We, um, we went through your case notes, and the police, they needed them, so I suppose that's alright. It's like they just carted off your brain Sherlock, in boxes -
Sherlock cut off the message John had left and dialed the phone.
You've reached the voicemail box for Dr. John Watson...
"That explains why I didn't find my case files when I broke into the flat last night. Since this is clearly your fault John, I'd ask you to help me break into New Scotland Yard tonight, but you aren't exactly available to me, are you?."
Sherlock crushed his finger to the screen of his phone and hung up. He stared at the library wall, which he has commandeered much to Mycroft's chagrin. A large map of the world covered the it, with slips of paper and pictures pinned on. Several different colored string connected the pins in places, and a plan was emerging, but Sherlock needed...
While most assumed correctly that Sherlock's power of recall and memory was substantial, he occasionally needed to supplement it with his case files. Now was one of those times. And he needed to talk this plan through, have a sounding board. He closed his arms around himself, resting his chin in his palm, and did what has become natural for him...
Mycroft eased his way in the front door, after a long day at work, with his briefcase and takeaway in hand. He slowly hung his coat in the closet, and made his way to the kitchen. Mycroft flipped the kettle on and then rummaged through the cabinets for plates and silverware. He missed his house staff. Since his brother's resurrection, he had placed his house staff on indefinite leave, only his most trusted agents guarded the house. He couldn't risk Sherlock, not again.
It has started. A brief struggle for power seemed to have occurred, tapped down by a drastic and deadly move by one of Moriarty's most dangerous men, Colonel Sebastian Moran. Intelligence had observed a few murders of key people in Moriarty's network, and then a massive attack. Moran had a ferry in the Mediterranean bombed, killing all 183 passengers aboard, just to target the three remaining rivals that he managed to lure aboard the fated ship. And then Moran sent the network back to business with a vengeance. His brother's crusade to take down the network just became one of Mycroft's top priorities.
After he slid the takeaway onto plates, and sorted the tea on the tray, he carried the meal towards the library. As he approached, he heard Sherlock's voice, sounding like he was deep in conversation. He quickened his pace, wondering who could it be...
Sherlock had rearranged the room, sliding one of the large armchairs to be stationed in front of the wall of knowledge, as Mycroft called it. He sat with a blank , far away expression and was rapidly speaking to no one, that Mycroft could see.
Mycroft slowly approached his brother, "I've brought you dinner Sherlock.." but was dismissed with a wave and Sherlock continued his conversation. Mycroft carefully placed the plate of food on the table next to his brother, and poured out a cup of tea. He made his way to the other armchair across the room and poured himself a cup. He slowly sipped his tea and listened to his brother.
"He's stretched a bit thin in Africa, but that's to be expected. From what we know of his operations in Turkey.."
Mycroft had seen his brother like this, years ago. When they were teenagers and still close, they would talk at great length about science and mathematics, and argue about politics. At times, Mycroft would leave and return a few hours later, to find that Sherlock had continued the conversation in his absence.
Mycroft began to eat his dinner, and glanced over his brother. Perhaps this was a continuation of their conversation from last night, regarding Moriarty. They had talked late into the night, and Sherlock was still wearing the same clothes from yesterday. His face was weary and tight, so apparently he had not slept.
Mycroft reached for the stack of surveillance reports that Anthea had left for him, and opened the top one. He flipped through the images, when something Sherlock said caught his attention.
"The fakes would have a similar look, so we'd have to devise a method of testing them quickly, in the field. Are the pills soluable? Mmm, I'll have to look that up in one of your medical journals John..."
So...not a continuation of last night's conversation, at least not a conversation with Mycroft. As he gazed at Sherlock, he wondered if he had done the right thing, giving him the doctor's messages. Sherlock's voice faded to silence, and as Mycroft watched, his brother's sleepy stare came to sharp focus on the cup of tea next to him.
Sherlock stared at the tea and his weary mind started to think...
Tea...John always makes me tea.
And there is Chinese food...John's brought me Chinese food.
There's tea and Chinese food here, in front of me.
Ergo, John is here.
Sherlock snapped his head around as he made a sharp intake of breath, and then called out
"John?"
His eyes quickly scanned the library until they settled on Mycroft, who stared back at him with an expression of - sadness? Pity?
"He's not here Sherlock..." Mycroft said in a near whisper
When did John leave?...Sherlock shook himself to a more wakeful state.
"Of course he's not here, I was just...tired" His face flushed as he looked away from his elder brother's gaze. He reached out for the tea, which had gone cold, and drank it down anyways.
Thankfully, Mycroft let it pass, and changed his expression to be inquisitive "Made any progress on the plan?"
"Yes, indeed" Sherlock responded, grateful for the change in subject. "I'll need a list of resources you have in France, Turkey, and Africa. I think it's best to hit the network in a few weak points first, and then make my way back to it's stronghold in England."
Mycroft typed off a quick text to Anthea, and then looked back up.
"I'll also need some equipment, here's my list " Sherlock stood and pulled a paper off the wall. He turned and held it out for Mycroft, seemingly beckoning him over.
He rose and came over to Sherlock, taking the list in hand. As he perused it, Sherlock quietly crossed the room and picked up the chair his brother had just been sitting in, and carefully placed it by his own, near the wall.
Mycroft looked at it and slowly sat down, "Thank you" he said without looking up. Sherlock hummed in response.
"Have you considered the list of operatives that I recommended, to accompany you?" as he folded the equipment list in thirds and placed it in the inner pocket of his suit jacket.
"None of them are suitable for my needs Mycroft. Is that really all you have?"
"In what way are they not suitable? These are some of my best men..."
"I need someone that will challenge me...my thinking. Push me to the correct conclusion. These..." as he gestured disrespectfully to the stack of dossiers on the floor " are all followers, they will obey orders certainly, but I don't need that. And none of them even have basic first aid knowledge..." Sherlock grumbled.
"They could certainly be trained quickly enough" Mycroft responded, "But I don't believe that is what you are finding at fault"
Sherlock raised his brow in a questioning look.
"None will be Dr. John Watson."
"Indeed. And why not Mycroft?"
"Why not what? Sherlock?"
Sherlock leaned back into his chair, and breathed in.
"Why not John? He's proven himself more than capable in dangerous situations, he's a crack shot, former army captain, and a doctor. He certainly shown the ability to facilitate my thought processes. And he's able to deal with my personality."
"And how would we explain his absence?" Mycroft asked incredulously.
"Any way you see fit. Fake an accident, or call him back to military service. Make a plausible explanation and John can join me" Sherlock stated. It's simple.
"Sherlock" Mycroft started carefully "John is not capable of deception, lying, bluffing his way through or able to disguise himself as you can. He has no special training in covert operations. He would be discovered in an instant. The two of you together would draw suspicion. And when Moran caught on to you, he will threaten Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson, as well as John's family to draw you out."
"Well, then Lestrade can come with us. He can't be happy being under suspension, and they'll probably demote him, or worse. And you can protect Mrs. Hudson and John's family" Sherlock was pleading, staring at his brother.
Mycroft looked away from Sherlock's gaze, and he felt the shame come flooding back.
"I couldn't...I couldn't even protect my own brother from harm." Mycroft said, his voice cracking a bit. "I couldn't stop this from happening Sherlock, you being driven to ground and forced into a corner by Moriarty"
Sherlock forced a breathe out as he stood, agitated.
"I can't do this without John! I can't even make a plan without him, I just keep assuming he'll be there to provide...whatever I need. His absence is...distracting. I need him." He turned to stand in profile to his brother, looking at him out of the corner of his eye. His face pleaded with Mycroft to fix it, fix everything.
Mycroft stood, straightened his waistcoat, and took a small step forward to stand in front of his brother. Sherlock shifted his gaze to the floor, dropping his head down so Mycroft ended up talking to a mop of curly dark hair.
"You chose to do this alone, to protect them all. If John were to come with you, they would all be in danger once again. If John were by your side, he would face the same danger as you. And while I am certain the doctor would gladly risk his life for you, can you honestly say you would risk his life?"
Sherlock hesitated a moment. The work will be dangerous, dismantling the vast criminal network. The thought of being without John was painful, but imagining him injured or killed...was overwhelming.
When Sherlock had stood on the building's edge of St. Bart's, staring down at John, he had to gather the courage to jump. Even though he knew it was all a trick, he still had to hurl himself off of a building. The thought of keeping John alive was all the motivation he needed in order to take the leap.
Sherlock slowly shook his head. He cleared his throat and looked up at Mycroft with glassy eyes, and then glanced at the stack of agent dossiers. "I'll take Stephanson"
Mycroft nodded his head, and placed his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze, before he made his way towards the door.
"I'll start the preparations and gather the equipment you've requested" he turned back to look at Sherlock, who gave him a slow wave but otherwise did not move, staring off into nothing. Mycroft left him to his thoughts.
Sherlock slowly sat down in his chair and took out his mobile. He replayed John's message he had stopped before hearing the end.
We, um, we went through your case notes, and the police, they needed them, so I suppose that's alright. It's like they just carted off your brain Sherlock, in boxes. Why did this happen? Why would I be allowed to know you and be your friend, and care for you, and then start to feel so close to you, that you became a part of me. And with you gone, it feels like that part of me has been ripped out, without anestetic. It physically hurts. And sometimes I forget to breathe. Something as simple as breathing. It's so hard to remember
Sherlock hung up the phone and rubbed his hands over his face before dialing.
You've reached the voicemail box for Dr. John Watson...
"I wasn't as clever as I thought. That's why this has happened. I put you in danger - you, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade. And I'm going to fix this. I wish...I wish I could bring you with me. But I understand now, I could not bear to put you in harm's way again. You are a conductor of light John, and your words have illuminated my thoughts about many things. I feel the pain John, like you. I hope that in the end, this will all be worth it."