Mycroft felt an unwelcome wave of nausea. What had his brother done? None of this made sense. How had it gotten this far?

"Oh Sherlock, what have you done." He looks down on his brother as he slowly lowers to his knees and the team of armed men approach and detain him. His mind flashes back to the child he knew, the damaged child who seemed like he would never recover from the loss of his beloved dog. Then briefly flashed to the look of blank defeat on the same boys face years later when I learned that the only other thing he had ever made the mistake of loving, his sister, had been taken from him to, because of his own actions.

Mycroft's mind sped into action. He was loath to admit it, but all he ever wanted was what was best for his little brother and sister. He had to find a way to fix this. His brother was a murderer.

As if by some bizarre cosmic joke, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He checked it purely by reflex, the words on the screen barely registering.

Happy Christmas Mycroft. Please give La my love. – AH

He was on auto pilot, his mind rolling over everything he could do to save his brother. His fingers flew over the phone without thinking.

He's just killed a man. I don't know what to do. – MH

I'm coming home. – AH

The words didn't register for Mycroft until much later, he never meant to tell Ainsley. What had he done?

It was hours later when he simply replied.

Don't – MH

He knew the options for Sherlock were few and she didn't need to be here to see her brother fall apart. Either of them.

When the option of exile and inevitable death on a no win mission was the only one left. Mycroft knew, with grave finality, that he was going to lose his brother, his sister, and the small shards of what could be called humanity he had left buried deep inside him. He hadn't lied when he told Sherlock his loss would break his heart. He could feel the cracks as he watched his brother say his final goodbyes to his closest friend.

He steeled himself and went through the motions of finalizing his brother's death. Watched his get on the small private plane and fly away.

"Miss me?" The horrific ventriloquist image of Moriarty asked, mocking the world.

Maybe this was not the day for Sherlock to die.

ooOOoo

Sherlock was escorted back to 221B after having spent hours with Mycroft, Lestrade and John trying to make sure everyone would be safe. Who was behind this? He saw the man die.

He couldn't make his mind quiet, he walked blindly into the front lounge, tossing his coat on the couch and falling into his chair, his hands steeple over his lip, elbows on his knees.

The building is empty, Mrs. Hudson having been taken to a more protected location, so he was safe to go deep into his own head, knowing no one would pull him out. As he started to close his eyes, he heard the doorbell. His eyes flicked to the door, he was sure he'd put that insufferable bell in the bins outside of Mrs. Hudson's kitchen before he left for his ill-fated holiday gathering, but with no one else there, he felt compelled to see who was causing the noise. He strode to the window with a touch of odd apprehension and looked down. There was a woman on his doorstep, carrying a backpack and bundled against the chill, rubbing her glove clad hands together as if they did nothing to fight the creeping cold blowing outside. She rang again. The noise jarred him but he kept watch, willing her to leave. Now was not the time for a client, he just had to wait for her to leave. She was persistent and rang a third time, her head tilting up this time to catch the slight movement she sensed above her. He only needed that slight glimpse of her face. This wasn't a client.

He flew down the steps two at a time and threw the door open. She stepped back with a gasp. His face shifting through emotions almost faster than she could process. Recognition, shock, confusion, fear, back to shock.

The last time he had seen his sister, she was a child, all ruddy cheek and uncoordinated limbs, but he knew it was her. Her eyes hadn't changed.

He finally spoke. "Ainsley?"

She took a step forward and wrapped her arms around him. He tensed at the hug at first, he couldn't quite get used to human contact like this, but feeling the warm press of someone he had missed so terribly, someone who he loved so much, someone who he had tried so hard to forget, he let his arms curl around her and pull her in. "Are you real?"

"Of course I am, can we please go inside, it's damn cold out here." She finally said against his chest with a soft chuckle.

He didn't want to let go, but he relented and led her upstairs.

Once they were in the warmth, he remembered how to speak. "I don't – How are you here?"

Ainsley tried to keep the mood light, shucking off her backpack and coat, letting it drop on top of where Sherlock had left his. "Airplane. Fascinating invention, it can get you from Chicago to London in about half a day, if you don't bother to waste time packing anything but the barest of essentials. I may need to go shopping. "She paused and watched him, her face shifting in concern. "I got here as fast as I could, I should have come sooner."

He couldn't stay still, pacing as she calmly stood and took off her gloves and scarf. "It's a bit exhausting though. Calling off work, finding flights, someone to watch the cat, but I'm here." She finally walked over to him, brushing a hand on his arm as he paced past. "La, you have to calm down. It's okay. Can we sit down please? I am a bit wiped out."

He spun on her so quickly and with a look in his eyes so dark and frightening she felt herself backing onto the couch. "You can't be here. You just can't. I'm not safe to be around." Focusing finally, he saw her face and quickly dropped down in front of her, grabbing both her hands to calm her, or maybe calm himself. She tensed involuntarily. "No, it's not—"He didn't know what to say anymore.

She swallowed the hard lump that had formed in her throat. "It's okay. I know you won't hurt me." She steeled herself a bit, speaking barely above a whisper. "Mycroft told me, I sent him a text on Christmas, and he told me what happened." She put a hand on his cheek. "Are you okay?"

"I haven't been okay in a very long time." He moved to sit next to her on the couch, the room falling into the uncomfortable silence again before he spoke, needing to steer away from the darkness growing in the room. "You have a cat?"

"Yep." He smiled inside when she popped the p at the end of the word. Some things you do as children always stick. "One cat, one boring job, no boyfriend. Living the dream."

"God that sounds horrible, the cat and job, not sure how I would feel if you had a boyfriend." They both laughed.

"I heard about your last girlfriend. Sorry fiancé" She drew the word out with gentle mocking. "Not your best move."

"I needed to acquire information she had, I just utilized human nature. It was a means to an end." She felt him tense and worried she was leading them down a dark path again.

"And get shot?"

"Apparently."

"All my last boyfriend did was steal my microwave."

"She didn't shoot me." He took a beat. "Who steals a microwave?"

"Apparently the men I date."

They laughed again, it had been over twenty years since they had talked, but they fell into the same easiness they had felt when they were children.

"I've missed you. I never stopped missing you." She finally said, feeling like just saying it lifted a weight off her. "I always asked, tried to keep track, the blog helped, John seems nice." She paused, suddenly nervous in his silent focus on her. "Did you miss me?"

"I always assumed you hated me, it was all my fault, you got hurt, and sent away because I didn't know how to be normal. I still don't know how to be normal. Probably worse now. I couldn't let myself miss you, Ainsley. It hurt too much. The emotions were too intense. I had to push you away, deep in here," He tapped his temple gently, "so I could keep going. I'm sorry." He leaned forward and fell into his thinking position, peaked hands, elbows on knees. His hand ran through his hair as he sighed.

She reached forward and stroked his hair. "I never understood how you kept everything in there. You would look so lost. I never forgot that look, when you would just disappear into your own mind and look so lost."

"I've gotten better. Learned how to make it all make sense, organize it, but after what happened, I saw what that can become, having so much in your mind. Rooms and rooms of everything. It made him a monster. I think sometime that I am not far from that." She took his hand as he spoke, easing him back to the couch, pulling him against her shoulder and resuming gently stroking his hair.

"You're not a monster La, you just need ballast to keep your head straight. You have John, you have friends who care about you, and you have me now. I think you'll be okay." They sat for a long time after that in silence, just curled together, remembering what it was like to have someone you love close to you. It was like riding a bicycle.

ooOOoo

"They have a sister?" Mary was walking laps at the foot of their bed, the baby not letting her curl up like she wanted to. She pause for a moment and laughed. "What's she like?"

"She's interesting. She and Sherlock argue like they are still kids, but she also is the first person I have seen pull him out of the 'I am too smart to listen to anyone here' silent—thing—he does. It was amazing really. Oh, and she doesn't put up with Mycroft, so, that's always a plus."

"Oh, she's like their dad? Now I really want to meet her. If she tells either of them off in front of me, I might kiss her." John sat up at that.

"I—I wouldn't stop you, I mean, if you really felt compelled." He crawled to the end of the bed and reached for her wrist, pulling her to him to a quick kiss before she started laughing suddenly.

"What's funny now?"

"I just wonder what will happen when she meets Molly. I know Sherlock is oblivious, but Ainsley sure sounds like is not, THAT is going to be fun to watch.

ooOOoo

Ainsley woke up with a start the next morning, she'd fallen asleep curled up on the floor with Sherlock and had no recollection of being put to bed. She crept out of his bedroom and headed quietly to the kitchen to make coffee. She thought about making tea, but she was loath to admit that she had never caught that long ingrained British trait. She liked coffee, black, with two sugars. She barely was through the door and could hear Sherlock's pacing, the quiet methodical padding of his bare feet on the floor. She was surprised the floor didn't have ruts. "Sherlock?" No response. She switched tack, "La?" The padding stopped.

He came into the kitchen fully dressed except his shoes and started talking, apparently continuing a conversation that she was unaware they had been having, considering she had just woken up. "Mary is taking you shopping, John and I need to head down to NSY and go over some information Lestrade has pulled about this Moriarty situation, for once someone down there was able to do their job and has a lead on where the signal was coming from. You'll be safe with Mary and Mycroft is sending a car for the both of you so there will be someone watching. By the time you're done we should be at Bart's, I need to look over the reports from after his death, maybe there is something there they aren't seeing. I never should have let those files sit this long without looking them over. Molly was still helping me so I know they did something wrong. She's the only one there worth working with. Now if—"As he paced the kitchen and unleashed his seemingly never-ending stream of thought, she set about making coffee, her head suddenly pounding.

"LA! Calm down, please? I just woke up." He became instantly quiet and reticent. If anyone else had interrupted Sherlock Holmes, they would have been on the receiving end of an even longer tirade, but Ainsley wasn't just anyone. "What time is it?"

He fished his phone out of his pocket, "Half past nine."

"What time do we need to meet everyone?"

"Mary and John are on their way. It may be a bit, Mary has slowed down a bit since she got pregnant. It's inconvenient."

"How long is a bit?" She poured two cups of coffee, feeling on odd pang that she didn't know how he took his. "Coffee?"

"Half hour, and yes, black with two sugars."

She smiled and handed him a coffee. "So there is time for something for breakfast." She opened reached to open the fridge and he dashed over to stop her, remembering the bag of thumbs on the top shelf and not wanting to have to explain.

"I don't really eat. We'll have to go out if you want something since Mrs. Hudson isn't here."

Her face knotted in worry. "You don't want to eat, you have gone from pacing to deadly calm to pacing at the turn of a dime, did you sleep?" She put both her hands to his cheek and looked deeply into his eyes. "La, look at me."

He leaned back. "I'm not high, Ainsley." He carefully pulled her hands from his face, keeping hold of them. "I promise. This is just how I need to function when I am trying to find answers. I can't let things slow me down. Eating and sleeping just get in the way of work."

This didn't lessen her concern, if anything it made it worse. "Will you please have something to eat with me? For my sanity?"

"I'll consider it."

She sighed and slid her hands from his and headed to the bathroom to try to make herself a little more presentable. "I should have come back a long time ago."

He let a half smile come across his face. "I agree."

ooOOoo

Ainsley and Mary laughed as the got off the elevator a few hours later. John had sent her a text to let her know that he and Sherlock were at Bart's and, hopefully, close to done. The girls had already had a lovely lunch and had dropped off their prizes at Baker Street.

Ainsley felt a prickle of discomfort as they headed down to the pathology lab. Hospitals in general were not her favorite place, but the home of corpses seemed even worse. Hopefully they would not have to stay long.

They were greeted by the image of Sherlock clearly ready to snap someone in half. That someone was the grey haired man in from of him who held his hands up, clearly relenting. John stood between them, trying to smooth the situation.

"That's enough boys, fighting each other will not help this at all."

Sherlock huffed and pouted a bit. Lestrade turned around and made for the door, stopping once he saw Ainsley. "Oh, Hello." He extended his hand, eyes alight, whoever this girl was with Mary, she was striking. "Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade."

Ainsley shook his hand with a warm smile. "I'm Ainsley."

Sherlock instantly saw the look. "No, just, no. That is my sister. Don't hit on her."

Lestrade's eyes went wide and he looked back and forth between them. "No, wait, what?" He sighed, letting go of her hand a little too quickly. "Sorry."

Ainsley's look pierced into Sherlock. "No need to apologize Greg, my charming brother seems to forget that I am no longer seven. It's lovely to meet you."

They look at each other for a brief moment before Sherlock unceremoniously walked Lestrade out of the lab. "Thank you again, you were so much help. Bye now."

John and Mary just laughed.

Sherlock turned back went back to Ainsley, standing almost nose to nose, ready to have along talk with her about her clear lack of good sense in men, when Molly walked in and immediately started apologizing for what she thought she was walking in on. "Oh! I'm sorry, you, you need time to talk, I'll come back." John noticed her flush and spoke up to save the day.

"Oh Molly! No, it's fine. Sherlock was just – um—yeah—she's his sister!"

Sherlock gave Ainsley a 'we'll talk about this later' look and turned to Molly. "Yes, Molly, this is Ainsley, my clearly misguided sister."

"Shut up Sherlock. He was just introducing himself, Christ! Hello Molly." She offered the woman her hand and watched her eyes dart to Sherlock as she shook, noting the wash of relief. Interesting, this one clearly had a crush on her brother. "You've known my brother a while then?"

Molly tucked a loose hair behind her ear and smiled. "Yeah, he's here a lot."

Sherlock made a small noise of assent and Ainsley stepped back to watch the interaction with rapt attention. He was almost nice to her. "Did you find anything Molly?"

"I found the file Sherlock, it was almost as if someone didn't want us to find it. None of it makes sense to me." He leaned in closer to her as opened the file, reading over her shoulder. Ainsley knew for Sherlock that was intimate.

Ainsley raised an eyebrow, looking over at John, he smiled and shrugged.

"Well, it shouldn't make sense. It's all fake, I just need to figure out who helped him."

Molly looked up at him, "That's the weirdest part." She flipped to the end of the report. "All this paperwork says it was me."

"Clever, if I weren't alive, you'd have gone down for fraud and aiding a criminal once he came back. You really have the worst tastes in men Molly."

Her look could have set him on fire as she snapped the file closed and slapped it to his chest. He always knew the exact wrong thing to say. Her warm tone went. "Well, I don't know what else to tell you Sherlock. I can ask around and see who was on duty that night, but we have had some staffing changes since, so, there's no guarantee."

Ainsley watched at Sherlock switched from pompous to contrite in an instant. "I'm sorry, Molly, yes, if you could, thank you."

Her brother was endlessly fascinating. She remembered how he used to be with other people, intense, quiet, his mind shutting him off from just about everyone. She had figured that had not changed and had seen glimpses in how he interacted with John, Mary, Mycroft and the mysterious Detective Inspector. She'd read about his quirkiness on John's blog, so seeing him react to this girl the way he acts with her, was absolutely amazing. "Huh." She said before she realized she's made a noise.

His head popped up to meet her eyes. "What?"

"Nothing." She smiled. "Nothing at all."

ooOOoo

Back Baker Street, Ainsley cornered Mary in the kitchen as they set to cook while the boys discussed how to progress with the situation they found themselves in.

"So how long has my brother been in love with Molly?"