Mycroft's jaw clenched in frustration as the beginning s of a fantastic headache pulsed at his temples. A tense silence filled the room- a dramatic change after the past several minutes of intense arguing. Mycroft sighed softly and massaged his forehead, reigning in his aggravation with his little brother, who was irritably pacing the length of his home's study.
This was not how Mycroft wished to occupy his scant personal time, with only a mere hour before he was due to meet John for lunch.
Unfortunately for Mycroft, the timeframe Sherlock had approximated for the last capture turned out to be much shorter than three days. In fact, it had scarcely been twelve hours from his initial text.
It had been around midnight when Mycroft received an urgent call from his little brother. A stroke of good luck had allowed Sherlock to latch onto the assassin's trail that night, leading to the early apprehension of ex-Colonel Sebastian Moran in a rundown house just south of Brighton.
After a brief, vicious fight, Sherlock had gained the upper hand and managed to render Moran unconscious. He had called Mycroft for immediate assistance and transport as soon as he had the man gagged and handcuffed to an ancient space heater.
Mycroft had sent a select extraction team and a medic to retrieve the pair. No risks would be taken with this prisoner. Sebastian Moran had been the direct threat to John's life (and by extension, Sherlock's). They needed him alive and talking. A confession would go a long way in wrapping up this case- and in securing Sherlock's freedom.
With the prisoner safe in the custody of Her Majesty's secret service, Mycroft was left to deal with his impatient younger brother.
As soon as his shoes had touched London pavement, Sherlock had harassed him about John. Eager to resume his consultation agency, Sherlock was adamant that John be brought up to speed on his continued existence- today.
Somehow, Mycroft didn't think he could casually bring it up over tea and sandwiches.
Mycroft considered it a small victory that he had convinced Sherlock to come to his home and not barge straight into John's flat, but the war was far from finished. Getting him to stay here was going to be like pulling teeth.
The issue had already sparked an argument.
Sherlock's agitation at being kept from his life had clashed with Mycroft's exasperation with his brother's impatience and lack of tack, resulting in a shouting match the likes of which they hadn't had in years.
Not since Sherlock had overdosed in a London back alley.
Luckily, Greg Lestrade had happened upon him when Sherlock was conscious enough to have the man contact Mycroft, ensuring a discreet pickup and private room at an emergency care facility. Mycroft had arrived at the facility to ascertain his brother's health, only to emerge from the building half an hour later with their bitter conversation still ringing in his ears. But Sherlock had listened to him. He had stayed and eventually recovered, helped along by the distraction of his little puzzles. That was then, though. His brother had changed after kicking his habit, and had changed yet again when John entered his life.
It seemed that John had become Sherlock's drug of choice and Mycroft was left in the uncomfortable position of keeping him from it, trying to protect John from his brother and Sherlock from himself.
His temple throbbed angrily, bringing him out of his musings.
He sighed heavily. "Sherlock, I am aware of how difficult the past seven months have been for you, but you cannot think only of yourself right now. Give me time to get things in order and to begin the transition of bringing you back to life, legally. Give me time to break this gently to John. He deserves that much at the very least, considering all he has been through."
Sherlock stopped his fevered pacing and turned to scowl at Mycroft, contempt in his stormy eyes. "He is stronger than you think, Mycroft."
"Of that, I have no doubt, but he is still human. To him, you are dead. He has mourned you. Probably still mourning you, though I doubt he would be inclined to say as much. You may think everything is smooth sailing now that Moriarty's web is, for all intents and purposes, dismantled, but you would be wrong. The difficulty begins now, with John. You sacrificed a great deal to protect him. Don't let all of your effort be in vain for something as trifling as impatience."
Sherlock seemed to visibly deflate at that, unable to avoid the logic of his brother's argument. He looked lost and forlorn, like a child who knew his favorite toy was in the wash and was resigned to wait for its return.
Mycroft wished that Sherlock and John's reunion would be so simple. He had spent nearly three months getting to know John, yet he could not be sure just how the doctor would react to the Holmes brothers' deception.
Mycroft sighed again, taking a swallow of brandy from the tumbler in his hand. He leaned back against the front of his desk, crossing his arms. "This morning, I contacted the couple who moved into 221B. With a small financial incentive and arrangements for a new flat, they are willing to relocate by the end of the week. I assumed you would prefer to return to your old flat. Something familiar after your recent upheaval."
Sherlock started, ripping his gaze from the window he had been staring out and shaking his head violently. "What? Yes, yes of course. 221B would be fine. The sooner, the better. But I don't understand why you need time to tell John that I am still bloody breathing, Mycroft. With Moran in custody and his lesser drones scattered in the wind, John is safe now. There is no logical reason to prolong this, this…"
Sherlock flicked his wrist in annoyance, words failing him for once.
"Misery?" Mycroft offered.
Sherlock nodded his head jerkily as he resumed his pacing.
Mycroft followed the aggravated movements for a few seconds as resolve settled over him.
No, there really wasn't a solid, logical reason to keep up the charade anymore. Well, none that Mycroft was interested in sharing with his emotionally-charged little brother. Not right now.
He had kept his affair with John to himself, giving Sherlock no more information than what could be gleaned from his subordinates' reports. After all, it was nobody's business what he and John (two consenting adults) got up to behind closed doors.
But part of Mycroft had kept the secret because he wanted to be selfish, for once.
His brother had always been greedy, taking information and liberties as they suited him and rarely giving anything back in return. Sherlock's friendship with John was quite remarkable given this tendency. Mycroft had oft wondered (before Sherlock faked his death) how the two strong-willed men functioned so well together.
Then Moriarty, subtle as a shadow and deadly as the plague, had turned his attention to Sherlock and left havoc in his wake. The only positive aspects from Moriarty's malice had been Sherlock's sacrifice for his friends and Mycroft's relationship with John.
Mycroft doubted he would have ever gotten closer to John on a personal level if Sherlock hadn't been forcibly removed from the doctor's side. Interacting with John more intimately had shown Mycroft that John was indeed strong, but damaged.
Though John had been overshadowed by Sherlock in the detective's pursuit of distraction, Mycroft could see John now, clearer than ever without his little brother to obstruct his view.
Mycroft had seen John in ways his brother never would (or could): raw, broken, passionate, wanting… and all for Mycroft.
Not for Sherlock, who was quick to dismiss the base desires and useless sentiment of those around him. Mycroft at least took the time to appreciate and understand the deficiencies and short comings of mankind. Sherlock preferred to shunt them to the side, ignoring them and consequently forgetting the fact that they were a part of John as well.
Mycroft was sure that if Sherlock had ever displayed an interest in John sexually, John would have readily given himself to Sherlock, drawn by the need to be needed.
Mycroft was equally sure that their union wouldn't have been mutually enjoyable. John came alive when following orders and receiving attention, especially in the bedroom. Having a greedy, self-absorbed lover like Sherlock would not have met the doctor's needs.
Sherlock wouldn't have appreciated John, debauched and begging for his lover's touch. He wouldn't have thanked John with his lips and tongue for the privilege of being allowed to take pleasure in the man's willing body.
No, this part of John was for Mycroft alone and he wanted it to remain that way for as long as possible.
Mycroft wanted to be selfish with John, with the facets his little brother could dismiss so casually. In any event, Mycroft was entitled to his privacy.
Unfortunately, prolonging Sherlock and John's separation would require an explanation- one Mycroft was not willing to give just yet.
Again he must sacrifice his happiness for his brother's. The confrontation must take place today.
Downing the last of his brandy, Mycroft sighed in resignation. "I have a meeting scheduled with John in less than an hour. I will adjust the location and have him come here. Privacy and neutral territory will serve best when breaking the news to him. It would be careless to drop this on him in his home or in public."
Sherlock abruptly halted and faced his brother. A pained expression flitted across his face before quickly smoothing out into blank neutrality. He exhaled slowly. "Thank you,"
It had been years since those words had left Sherlock's lips sincerely. Not even after Sherlock had been forced to sobriety had Mycroft heard them.
The genuine sentiment did much to pacify Mycroft, giving him the strength to walk out of the room and prepare for the battle to come.
