*Minds of Carat*

~WhiteGloves~

New light and feels~

*Warning for conspiracies and Sherlock's findings*

-Enjoy Reading!-

4: Broker

Sherlock saw the doctor moan on the floor while clutching his bloody nose and this above everything made his day. A split of smile appeared on his face as he watched the man try to support himself while his brother stood, immobilize beside him. Glancing in his direction, Sherlock saw Mycroft put a hand on his forehead with the most exasperated expression.

"What?" the detective began again in defence as he caught his brother's glaring eyes, his hands both inside his pockets to show no contact was made. "He's drugging you to death; I'm more surprised you're even calm considering you never let me forget how cross you were with the punch last Christmas."

Mycroft eyed him with the alarm still ringing around them.

"That is entirely out of question—this isn't an occasion for a display of temper!"

"Yet you're angry." Sherlock pointed out, leaving Mycroft to stare at him again and watched his brother look back at the doctor with a bemused expression at what to do next just as three officers flooded in with guns out, pointing in their direction—

"Don't move!" one of the men shouted at Sherlock who stared at them flatly.

"It's alright," Mycroft said as he stepped in front of his brother with one hand up as two of the guards advanced towards them while one went to help the assailed doctor, "he's harmless now. And keep those guns away, for Christ sake."

But before Mycroft could take another step, he was violently seized by the shoulder and was forced to sit down on the chair with the guard's firm hand holding him down and a gun on his face. Sherlock, who didn't quite expect this, moved on instinct and was almost on top of the guard if he hadn't been shoved backwards followed by outrageous orders that didn't appear comprehensible to his ears. His eyes were burning holes on the man pointing a gun at his brother.

Mycroft seemed to be thinking the same as his eyes levelled with the gun.

"Put it down." He said so coldly that Sherlock didn't even have to see his expression to know how his commanding side had resurfaced from its lair. "Or you won't have an easy existence with your feet on this land."

There was a momentary hesitation on the guard's part as he exchanged glances with his companions while Sherlock continued boring his dark eyes at them with ears hot. Mycroft had never been manhandled by anyone—except for him and never on his presence. What he just saw was so raw it made him clench his fist.

But above all was the gun—never mind what was pointing at him—the gun towards Mycroft was most unforgiving as flashes of his memory on the island made Sherlock take a step, making the gun pointing in his own way to get pressed on his chest. If they don't remove that now...

"Not on the head, you imbecile." Came a sudden voice as Dr. Norton stood up ungracefully with his hand on his nose. "It's more than all your government's head put together." He straightened up, his nose still bloody and Sherlock watched him wipe it gingerly with the back of his hand. Then the doctor's eyes were on him.

"Always so violent and moody, you were then and now Sherlock Holmes."

The use of his name in the tone of menace rang something familiar at the back of Sherlock's brain.

What was that?

But Sherlock was angry for another reason. "I told you not to mess with my brother."

There was a pause from Norton as Mycroft stayed silent then—

"It's all part of his recovery."

"Liar. What drugs have you been giving him?"

"Now now, stop making theories," Norton sniffed and spat on the ground, then turned to him again. "You were always the stupid little boy."

That was when Sherlock felt a sudden ring in his ears and a tightening around the stomach—and for the briefest second he thought he heard the same man's voice somewhere inside his own head repeating it over and over like an episode that felt so real.

In his memory, it was Mycroft's voice deep in his head that repeated it but it was all turning and recognizing Norton's tone... like a puzzle piece fitting itself. As if it had been there, buried like so many others. Like a part of a memory he failed to remember yet again. Like another unclear memory...

Confused, the detective looked away as he felt cold sweat run down his face.

What?

Momentarily blank, he then heard his big brother's icy voice.

"Say another word, doctor, I swear."

Sherlock blinked and glanced towards his brother's direction in time to see him looking at Norton with daggers in his eyes. And that's when Sherlock figured out there was more to this doctor and his brother than what they seem to be showing. That there was something else going on that actually involved him. Burning questions jumped at him one after another that it was taking him all his patience not to ask that ever enigmatic big brother of his who couldn't even tell him straight in the face their sister killed his best friend.

And Sherlock made a mental note to have a session with his big brother where he gets to ask all the questions and not give him the chance to pass. Maybe even tie him to a chair.

Norton had smiled down at Mycroft and seemed to have backed down in understanding as he wiped his nose again.

"All right, your will be done. As a matter of fact I won't even be pressing charges, for old time's sake." He looked up at Sherlock with an unknown elation in his eyes that disturbed the detective. "I am hopeful that this would be the last time we will be seeing each other, little boy." He grinned.

It was all Sherlock needed as flashes of the same man's face—albeit younger—shook inside his memory, making the younger Holmes gasp violently. Norton blinked but his smile ever remained.

"What's the matter? You look like a lost ball in the weeds."

"Mycroft!" Sherlock snarled angrily as the man's face flashed in his mind again and again— who was he?

"Take him out."

Sherlock heard silence next as he recognized his brother's firm voice. Looking up, he saw Mycroft watching him this time with the most confusing expression. Mycroft looked incensed with the curve of his mouth but worried on top of his brow. Like how he had looked like with the aftermath of the clown in his house. Cold in the hands yet blazing in the eyes. Sherlock had always wondered how his brother was able to conceal his fear that night when he came calling to Baker Street the next morning. He was the opposite when he came, all calm, poised and most of all, indifferent.

But is it alright to leave his brother as is? He glanced at Mycroft and saw his glare—as if the man knew exactly what was on his mind and was daring him to say it. His expression was a combination of all—anxious, yet firm... worried, yet trying hard to be in control. Sherlock knew his brother all too well to know another storm was coming. A storm involving him and their past.

Before he could say another word, however, he was taken by the arms and was jostled towards the door. Sherlock would have struggled hadn't it been for the way Mycroft was looking at him again—as if reminding him of the job that had to be done. The urgency in his eyes pushed away all other doubts in Sherlock who gritted his teeth and swore...

They'll be dealing with it later... he eyed the doctor contemptuously. Why was Mycroft behaving so... behaved?

Sherlock had looked back at his brother but Mycroft was to have the last words.

"Send the regards to mother. I'll come by to arrange tea next time again."

The younger Holmes pressed a foot down to stop the haul. Mycroft had the most impassive expression.

"If she knew about this, she'll be poking you with the umbrella." Sherlock promised.

"Well, take care of it. Or it'll cause you an arm and a leg."

Time was of essence if Mycroft was to stay put with that vulture Sherlock thought as once outside the building he quickly took his phone out and dialled John's number. Urgent, Urgent, the words were pumping on his very vein. He stepped into the clearing, intending to be out and about when out of nowhere; a police car drove in front of him on the sidewalk and stopped inches away from his feet. The detective didn't have to know who was behind the wheels when he pulled the door and slid beside the passenger's seat.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, annoyed as the car drove on to the road, leaving behind the dark walls of the prison into the mid afternoon light. Detective Inspector Lestrade looked at his rear view mirror and then cast his eyes back on the road.

"Following your brother's instructions, the usual."

Sherlock sighed and turned on his phone and started a message instead. Then it occurred to him.

"When was it?"

"Last month." Greg turned the wheels and they were on the main road next, "He said to be here at this exact time because I had to take you to the precinct. He said you'd attack someone so I had to make sure you'll be in my division's custody. Didn't seem like they wanted to take you anywhere else, eh?" he turned to the detective and was surprised to find Sherlock staring at him transfixed. "What?"

So Mycroft had anticipated this behaviour up to a month? Typical.

Until when did he see things turning? Sherlock clicked his tongue and continued messaging a number of people.

"I did break someone's nose but we both know it's always well deserved."

Greg shrugged. "Sometimes, maybe." He looked at Sherlock. "You know I follow your brother's orders to the last letter but I can't help feeling things are a bit getting serious up there. I've been hearing a lot of things from the force too, luckily I'm on a special division but that does not make me invincible—"

"What kind of things?" Sherlock patterned his brother's coded message before he left the room and knew his next location would be. Then he remembered Greg beside him and waited for an answer.

"Security details, head of different divisions... there's a power struggle up there, one I've never felt so true before."

"That's what happens when they lock up my brother." Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "And you were supposed to make sure he was looked after. What happened to that?"

Greg gave him the oddest look and scratched his left ear uncomfortably.

"Yeah, imagine me telling that to your brother, I thought I met my commandant back in the academy again. He doesn't need looking after. I did try you know—suggested he take a break? He told me if I don't stop I'm the one getting the break. Then told me to not say another word and when he says that you just listen."

"Hmm... funny how it works so well to other people."

"You don't know your brother—"

Sherlock only had to give him another flat stare.

"I mean—he's been doing this for a number of decades now, eh?" Greg half glanced at him and then at the road for the road was not empty, "He's the kind of person who always knows his job and really too good at it. He's already indispensable."

"And look where he is now." Sherlock's eyes glinted darkly. "Indispensable, indeed."

"If you had wanted him looked after from the start you should have tried too, you know." Went on the inspector, "If there was any time he was vulnerable you must've known it was after that incident in the island. Just remembering the details still bring chills to me, what more—you're family member. I could totally see your brother deciding her containment though, but then he's always been tough. So there was no better chance of getting through him than that day, what say you?"

The detective fell silent for awhile. "I had... a few matters at hand there too."

"Yeah, I suppose... and he would have scolded you in the end though. Big brother that he is."

"Big brother that he is." Sherlock looked away on the window and gave a silent sigh. Who would have thought this was already happening to his brother? The moment he returned from the island and was able to get a grip of himself after everything, all Sherlock could think about was how to make contact with her again. Forget about everything, his sister needed his help and he owed her that.

Mycroft never said a word. He never says a word of things that actually matter!

Sherlock has had suspicion his brother was holding back even when their parents had confronted him and even felt ready to defend him because whatever Mycroft did, he did out of his belief that he was doing them good. He knows that now. Mycroft was never the selfish brother he imagined him to be just to loathe him. He knows that now. Mycroft who was never present but always available should the occasion rise and when his little brother was in deep trouble.

Even when he was just bored and left alone Mycroft was there to keep him company even humouring him with games the both of them secretly enjoys. Then there was after Sherrinford. The way Mycroft was so silent during those days they were trying to get their sister from her own world, Sherlock should have known.

But why didn't he ask his older brother? Why didn't anyone ask how he had been? Lestrade did but surely there were other people closer to Mycroft who should have done so? Their parents? Himself? A person he can confide with—

To whom can Mycroft confide into? The answer was almost absolutely— nil.

Mycroft was not the type to open up, no matter how hard one tries. Unless there was the clown—Sherlock had a sudden vision of a man in white coat and a bloody red nose. It made him suck another lungful of air, his head momentarily confused... the next thing he knew, Lestrade had resumed talking beside him.

"Your brother said if you aren't to be sent to prison I should bring you back to Baker Street. He said he sent a package there that would come soon today. That place or the bolthole you've been using. Which would it be?" He looked inquiringly at Sherlock who had pressed his eyes tight and stared at him flatly.

"You know my new bolthole?"

"Yeah, the one across the Parliament? The abandoned building? It wasn't so abandoned before you used it—you know the homeless— then your brother had it vacated because he knew you'd be using it."

Sherlock gritted his teeth.

"Of course he'd know the perfect spot I'd choose, that Machiavellian." He muttered to himself and shook his head. Who else know his mental capacity other than his brother? "What else did he tell you in advance?"

"Well," the inspector went on, "he said you'd be giving something to Molly and me. I have her waiting at her lab now. Your brother called her a month ago too."

Sherlock shot him a quick look of surprise. "What?"

"He was guessing you'd be bringing a tablet or what? Penicillin?"

Sherlock turned and looked ahead of him. They had made it through the busy central street with people moving in packs without stopping. Then he was silent for awhile but the way he chewed on his lips was enough to make Lestrade glance at him in curiosity. Sherlock really had to give it to his brother to know even his slight sudden impulses in mind. Not to mention the probability of it all happening. Mycroft was the real deal.

Taking a dose of my own medicine huh? Before he knew it, Sherlock was chuckling.

"What's happening?" Greg asked sounding apprehensive. "What's on your mind?"

"Only Mycroft Holmes can pull this one on me." Sherlock said as slowly, he put his hand inside his coat pocket and took out what looked like a syringe. Sherlock stared at it as he raised it on his eye level. The syringe was half full with a transparent substance that cannot be mistaken from water. And in his mind's eye, Sherlock remembered how he knocked the doctor's head while his hand slipped inside the doctor's coat pocket in the speed of light.

Mycroft anticipated all that?

Does that mean his brother knew all along what he was getting himself at? That he would be drugged inside prison? He seemed too surprise when they both found it out moments ago; it was what actually made Sherlock doubt his brother. He seemed truly flabbergasted at the injections? But then the idea of Mycroft not knowing was laughable—he figured out his enemies' moves and his brother's moves to the last dot—why then does he looked surprise with the TD12 or whatever substance this was?

Or did he already forget? Was Mycroft's memory already deteriorating?

Sherlock had the sudden impulse to return in the prison and gritted his teeth for he knew Lestrade's ready answer.

"Take me back."

"Nope." There wasn't even a fraction of hesitation there and Sherlock knew Mycroft's bidding was still on the work.

"Fine, stop the car." He began fumbling on the car's handle, making the inspector groan at him and stopped the car near the block. The detective threw the syringe on the detective's hand as he slammed the door behind him. "Get this to Molly and get in touch once you know the compounds. Text me." He said, his mind already flying to his brother's last message.

"Where are you going?"

"As if you didn't know. I'll disprove his readings and get my on my own path. Not everything can be calculated by my brother." The detective muttered under his breath as he hailed a cab and finish what Mycroft could not. Who else aside from his brother knows about this Milverton Smith? The answer was right under his nose.

Back in the car, Detective Inspector Lestrade put the syringe inside his chest pocket and turned the car's lever stick just as he muttered to himself—

"Yeah, your brother said you say that."

Sherlock took in the dark room, waiting. He had positioned himself on the chair his brother usually occupied and sat there, two feet on top of the table, his palms pressed together and quietly let the information flew before his eyes.

On the air floated the word Conspiracy. Then there were others words in varying sizes:

Sherrinford, Royal Society, They.

Porlock, Love, Antarctica, Napoleon, Medical Society, British Government... Queen. MI5 and MI6... The Secret Service.

Thaddeus Norton, Milverton Smith, Culverton Smith...

All of which were his brother's words. Surely by following his train of thoughts, Sherlock too—can identify his brother's next move if not his plan.

Sherlock smirked to himself that didn't reach his eyes as he sat in an isolated room with only a lamp on his side as company. His brother's office always gave him a tranquil atmosphere with side mirrors and a red phone sitting by the table in front of him. The last words of his brother was still ringing in his ears as he sat in silence, his mind already deep within his mind palace.

"Take care of it or it will cause you an arm and a leg."

It didn't seem like a false threat.

So what were the facts? That Mycroft was imprisoned on his own accord while the government—or whoever he was in contact with— was setting the net on Milverton Smith who must have been such a dignitary if Mycroft was involved. Mycroft does not let himself get involved easily. Which would mean this was something big for the country.

Sherlock's thoughts lingered on the British Intelligence... and this Milverton Smith...

Sherlock locked his jaw as he tried to pry information from his mind—of the little knowledge he's taken from what he remembers from Culverton's case. He had transfixed himself on Culverton that nothing else divided his attention—apparently not to that big brother working in the government as his data suggested. Milverton had a clean background too: his connections were great and his expertise in the field of science got his the highest notable awards, even ones recognized by the Queen.

So he was not such a small fry as Culverton. Mycroft never paid attention to Culverton anyway so that in itself was a statement. Only to realise the British Government Head was actually drawing nets around the big brother for reasons only those above Mycroft's protocol is allowed to know. Sherlock couldn't have access to such data without his older sibling who knows everything.

So the idea that Culverton despised his brother for some abhorrent reason only psychopaths understand was new to him. With the aftermath of the case of Mary and with John forgiving him, Sherlock could careless of what happened next to Culverton Smith. Who would have thought he would be a key in unlocking one of Mycroft's most awaited Pandora's boxes and that Milverton tried to go against Mycroft but it was like a tiny ship facing a wave ten times its size.

Milverton must've realised he was ruined if Culverton was persuaded to talk; or if his brother needed any persuasion at all because as Sherlock understands it, the man was much too willing to take his own brother down. Truth be told, Sherlock was fascinated by the very idea. He had had one too many cases of sibling killings in John's blog and even before him the detective had recorded history of brothers falling on the hands of the other. Cases like that come and go, it was like Mrs. Hudson and her unfailing chitchats six times a week. Bloodshed amongst family members was something even the Royal family couldn't escape, it was a legacy.

Funny, wasn't that what he has been dreaming of with Mycroft? Not too long ago he would have attacked Mycroft on his bed just to spite him. Many times he had tried sending death threats to his brother anonymously only to return to him with the most accurate details of what was on the detective's mind. Mycroft had always been able to read him and Sherlock doubted the man doesn't know how many times he has plotted his big brother's death while bored.

Mycroft would even welcome him for trying.

Then again, Sherlock was sure there had been previous attempts but none succeeded as his sister who had to work with Moriarty just to take Mycroft down. A chanced kill out of nowhere in the middle of the sea. Was that how dramatic his brother thought he'd die? Because Mycroft even allowed it. His brother who never really outweighed death in his chosen career volunteered to die in the stead of his friend. Death by dire need, Mycroft's action was screaming of it back then which happened to be the moment Sherlock realised how very much he does not want his brother dead.

In the words of others—they both have each other's back.

In that respect, Sherlock does not understand killing a sibling so easily. Or maybe long ago he did... but not anymore. The detective closed his eyes and remained still for a few more minutes till he heard the sound of oncoming footsteps. In the sound of three-inch heels.

Lady Smallwood came into the room.

Sherlock put his feet down and faced her with every bit of seriousness in his features. Something which Lady Smallwood seemed too unaccustomed with the way she raised both her eyebrows at him—and Sherlock knew Lady Smallwood does not think highly of him. He went back to the last time they met, an occasion where he blatantly accused her of being the mastermind behind the A.G.R.A case and then of course, acting high as a kite during his session with the Cabinet office. It made him a little sheepish. It made him thread a little slowly for this was after all the only one in power still helping him to visit his brother and the only person who could shed some light in his brother's problems.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes a little as she stood in front of the table, her eyes gazing around the table to the tiny details of the electric fan, notes and pen. Possibly the only person who cares for that big brother of his...?

"I hope it's not an inconvenience..." he began, sensing a new feeling of awkwardness at what he was reading from her.

She was looking straight at him. It was clear she was not like any other women. Someone who shares the same power as his brother surely could not be compared to common ones. Still he'd choose Mrs. Hudson any time any day for Lady Smallwood reeked with the same aura as Mycroft—secrets and deceits.

"I could ask the same." She replied quietly with eyes falling down the chair in front of her and then looking up at him again, "Isn't it an inconvenience for you to be here when you could have gone to Sherrinford instead? I heard she's been making progress."

Sherlock pressed his lips closed as he looked at her. Oh yes, she was angry about something.

"Would you like to take a seat, Lady Smallwood?"

She did and gracefully at that. Then she put both her knees together, her handbag on her lap with two hands on top and then went on watching him again with her sharp eyes. Sherlock could have sworn she looked a tad like his mother with the way she was ogling at him. He shook his head and cleared his throat.

But she beat him out of it.

"For all it's worth... your brother isn't as strong as he thinks he is."

Sherlock stared, struck at her sudden remark and how she seemed to have seen what he thought only he could see.

"I know." He whispered, looking in confusion at her intense gaze.

"I don't mean to pry to whatever relationship you two have, but it just seem too unfair that he is left to himself right after what happened on the island. Your brother is useless when it comes to emotional side—a point blank helpless for that matter. So it was a concern to see him struggle like a fish out of water during those times he was left to himself... thank god there was this case to occupy him; arguably he isn't one to ask for a help either. That's why he is an idiot. I could only wonder what he feels being stuck in that singular cell."

Sherlock looked down the table, speechless. Was he supposed to apologise? But the lady seemed unmindful as she went on again, "I haven't spoken to your brother since he was taken. It would seem too suspicious that I go there knowing I am being monitored myself."

Sherlock's eyes sparked with interest. "Monitored by whom?"

"Them." She said furtively.

"But who's them? I've been hearing about them from Mycroft but all I could get would be those beyond the Prime Minister as if you lot couldn't even be more specific."

"Why, who do you think is beyond the Prime Minister?"

"My brother." Sherlock said simply. Then he shrugged. "Intelligent wise."

Lady Smallwood was firm. "It is this intelligence that is the root of the problem. Nobody denies what Mycroft can do but we are in a situation where he no longer holds the power and that being him alone is a threat to the new office. You know what I mean."

"He knows everything from all corners, the shadow of the government." Sherlock supplied his deduction, "Once it's proven he's no longer mentally capable the risk of him still living out there where he could breath Military Intelligence or chances of him being overpowered by national terrorist means Britain's downfall."

"Doesn't sound too heavy, does it?" she remarked in ill humour but Sherlock just watched her every expression. "So it shouldn't come as a surprise that we are in a situation where your brother could be killed by Military Intelligence any time?"

Sherlock stared at her for a moment, and then arched an eyebrow a little as his suspicion was cleared.

"It sounds bad when said like that. That's the worst case scenario. Isn't that why he's trying to behave in his prison? So that things don't spiral too out of his control?"

"He's almost positive it won't come to that." Lady Smallwood transfixed her eyes on the detective again. "That's why you're here. This—" she produced a short brown folder from her bag and placed it on the table in front of him," is all we have about Milverton Smith and his affiliation with the government. I broke it out from the new security on the MI5 archives. Mycroft knows it but he's not one to print out information when he can just remember it, am I right?"

"Will you be all right?" Sherlock gave her a look but she didn't seem alarmed.

"Only time can tell what shall happen once they find that out. Let's both hope your brother's back when it happens. Anyway, you'll find from the profile that Mr. Smith is a capable individual and is the leader of one Military Operation that Mycroft does not agree with. He has been going head to head with Mycroft for some time now but he never wins... the last straw was of course, his brother Culverton Smith who has given a statement about his brother's illegal activities."

"Drugs and the sorts?"

"Much more." She nodded at the folder. "You'll find he is someone Mycroft considers to be 'foul' and 'hateful'. I rarely hear him speak so fervently about humans, as you already know."

Sherlock's eyes lingered on the profile with his mind impatient upon its content.

"Culverton knew all about his brother's illegal activities... then he died."

"Then he died." She nodded. "The exact day Mycroft disappeared from his house and was found in Sherrinford." Sherlock sat straight. Her eyes were speaking volume as she went on, "Many things happened when it was spread around the Cabinet and Ministers that he was dying, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. And in that brief period something happened... including Culverton's death. You and I can safely assume we're all in for a conspiracy and your brother's in the middle of it. And if by chance... might also be falling under the collateral."

"No." Sherlock whispered, eyes glinting at the Lady, "I won't let anything happen to my brother."

"You and I both can commit to that." Lady Smallwood answered with a press of her lips. "Mycroft's dilemma was Milverton could start propaganda against the Cabinet involving its leader's mental state. Without Culverton's statement alive, and Mycroft in prison because of his affair with Moriarty, no one will believe him. It is only a matter of time before someone takes him out and sentenced him for the worst. Your brother isn't someone the military intelligence can let go easily. So without him to lead... what do we do, Sherlock? Your brother had asked me to believe in you."

Sherlock blinked at her sudden change of pace. Mycroft had always believed in him too.

"Milverton Smith." He then said as he sat straight and took something from underneath the table and revealed the long, well known black umbrella of his brother. "Shall be going down tonight."

"How—?" she began with a frown on the object but was thunderstruck as she watched the detective reached his thumb on the umbrella's handle, turn it a little—and then pressed the bottom side where a loud click was heard and the next thing the handle opened, revealing a small electrical device—a sound recorder—

Lady Smallwood gaped as then the late Culverton Smith's voice spoke—

"You see, Mr. Holmes, there are people in power like you who wield it much more...say for instance, my brother?"

Sherlock and Lady Smallwood caught each other's eyes. Then the detective made a face and pressed the umbrella again—revealing the lower surface to blink red and the next thing—another part of the rod opened and out came a micro chip.

"Oh look, a video recorder storage. What devilish technology my brother possess." He looked up at her with a huge smile. "You see, that's why Culverton hated the umbrella."

Mycroft had watched Dr. Norton dust himself the moment Sherlock was gone and had to sigh patiently when it took forever for him to wipe his broken nose.

"Couldn't you come back later? I can barely look at your appearance, let alone with a broken surface." Mycroft clicked his tongue and shook the hand of the guard's man on his shoulder. It was too heavy for starters and he didn't like what he saw on his readings for the man's hand was bare.

"It's gone." Norton then said as he turned around in circles like a confused dog going after its tail, his hands rummaging in all his pockets. "It's gone."

He stopped and looked at Mycroft straight in the eyes. The way his eyes were so round alerted Mycroft to some form of mental attack—people with such intelligence as this doctor tend to turn out to be psychopaths, that really was certain.

"My new mixture's gone... and I was supposed to use them first hand on you." He stepped closer to the older Holmes who sat straight warily, knowing full well what had happened.

"That's why..." he said with each word crystal clear, "come back later, doctor or I shall be making a complaint. You had been infusing me with medicine without prescriptions; I can have you sued for that."

"It's all legal, there's no file you can address."

"Yes, with all the twisted personage behind you isn't it?" Mycroft licked his lips and sighed inwardly, "I figured as much. Still... to be using new drugs on me just to incapacitate me... my enemies sure have taken the low road. So desperate for my defeat..."

"Only leverage they can pull if they wanted to take you down, Mycroft."

"Don't call me by my first name." Mycroft said irritably.

"But I've always done that, to you little boys." He went toward the table in search of something while Mycroft closed his eyes as he indeed, remembered. How could he escape such a man who was part of his childhood?

"Not here." The doctor sighed as he looked up in time to see the British government head looking his way. "Oh well, no harm done, I suppose it's time to take you to it."

Mycroft's eyes rounded as Dr. Norton smiled.

"Let's break you out of prison?"

There was the most intricate pause and then Mycroft whispered—

"And I suppose there's no point asking if this is all legal?"

"I'm your legal doctor under the law so none at all."

Mycroft slowly looked down the ground, his mind racing and with what he could see from his mind's eye, things had just begun to really go downhill. Not that he didn't see it coming, it was all calculated...

He instinctively put a hand on his arm where the marks of the injections were.

So riskily calculated.

He just hoped he could be resilient before Sherlock could come back barging in.

-To be Continued-

A/N: We're all behind schedule T_T

I'm so sorry, my laptop crashed and then series of earthquakes happened! Tends to get your hands full xD

So when Sherlock asks 'Are you having an earthquake?' I'll jump up and down and cry YESSS!

But oh well, on important matters~ roll the chapter ;)

Thanks for Reading!