AN: While waiting for the official Series 4 to air, I decided to write my own take on what I think might happen. The bold portions that you will see, signify me quoting the show. I don't want to be thought of as stealing their original work, so the bold sentences are acknowledging what the writers of the show wrote at the end of Series 3, Episode 3. I really hope you enjoy it, and any reviews would be appreciated immensely. Thank you. :)


Chapter 1

Everything was working out supposedly.

Sherlock was about to fly off into exile to live on a remote strip of land far from the reaches of London opposed to being placed into prison for the murder of Magnussen.

John and his wife, Mary, had come to a sort of reconciliation, expecting a baby on the way.

Everything seemed to be working out.

The only problem was, Mycroft didn't want this.

The only problem was that Mycroft cared.

Mycroft stood in front of his sleek, black car, hands clasped behind his back. He turned his eyes toward the runway, as he watched Sherlock and John exchange their final goodbyes. He could tell from here how much Sherlock was hurting. Though he didn't express it, Mycroft could tell from his rigid posture that he was trying to hold himself together, at least until he boarded the plane.

Sherlock shook John's hand firmly, giving him a slight nod of his head. He watched Mary as she hugged him, no doubt thanking him again for saving her from Magnussen's unmerciful nature. When Mary released Sherlock from the hug, he nodded and boarded the plane. Mycroft watched Sherlock's back as he boarded the plane and saw that he was gradually beginning to slouch. He was gradually letting his grief becoming visible.

He watched the plane as the door was closed and it started up. He clasped his hands tighter, hoping against all hopes that his plan for getting him back from exile would work.

Yes, exile may be the only option that prevented Sherlock from going to jail, but if he was needed...

Mycroft couldn't just allow his baby brother to fly off and live life in grief. He wanted to be able to save him from that, even if he made a dangerous deal.

Soon, his eyes turned to the sky as he watched the plane run down the runway, tilting up at an angle as it flew up into the sky, ascending into the clouds.

Mycroft watched the plane until it was out of sight behind the clouds, allowing a small frown to play across his face. This deal couldn't be broken. It had to work. They couldn't back out on him now.

Suddenly, Mycroft's mobile rang. He slipped his hand into his pocket, pulling it out.

"The deal is still on," responded a mechanical voice on the other end. "Turn on the television."

With a shaking hand, Mycroft opened the door to his car, and slipped into the back seat. He fiddled with the controls on the small television back there and soon, an image flickered onto the screen.

"Did you miss me?" said James Moriarty as he appeared on the screen, facing them.

Mycroft could feel his fingers becoming slippery with sweat as he dialed the number for the security's phone. He placed his phone to his ear as he listened to it ring. The line soon clicked, and the deep, rumbling voice of the security guard could be heard on the other line.

"Hello?

"Yes, this is Mycroft. I want to speak with Sherlock."

He heard silence on the other end of the phone as it was handed over. Soon, the familiar sound of his brother's voice came on the other end of the phone line.

"Mycroft?"

He had to do this right. He couldn't act overly excited because the deal he had made was actually starting to take place.

"Hello little brother. How's the exile going?"

He heard Sherlock scoff before he replied.

"I've only been gone four minutes."

Mycroft leaned back against the seats in his car, crossing his legs, trying to slow the rapid pounding of his heart.

"Well, I certainly hope you've learnt your lesson. As it turns out, you're needed."

There was silence for a moment. What was Sherlock thinking? Was he happy? Angry? Irritated?

"Oh, for God's sake, make up your mind! Who needs me this time?"

He quietly released a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Sherlock was only pretending to be irritated, but he was secretly happy. Mycroft knew he was.

His eyes flicked back to the screen in front of him where Moriarty still was.

"England," he replied.

There. That would be a vague answer to satisfy Sherlock's curiosity.

Another pause on the end of the phone line.

"Why does England need my help? I just killed a man."

"I realize this Sherlock, but what I say is true. Do you have inflight television?"

"Yes..."

"Turn it on."

Sherlock released a sigh. Silence lingered for a second, but soon Mycroft was able to hear the slightly garbled sound of, "Did you miss me?"

"He's back?" asked Sherlock, sounding shocked.

"It would appear so."

"I thought he was dead."

"Everyone thought he was dead, like you use to be. Apparently you both came back from the grave."

"What am I suppose to do?"

"Stop him from producing catastrophic mayhem obviously," replied Mycroft, trying to remain nonchalant.

Sherlock chuckled on the other end of the line.

"Let me speak to the guard so I can tell him to instruct the pilot to turn about. I'll pick you up once you've landed."

Sherlock didn't say anything. The silence reigned once more, before the rumbling voice of the guard came back on.

"Sherlock said you needed to speak with me?"

"Yes, I need you to tell the pilot to turnabout and land. Seems there have been a..." He was about to say 'unforeseen change of plans', but that would have been a lie. This had been planned, "...change of plans."

"Alright sir."

The line soon clicked, signifying that he had hung up to carry out his orders. Mycroft smiled as he tucked his mobile back into his pocket. It had worked. The deal had worked. Now came the scary part for him. Now he had to carry out his end of the deal...

But he couldn't think about that now. Sherlock was about to re-land. He had to go see his non-exiled brother.

He got out of the car, and walked across the grass toward the runway. Mary had gotten into the car, and John was about to get into the driving seat when he saw Mycroft coming over.

"One second, Mary," said John as he stood upright and walked over to Mycroft. "What are you doing, Mycroft?"

He stood on the edge of the runway, looking up toward the sky, waiting for the plane to come back into view.

"I'm waiting for the plane to land."

"The plane to land?" said John, looking at him strangely. "You don't mean the plane that just took off with Sherlock inside, do you?"

He turned to face John.

"Yes, that plane."

"But...but I thought he was going into exile now? Are you telling me that his sentence has been rescinded?..."

"Not that exactly," said Mycroft. "There has just been a change of plans."

John looked really confused by this point, placing his hands into his pocket as he looked up at the sky with Mycroft.

"What kind of change? What's happened?"

"I'm sure Sherlock will brief you soon enough. I mean, you are still going to be his partner on cases, aren't you?"

John bit his lip slightly, rocking back and forth on his heels.

"Well, with a baby on the way, I'm not sure how much help I'll be able to provide him with."

Mycroft looked at John out of the corner of his eye and saw that he was still trained on the clouds overhead.

"He'll need you."

That caused John to turn his head to look at Mycroft.

"He'll need you more than you even realize."

"I will try my best to assist him in whatever way that he possibly needs, I'm just saying that as a...precaution," said John, giving a short nod of his head to confirm that that was the right word to choose.

Mycroft allowed himself to smile slightly, nodding.

"Thank you, John."

John smiled too, nodding once more.

Suddenly the roar of the plane engine overhead could be heard, and both men craned their necks to look as the plane made its downward descent.

"Here comes Sherlock," said Mycroft, a wide grin spreading across his face.

John couldn't help, but widely grin either. He was happy to have his best friend back.

When the plane pulled to a stop and the door opened, Sherlock descended the steps, his eyes facing the two of them. Mycroft and John slowly walked over to the plane to meet Sherlock. Soon, they were standing face-to-face with him.

"So, I hear we have a crisis on our hands. We should get to work," said Sherlock, the glint of intrigue in his eyes.

"Come on, Sherlock..." Mycroft slung his arm lightly around Sherlock's shoulders. "Lets get to work."

"Tell me how I can help."

Mycroft smiled. He had gotten what he wanted. Sherlock was staying; he wasn't going into exile. The only problem was: what was this about to cost him?