AN: Yes, this chapter too has been redone, I'm much happier with it now, though the changes are less drastic than in part one :) please as ever, review :)

oOoOoOo

The hospital was noisy but Sherlock had been wheeled straight into a private room, away from prying eyes. Mycroft's people had the place surrounded, turning it into a mini fortress to keep the younger Holmes safe. It had all been done in an extraordinarily efficient manner.

"How did I get here?" Sherlock's voice was quiet, brittle, like cut glass as he opened his eyes and surveilled his surroundings.

"Hey - What's the last thing you remember?" John asked, moving to his side and raising a glass of water to his lips. Once he had drank his fill, Sherlock leaned back again.

"German. I remember German. And pain," he said. "There was a woman -"

"Did she hurt you?" John asked.

"Injected - drugs - but -" the memories were all so blurry. "She's hurt?"

"Mycroft wouldn't let me near her," John said calmly. "But I'm asking if she hurt you as well as drug you."

"No. She protected me," Sherlock said and coughed feebly, wincing as he did so. "They beat her."

"She carried you out of there it seems," John said. "But you rest up now - Mycroft has her and is taking care of her." He hoped anyway.

The soft snore of natural sleep, answered him.

oOoOoOo

The moment they got in the car and the door shut behind her, the woman pulled the scarf off her tear stained face. One eye was swelling shut, her lip was split.

"What the bloody hell took you so long Mycroft Holmes?! They were beating up your brother," she said angrily. "We're lucky they accepted me back into their ranks - I could have really used some backup -" And a helicopter gunship or something.

"What went wrong?" Mycroft retorted as he activated and handed her an ice pack.

"How the fffff- devil should I know?" The woman put the ice pack gingerly to her eye. "We were fine the one minute, I checked the deep cover, they had accepted my presence - I was careful when I went to get him - maybe they found an inconsistency in my cover story -" she trailed off into silence. They both knew that was unlikely to be the case, she was far too good at her job for that. "I don't know," she said and sounded most upset.

"Well you're both safe now, that's what matters," Mycroft sighed, relenting and sitting back before eyeing her closely again. "Now, where else are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," she began but Mycroft quelled her protests with a look. "I'm a nurse, I can take care of it," she said lamely.

"You'll forgive me if I don't take your word for it - shirt, off," Mycroft said with a look that clearly said he wouldn't take no for an answer.

The woman huffed but as a measure of how familiar they were to one another, she didn't bat an eyelid at stripping in the back of the moving vehicle, or at least trying to.

"It's no good, you're going to have to help me," she said after a brief struggle.

Wordlessly Mycroft obeyed, her inability to move increasing his worry exponentially. He let out a low hiss as he saw the bruises forming on her stomach and kidneys.

"That is not nothing - you've probably broken ribs as well," he informed her. It was then that Anthea's voice drifted back from the front seats.

"I've given orders to go to your residence and for the medical team to meet you there sir, ma'am," she said, going straight back to her phone.

The woman rolled her eyes.

"And you're sure I can't pinch her for my section?" she asked, sounding mildly peeved.

"I'm sure. I will sign off on pretty much any request my dear, except for that one," Mycroft said with an amused look. He pulled a large hooded sweatshirt out of a nondescript bag and carefully helped the woman into it. "Can't have you getting cold or be seen getting out of my car half naked now can we?" He asked. "People will talk."

"People do little else," the woman quipped. Exhausted, she leaned her head on Mycroft's shoulder and was asleep in minutes. Mycroft raised his eyebrows at Anthea who watched them in her vanity mirror.

"Not one word," Mycroft grumbled quietly and Anthea's eyes crinkled with a grin.

oOoOoOo

Sherlock lay, listening to the machines that were monitoring his vitals. He'd listened to John's account of the situation and was trying to puzzle together the meaning of his brother's actions. It was unheard of for Mycroft to seek physical contact with anyone, he, like Sherlock, avoided it like the plague usually. There must be something very special about this woman, Sherlock thought. Was she a top agent? She hadn't been fit enough. Her German language skills were impressive, he had even detected a slight regional lilt. And why has she taken the punishment meant meant for him? It didn't make sense.

Then the syringe driver activated and pumped more morphine into Sherlock's system and he was asleep once more.

oOoOoOo

"... and a fractured transverse process at T5," the doctor finished summing up for Mycroft, who was stood leaning on his umbrella.

"See, I told you it was nothing," the woman wheezed from the bed she was laid in, hooked up to IVs. "It's a stable fracture after all."

"Yes and your cracked ribs and bruised kidneys are nothing either are they?" Mycroft asked.

Recognising the tone, the woman quietened down immediately. She knew she could push her boss further than most, but she also knew that rare privilege had its limits. This was one of those times.

"Treatment plan doctor?" Mycroft asked, turning back to the other man.

"Rest. The body will heal it's self but it will take time," the physician replied. "Gentle exercise like going for short walks is permissible. She's not cleared for active assignments for six months minimum."

"Well it's a good thing I'm mostly a desk jockey these days," she groaned.

"And a minimum of four weeks until you can return to that," the doctor said, not bothering to hide his grin at the resulting groan. "And then only if I sign you fit."

"Can I kill him?" She groused and sulked, only to be silenced by a painful coughing fit.

"Talking won't help that," the doctor said clinically as he held a bottle of water to her lips.

The woman gave him a half hearted glare, finished drinking and then sank back into the pillows, exhausted. Her eyes closed of their own volition and she slept.

Mycroft dismissed the doctor and sat with her for a long time, well into darkness, his fingers steepled in deep thought.

oOoOoOo

Three weeks later saw a very bored Sherlock throwing darts at a picture of the doctor who had been so firm about the resting he was ordered to do. John was part of the perceived conspiracy, and he and Mary were away in Cornwall for the weekend, a romantic getaway to St. Ives. Sherlock grimaced at the thought, romance, how ghastly. Lestrade was also obviously listening to whatever Mycroft had threatened him with and was refusing to give him anything to do.

"Bored!" he yelled, though there was no one there to hear him, or so he thought.

"Really Sherlock, throwing darts? You know mummy would be so disappointed after that incident with Mrs. Evans' picture," Mycroft said from the door.

"She had it coming. What the blazes are you doing here Mycroft, you've not needed to visit in all this time, keep it that way, why start now?" Sherlock snapped.

"Dear brother I have ever been caught up in dealing with this - mess," Mycroft said. "I was reliably informed things were all in hand here."

"I knew it! Patient confidentiality doesn't matter when you're around does it?"

"It certainly does. I got John to text me," Mycroft said, sounding rather smug.

Sherlock made a noise of outrage and went to turn dramatically over if the sofa. This would have worked better if he hadn't made a noise of pain and frozen mid way. Mycroft gave him a concerned look, stepping over to him but then thinking better of it.

"Since when do you care?" Sherlock asked nastily.

"More than you know little brother," Mycroft said, going to the freezer and getting out a bag of frozen peas. He proceeded to apply them to Sherlock's ribs. "Fight me on what you want Sherlock but this will help with the pain."

"And how would you know? Not like you've ever been on the receiving end," Sherlock said angrily.

The hand holding his umbrella tightened involuntarily but Mycroft inclined his head.

"You're right of course. It's simply something I was told," he said and stepped back.

Sherlock took a moment to observe his brother. The bags under his eyes were prominent, he was unusually pale, tiredness seemed to envelop him like a shroud. Curiosity got the better of Sherlock.

"What mess? And who was that woman?" he asked.

"What woman?" Mycroft asked airily.

"Don't play dumb with me Mycroft, the woman who got me out. John said it was a woman." Sherlock arched an eyebrow at his brother.

"Oh her," Mycroft said dismissively. "Just an operative, no need to concern yourself with her. She's not important."

"You say that, but the grip on your umbrella handle tells me otherwise," Sherlock said.

"Would you recognise her again?" Mycroft asked.

"No - all I know is she spoke German. The rest - I was drugged, I don't recall much," Sherlock said honestly.

"You're sure?" Mycroft asked.

"Yes of course I'm sure. Besides, if she's just an operative, it's not like it matters is it? I'm hardly likely to run into her again," Sherlock said.

"True," Mycroft conceded and looked decidedly relieved. "Most certainly true."

"What is she to you? A lover?" Sherlock asked.

Mycroft gave a snort.

"Hardly, you've been spending too much time with the Watsons, their predilection for romance seems to be rubbing off on you," he said with a hint of disgust colouring his voice. "She is simply an agent, nothing more."

"You hugged her." The way Sherlock said it made it sound like an offence punishable by death.

"Only because her identity must remain secret - and no I am not telling you why, you don't have the necessary clearance," Mycroft said waspishly.

"Mmm. If you say so," said Sherlock with a smirk so irritating it made Mycroft want to commit an act of violence. He glowered at his brother and left without another word.

oOoOoOo

Two months later:

"Well I'd best be off," Mary said, picking up the baby and smiling at Sherlock before giving her husband a quick peck on the cheek. "You boys behave," she added with a wink and both men managed to look far too innocent for their own good. Mary laughed and left them to it.

"So, nothing further then?" John asked, indicating the case files of the murdered homeless.

"Nothing," Sherlock said, voice sour. "Mycroft's people sanitised my notes and since my - ahem - capture, the only lead I have is the possibility that they are a gang of German nationals, but that is at best flimsy."

"Lestrade couldn't help you out?" John asked and Sherlock gave a dismissive laugh.

"Lestrade, help? The man can't find his own backside with both hands, what makes you think he'd be any better with this?" Sherlock shook his head at the thought. Then he cocked his head to one side. "How odd. Mycroft is here."

Sure enough, the front door was unlocked and Mycroft's distinct footfall could be heard coming up the stairs.

"Ah, John, how delightful to see you," the politician said and John inclined his head with a smile that was at least half friendly.

Sherlock ignored his brother completely.

"How is married life treating you?" Mycroft asked and both John and Sherlock reacted with surprise.

"Really Mycroft, doing domestic now are we?" Sherlock asked and Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"I am merely being polite brother, something you have so far failed to cultivate even the slightest notion of," Mycroft retorted.

"Ladies please," John said and they both flushed slightly. "Married life and fatherhood are one blissfully brimming dirty nappy of joy."

Neither Holmes was quite sure if that was a good thing or not and they risked sharing a puzzled look with each other.

John couldn't help but grin.

"So what brings you here Mycroft, as much as I love to chat with you," he asked, deciding to cut the older man some slack.

"I've come to ask Sherlock to stop looking for those who imprisoned him - we are closing the net around them as we speak," Mycroft said. "Perhaps you can make him see reason on this matter John -"

Before he got much further, there was a rather loud bang as the front door once again slammed open and the heavy footfalls of someone running up the stairs, taking them two at a time, were heard. The door off the landing burst open and the woman stood in the livingroom, her dark jeans and and hoodie in perfect contrast to the sharp figure cut by Mycroft.

"Augsburg Protocol is active, we need to get you out of here now sir," she said, looking intently at her boss. The silence that followed was almost deafening.

"Harry?" John finally wheezed and then promptly hit the deck.

"Well shit," Harry muttered. "Don't just stand the you two, Mr. Holmes, get water, Sherlock, raise his legs -" Nothing happened. "Have I sprouted wings or something, I said move, now MOVE." Mycroft at least sprang into action, heading into the kitchen to procure water.

"And put the kettle on, dissolve some sugar in some hot water, then add cold on top, we haven't got time for him to be fainting - Sherlock you must have several questions, but let's deal with those when we get to safety, Mr. Holmes, Anthea is arranging for Mrs Hudson and your parents to be picked up and taken to a safe house -" Harry was clearly used to getting through a large volume of data at once, not to mention being obeyed without hesitation, and the fact that his brother didn't question her words but simply nod, meant Sherlock, whose world had briefly been turned upside down, followed his brother's lead. He raised John's legs rather meekly as Mycroft returned with the first of the glasses of water.

"Thanks -" Harry took it and crouched awkwardly beside her brother, taking his pulse. She then threw the cold water over him, causing John to come to with a yell. "How are you feeling?" Harry asked.

"Harry?" John's voice held an interesting high pitch, his eyes darting around, clearly having trouble taking in what he was seeing.

"Okay, denial, that's fine," Harry said and held her free hand out towards Mycroft who gave the sugar water to her. "Here, drink this, questions later when we are safe."

In the end, she had to feed it to him sip by sip, evidently John's brain had decided to cease using its cognitive functions for the time being.

"Sherlock I need you to take John, Mr. Holmes you're with me," Harry said, "no ifs or buts. I can only protect one of you and that has to be the boss."

"Protect -" John swayed dangerously again and Sherlock grabbed hold of him quickly.

"Government over your own brother?" Sherlock asked.

"Queen and Country Sherlock," Harry replied. "And in this case your brother is the country. Let's go." Checking to make sure that Sherlock was following with John, she pulled a scarf up around her face again, obscuring her features, drawing her sidearm. Mycroft gripped his umbrella tightly as he followed her, sticking to her like glue, used to being under close protection. Sherlock noted that the heavy set woman moved in a surprisingly light footed manner as he took care to navigate John rather more clumsily down the stairs. Harry went, gun first, around every corner, checking it was clear before motioning for them to follow her. Sherlock dragged John whose legs kept giving way. Somewhat miraculously, they reached the car and the waiting Anthea without incident. Once inside, Harry withdrew a black hood from a box under the seat.

"Put this on please John," she said.

"Status?" Mycroft asked.

"Secure, no detected treats in the immediate environment," Anthea reported as Harry passed the hood to her brother who hesitated.

"Why?"

"John, if you wouldn't mind, the idea behind a secret hideout is that it stays secret," Harry said, not unkindly. "Or rather in this case, the point where we rendezvous with our further transport. I know there's no point in blindfolding Sherlock, he knows the roads as well as his brother does and we are relying on your discretion. - And it's not that I can't trust you John, but what you don't know can't be tortured out of you. The rest of us are trained in interrogation resistance techniques."

John was staring at his sister and just nodded.

"Mary?" He asked dumbly.

"Is being picked up as we speak. You will meet with her at the rendezvous," Harry reassured him.

Sherlock, meanwhile, had been staring at Harry intently.

"You got me out," he said at length, after he helped John into his hood.

"You were never supposed to find out," Harry said quietly. "But - I had to give Mr. Holmes that message in person, electronics are too fallible, given what we are dealing with."

"And what is that?"

"Something very dangerous. That is all I have to say on the matter." Harry's tone was final.

"You're not an alcoholic?" Sherlock asked instead.

"Not since I was sixteen," Harry replied and John let out a long, pained groan.

"I thought you were a drunk - I'm so sorry -" he began.

"You were supposed to. I've invested a lot in that persona - she's the perfect cover," Harry said.

"Why - WHY does EVERYONE in my life have a deep dark secret," John groused. "Really everyone - and you missed my wedding!"

"Of course I did. Mary would have recognised me for what I am, it's why I've not met Sherlock before now, except the time you thought I was drunk," Harry said. "We know our own kind."

"So, what are you then, an assassin, what?" Sherlock asked.

"What I am is not important. All you need to know is that I am in charge of keeping you safe from some very - unsavoury characters," Harry said, cutting across him. "And I really do need you to not continue looking into these deaths - and I need your mobile phones. I don't want you being tracked through them."

John complied wordlessly, any fight knocked out of him and Sherlock glowered for a moment before relenting.

"Lestrade has been apprehended, sir, ma'am," Anthea said, her voice wafting back. Harry nodded with grim satisfaction as Mycroft said 'excellent'.

"Confirm that's the last of them apprehended?" Harry asked.

"Yes ma'am, confirmed. They are all being brought to Point Victor, then out with you to the safe zone."

"Good. Well done, and that job offer is still open," Harry said and Anthea smirked as Mycroft glared. "I know, I know, but it's not like you can blame me for trying is it?"

The car purred along out of London, and away from CCTV and technological trappings, towards a place of greater safety.