"Bad form, Mycroft, you've really shown your hand back there," Sherlock smirked. He faced his older brother in the government provided limo, headed back home. Just moments ago he sat aboard a jet on his way to Eastern Europe on a suicide mission. He knew his brother would intervene somewhere along the plan, whisking him to safety and taking all the credit even though Sherlock would have done most the work, but he hadn't expected it so soon. Mycroft glanced outside the car window, holding his chin up with his palm. Sherlock put a lot of effort into his goodbye with John, seemed all but wasted effort now.
"Don't blame me for this, my dear brother." Mycroft dusted a hair off his slacks, placing his right hand purposefully upon his lap as he turned his forced smile upon Sherlock. "If I hadn't known better, I'd think it was you."
"Couldn't possibly be Moriarty."
"Heavens no, of course not."
"Your men, how close are they?"
"They were close. Until you had to destroy the only ace in my hand. Really Sherlock, when I said Magnussen was under my protection, it wasn't an invitation to blast his brains out."
"You should be more clear next time," he rolled his eyes.
"Look what sentiment has done to you."
"Stop caring about who or what I care about," he growled. "Annoying."
An uneasy silence filled the town car. Mycroft uncrossed and recrossed his legs; Sherlock remained perfectly still.
"I meant what I said, Sherlock," Mycroft grumbles. "You go against Magnessun you will find yourself going against me. Now it's just a matter of time."
"Of course," Sherlock pressed his hands together under his chin, his thoughts heavy with implications.
"It would be wise to stay away from Baker Street, presently." Mycroft advised, not looking Sherlock in the eye.
"My thoughts exactly."
Three knocks. Medium force. Evenly spaced.
Molly grabbed her robe, shrugging it on to her shoulders, quickly tying a messy knot as she shuffled toward her bedroom door. Of course he left himself in, at least he had the decency to knock instead of just barging into her room, like last time. She silently opened her chest of drawers, quickly grabbed the first outfit she could find in the dark, stuffing them in her pillowcase. Holding the pillow under her right arm, she turned the knob and cracked it just enough to makes out his tall, dark figure standing in the dim light of her living room. His face hidden in the darkness, but his telling curls illuminated by the lamp behind him gave him away.
"Give me a minute," she mumbled sleepily.
Sherlock opened the door completely, allowing a bit more light in so she could finish gathering her things to sleep in the guest room. After all, they had agreed. Or actually, he persuaded her. It was fine.
"I need to talk to you."
"Miss your flight?" she wondered out loud, grabbing her phone and shoving it in her pajama pant's pocket.
"Are you alone?"
"Really, Sherlock," Molly swung the pillow dramatically as she crossed her arms over her chest, "who would be at my flat, in my bedroom, at this hour, besides you."
Sherlock gently leaned on the door behind him closed with barely an audible click. He looked down at Molly, who stood a touch closer than necessary. His blue eyes glowed with that unfamiliar sheen of emotion. Hurt. Concern. Fear. Or at least the closest thing to fear Sherlock could feel when not drugged. She had only seen him like this once before.
In a rapid movement that caught Molly off guard, he leaned down to the side of her head, his warm breath swirled down the side of her neck, giving her chills as she gasped. He whispered softly into her ear as if he would be overheard, "Mycroft has been compromised."
The sequel is up! Look for The Noble Bachelorette on my profile. That you all for reading!
