*The Spare Holmes*

By: WhiteGloves

~X~

LAST

"There is nothing more stimulating than a case where everything goes against you."

- W.S.S. Holmes (The Hound of the Baskervilles)

A/N: In answer to the mystery of Mycroft Holmes I present-

Our EXIT CHAPTER!

~Enjoy Reading~

The Worst

Sorry it took too long.

He's alive. I'm alive.

Sorry.

-M.

Sherlock stared at the screen of his mobile almost an inch away from his nose.

Eight hours ago he was on verge of a breakdown for losing his brother to the point of believing that even drugs wouldn't be able to appease him. Eight hours ago too he thought of nothing save seeing that same old brother, whom he considered was out of his reach forever. The longest time when he truly believed that he was completely alone without those watchful eyes of the most powerful man in his life—his older brother— always over his shoulders.

Then came the message and like a spark in a plug—like a flash bomb that blinded him from the bottomless pit he sunk in— he was reawakened by new hope. And an unfamiliar surge of mixed emotions overtook him as he stared transfixed at the initial so familiar to his mind.

M.

It took his mind a few seconds to snap back to reality. And then the truth of the message struck him—that whatever had been playing in his mind were really all in his head— that it was not true, the horror of his imaginings—that he was wrong—

Sherlock didn't remember feeling any relief or joy—he didn't feel them. Instead he remembered feeling nauseous and that painful tremble of his body, not to mention—cold.

He felt icy cold. A lot of air seemed to have filled his lungs so heavy it wanted to be out. All at once.

Then there were tears—lots of them—but Sherlock had already erased the memory and wasn't even sure if it was real—all he knew was that the moment he could get his body to stop shaking and steady himself, he walked out of the house like a shot gun around six in the morning with only his protective dark coat that cloaked him from attention and was gone.

Returning half a day later he found John agitatedly prancing in front of 221B and seemingly ready to tackle him when he found the detective walking his way. Their reunion was halted however when a dark sedan glided quietly beside the street and stopped in front of them. Sherlock raised no question as he jumped in with John immediately behind him who kept demanding where they were going when he didn't exactly remember inviting the doctor to come. He thought he glimpsed Mary and Mrs. Hudson, or didn't he? His mind was just too occupied with these new developments.

One thing was certain however—Mycroft's alive.

Minutes later, with John Watson harassing him for answers, the two then found themselves in front of the Parliament office.

"Sherlock..." John whispered as two men in black walked in front of them and showed them the way, "What have you done this time?" he looked at his friend who marched towards the entrance without another word.

The next thing, they found themselves seated quietly in a highly secured room with lots of important portraits and paintings hanging by the white walls. The glass table in front of them had nothing on it save a silver laptop and a few folders. No other objects could be seen around more than an accommodating couch set and a table in the middle.

John sat stiffly beside the detective having no idea of what was going on. Sherlock didn't help as he kept his indifferent attitude and eyes transfixed ahead with no interest to the world whatsoever. After another minute of silence, the detective took the mobile from his pocket and stared at it while John frowned at him. Noticing the eyes of the doctor, Sherlock reluctantly slipped his mobile back in his coat pocket exactly as two people entered the room—one of them Anthea.

John's heart skipped a beat at seeing her.

"Good day, gentlemen." Anthea said efficiently as John and Sherlock stood up with eyes on the additional number—

"Hang on—" the doctor said with a quick glance at his friend. Are they going to tell him about Mycroft?

"This is Dr. John Watson," Anthea said without prelude to the tall man beside her whose brown eyes locked with the doctor and shook firm hands, presenting someone with power and authority. "Dr. Watson this is Agent Lacksey Carruthers—head of the British Security. MI6."

"Yeah, hello." John said cordially as he eyed the tall man wearing his dark blue three-piece- suit with some importance.

"From the army?" the man said in a very deep voice and then his eyes shifted to the dark haired detective. "Sherlock Holmes?" he said as he offered a hand which Sherlock half-heartedly took. "I'd recognize you anywhere."

"Really." It wasn't a question as the detective let his eyes travel at the man's appearance. "Clearly."

There was no more after that, making Anthea nod and walked around the glass table and took the documents from her table. It was her office, apparently.

"Please sit down." She said, trying to sound brisk but John noticed the falter at the end of her voice. "I hope it doesn't come as a surprise, gentlemen, why you are invited here. And that everything we will tell you is highly and without a doubt—confidential."

"Well, you tell us..." The doctor started as he sat down while Agent Carruthers stood firmly behind her, "You called us here." He half glanced at Sherlock who maintained his silence.

Anthea took her time as she opened a folder and turned her laptop screen on. Then glancing up finally she resumed a blank look as she opened her mouth.

"To make it short—it has been confirmed that Mr. Mycroft Holmes is alive."

John stared at the secretary with a numb expression— then it change to an incredulous look till disbelief filled his eyes—he didn't even notice he had stood up as he shot his best friend a look—

But Sherlock remained quietly seated on the chair, eyes transfixed at the secretary. If there was anything that change in his face it wasn't happiness or that sort—it was a hard expression.

Silence filled the room—a ringing one that made everyone conscious and expectant.

But there was no other reaction that followed.

Till Agent Carruthers blinked and pressed a smirk.

"Well, that was awkward. No emotional outburst?" he suggested as he and Sherlock locked gaze with still no visible expression from the detective. And Carruthers turned to Anthea with a mild expression. "They really are brothers, I see."

"He's alive, I get it." Sherlock's cold tone surprised them as he sat straight with eyes lingering on the office mates, "It's a fact that has already been established. The point now would be to tell me exactly what you guys have been doing to find him?"

John watched Sherlock with a frown on his face as his suspicion began to centrefold. Did Sherlock know...?

Anthea and Agent Carruthers exchanged looks, their faces turning serious at the matter. And by then John knew that something was amiss his knowledge.

"What exactly is going on?" he started, alarmed by the fact that Sherlock seemed to follow their current abductors' purpose and the context of the conversation. "What's happened to Mycroft? How did you confirm he's alive?" he shot the question at Anthea whom he remembered not so long ago crying in front of what appeared to be another fake grave.

She shifted her eyes away as she sat on the chair while Agent Carruthers took the folder from her hands and began relaying details.

"Approximately eight hours ago we received a transmitter signal from track number 001874 along the area of Northern Ireland—borders of the territory for the British responsibility and moving South of the country. This track number as it so happens belongs personally to Mr. Mycroft Holmes."

"It's a specially designed sim card transmitter." Anthea promptly followed up as she gazed at the men before her, the confidentiality in her tone apparent. "One that can only be activated via code word. It's a password encrypted design that only Mr. Mycroft Holmes can trigger. Thus our conclusion—"

"He's alive." John breathed finally, having someone to properly react at the unfolding of events. He turned to Sherlock with such relief, a break of smile and a threat of chuckle ready to come out. "Sherlock—you're brother—"

"How did he get this tracer?" Sherlock cut him off in the next beat, his dark eyes in full attention, "He's been missing for two weeks why didn't he use it before then? And if he can communicate—let alone sent a signal why only just now?"

"Mr. Holmes has always kept this particular tracer in his wallet along with his other important SD cards, sim, and micro chips." The secretary answered with a shake of her head, "I don't remember him leaving it off when he came to your rescue." she gave Sherlock a look. "It is probable that he was able to keep it. We've actually been waiting for it."

Sherlock listened to her, all the while his mind palace jumping back on a memory of Mycroft and his infuriated voice saying right after he exploded the whole warehouse to bits and pieces—

"Wallet—wallet—they took my wallet—dammit."

His eyes flickered at the memory and he inhaled— "Of course..."

"He might have been able to get hold of a mobile—" Carruthers mentioned-

"Obviously—" the detective was as relentless as ever-

"And used it to send a message and activated the SOS for a short moment— we lost contact after."

"You lost it?" Sherlock said heatedly—

"We already sent people to comb the area, as expected." Anthea assured him with the same fierce look with one who knows what she was doing.

"Hang on—you said SOS?" John abruptly repeated with his frown deepening, "He's in danger?"

"It's more than just 'danger'." The Agent's eyes darkened and there was a visible clenching of his jaw. "It's a national crisis." He stood in his full height while Anthea flipped the pages of the report in her hands and handed it to Sherlock who scanned down the profile and saw the familiar lion faced Coronel he had the displeasure of encountering back at that blazing forest.

"Your brother had suspected the involvement of the Jackal, Coronel Sebastian Moran and expected more than just his person. He expected a terrorist army ready for back up and so Mr. Holmes brought his own. But because of the unexpected turn of events with the explosion and the forest fire— things went out of hand."

Sherlock squared his jaw and narrowed his eyes at her.

"But he's dead, isn't he? Moran?" the doctor was in full disbelief and afraid of what to hear next. "You found his remains you said before?"

"We did. He's dead." Anthea nodded with pursed lips, "But what happened to Mr. Holmes next remains unknown—and that all we know is he is being carried off outside the country... apparently by the same people who were allied with the Jackal in this abduction."

Sherlock's lips parted open at the sudden bolt from the blue.

"How did you know—?"

"They sent a word."

"What?"

"Wait—but they are terrorists!" John's brows creased in alarm, "You mean these guys plan to kill him?"

"No— killing him would be light." Sherlock's voice was calm and languid—almost a whisper. But his expression was of utmost sincerity—and for thefirst time even fear was visible in his eyes as he gazed at the others—

"Indeed, it's worse than that." Carruthers nodded gravely as Anthea turned the laptop screen toward the detective and the doctor while he went on, "Mr. Holmes is chiefly the British Government, no doubt about that... he knows everything about our country, let alone, the Royal family. His abduction does not only raise question of his safety... but of the whole nation. Now imagine... if things get more out of hand."

Anthea showed them a website with guns and bombs as header—and with the logo and symbolism of different terrorist groups—and then on the very same page was Mycroft Holmes' profile—revealing facts of everything he does and who he really is.

Sherlock stood up immediately as he stared at the website, his lips drying and eyes widening.

"This...!"

John couldn't believe his eyes either as he read the content that made his eyebrows rose up to heaven and even put a fist to his lips. The Mycroft he knew, it seemed, was only the tip of the ice berg.

"Sherlock..." he whispered, his feet turning cold as he understood the exact meaning of the exposure. "Your brother's in trouble."

"No..." Sherlock gritted his teeth as his eyes scanned everything and remembered everything. Long ago he had vowed never to speak of Mycroft to anyone when he realised what his brother does. He made it a point that nobody would know him, save those he trusts and they weren't many. Because Mycroft's job was not something to meddle with—it was something more than confidentiality and secrets—

It was a nation's worth.

Over and over he kept calling Mycroft an idiot for taking on such a responsibility—a true Queen and country persona— wielding this entire power only he could control. Just because he was Mycroft Holmes.

And for him to be revealed to public—let alone a page for rebels who most likely will have a field day in hunting power— a leverage or some sort to one of the most powerful countries in the world.

Sherlock could literally feel his brother slipping out of his fingers every second of his waking moment and just then he was thinking of every bit of possibility to find and take his brother back before all the terrorists in the world find him.

John was wrong—it wasn't 'trouble'.

"No, John..." Sherlock breathed in anger, "This is Mycroft's worst case scenario!"

~END of a New Beginning~

A/N: The Last for this Title.

SPARE HOLMES takes its bow :D

Thank you for reading and hopefully we'll see each other in the short sequel~

The Hidden Holmes.

Thanks for reading!