His little brother was inscrutable. Mycroft knew that Sherlock liked to take care of himself, but this was going beyond reason.
Moriarty was more than Sherlock could handle on his own. Moriarty was obsessed with Sherlock. Completely and utterly obsessed. The scratches on the walls and window of his holding cell had been nearly frightening to behold. Pathological.
But Mycroft simply could not keep him locked up.
The phone call from John was disturbing, but expected.
Mycroft walked down the street, metallic tip of his umbrella clacking lightly against the flagstone of the old road.
It was going to be a long day. Week. Month.
He sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose.
The headache that had previously been Moriarty had suddenly turned into a pestering migraine that just wouldn't go away. He breathed in and out.
John was waiting for him at the park. He sat on the bench, just sitting. Not doing much of anything other than that. Little did he know that Moriarty had made threats on his life as well as Sherlock's; if he had, then he might have been a little more observant. If he had then perhaps they'd be meeting in a secure facility.
Even so, Mycroft was more worried over his little brother's whereabouts than anything else. The threats against John had been shallow - a facade - designed to target Sherlock.
If his heart could be broken more than once, killing John would have done the trick. The death of the woman... he hadn't been able to keep it from Sherlock. He had discovered it, come to Mycroft - physically - and confronted him about her. The pained look in his eyes had been enough to assure Mycroft of the youngest Holmes' feeling towards The Woman.
Loosing John as well would have been the last straw.
And Mycroft knew what it was too loose someone. He subconsciously fingered the golden band on his ring finger, before sitting down tentatively next to the good Doctor.
"John,"
"Mycroft,"
"Well? Has he contacted you about his current location yet?"
"Yep. Texted me a couple minutes ago. Says he's at Bart's,"
"Bart's?"
"So he claims," John elaborated with a rueful smile.
"Ah. Well, when my brother claims things about himself, once never knows the accuracy of his statement,"
"Yes. Unfortunately so,"
There was a pause as both the Doctor and the Politician looked out at the city, past the confines of the park.
"So. Moriarty," John began. "Sherlock claims that he's coming for him. He seems to think that a move on Moriarty's part is imminent. I don't think that he's been wrong yet, but as Sherlock is prone to saying, you practically are the British government,"
Sometimes I wish I wasn't.
"He's been just as attention seeking as ever, I suppose, if not more so, of late. He's hinting at something, and well, you know as well as I that he likes to make a splash, likes to have an audience. It's all fun and games to him. If Moriarty is going to make his move, it will be soon, and it will be obvious. He's obsessed with Sherlock. I haven't' shown him the evidence, yet, however…"
Mycroft took out his mobile, and brought up the photos.
"You had him locked up? In custody?" John looked up from the images, shocked. "Couldn't you hold him?"
"We only caught him because he wanted us to do so. I had nothing - and no basis - on which to convict him. No matter how much I wanted to," John was shaking his head in disbelief.
"I don't believe this. I don't - I can't believe this. Moriarty is insane! Completely mental! A total psychopath! Can't you lock him up in some sort of secure facility or another? Isn't this evidence enough to hold him?"
Mycroft sighed resignedly, waiting for John's tirade to subside. He closed his eyes tiredly.
"Politics does not function for us to use as we so please, but rather, for the good of the nation as a whole. We must see the big picture, John. This is why Utopia does not exist. Society needs criminals, John. Criminals to create conflict, and war, and in so doing, jobs and economic prosperity. Your government - and mine - makes allowances, John. All governments do. You should learn to question their motives,:
The Doctor's jaw was set, and his usually calm blue eyes were stormy.
"It's wrong, Mycroft," He turned, locking his stern gaze, frustrated. "Sherlock is your little brother, and someone is threatening him, threatening to kill him, and you can't fabricate a charge to hold him on? How do you do it? Hmm? You're just as bad as he is, if not worse! Good God! I've had it! You need to show him these, Mycroft. He's your family. You make allowances for criminal masterminds, how about making one for the sake of your little brother?"
With that, John stood, and walked away, his back to Mycroft. Dismissive.
The politician huffed a long breath. It was hard being the hand of the British government. Using his own little brother as bait.
He could kick himself in the arse for it. And would do so later, he was certain. Friday the 13th. He had never been a superstitious man, not before this week. There was a nagging pull at the back of his mind that irked him. Sherlock would pay for his own imbecility. Too bad this time, he hadn't had a choice.
His hand had been forced.
"Enough, Holmes. You've made excuses for him long enough. No more. Not this time,"
"Very well,"
just a little note - i actually love Mark Gatiss'(all ahil Godtiss)portrayal of Mycroft Holmes. I just love Mark Godtiss all around. His Mycroft, my lovely iceman, if just wonderful. I don't mean to make him out as the bad guy.
I love him just as much as Sherly/Benny.
