After Sherlock killed Magnussen, Mycroft has to decide what to do with him. A bit angsty, a bit brotherly. This is a translation of my story written in Polish, so if I made mistakes, please let me know, I will gladly correct myself.

I hope you'll enjoy, and if not, please tell me anyway

Ariana

The choice

Mycroft Holmes had very good reasons to hate Christmas. As he was forced in childhood years to sat by the table and talk with his family, during last ten years he successfully avoided this rather unpleasant event. His parents could easily be on their own, and if it was only up to Mycroft, the situation would have stayed that way. Unfortunately because of that hospital thing Mummy insisted they made a proper domestic Christmas, and she let Sherlock bring along all the friends he wanted to invite. Mycroft was waiting for a disaster, but even he couldn't predict that this Christmas was going to end so badly.

The only advantage, if he could even say so, was the fact that he was back in London before midnight, far away from his parents' house. But before that happened, he was forced to watch as the antiterrorists pushed Sherlock on the ground and took him away, but what was even worse, he had to pass the news to their parents. Father just sighed, but Mummy was furious. And of course she had to blame Mycroft, just because of his laptop. She assumed that he wanted Sherlock to be part of his political games. Mycroft didn't even try to correct her, because Sherlock seemed to care about Watsons, and he wouldn't be able to guarantee their safety, had Mummy learned why Sherlock had killed and for whom.

The problem was what they were going to do with Sherlock. In this situation Mycroft could do very little, because every attempt to rationalize his brother's doings would be read as sentiment, and Mycroft would lose his power and he wouldn't count anymore. For the sake of the whole England he couldn't do that.

There wasn't much choice. Of course he could show Sherlock's motives in the best way possible, and he was going to do so, but there were only two solutions. A prison or a suicide mission in Eastern Europe. The first option guaranteed that Sherlock was going to lose his mind out of boredom, while the other gave him a few months of an intensive life... far away from everyone he held dear. It wasn't an easy choice and none of the options was good, and yet Mycroft had to choose how to play his cards the next morning.

His mobile phoned on the desk. Mycroft allowed himself to let a sigh before he answered.

"Mycroft Holmes."

"Mr. Holmes, we have a problem with the prisoner."

Good Lord...

"What is it?" asked Holmes calmly. What have you done this time, Little Brother?

"We closed your brother like you ordered," reported the man at the phone, whom Mycroft recognized to be a young captain from the special unit. "He's treated well, he wasn't opposing and he cooperated with us, so no one did anything to him... Until we closed him in the cell. He was searched again and he started shivering, then he sat in the corner and stayed there. We wanted to leave him alone, but then the light went off and he panicked. We don't know if it's safe to intervene."

Well, that explained everything. Sherlock would have died before he admitted that aloud, but he wasn't comfortable in dark, closed rooms after the Serbian incident. During the first few days after his comeback, when he was staying at Mycroft's home and recovering, he kept the doors to his room wide open, the curtains on the sides, and he always had at least one lamp turned on. He never said a word about that, and Mycroft didn't ask, but the silent plea was quite clear - whatever he wanted to do, he shouldn't close Sherlock without a possibility to go out, or even make such impression.

"Get him out. Right now," ordered Mycroft. "My brother was caught in Serbia, he was held captive in bad conditions and he was tortured. We are in England, in a civilized world and I don't wish to ruin Sherlock Holmes' mental health."

"Sir, we cannot let him walk freely, he just..." objected the captain, but Mycroft didn't let him finish.

"Sherlock Holmes has just murdered a person on your eyes, I know. I don't intend to let him walk around," he reassured coldly. "Put him in some other room you can lock down. Choose a bigger place and with windows. Oh, and let me talk to him."

"Yes. sir. Just wait a moment."

The decision was made. Mycroft already knew he was going to do everything to prevent putting Sherlock in prison. His mind was too clear and his abilities too precious to let them waste. Mycroft believed he was able to talk around certain people, especially when he knew at least one person who could breath freely after Magnussen was killed.

"Mycroft?" Sherlock's voice was just a bit shaken; the younger Holmes must have braced himself by now.

"Yes, it is, Little Brother. Behave yourself, the east wind is coming."