A/N: I hope you like this chapter, which contains a showdown between John and Mycroft. I find their relationship to be fascinating; two people who usually don't see eye-to-eye, yet share the same goal of protecting and helping the person they both care about. Please let me know how you liked it. Your reviews inspire and motivate me
It was two weeks after Mycroft's last visit when Sherlock put his next scheme into action. Mycroft had been given the ultimatum (come over tonight or I'm staying away until you do), and John was to be the unsuspecting victim. He had come over with Rosie, planning to stay the weekend in his old room. Mrs. Hudson had gleefully arranged a crib and all baby paraphernalia. It would be almost like the old times, and John was looking forward to it.
Five minutes before his brother's ETA, Sherlock casually mentioned to his friend, "Oh, Mycroft's coming over in a few, do try to be civil."
John looked up in surprise. "I know you've gone over to his place several times, I assume about family matters, any reason he's coming here?"
"Any reason?" Sherlock shot back. "For one, he happens to be my brother. An annoying, coldhearted bas*** of a brother, but still my family. And I know you've got some issues with him, well, so do I. He's interfering, condescending, sometimes outright despicable, though he did save my life so many times I lost count—"
"No, you didn't," A smug voice came from the doorway. "I know you keep score, you have it written down somewhere."
Sherlock looked up to see his brother standing in the doorway, leaning slightly on his ever present umbrella. "Fine, it's thirty six times."
"Forty two." Mycroft shot back. "Well, you know that time in Serbia didn't count, I could have gotten out on my own. At that time by the Thames was your fault to be—"
"You're wrong." Mycroft was scanning a small black book in his hands. "It was you who started—"
"You were the one who—"
"Enough!" John interrupted the brewing argument. "You guys are simply unbelievable. I've heard of keeping score, but this is too much. You actually write this stuff down?"
Sherlock stared at his friend in befuddlement. "Of course we do! As well as any favor done, including the level of magnitude. How else would we know when we're even?"
"Of course, the balance is in my favor now," Mycroft looked pleased at the thought. "My little brother will need to work hard to compensate."
John shook his head in despair. "You know, in ordinary families…Never mind. So, can I help you, or do you two need a minute?" John turned to Mycroft.
Rosie chose that moment to start whimpering in her baby swing. Sherlock picked her up and held her out to her brother. "Say hello to uncle Mycroft, Rosie!" he cooed.
"What are you playing at, Sherlock?" Mycroft was aghast.
"Well, I'm the Godfather, and you're my brother, so that makes you an uncle. Would you like to hold your niece?" When Mycroft just continued to stare at him, a horrified look on his face, Sherlock turned to John, "Isn't it amazing how a man who could start three wars within three minutes is terrified of holding an infant?" He shot a smug smile at his brother.
The newly dubbed uncle reached out to the infant and took her gently in his arms. He scrutinized her for a moment, and remarked, "She's grown quite a bit since I saw that picture of her. She's cutting a new tooth, probably keeping you up at night, and has begun pulling herself forward with her hands but does not crawl on her knees yet. Let's see… she's a bit on the smaller side for her age, that's to be expected considering her genetics. Overall, she seems quite healthy and developing well for her age."
"When did you become an expert on babies?" Sherlock demanded in surprise. John just shook his head again mutely. "Well, I did feed you your bottles when Mummy needed a break. Eurus too. She was, I must say, reasonably well behaved, drank her bottles calmly and burped on demand. You, on the other hand, were quite a fussy child. You tended to throw up all over my clothes, ruined several pairs of them…" he trailed of, his face contemplative as he recalled memories of long ago. "Does she tend to that to, Dr. Watson?"
"I'll just take her now" the doctor said hastily. "Actually, would you mind taking her, Sherlock? Go down with her to Mrs. Hudson or something, I believe we adults need to have a conversation," Mycroft said.
With a grandiose wave, Sherlock departed, leaving the two remaining men in uncomfortable silence. Mycroft was the first to break it, saying, "Dr. Watson. I believe I owe you a great debt for your invaluable assistance during our recent crisis. Your behavior was exemplary. I apologize to you for the role I played in those events."
I appreciate your kind words but let's cut out the formalities." John retorted. He leaned forward. "I just don't understand you. How could you have lied like that to Sherlock? How could you have manipulated him like that all those years?"
Mycroft smiled tensely, then took a deep breath. "It really is an internal family matter, but I know my brother considers you family. I will therefore endeavor to answer some of your questions, difficult as that is for me. However, you need to accept that there are some issues I cannot disclose without violating the privacy of other family members."
"Fine, so tell me about Sherlock. What happened to him after that traumatic events?"
The government man leaned back and closed his eyes. He began speaking slowly, in a low tone. "Sherlock was hysterical after Victor disappeared. He spent most of his time either crying, or frantically digging around in the earth, trying to find the clues our sister kept dropping. He was inconsolable. Shortly afterwards, our mansion burnt down, and we moved to a new place, only the four of us this time, without Eurus. Those changes were like an overload on an already fragile system, and Sherlock simply shut down. He was near catatonic. He didn't talk, or eat, or interact at all. He was hospitalized, put on different meds, had all kinds of different therapies. Slowly, he came out of his shell, and began talking again. Yet his personality was never the same.
"He recognized my parents and me, yet he never mentioned Eurus or Victor. The therapists recommended against bringing up their names, for fear that it would send him into another crisis. We took him home, and waited for him to ask about them. He never did.
"Several months later, I was reading Sherlock a story about a boy who had a pet dog. He was a prolific reader, of course, yet enjoyed being read to, so we would occasionally indulge him. He asked me, 'Did we ever have a dog, Mycroft? I think I remember playing with it. I remember running into the creek with it, splashing around in the water…'"
"I asked him if he remembered its name and after a moment of thought he answered 'Redbeard'. I was startled, and deflected the question. I told my parents, and they consulted the professionals. They were all at a loss. They had never encountered such a situation before. I then took it upon myself to monitor him, hoping I would be able to help him if his memories ever resurfaced."
"Oh my God," the doctor muttered. "But what about your parents? Why did you lie to them like that? And how could you treat your own sister like that?"
Mycroft's tone hardened, "I'm afraid I cannot answer the first question, as that involves the aforementioned invasion of privacy. As for my sister, what exactly would you have done in my position, Dr. Watson? You have seen for yourself what she is capable of."
"What if she was shown more love? Look at how Sherlock got through to her, with a little compassion."
"You're wrong John," voice came from the doorway. "I'm really sorry to interrupt, I just came to take a change of clothing for Rosie, and I caught your last sentence. You're a really good man John, you only see the best in everyone, but you need to open your eyes now.
"Eurus has a very fractured psyche, she cannot understand love like regular people do. I would love for all of us to live happily ever after, yet I have to accept it will never happen. Eurus's love for me, and her obsessive need for my attention, has cost too many lives. That almost included yours," Sherlock shuddered.
"Sentiment can be a dangerous thing." Mycroft spoke up. "In this case, Eurus caring for Sherlock has put him and those he's attached to in great danger. Eurus is incapable of empathizing with anyone, and her love is all about her, what she wants to get. She has put Sherlock through torture in order to get his attention, and she would continue to manipulate him if we weren't careful. As hard as it was for me to send her to that place, I will always place the safety of others first."
"I do understand that." John conceded.
"We're not finished yet. Would you please go downstairs and stay there?" Mycroft hissed. Sherlock waved again and sauntered out. John looked up at Mycroft, a shudder running through his spine at the ominous look the other man was giving him.
"I regret having to do this, yet I feel this is important. Please listen to this now," the British Government demanded, handing the doctor a small recording device with an earpiece. John put it in his ear and switched it on with trepidation.
"Say it for me," A silky smooth voice which John did not instantly recognize.
"I don't want to die," Sherlock! Oh, God, what in the world?!
"And again," "I don't want to die."
"Very good…and one more time."
"I don't…(voice breaking) want… to… die…"
John ripped the earpiece out. "What the hell!" he demanded, voice shaking.
"That's Culverton Smith and my brother, moments before the homicide attempt."
"And why in the world are you making me listen to this now?" John raged. "Okay, I get it. I beat him up badly. I deserve to hear this. I was in distress, but I should have controlled myself."
"That is only a small part of the problem, Dr. Watson." Mycroft said coldly. "Believe me, I can understand that urge, I have experienced it myself on occasion, it's a miracle I have managed to restrain myself until now. This is about the reason of his involvement in the first place.
"He did this for you. You need to understand the power you have over my brother. He cares little about what anyone thinks of him, including yours truly. You, however, he values your opinion above his own life. If you believe him to be a murderer, he will believe it of himself. If he thinks you believe him to be worthy of death, he will take it, no matter how much he still wants to live."
Mycroft softened his tone. "Dr. Watson, I am forever in your debt for what you have done for my brother. You have managed to do the impossible, and save Sherlock from himself. You stood by him despite all the pain he caused you, you never gave up on him despite his shenanigans. He has begun to trust again, and the credit is all yours." Mycroft paused.
"Which is exactly why he trusts you so much. And that's why you need to be careful about how you treat him, before something happens which you will both regret."
"I already told him he didn't kill Mary," John looked stricken. "She gave his life for him, it was her choice."
"You need to do better than that. Sherlock is still eating himself up with guilt about putting her in that position. Have you ever considered how many times he actually saved her before that happened? Did you consider how much Sherlock sacrificed to keep you all safe? I daresay you can give him credit for your daughter being born at all."
John gaped as the realization hit him. Of course, Magnussen! Sherlock shot a man, fully intending to live with the grave consequences. All for Mary's sake. He had flown all over the world to track down Mary to keep her safe. And that was after Mary had shot him… Sherlock had perhaps miscalculated, but he had been trying pretty darned hard.
"You need to tell him that. You are the only one who he will listen too."
"I will, Mycroft. I am still in grief, but I shouldn't be taking it out on the most devoted friend I ever had. I'm afraid I've taken too much for granted."
"We often take our loved ones for granted," Mycroft allowed. "I do hope you remember that. If you do forget, however, I will be there to remind you."
John suppressed a shudder, more intimidated by that than any threat Mycroft could have ever made.
"I hope you won't hold my interference against me. I really do appreciate all you have done for my brother." Mycroft got up and reached into his pocket. "Oh, this is for you, I nearly forgot about it."
John reached for the slip of paper Mycroft handed him. "What… Harriet Watson, Room #34C, Royal Rehabilitation and Recovery…You tracked her down? How did you know I was looking…? Never mind, I appreciate it."
"You're welcome," Mycroft rejoined, heading for the door. Suddenly, John jumped up. "Wait, would you mind telling me how exactly she got into the 'Triple R'? It's the foremost rehab facility in England, waiting lists miles long impossible to get into…I've tried with some of my patients."
Mycroft smiled tightly. "Just a token of my gratitude for all you have done. Besides, family needs to look out for each other, don't they?" The man disappeared along with his umbrella, leaving a bemused former army doctor staring at the paper in his hand.