Disclaimer – characters and settings as depicted in the BBC series not mine – no money being made – plot is mine.
AN – I promise I haven't abandoned this fic – RL has taken over once more. There are about two more chapters to go, which will include of course the great reveal of Sherlock being alive and the reunion as well.
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Sherlock was oddly glad to see Mycroft. Not because of any brotherly feelings of family love, but mostly because he was almost certain Mycroft wouldn't try to kill him in the next few minutes.
It had been a long three years. He'd travelled extensively to take apart Moriarty's network and the threat against John. The trouble was that in the eleven months that he and John had lived together he'd come to rely on the other man in a way that was, for Sherlock, unprecedented. John represented safety and comfort, two things that Sherlock publically scorned but apparently needed. With John he could take greater risks and reach greater heights. Without John he had to constantly watch his back and weigh every action carefully. With John he was cared for, the minutia of life was irrelevant. Without John he was forced to deal with many little things that slowed him down.
Of course the threat to Mrs Hudson and Lestrade was also removed – Sherlock was not so selfish as to concentrate all his efforts just on John. He cared for the three of them, in his own unique way, and Moriarty's threat was completely unacceptable. The assassins that had been hired found that out to their own detriment in short order, but they were not the end of the problem. Moriarty's death had created a bit of a power vacuum, and Mycroft had unfortunately been right when he'd said the challenge would be to take down the international organisation from the outside. Sherlock had been forced to adopt and discard a variety of identities – in some cases the role he was playing had once belonged to a real person, which was always an exquisite challenge – and to move from country to country, not always legally. He'd stopped several people smuggling rings, including a vile group of child slavers, taken apart an entire drug cartel and had even interfered in the weapons black market.
It would have been easier if John was there. Sherlock could not deny that fact.
However, the time had come to return home. Mycroft had agreed that the last of Moriarty's network needed to be removed from England, and had further agreed to gather John, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade into protective custody. Sherlock was going to go and see them, reassure Mrs Hudson and get John to come with him. Lestrade could come too if he liked, as a sort of fix for the damage that had probably been done to his career at the Yard. It would be good to have people he could trust at his side again.
Mycroft was clearly on another diet, but apart from that he'd changed very little in the last three years. Heavily encrypted communication wasn't exactly designed to allow you to catch up on family news, not that Sherlock wanted the details of Mycroft's life, but it was oddly reassuring to know that your brother was well as always.
"How touching," Mycroft drawled. Sherlock rolled his eyes, "You on the other hand, seem to have changed a great deal, little brother."
"Obvious," Sherlock replied. His hair was longer than normal, he was wearing jeans and a jumper and broken in boots and there was a tattoo on his forearm, a caduceus with a set of dog tags hanging from it. That was the only mark on either forearm – he had not returned to the drugs in his travels. John hated the drugs and Sherlock couldn't afford to be compromised. He'd had to remain vigilant at all times for the last three years – no mean feat, even for someone as clever as he was.
"I'd like to see them now, Mycroft," Sherlock was not going to sink to Mycroft's level, "I've got a lot to do in the next two days, and John will be helpful. Mrs Hudson won't like being confined for longer than strictly necessary, even if it is at your home."
"You can see DI Lestrade and Mrs Hudson of course," Mycroft replied easily, "But I'm afraid that John is no longer with us, Sherlock."
"If you're trying to imply that John has become some sort of criminal, Mycroft I will be forced to doubt your intelligence more than I already do," Sherlock replied, doing his best not to show that his lips were numb and his skin prickling all over. It was not acceptable that John be dead, which was what the phrase 'no longer with us' implied. John was not allowed to be dead or hurt in any way. The last three years had all been for John. Sherlock refused to believe that he had separated them for nothing.
"Of course he hasn't Sherlock," Mycroft tutted, "The very idea… No, I mean he is literally not here. He is not in England and I'm afraid I cannot fetch him back for you in time to assist your final endeavours. You'll have to make do with Inspector Lestrade."
"Where. Is. John?" the question was bitten out in a tone that Sherlock had never used with his brother before, not even in the worst of the drug days. He saw it hit home in the slight straightening of Mycroft's shoulders and the tightening of the skin around his eyes. Lesser men had begged and pleaded when that tone had been used in the last three years. Sherlock privately thought of it as his 'cross' tone.
"One month after your burial, John came to me and delivered an ultimatum. I could assist him with re-enlisting in the military or he would volunteer for Medecins Sans Frontieres, no doubt heading for the most dangerous spots he could find. He gave me one week in which to decide and I had no reason to doubt his words," Mycroft replied in a tone that was even and calm. Sherlock knew better.
"You let him re-enlist?" that was a shriek, but Sherlock was too enraged to properly police his tone and anyway, what was Mycroft thinking. This was John and he'd been let to re-join the army? They'd got him shot, the last time!
"The army was eager to have him back. They promoted him at once and posted him to Bastion. He's not a frontline surgeon any more, the shoulder disqualifies him from that, but he is head of the medical teams out there," Mycroft informed him loftily, "He was promoted again recently. He's a Lieutenant Colonel now. It was deserved of course, nothing to do with me."
"Of course John deserved it," Sherlock scoffed, "He hardly needs you to get him promoted."
Mycroft sniffed at him, then stood, "If you're ready, I'll take you along to Mrs Hudson and Inspector Lestrade. I'm sure they'd like to know that you're still alive."
Sherlock ignored the 'heaven knows why' that Mycroft added under his breath as routine, getting up reluctantly and following his brother out of the formal reception room and along the manors halls to the guest wing. He was not so socially unaware that he thought his reunion was going to go easily. Lestrade's career and standing had been damaged by the actions of Moriarty and Sherlock himself, and Mrs Hudson had already suffered one betrayal in her life. Her reaction was one that he had a hard time predicting, perhaps because he had never quite understood why she was so fond of him in the first place. John seemed to understand her better than Sherlock, even if it was Sherlock that she favoured.
There was no cowardice in his decision to step to the side, partly hidden in the custom made bookcase that surrounded the door to the library where Mrs Hudson and Lestrade were waiting. Mycroft continued into the room with only a tut of admonishment, the smug set to his shoulders stating clearly that once again he was being called upon to tidy up Sherlock's mess. Sherlock hid a smirk – his brother had no idea who he was dealing with.
"Finally!" Lestrade's voice was impatient, but not at the edge that had John intervening using his 'doctors voice' and easing the man to sit on the nearest suitable surface.
"Mycroft Holmes!" Mrs Hudson chimed in, "You tell me what is going on right now, young man!"
"Of course, Mrs Hudson," Mycroft replied and Sherlock didn't bother hiding his smirk at the slightly unnerved tone in his brother's voice. Mrs Hudson sounded quite like mummy when she spoke like that.
"I apologise for the sudden need to remove you from your routines, however there has been a development that requires the utmost secrecy and delicacy," Mycroft continued in a smarmy tone.
"Oh god, it's John," Mrs Hudson sounded devastated. Sherlock didn't like that tone. Mycroft was going to pay for that tone, "What's happened to him?"
"Lieutenant Colonel Watson is entreily unharmed and safe," Mycroft hurried to reply, "He is at his post, as always. The development I speak of relates to Sherlock."
"You mean… you've finally decided to clear his name?" Lestrade asked blankly. Sherlock blinked in shock. He'd known that John at least would have wanted Sherlock's name to be cleared, but he'd never expected Lestrade to want it as well. If Lestrade had only been concerned about clearing Sherlock's name to restore his own reputation that question would have come out very differently.
"Sherlock was made aware, three years ago, that Moriarty had hired assassins to kill Mrs Hudson, yourself and Lieutenant Colonel Watson. He was given a simple choice – kill himself or watch the three of you die. Sherlock had no intention of dying, of course, but he could not allow Moriarty to threaten you, nor could he allow the other man to win their tedious little game. Moriarty shot himself, rather than allowing Sherlock to deduce the code that would call off the assassins, and Sherlock was forced to fake his death in order to keep DI Lestrade, yourself and Lieutenant Colonel Watson safe."
There was silence following Mycroft's speech. Sherlock wished he could fidget. He wasn't sure that he wanted to see the expressions on Mrs Hudson and Lestrade's faces at the moment. He wasn't sure he wanted to step out into the library in the aftermath of Mycroft's pompous declarations.
"We have, of course, since removed the threat of the assassins," Mycroft added after an interminable moment, "Sherlock has spent the last three years taking apart Moriarty's little criminal network, which has international ramifications. However the final piece of the network is here in London and the time has come to finish it off."
More silence. Mycroft was beginning to sound unnerved by the reactions he was seeing, or not seeing as the case may be. Sherlock was pleased by this – anyone who could unnerve his brother was interesting and since it was two of the three most important people in his life unnerving Mycroft…
"Sherlock wanted to ensure you were both safe, and wishes to see you before he puts his final plan into action, if…"
"Sherlock Holmes, you get out here right now," the exasperated father in Lestrade had apparently come out to play. Sherlock grinned. He loved causing that tone in Lestrade's voice. He wiped the grin quickly though, stepping out from his sheltered spot – not a hiding place – and walking calmly over towards the glowering DI. Lestrade had gotten a bit older, naturally, and he'd finally left his wife.
"Oof," Sherlock gasped as Lestrade grabbed him in a rough hug, pinning his arms tightly to his sides in a manner that was quite uncomfortable. It didn't stop him from investigating the contents of Lestrade's closest pockets, though.
"You utter bastard," Lestrade let go as abruptly as he'd hugged him, pushing him away roughly, "Have you any idea what you've put us through?"
"Oh Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson wrapped him up next, though Sherlock was able to move his arms and return the hug, "Look at you!"
"I apologise, Mrs Hudson, for the upset I've put you through," Sherlock knew that John would be pleased that he had at least apologised to their often beleaguered landlady. He was a bit alarmed at the sniffle he got in return – he didn't have any other clean clothes at the moment – but she pulled her head out of his chest, her eyes as bright as ever. A moment later he was yelping in pain, his left buttock stinging quite badly.
"Don't you ever do that again, young man! You're not so big I can't put you over my knee!" Mrs Hudson glared at him, an expression quite at odds with the smile on her face. Lestrade was sniggering in the background. Sherlock pouted at her for a moment, before nodding in contrition. She nodded in satisfaction and sat down in the armchair she'd been occupying when he entered the room.
"Now, then," she folded her hands in her lap, "How are we going to catch these buggers?"
There were times when Sherlock positively adored Mrs Hudson.
A/N – we're nearly finished! I promise to do the reunion with John shortly (provided I don't need surgery, mum recovers from her surgery and nothing else goes wrong with the house… sheesh)
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