This story will contain spoilers and own interpretations of "The Reichenbach Fall".
Inspired by those who were wishing that Ian Hallard would play Sebastian Moran.
Of course I do not own the characters etc.
There are 4 chapters and I will post one a day.
As I am not experienced in writing in English, I would much appreciate it if you let me know if there are any mistakes in language. Reviews are most welcome!
Thanks to the Sherlock creators of course and a huge thank you to my dear beta readers Fie and Arre, whose help was indispensable. I also want to thank Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, though I might be a bit late with that :P – and thanks to you for reading!

Chapter 1: Mycroft

The Holmes brothers were standing eye to eye, the distance of almost all of Mycroft's sitting room between them.
"How did it go?" Mycroft informed, looking as if it was only normal that his younger brother who had died three hours ago was standing in his house.
"As expected."
"But not entirely," Mycroft replied.
His brother's gaze became fiercer for a moment. "We don't have time to discuss all that has happened, Mycroft, since you obviously know already as much as I do. You know what I need."
"You need to disappear for a while," Mycroft confirmed. He walked to a drawer and got out a neatly folded heap of clothes. "These will catch a little less attention than your coat and scarf," he said while throwing them to Sherlock.
The latter nodded and started changing, while Mycroft stuffed his old clothes in a bag.
Once finished dressing, Sherlock looked up from smoothing the collar of the leather jacket with a thoughtful expression. "Was it worth it? The information Moriarty handed you for giving him the weapons to destroy me?"
"He has been useful to a certain level."
"Did you ask him about Sebastian?"
Mycroft briefly touched the ring on his right hand. They never talked about this, as an unspoken rule. "Of course not," he answered coldly.
"You do realize that we will take him down as well."
"Sherlock, please don't think I am stupid. He did not take my brain with him when he left," Mycroft spat out. Only my heart, he added to himself.
"Sometimes I wonder," Sherlock replied tonelessly.

For a moment, Mycroft's cool blue eyes showed a flicker of pain as he thought back of the first time he met the man from whom he had received this ring. He had been 33 at the time and it seemed more than a lifetime ago. A case of international importance had occurred and just like so many other times a sniper had to stop the criminal from getting away.

"Sir, he has escaped."
Mycroft sighed. "Send the sniper to me."
"It wasn't his fault, sir. They blocked his view with a laundry truck."
"Send him anyway."
Sebastian Moran had been a new recruit, only thirty years old. Whether it was his mistake or not, he still needed his first speech about what it meant to miss a master criminal. Most newcomers were at least impressed when the icy young man in charge, who seemed to radiate power, made them very clear how he felt about their failures. It was remarkable how cool Moran had been. He had even left an impression on Mycroft, and when the latter flew home that night, he thought the sniper had redefined the term "tough".
In the following months, they happened to meet again. Of course Mycroft was not personally acquainted with most of the snipers who worked for the government. Usually he barely noticed them, except for when he was giving them orders, but there was something about Sebastian Moran that intrigued him. Something he had not seen in anyone before. The sniper was quite intelligent – of course he was not a Holmes, but absolutely more than average. He realized the importance of his work and did not seem to enjoy it too much either – which was only a virtue, being a mercenary.

It would have been alright if they had just become good friends. Even if they had been a tiny bit in love with each other and had done nothing about it. But Sebastian was clever, Mycroft reflected afterwards. He had manipulated Mycroft in order to reach his goal. Mycroft, a master of manipulation himself – and yet he simply had been fooled.
In fact, he was not entirely sure it had been like that. Maybe Sebastian had loved him and had only been convinced to betray him later - but it was even more painful to believe in that scenario. It meant that his love had never been worth more than what Sebastian's new employers had been willing to pay him, while Mycroft had thought it so valuable that he had even partly put rationality aside. Step by step, Sebastian had conquered both Mycroft's mind and body until he had asked the powerful man to marry him. At that time, one could consider Sebastian the best spy an enemy could have. His information came right from the top of British Intelligence. Theoretically, at least. But then there was Mycroft, who had not gone completely out of his mind and kept his work and his private life as separate as possible. Sebastian knew almost nothing. They had made it clear to each other that because of both of their professions' nature, they always had to keep boundaries in those matters. And that was where Mycroft's – well, hope – that Sebastian had never really loved him failed. He could have left him as soon as he knew that even their marriage would not change anything in his access to essential information. But he had not. He had been his husband for more than a year. Mycroft had never felt the need to visit the Diogenes Club as long as his relationship with Sebastian had lasted. His home had felt like home and as a result had been the perfect place to organize his thoughts.

After the betrayal had become clear, he had felt more emotion than he had ever done in his life. The anger, the emptiness in his once so icy heart… the sorrow, even so that he had allowed to unchain the tears for two times – although crying had obviously never restored anything. The loneliness.
He turned back to his usual visits to the Diogenes Club not long afterwards.
As the members of the Club did not spend their time on endless chattering about nothing, they were more observant than most people. They noticed the only change in Mycroft's appearance: the wedding ring on his right hand. But then, thanks to the traditional rules, no-one could ever ask him about it.
By that time, Mycroft already had enough power to make sure that officially his marriage had never existed. But he always kept wearing the ring. It would remind him at any time that love was a dangerous disadvantage. He should never again make the mistake of caring too much, because it could destroy him and almost had.
The exception to that rule was standing in front of him.

Mycroft and Sherlock had of course already avoided as much contact as they could for years, but especially in the time when Mycroft had been happily married, he had felt no desire to be in touch with his trouble seeking brother. He should have known how Sherlock was lonelier than ever – probably he did, deep in his heart. He hated himself for it afterwards and had promised himself to make up by always watching his brother, as there had proven to be a reason for constantly worrying about him.

As for himself, he had always been more in control. He valued a working brain too much to even think of using drugs. Comfort food on the other hand had never caused any damage. It did not help that the Diogenes Club was always provisioned by an excellent baker.
He had always struggled with his weight, unlike his little brother. When earlier Sebastian had noticed he worried about it, he had laughed and told him he was perfect while he hugged him. "Otherwise you'd be microscopic, Mycroft." Back then, he had been deaf to the sarcasm in his words and had even considered it sweet – as far as Mycroft Holmes ever thought that kind of words. He still didn't understand how he had come to do something as irrational as falling in love.

It was only when Moriarty texted him about the flight earlier that year – "dear me, mister Holmes, dear me" – that Mycroft realized to the fullest that hunting the consulting criminal also meant stopping Sebastian Moran. And although he had abjured caring and obviously did not feel anything like love for him anymore, he let his head sank in his hands. The thousands of lives that were at risk were only part of his concern – he could take care of that. It was the power of an aching heart that was worrying him.

The small smile Sebastian had shot him the third time they met, only lasting for a second, after he had thanked him solemnly for solving a situation with a particularly difficult aim. The happy feeling when he was walking back home after staying at Sebastian's for a drink for two hours longer than he had planned. How peaceful the tough mercenary looked when he was sleeping next to him. Sebastian's arm slipping around his waist and his hand resting on his hip while they sat at the fireplace. It had become their default position during the winter when Sebastian had moved in with him.
If he had not known how they eventually came to an end, it would have been blissful memories.

Realizing his silence had been too long, Mycroft returned to the present and to the brother that needed his help.
"Sherlock…"
"For god's sake, Mycroft, it's hardly the time to get sentimental." Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"I am not going to ask you to be careful, since what you are going to do is all but that. I am not a fool, Sherlock." He looked his brother in the eyes. "Just promise me that one day, when you're able to come back, you will explain everything to John."
Sherlock frowned. "Of course I will, but why would you bother?"
Mycroft didn't move. "Just promise me."
"Ah, of course." He gave his elder brother a sneering look, but somewhere behind it there was a glimpse of pity. "I promise." He spit out the last word, then turned to the door.
"Sherlock. I already asked John to tell you this, but I reckon he has not had the chance. I am sorry, Sherlock."
The younger brother turned his head to the elder, his face once again an emotionless mask.
"Although it is not at all out of place, Mycroft, your feeling of guilt will not help me for one second. Just make sure that you send what I asked for." And with those emphasized words, Sherlock went out.