Spoilers for Sherlock BBC Season 2.
Ice crept into his mental plane, his dreamscape, like living, delicate lace. It was barely visible against the white that covered everything here. Sherlock despised this place. Its unchangeability; the insipid symbolism. The merciless lack of anything interesting. There was a reason he never slept if he could help it.
Sherlock shuddered as snow fell, nearly invisible – Mycroft's version of ringing the doorbell – but allowed his brother to enter.
"What do you want?"
"Moriarty,"
"That makes two of us; do you have any sort of plan?" Sherlock couldn't actually physically sneer here, but the emotional/mental equivalent was almost as good.
"Of course, I wanted your input, and some answers."
"I didn't tell him anything! I may not enjoy hiding my true nature as you do, Mycroft, but I'm not completely reckless,"
"You've let our secret slip before,"
"Years ago! To one person. Are you going to hold it against me for eternity?"
"Just a few more centuries, I think."
The mental equivalent of rolling one's eyes was not nearly as good as the physical gesture.
"Have you seen what he's up to next?"
"Yes, Mummy has been looking intently at his thread. Unfortunately, she sees no easy way to cut it."
"What is the difficult way, then?"
"A sacrifice,"
"We're gods, Mycroft. We don't make sacrifices; we accept them,"
"Not this time, brother, Moriarty has managed to turn our fates upside down for this moment in time,"
"You wouldn't come to me about sacrificing something unless I was involved. What needs to happen?"
"You know we cannot truly die,"
"Obviously,"
"But we can be disfavored, for a time, our reputations tarnished,"
"You want me to play along, then? Let Moriarty do this?"
"It will be the end of him, and you will return, as always. It is necessary. You can even focus on a different aspect, perhaps Justice, in the meantime. You have always enjoyed a challenge,"
"And my acolytes? Mrs. Hudson, John, Lestrade, the others?"
"Will suffer, but not unduly. Not beyond their ability to cope, as they say."
"We are merciful gods," Sarcasm had a purity all its own.
Mycroft laughed, "That's one way of putting it,"