by the last thing she said to him and they had been awful.
"I'll try," repeated Harry.
Mycroft looked like he didn't believe either of them but he called a rehab center and admitted the both of them that day.
After that, things settled into a routine for the four Holmes children and that is how the next few years went. Mycroft working his way up through the ladders of government until he was The British Government always keeping an eye on his siblings, watching Harry sink deeper after she came out of rehab, watching Sherlock become sober and doing good and paying particular attention to where John was stationed at, receiving letters and emails from him and the occasional video call after close calls. All the time, keeping his government in check, making sure no harm came to any of the people and keeping an eye on all the threats, particularly a new one that had popped up that went by the name of Moriarty, and neutralizing them when necessary.
Harry, weighed down by guilt, tried to become sober but she couldn't stay on the bandwagon after she left the rehab center. She was reminded daily of the last time she saw her twin's face, hers was nearly identical to his, every time she looked in the mirror and the hurt she put on his on purpose because he was trying to get her help. The only way the feeling of guilt would go away was when she was looking at the bottom of a bottle or bottles she had drunk. At least she kicked the drug habit. She ignored the letters he sent, though she didn't throw them away, and the emails went unread. Clara was becoming fed up with her, she could tell and Harry couldn't deal with all of it.
Sherlock worked hard at becoming sober and becoming an ex-addict for good this time for himself, and John, to prove to him that he meant it even if it was a little late, and then he started to consult as a Consulting Detective with Scotland Yard, sometimes taking private cases or the rare one for his brother when he asked if he was feeling charitable. He also hoped John would contact him and when he did, he was always afraid to open the email and then the letter that arrived, afraid of what they might say. He had a collection of unopened letters on his table and in his email inbox. He would also ask Mycroft how John was doing but other than the basic, "He is fine," Mycroft wasn't telling, saying if he wanted to find out, he would have to talk to John himself, but Sherlock was afraid to, not that he was actually admit it. He buried himself in his detective work and his side experiments he had.
John worked hard in the Army as a medic doctor and then a surgeon, finally earning the rank of Captain, reputation as a crack shot and as a lady's man, though he was always disappointed when Harry and Sherlock didn't answer his letters or emails, though according to Mycroft, he always responded and even video called him a couple times, especially after close calls, Sherlock at least was asking about him, sober, not addicted to drugs any more and a consulting detective. Well he always said he would invent the job one day. He just wasn't brave enough to open any of the mail that John sent, which disappointed John slightly. He was also upset that Harry was still drinking but couldn't really do anything about it from where he was at, not that she would listen to him. She never had before.
And then something happened that changed all that, a game, that no one was sure they were ready to play, was set in motion.
"This is your target, Moran," the man behind the desk said holding up a photo of an Army medic, a Captain by the looks of him.
"Sir," said Moran, grinning and nodding his head at his boss.
"Career ending if you can, not life ending. I want to know if this," he shook the picture with a clichéd red 'X' over the medic's face, "is what it takes to make both the Holmes brothers tick. It is obvious that though they care for their sister, there is something different about their brother. They would do almost anything for him," said the man.
"Yes, Moriarty," said Moran, grinning even more. He loved it when his targets had to suffer.
"Dismissed," said Moriarty, leaning back as Moran left to prepare, looking at his computer screen that had the images of the certain hacked cameras in London, watching the subjects of his previous discussion.
"Oh boys, I hope you're ready to play cause Daddy's just set the game in motion."
A few weeks after that disturbing meeting between Moriarty and Moran, Captain John H. Watson felt a bullet pierce his shoulder, right through his protective gear.
'I've been shot,' was his first thought, followed by, 'I've never got to make up with Sherlock and Harry,' and then that was followed by, 'Mycroft is gonna make someone pay for this,' and his final thought right before he passed out from blood loss as his friend, Bill Murray, and the rest of his unit tried to save his life, the gunshots now stopped and John couldn't think about what that actually meant right now, 'Please God let me live.'
Back in London, Mycroft was going through reports, when there was a knock at his door and then it opened without waiting for him to respond.
"What –" started Mycroft but his assistant cut him off and the only time his assistant could do that was when they had information on one of his siblings and it wasn't good news. Oh no, which one –
"Sir, we just got information about an unprovoked sniper attack on a medical camp in Afghanistan," started his assistant.
Mycroft was thankful he was already sitting down.
"John – " started Mycroft but he was, once again, cut off.
"He is alive, but he is in critical condition. Shot once through the shoulder," started the assistant and Mycroft sucked in a breath, if there was damage then John's career would be over and nothing he could do could prevent it, "they won't know the damage until they are done operating and he awakens. He also was shot in the leg but they anticipate minimal damage as the bullet barely grazed the side of his leg."
Mycroft thought for a minute before he said, somewhat angrily, "Get Harriet and Sherlock here now. I don't care what they are doing. Then arrange a flight for all three of us to go to John. I want the best surgeons operating on him, if they aren't already, and the best doctors, nurses, receptionists, janitors and cafeteria workers looking after him while he is recovering!" There was no doubt in his mind that John wouldn't be recovering. He was a Holmes after all. A bullet wasn't going to keep him down.
"Yes, sir," said his assistant already texting away on her phone and leaving the room.
Mycroft's phone binged with an incoming text alert and he could only hope it wasn't his brother or sister refusing to come. When he read the message, however, he paled slightly and ordered his assistant to come back in here and he ordered her to check the whereabouts of all of Moriarty's known and not known associates for the past three weeks. He also wanted security agents posted at John's door and his entire floor, which had now become a private Holmes' floor and no one was allowed on it unless they were cleared by Mycroft himself.
Ready or not, Iceman, here I come. – M
A/N: I know, another story. This one wouldn't leave me alone until it was written though, at least this prologue. Just a fair warning, this story will probably be updated sporadically as I've only got a vague idea of where I'm going with it, though I do have the next chapter started...