A/N: I am happy that so many people are still reading this story. And that I got several new faves and follows. I'm a bit less happy that no one reviewed. I guess the last chapter was a bit boring, but it was necessary for the plot. There was some foreshadowing over there, as you will soon see.

Anyway, things are heating up now, and who knows where matters will go... Please let me know what you think of it. And if anyone reviews this, or any of my other stories, you will make my day! ;)


Sherlock didn't confront his brother about the mysterious phone call with Lestrade that night. Nor did he confront him the rest of the time he stayed there. He wanted to believe that is was because he had more important things to deal with, or that he simply didn't want to stir the pot when things were going smoothly. In truth, he felt hurt. He was subtly testing both Mycroft and Lestrade, waiting to see if they trusted him enough to confide in him.

On the long anticipated day when Baker Street was habitable once again, Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. He needed to go home, back to his creature comforts and bizarre habits. He longed for a fridge filled with human feet and a microwave splattered with eyeballs. No less did he long for a proper case, with his old partner by his side.

"We've had enough of a break, haven't we, John?" Sherlock asked giddily. "Back to business, now! I'm going to go after Lestrade," he said, while taking out his phone and texting.

"Are you settled with Rosie's care?" the detective asked when he finished.

"I've got her into a daycare center, and I suppose Mrs. Hudson or Molly will fill in after hours."

"What, a daycare center with twenty other kids? Who knows what kind of germs she'll pick up over there. We can hire a private nanny, and that way she can have individual attention, and probably more flexibility with the hours."

"I'm not a bloody billionaire, Sherlock!"John huffed, exasperated. "I can't afford a private nanny. The center's very good. I checked into it."

"Look, John, you'll be working on cases with me. I'm stealing you away from your daughter, and I feel responsible that she get the best care possible. At least let's find the very best center in the city. The cost will be paid as part of your business expenses. And let's not forget about security. I'm sure Mycroft can recommend the most secure-"

"I don't need Mycroft to recommend anything. I know how to raise my own child without you Holmes's and your interfering opinions! Can't you let at least this part of my life be my own?!" John was moving beyond irritated and into genuine anger.

"Alright, alright," Sherlock retorted, miffed. "I was just trying to help, you know. Rosie is my goddaughter, after all, and, well, I suppose I'm a bit selfish, too. I want my blogger to be at his best, without worrying about other matters." The detective gave a small, apologetic smile.

John took a deep breath. "Yeah, I kind of overreacted over there. I just don't want Mycroft involved in this, honestly. I don't know what exactly is going on between you two, but I personally will take a long time to trust him again. I'm not exactly over our recent lovely experiences, you know."

The younger man was silent for several minutes, just staring at his friend, first time in bewilderment, and then in irritation. Finally, he spoke, in precise, clipped tones. "I'm sorry that you're having a hard time of it. It wasn't easy for any of us, you know. You do remember that Mycroft was in there, just like us two. I would have expected thought we were on the same side by now."

The doctor softened his tone. "Look, Sherlock, I know you've gone through a very difficult time recently. It can't have been easy to rediscover all the traumatic events, and know you've been living a lie. It's natural to turn to the familiar in order to find comfort. I suppose that's why you felt a need to stay with your brother. I just want to make sure he's not manipulating you again, taking advantage of you when you're so vulnerable."

"What the hell, John!" Sherlock yelled, uncharacteristically taken aback. "Exactly how long have you been trying to psychoanalyze me? You should stick to traditional medicine, you know. Psychoanalysis is just not your field."

"I'm also just trying to help, you know," the doctor said, with hurt in his voice.

"Of course," Sherlock let his shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry. I just need you to trust me, alright? I know what I'm doing. And I know Mycroft is trying his best to make up for his mistakes, and I believe we need to give him the chance."

"After all he's done?" John asked, his voice dangerously low.

"Exactly, John. After all he's done. He's done all he could to keep me alive and healthy. I don't always agree with his methods, but I'm not blind enough to think otherwise. You yourself used to call him all the time to help manage me, remember? You even had meetings in his office, in warehouses, I think even once at Speedy's. I remember starting to feel left out," Sherlock's tone turned lightly teasing, as he tried to lighten the tension.

"I remember," the doctor half-smiled. "It was one power show after another, with a side serving of Holmesian manipulation. But, yes, I see your point. I almost envy him, you know. It must be great to be able to look after your family with the assistance of all the CCTV's in the country, plus a fleet of government cars." He smiled sardonically.

The detective chuckled, though it was a bit strained. "It wasn't always like that, John," he said, in more serious tones. "He used to come, by himself, wearing his bespoke suits and Berluti dress shoes, to haul me out of the drug dens. Somehow, no matter in what state I found myself, I always managed to aim true and hurl on him. I used to aim mostly for his shoes, but once I managed to get vomit over his shoes, trousers, and his Rolex watch. That's one of my best memories," Sherlock said dreamily.

"You, you little- " John sputtered. "You were a horrid little brat, weren't you? I can't imagine his face, oh God-" John choked off, suddenly convulsing in laughter. Sherlock joined in his mirth.

"That reminds me of the time I went to drag Harry home, when she was so pissed that she thought I was her girlfriend. The things she said, I needed a bottle of bleach to erase from my brain..."

John and Sherlock continued trading "war stories" for a time, and while the subject matter was one most would consider rather tragic, finding the humour in the less savory parts of life was something the duo was accustomed to. It certainly helped them deal with their unique lifestyle.

Sherlock found himself relaxing, and hoping that he wouldn't have to deal with more acrimony, on anyone's part, anytime soon. Playing peacemaker was exhausting.


"Is there anything you should be telling me, brother mine?"

"Good evening to you, too, Sherlock," Mycroft answered the phone calmly.

"Don't play games. I thought we were over that stage. Look, I know Lestrade is working on a case for you. He keeps telling me he's busy, and he has no cases to give me. When I went to the yard, he made a poor attempt to hide the documents he was viewing. He closed the computer, but I did get a glimpse. What exactly is Lestrade doing for the MoD, Mycroft?"

"Why would I know?" the British Government replied in the same calm tone.

"Don't make me laugh. Anyhow, I know you two have been in contact lately. So what is it, I get the information up front, or I need to find it myself? You know I'll get it either way."

"Sherlock, listen to me," Mycroft sighed in that exasperated-older-brother way. "It's not that we don't trust you. It's a very delicate matter, one in which you and Dr. Watson were somewhat personally involved, and the DI and I thought that it would be more advisable not to get you involved."

"Nevertheless, tell me about this matter. Let me decide for myself what I can handle, for once." Sherlock let acid drip from his words.

His brother's sigh was deeper this time. "Alright, Sherlock. You are correct, this is your choice to make. Please come by my office tomorrow, as I don't wish to discuss this over the phone. Oh, and Sherlock? This once, come... by yourself."