A/N: I have more ideas for this story, but I haven't gotten any feedback for the last chapter. I'd like to know if their's still interested. Is the pace too slow? Is it too boring? Does it make any sense at all? Is there something specific you'd like to see? Please let me know! I want to give you my best. Thank you!
As it turned out, the senior Holmes's weren't able to come in person before another couple of days, to Mycroft's great relief. Sherlock ended up spending the next day with the Watson's and their hosts. He found himself relaxing and enjoying everyone's company, and suddenly realized how much he had missed John.
The conversation was lighthearted, punctuated by Rosie's babbling and Mrs. Hudson's continuous fussing. Stella Manning, their landlady's sister, was a divorced woman with two adult children, and a very different personality from her sister. She was more reserved and didn't talk much, but took John and Rosie under her wing with gentle care. Sherlock was relieved that they were in good hands.
Martha, Stella, and John were all after Sherlock to extend his visit, and stay for several days. Sherlock politely declined, saying he had things to take care of in the city. He first wanted to see himself and Mycroft through their parents' visit, and would take it from there.
Mycroft busied himself in his office, trying to seal all the leaks that had been sprung, and secure Sherrinford once more. New staff had been installed, with new instructions, and all of the former staff were undergoing rigorous psychiatric debriefing. Moriarty's file was dug up and gone over with a fine tooth comb, searching for any links they might have missed.
Mycroft would never say it out loud, or let it show, but his brother's presence in his home was reassuring, soothing some of his angst. Having him near also eased some of his constant 'concern', as he was able to keep a close range eye on him.
Two more days passed, spent by the Holmes's in both their individual visual pursuits and a couple of planning sessions, regarding the meeting with Mummy and Dad. Sherlock noticed his brother's growing anxiety, and felt enough compassion to tone down his snarky remarks. He was sure Mycroft appreciated that.
The night before the fateful meeting, the detective fell asleep with an uneasy feeling in his gut, a premonition that some things would not be alright.
Holding his breath, the consulting detective silently dismantled the security cameras and broke into the room. The balaclava and black clothes were so clichéd as to make him wince, but effective nevertheless.
This was all Mycroft's fault, once again. His premonition had proved itself to be right, when the meeting turned into a blowup. Accusations were flung, sharp words were spoken, and by consensual agreement, Mycroft hadn't been speaking to anyone in his family since then.
Sherlock had felt somewhat guilty for standing by silently as the sparks flew, not stepping in and trying to make peace. He had counted on things calming down after a while, but it had turned out very differently.
He had tried texting and calling Mycroft, only to be met by silence. He spoke to his parents often, comforting them and promising to help Eurus. Only once did he mention Mycroft, and their reaction convinced him to drop the issue for now.
221b had been rebuilt, and Sherlock was back to solving cases with John. He also made twice weekly visits to Sherrinford, coordinated by Anthea. Mycroft refused to have contact with him directly.
Sherlock was irritated with his brother, and decided to let him play his game. He stopped trying to contact him. Sometimes, he would whip out his phone and begin typing a text, asking for information or assistance in some cases or other, when he would catch himself and angrily delete it.c
When Mrs. Hudson once tried calling Mycroft when her car was towed, Anthea had picked up and politely informed her that speeding while holding a mobile was against the law, and Mr. Holmes was involved with other matters. The landlady fumed at her attitude, and asked Sherlock to intervene. Sherlock solved the matter through Lestrade, but was fuming too.
He predictably marched into the anterior of Mycroft's office, and flatly demanded to be let in. Anthea looked at him coolly, and informed him in bored tines that her boss was unavailable to meet with hime.
Before Sherlock could attempt to break in, Anthea spoke up while still typing away. "We both know why you're here, Mr. Holmes. You come here only to take, and never to give." She busied herself with her tasks without saying another word.
The detective stayed rooted to his place, looking alternatively at the PA and his brother's door. He then turned around to leave with quiet steps, his shoulders unnaturally slumped.
During his continued visits to his sister, Sherlock began to feel a burning need to do more. He wanted to look at her previous psychiatric records, which now had a D notice slapped on them. He felt that if he could access them, he would gain much needed insight, and perhaps give back to his parents a daughter who would actually talk to them.
After fruitless appeals to Mycroft, through Anthea of course, and even Lady Smallwood, which were met with frosty refusals, Sherlock took matters into his own hands, and broke into Sherrinford, where the records were kept, and hacked into the computer system for good measure. He had found what he came for, with none the wiser. Or so he thought.
It was only when he found himself trussed up like a chicken later that night, in his own home to boot, that he realized how erroneous his assumptions were. He didn't know who the five big guys were working for, but they were clearly well-trained and dangerous, and wanted all the information he had on Sherrinford.
Their attempts at intimidation was laughable, until they began showing him the video clips. They had their eyes on everyone! John playing with Rosie in Stella's kitchen, Molly curled up on her couch with Toby, even Lestrade drinking at his kitchen table in a dressing gown. The cameras were close enough to get all the details, and a frisson of fear slithered up Sherlock's back.
They wanted to know more than he was ever prepared to tell them. Giving them the information would let loose the most dangerous of criminals, and then nobody would be safe. Nobody. Eurus might even take the opportunity and come after them again. No matter how much he cared for her, her twisted psyche made her a threat.
"No," was all he said, over and over again. "No, no, no." The sudden pounding of feet was heard upon the stairs, and he dared to hope. Had rescue arrived?
He had never been more glad for the sight of his pompous git of a brother. A sliver of warmth stole into his heart. Big Brother was still following him around, still watching him. He watched Mycroft walking over calmly to one thug, swinging his umbrella. "Mission complete," he said, and the guy nodded, "Yes, sir," and left with his men.
"Mycroft?!" Sherlock said, his voice small. "What... what was that?"
His question was answered by none other than Lady Smallwood, who had arrived behind Mycroft. "We needed to know whether our security had been compromised by you. We had to find out whether you would be willing to talk." She looked at glared at him icily.
"You have an invitation, brother mine, at my office tomorrow," Mycroft said in his coldest voice, which made Antarctica compare to the Sahara at midday. Be prompt. You don't want to make us come and get you."
Mycroft and Lady Smallwood turned around and left without another word. Sherlock stayed behind, feeling furious, betrayed, and heartbroken.