Disclaimer: I don't own BBC's Sherlock.

Note:Helloooo and welcome to the second chapter!

When the cab pulls up to the all too familiar Speedy's cafe, I have a game plan.

Avoid John.

Genius. Am I right? (Note the sarcasm.)

Really though. I just need to buy time. I dropped out of school in my last year, so I can make myself scarce to John for a year.

Stupid, I know, why couldn't you have sucked it up and barrelled your way through one more year?

But see, it wasn't all that stupid and I'll tell you why.

Because kind of psycho that I assume Sherlock wooed sent a nice present to my apartment.

But John can't get mixed up into this. Hell I shouldn't have been mixed into this.

But Sherlock is my brother. So I have a better chance at surviving than John (Logic, yes? It's all in the genes). Hence why I should be hiding my presence in London from him, or he would go ballistic, ranting about how I would become my brother and end up a junkie and I wouldn't be able to give him a legitimate reason for as to why I dropped out in the first place.

Genius, am I right? (Note the absence of sarcasm.)

If I remember correctly, John should be out of the flat right now and at the clinic. I throw some money at the cabbie, and move to open the door, pausing, having just remembered that there is a person named Jack that I just met sitting in the cab with me. I throw him enough fare money to get back to basically anywhere in London since Baker Street is practically in the center.

"Here's probably more than enough fare to get you where you need to go. Sorry for dragging you along with me." I say over my shoulder, and plan on exiting, just ready to crash on the familiar couch until I have to go into hiding when John comes back.

Except one thing.

The cab door won't open.

Between you and me, I nearly had a panic attack. You can't expect someone like me with no self-defense skills whatsoever to just walk away from Jeff Hope without a deeply pushed back, but ingrained fear of cabbies.

I'm actually really good at controlling my face though, so the moment of panic passed without any commotion.

"Is there something wrong?" Jack asks when I settle back into my seat.

"Yeah, see, the cab door's locked,"

Jack looks back at me in confusion.

"But cab doors don't lock."

"Precisely." I turn my head so that I'm looking into the rearview mirror of the cab, straight into the cabbie's eyes. They're stoic. Unsmiling. I should've known.

I raise my brow to the cabbie, "Well get on with it. I'm pretty sure Mycroft is done playing drama queen."

I get a small incline of the head in return. I'm not saying it's a nod, because a nod implies the person in question agrees with you. Everyone that knows Mycroft knows that he doesn't play drama. He is drama. And he never stops being.

Soon after we pull back into traffic, my phone rings. I'm not able to answer it however because a little someone is nearly exploding with questions. And I like to piss Mycroft off.

"Okay, you've got questions," I say, finding a small thrill in ripping off Sherlock's phrase.

"Yeah, um, let's see, where do I start," he lets out a nervous giggle.

"Too late," I say, "You're time limit is up."

"Wha-What? Who said anything about a time limit?"

"I did. Just now. Silence now please."

And there it is. Silence I mean. I close my eyes in bliss.

It's short-lived however because Jack is merciless.

"So," he says, "Is there going to be another time for asking questions?"

I give a long suffering sigh with my eyes still closed. He seems to get the idea since I don't hear another word from him the entire car ride. Except towards the end.

"Are we there yet?"

I push his head into the taxi seat.

In a suavely decorated safe house 2 and a half hours away in Serbia

"You've been busy, Sherlock," Mycroft says.

The barber is poking Sherlock with the razor.

"Quite the busy little bee," Mycroft articulates.

"Well, I couldn't exactly dismantle Moriarty's network by following Thea's viewpoint on life. It took me two years of legwork. But I've finally done it." Sherlock says.

"Are you sure you've done it?"

"The Serbian side was the last of the puzzle."

"Oh yes. You got yourself in deep there with Baron Maupertius. I had to wade in myself to make sure you didn't accidently die on me."

Sherlock gave a dry chuckle, "Oh course, what is it you need your dear little brother alive for now? I'm guessing it's an imminent terrorist attack?"

Mycroft pursed his lips. There was silence for a moment except for the scratching of the barber's razor.

"A man gave his life to give us that information." Mycroft says quietly.

"Well he was obviously just showing off." Sherlock said airily.

The door opens to find Anthea with a suit.

"Ah!" Sherlock jumps out of the barber's chair, "Thank you, it's going to feel nice to be back in my own skin." He takes the suit from Anthea.

"Now to get back to London. Oh wait. Is Thea still in America? She really will not try to bypass your security Mycroft really unless her life is in danger."

"Yes, actually. She is back. In fact, we're meeting her first thing in London. She's going to help with our terrorist."

A/N: I'm so grateful to whoever's read through my developing writing. I just want to put that out there. Anyway, so still no backstory, sorry. I couldn't seem to find the right place to stuff it in. It will appear though! I can promise you that! I'll try to update frequently (at least once a week), but I can't promise anything. Not going to stick to any definite schedule though. Well, thanks for reading the story if you're still here, and leave a favorite or review if you really want to make me happy! Just kidding, I'm glad you're reading the story at all. XD I love constructive criticism so leave a review on anything you think I should work on. Thanks!

~lirgnayc