*Eyepatch in the Suit*

by: Whitegloves

a/n: Sorry for the delay. The chapter is as long as her hair~ *shook*

Enjoy the story! :)

10. Dead Men Tell No Tales 2

There was a broken girl crying.

He just stared through the glasses.

She was just there, at the foot of the bed with her snow-white arms wrapped about her knees while her bare toes crossed beneath her, limp and numb for not being moved. Back and forth her body rocked, with her long dark hair all over her face, shaking and snuffling like a little lost soul, helpless and hapless whilst surrounded by stone wall. The room hummed with the girl's silent beseeching. Her fingers listlessly clawing her own elbow, trembling. Her white gown hung on her frail body like a curtain.

Still, no one came for her calls.

He stood there outside the confinement in his smooth and dark three-piece suit and overcoat, as sturdy as the wall with an icy expression and a little bit more. But there was no glint or a flicker in his cold eyes. Not the slightest wrinkle to spare, not even with the heart wrenching image portrayed before his eyes. He watched her, just simply watched her with firm jaw set and whole body stationed till it seemed like he was part of the picture, unmoving and lifeless.

It was just another Christmas after the so many he never bothered to count.

And she hated him more and more each passing year. Even when she doesn't know it herself, she was bound to. Why else would she torture him like this? Eurus always knew what she was doing. Knew where the burn would always sting. It was her favorite game in the last decade with only one person as her sole recipient. There was no other.

She cried and cried more, then after what seemed to be eternity, the girl's sobbing subsided and an eerie silence fell. He straightened with his heart thumping hard as it anticipated what was to come next— then it did as slowly her hair parted as she raised her head and with swimming red eyes in tears, she met the apathetic eyes of her guardian.

He didn't bat an eyelid.

"Brother?" her soft and trembling voice was enough to move a tender heart, "Please… I don't want to be here…"

He remained unresponsive.

"Brother…" the girl began sobbing again, her face twisting in inexplicable pain, her tears welling down her pale cheeks a she sobbed, till it pooled on her chin on to her arms, her shoulders quaking. "Please… brother… get me out of here…"

He watched her still, that lone figure weeping in the middle of the room. His eyebrows remained levelled as his eyes still unrelenting but his fist began to close and his lips to dry.

"It's painful…" the girl's sobs were uncontrollable as she wiped her face with her neck collar, "I don't want here, brother, please… I'm sorry… I won't do it again, I want to see mum and dad… where are they?"

She caught his eyes with her pleading gaze.

Mycroft merely gave her a dead pan look.

"It's painful..." She repeated looking confused and hurt, "Please, brother…why won't you help me?"

"Stop it, Eurus…"

"Brother…" her voice began to raise in desperation, "please, big brother—I have no one—you're the only one who can help me!"

Mycroft's face turned ashen and it was when she slowly raised a weak palm towards his direction that he saw his little sister in that god-awful white dress with streaks of tears across her damp face, begging for him to come to her rescue and take her away, her fingers clawing deep under the roots of his heart he had been trying to bury. Uncle Rudi did say it was the best thing to do—

But that was his little sister.

"Please, Mycroft!"

Mycroft shook his head and tried looking away but her voice was the only thing filling his ears—and her beg of help created a sudden turbulence in his graveyard of emotion where he buried everything— on which things began to stir and clamber up to the surface. Eurus was taking control of his emotions—

This made him slam his left palm on the glasses with such a force that it bounced back in the air—shaking and numbing his every finger but it was not the cause of the pain painted all over his expression.

He wondered why it never numbed his heart.

"Just stop it, Eurus!" He bellowed as he finally found her silent. She stared him down and so disconcertingly too. Unblinking and transfixed as if digging deeper and looking further for any more that she could unbury.

A heartbeat next, then came the cackle. A derisive, long laughter.

Mycroft knew her charade was over.

He spent the next seconds trying balance himself, it was no good to find that his perspiration was cold and his lips dry. There were more things to come from her. It was Christmas.

"My~-croft~-" she sung his name in light tunes as she finally stood up, and she wasn't the little girl that Mycroft saw moments ago. She was a woman now for it was Mycroft's folly to always see his siblings in their most innocent form. He could not help it; his memory was damn good for christsake.

Eurus glided specter-like towards his direction till she was mere inches from the glass of separation. Mycroft kept his eyes at her, unwavering this time for any show of hesitance would be telling of her success.

"Oh, you poor man." Her eyes never had the appropriate countenance, "You don't even know where it should hurt. As heartless as ever."

Mycroft grimaced. "Are you quite done?"

"Not yet. I haven't even begun the fun and you're already sweating. What's wrong? Had too much to bury back down the mental grave where your old-pal 'Pain' rested?"

"It's neither here nor there."

She leered, something which never reached her eyes. "You're not fooling anyone, Mycroft, we both know you have no foundation for the heart. Funny you always look so pale when you visit." She suddenly inclined her head to her left, watching him full in the face. "Or is it I upset you again? How did I upset you again?"

"Eurus—"

"Is it because I appealed for your help?"

"—enough already—"

"Or because you know you don't want to help?"

"Eurus—"

"Guilt is an emotion we both lack so why try to look like you have? Have you been playing with your psyche again, brother? Convinced yourself that you can actually care? Why?"

Mycroft gave her a hard look but could not refute. His silence only made her slowly smile.

"See? That's why you're boring. No emotional context whatsoever, I figured you out a long time ago. So, what do you say we make a final deal?" her monotonous tone was disturbing and uncanny, the tears on her face still fresh but already forgotten in her blank eyes.

Mycroft shook his head quietly. "No."

"Come on, I know you're completely tired of me. Why waste time? We never needed each other. Come on, agree with me." Her voice had turned sweet, "And you'll never have to be upset again."

Mycroft let that sink in with dark eyes boring on her too. "I can't."

"Why? Despite all your pretense I know you never wanted this burden too, Mycroft, so stop being the lapdog of our cross-dressing uncle and be the man that you are, be free as a bird. You're also a victim here so let's play fair. Make a deal with me. You know these are all unnecessary waste of energy, smart boy like you. So come on."

"No." he was firm. "And even if I could, I wouldn't."

"Why?"

"I have my reasons."

"Huh?" she grunted poker-faced, "A verbal indication that you care. A possible effect of becoming middle-age, hormone imbalance all that. Oh, boy you are losing your touch. I quite enjoyed you when you were my ice-man."

The older Holmes composed himself. "I have a gift for you. It's already there." He pointed towards the deposit counter where Eurus didn't even turn to look. "Don't you want to open it?"

"Unless you managed to break Sherlock into pieces and stuff him there, then no I don't want it. No? Where's Sherlock? It's Christmas, I begged you to give me Sherlock. Like I always do. Your last real treat was four years ago."

"I told you," Mycroft's voice was blunt but selected, remembering Moriarty's visit, "he's not in the country."

She looked pass him like it was just registering. "He's not with you?"

"No."

"Was he that Sigerson on twitter still abroad?"

"Yes."

"So when can I see him?"

"Not yet."

She smiled quietly, her dark orbs lingering in his direction. "I can wait." She then turned around without another word while Mycroft followed her with his eyes.

"He still can't remember you."

"Isn't that because you're not trying hard?" she moved towards her bed like a ghost gliding in the room.

"He's not ready."

"So you think." She stopped at the foot of her bed and there she remained standing for the rest of their chat. "But all you really have to do is tell him about me and he can come here and play on his own, every Christmas, every week, every day till his very last breath. That way you don't have to bother. Come on." She raised her dark eyes at him but Mycroft only shook his head and repeated.

"He's not ready."

"You play unfair, like always. A time will come and I too will have to bury you. You know I'm coming. East wind always does."

"You can do so." Mycroft's tone had turned gruff as he remembered the little boy who used to play with his little brother lost in the darkness of his sister. "So why not put me in the same place where you lost that child?"

"Victor? Why should I? Victor's not your friend."

"It could be your Christmas present for me."

"Bury you beside Victor? Too late."

"Can't you give me another clue?"

"We're over this. You've always been a bit slow."

"It's been decades, I beg you, sister…"

Eurus suddenly turned to him again, her dark eyes catching him unprepared, and her voice was soft and dead, "You're feeling it too, aren't you? Restlessness?"

The older Holmes eyed her. "I simply want to know. For Sherlock's sake."

"Ah. You're about to reveal me?"

Mycroft sighed. "He's been growing emotionally again. He'll find out eventually."

"And then what? You console him that you solved the puzzle so he won't think lesser of you?"

"This is not about the game— it's about Redbeard!"

"But isn't that how it all began—a game? All I wanted was for you to solve my little puzzle but you didn't— and what did you do after losing to me, brother? Do tell."

"For heaven's sake, Eurus—this is beyond your imagination!" Mycroft found his voice rising, a feat that so rarely happens, but then family banter had always been so common— "You killed a person!"

"He would have died sooner or later. He just lost fifty years at most. And your turn's over, haven't you realized it's Sherlock's turn to play? Besides, I have a different place for you to go. Victor's place wouldn't make you happy. Shouldn't we stick to things that makes us happy?"

At that, Mycroft straightened and looked warily at his sister. "What wouldn't make me happy?"

"It's too small."

"What is?"

"Victor's spot. It suits him. But don't worry, I know exactly just where to put you. You won't regret it. And oh—Mycroft, just remember: the song is always the answer."

Mycroft and Eurus exchange long looks and it was one of the last meeting that Mycroft had with his sister when she openly admitted a foreshadowing. In retrospect, Mycroft should have pressed her for more, but with the idea that she was safe and out of anyone's reach and with Moriarty dead, he decided to give her time.

A decision that paid a heavy price as time told and a year later, his house was invaded by a clown, 221B was reduced to ashes and that boat to Sherrinford sailed to oblivion. The rest was history.

Orange sky filled half his view as the sun sunk into the horizon, leaving him and the sea before him in a limbo of gray, black and blue, the wind hissing on his ears… only two hours remaining… so?

"No jumping to the sea allowed, Mr. Holmes."

Mycroft Holmes pulled his eyes away from the view as he stood by the railings of the top deck of the ship they boarded not an hour ago. With a Somali pirate trailing his every step, the British Government Head was allowed to roam freely around the top deck as oppose to the role of being left captive in a room. They were in a ship in the middle of the vast Indian Ocean and the prospect of one escaping into a life boat unto the sea was unthinkable— what with the large vessel filled with the most notorious of terrorists and pirates alike. Such a feat would only excite their animal instincts for a hunt.

Besides, Mycroft who had no desire to pull any stunt had been lost in his thoughts when he heard the American's voice behind him. Turning, he found Andrew Jones two steps away from where he stood, in his black suit and a dark shirt underneath with mischief glinting behind his eyes. Behind him, two men in turbans and black masks stood side by side.

"You look good in the suit." Jones suddenly brought up as they stood facing each other and Mycroft had to look down his own clothing, a long dark coat with a white long-sleeved underneath minus the tie. It was left in his breast pocket. He said nothing at the empty compliment and waited for silence to kick in.

When Jones realized the British Government Head was in no mood to exchange pleasantries, he shook his head and went on. "So, how's my file? Any luck?"

"Luck had nothing to do with anything; you of all people already know it is a puzzle. It needs time to be cracked." Mycroft raised the mobile that had been clasped on his right hand.

"Then go on cracking." Jones' hands slipped on his pocket trousers with an air of importance on his expression and what Mycroft believed to be an attempt of intimidation. "I gave the phone to you not fifteen minutes ago— man like yourself have a reputation to uphold, isn't that right, Antarctica?"

Mycroft quietly straightened and looked back at Jones in silence. He longed to tell him that threatening him with the codename was already a ship that already sailed. It held no power when all of them were about to reach the end. But seconds later and it passed, his better judgment winning over not giving any hints to what was about to be their fate.

And so, he smiled.

"You're not going to be calling me that the whole night, are you?" he asked testily, rubbing the phone with his thumb. "The probability of luck-guessing a password is over .000000000435% and that's only for numerical combination—"

A hand shot out of nowhere and landed on Mycroft's left shoulder. The older Holmes felt a sear of pain on his well bandaged left side that made him grimace but kept his lips shut.

"Oh, don't play with me now, Holmes," Jones smiled with an evil cheerfulness, "I code-break too, you know. So happens this one is out of my league. I don't know her personally and she had deceased on her file. But you… she specifically said you would know, she even left you a clue… The Song Is the Answer? Is it really that hard to remember?"

The grasp on his injure shoulder tightened but Mycroft could feel it no longer. "You have no idea."

"I don't believe you." Jones muttered with lines of impatience striking his features but the older Holmes was undaunted and kept his levelled eyes at the man. "You know the code, I know. You better fix that attitude of yours or I'll be tempted to sell you to one of them from Arabia. They do like your type. They've begun asking."

At that, both men looked at the floor beneath the railings where dozens of men were already gathered in what appeared to be a buffet party, all in different clothing and attire but with one objective upon boarding the ship. Mycroft didn't notice the number grow in less than an hour. He never saw where they came from—speed boats or whatsis— but the idea that they were all in the same ship—him and everyone else that controls the balance of the underground and terrorism—was enough to make him feel the magnitude of his action.

There was no turning back.

"What would you have me do?" Mycroft asked calmly as he veered his attention back to the weapon's dealer.

Jones shrugged. "What any other sane criminal mind wants— open the file." His grip on Mycroft's shoulder loosened as he put both hands together. "That's all I ask, see? No one needs to get hurt."

Mycroft frowned at him curiously. "Didn't it ever occur to you that maybe Eurus was lying? That there aren't any passcodes needed because there are no missile codes in her file as she made you believe?"

"Yeah? Didn't it ever occur to you that she really only trapped you here? You must also realize it's still a win-win for me because you're still here and I own you." The American's smile that sent Mycroft's eyebrows up to his hairline.

"I suppose… then it also means you don't really need the password since I am here."

"Hey, don't get any ideas, you're the consolation prize. Now give me the codes before the auction begins. You really don't want to fall in the hands of the Arabians. Do you know how dangerous it'll be once I tell them who you really are? You really think I'll come out of here alive?"

"That's a risk you have to take." Mycroft told him unfeelingly. He saw Jones' eyes fall down his hand where he was clutching the mobile and could swear he saw the words in the American's head before it even left his lips.

"Wish you could contact someone now, don't you?" Jones voice was engaging and yet an underlying threat could still be heard. "You've been holding that mobile, so did you try contacting anyone?"

"Not really."

"Want to call for reinforcement?"

"Hardly necessary."

"Yes, forget it. The file's on memory and the mobile's useless and out of range. I'm not that careless to let you call your men who will be haggling me from the Atlantic. So do yourself a favor and give me the code in half an hour. Got that?"

Mycroft's countenance did not change as he turned the phone in his hand. Then with one last glance, he kept his reply short and final. "I'll be in my room."

Jones eyed him suspiciously, but with a side glance and a nod of his head, Mycroft's guard moved and followed the British Government Head who had walked passed the American first and was retracing his footsteps from what he called was his room. Walking at the side of the ship, Mycroft stopped to have another look at the setting sun by the sea. His exchange with Jones took a good amount of the view and now there was only the top of the orange ball on the horizon with the darkening sky upon it. It was breathtaking. Now that he stopped and saw it and its radiance reflecting on the sea, he couldn't help but feel a tad rueful. It was his last sunset and it was perfect.

He watched it for the next second, acknowledging the feelings it brought him for he too was clinging on that last flicker that would soon be consumed by darkness. He was no longer at the heights, he was about to go under whatever under his wasted body would be. Mycroft smiled a little at his own pun and with a pull to himself, he gave a deep exhalation and then went on his way.

It was a large vessel. Mycroft believed it was a cruise ship hijacked long before and made to appear as a civilian cruise— a façade to hide the fact that it was crawling with thieves, pirates and terrorists all over the seven seas. Unsurprisingly, it was a cruise ship Mycroft recognized as he boarded it with that name written on its side Mein Schiff, obviously a German word for My ship but belonging to the Sharm El Sheikh land of Egypt. Well, whether it was stolen or someone influential from said country was pulling the strings, he never bothered.

Mycroft really didn't care as he made his way to his room without even paying attention to the man hauling that machine gun after him. The amount of care he could be damned to give when it would be raining with missiles in 120 minutes was laughable.

What amused him further was while half of passengers carry noticeable weapons and arms, it was also filled with men wearing formal suits. An obvious show of power and influence even to the criminal class. Then Mycroft remembered Jim Moriarty and wondered if he had anything to do with the tradition.

Well. He could ask when they see each other in the afterlife.

Turning to the narrow aisle of rooms, Mycroft entered the second door after the main exit and closed it without bothering his armed companion. The room was a VIP access and the older Holmes had no trouble settling in as he dropped himself on the couch at the center, threw the mobile on the table before him and buried his face on both his hands.

He let all the air in his lungs out. He didn't bother with the phone anymore, he had deleted the Davy Jones file without prejudice right after it was given to him and no, he didn't have to solve the puzzle—he lived the puzzle. With Eurus indicating the clue in her email as 'The Song Is the Answer', Mycroft knew at once that the password in itself was the key to the song. The same key Sherlock had found to decipher it.

Nemo.

Which begs the question— Eurus knew that he would be trapped in her final game. She knew that he would do everything in his power to find the Davy Jones file. So why did she have to use the song again as the clue? She knew by then Sherlock and the others would have found Victor's body. So why was the song still hanging even on his death hour? What message was she trying to give him? Did she mean for him to agonize over the meaning of the song till his last breath… or was she simply reminding him of its essence…

Nemo…

No one…

'I had no one, Mycroft.'

Her voice never really left him. Death was defining his every waking moment and more than anything it was always her voice that would govern his thoughts. Not even Sherlock's. It was always her that was trapped in his subconscious, goading him, mocking him, blaming him for being the slow brother who couldn't even figure out squat in a song she meant for him to uncover. He was supposed to figure it out, it was a child's game!

You failed me and now look where we are.

Mycroft didn't know how long he had stayed in his mind palace but the perspiration that had built up on his forehead and the coldness of his face suddenly made him start up and glance at the clock to his left. Half an hour had just passed and he found himself collapsed on the couch without remembering ever lying down. Straightening himself after recovering his composure, he was just about to get himself a glass of water when something in the room rang.

Startled, Mycroft had to double take just to see the mobile's screen lit up. Blinking several times, he reached for the phone and looked at it curiously. This was supposed to be out of service or so Jones thought. The American wouldn't have given him any chance to contact anyone so why was this phone working and receiving a call at that?

Betting on the probability that Jones was testing him, Mycroft pushed the answer button and then heard the shock of his life for on the other line was a familiar voice—

"Hello? Mycroft?"

The color on Mycroft's face drained. "Sh— Sherlock?"

"Yeah, it's me— where the bloody hell are you?"

"W-what—how did you—?" Mycroft didn't remember getting on his feet.

"Your damn Secret Service managed to use the satellites—I got Jones' number from Garlack's phone before I obviously destroyed it. I'm contacting you from their headquarters in Yemen—where the hell are you?"

"Did you give them the coordinates?" Mycroft's heart did a summersault at the prospect of failing.

"Of course—they disappeared immediately with it—but what do they mean 'missile plan'? Why are they talking as if they're planning like it's D-Day all over again? It's a rescue mission, isn't it?"

Mycroft managed a smile as he walked towards the door and checked that it was locked.

"Never mind them. I'm glad you're alright."

"Don't bet on that yet when I'm planning to crash their strategy area and make demands of my own."

"Do that and they'll throw you back to London."

"Oh, good. Then I can go get John and we'll crash the strategy area and make demands of our own."

"Don't be ridiculous and mind your temper. Nothing ever gets resolved with your recklessness so I ask you to conduct yourself and let my men do their part. It's a critical planning, brothermine, that which requires you to stay put and behave."

There was a considerable amount of silence, to which Mycroft heaved a silent sigh at hearing Sherlock's lively voice, before his younger brother's tone turned dead serious as he spoke again.

"You're lying to me again, aren't you?"

The older Holmes stiffened. "Why?"

"Your people have not the air of men ready to save their captain, they barely even mentioned your safety at all. So stop lying and tell me the truth—because from what I see they are trying to do exactly the opposite. D-Day opposite with saucing of missiles getting launched instead—they said it's an order from above—what the hell is happening?"

Mycroft had walked around the room as he listened to his brother and couldn't help the knitting of his eyebrows.

"Oh, Sherlock. Must I point out everything to you?"

"Just tell me!"

"Where's the fun in that? Go figure it out yourself—I'm hanging up."

"I'm calling from half the sphere of your location and you will WHAT!?"

"Receiver's prerogative. In any case, I don't have much time. You sure you haven't figured it out?"

"If I'm going to be smart about it and with you probably with that smirk on your face—then I'd say they're actually planning to sink your ship with the coordinates that you gave under your order."

"That wasn't so hard, wasn't it?" Mycroft stood his ground and bowed his head. His younger brother's breathing even stopped as he spoke and he could just make out the wide-eyed expression of his brother— an effect that till this day Mycroft was proud to say only he could pull. It took seconds before he felt his brother breath on the other line.

"What the hell does that even mean?"

"Exactly as it is. I think brother, this is the part where people say their goodbyes."

Silence followed his statement. Even Mycroft suddenly felt heavy as he pressed his thumb forefinger at the bridge of his nose. He thought he heard Sherlock gasp but it could just be the work of his ears having been exposed to too much salt air outside. And then Sherlock finally spoke again.

"You don't mean that."

"As a matter of fact, I do. Since we're miles apart, I might as well be honest with you—"

"Why would you that?"

"I don't know—last minute feeling of guilt?"

"I meant your plan! Why would you do that? Why would you practically shove yourself in a situation where I can't even jump in to save you!?"

Mycroft had to admit he was taken aback at his brother's outburst.

"Because I never meant to be saved. No— listen, Sherlock—this is really not about what you can do for me. I made up my decision. It's by far the only solution I can finally commit to this unending game between Eurus and myself—"

"And you never thought I was part of that too?"

"You've done your part. You've saved her, Sherlock. In her context."

"What are you talking about!?"

Mycroft shut his eyes at the hysteria Sherlock never displayed before which made his head ache for some reason. "It's something I could not have done for her—she never let me. You have to start considering her mental faculties, Sherlock. We can't always just accept things as they are—it's not only just it is what it is—but what it was and what will be. Eurus, she… she wanted to be saved, Sherlock. I didn't do that even when I had the power…"

Silence again, but Mycroft never doubted him because he knew Sherlock was listening to his every word. That this younger brother of his no matter how stubborn and inconsiderate, was always hanging for his every word since they were children. And that he found himself at the end of the line, Mycroft could feel his mind palace breaking at the idea of dying. Thoughts that he hadn't given a second to consider were bursting out of his mental grave and rising, rising to be known. He swallowed hard and continued.

"I abandoned her, Sherlock. She had no one. I know you must've realized too. You know I did not do my best."

"I had no expectation of it from the beginning. You were being you."

"Which means a young foolish man who let his fear get the best of him and his sister who was only in need of attention? Had I given it much thought, Sherlock I would have understood that she—Eurus only wanted us to pay attention. She had no desire to kill Redbeard or else she wouldn't have given those clues! She was only a child acting on human whim with a desire to be loved! She envied Victor! A human behavior amplified by her psychosis in which I did nothing about!"

"You couldn't have done anything—"

"I could have paid more attention." Mycroft said a bit sadly, "I could have saved her, but instead I left her and caged her far away and a good distance for the benefit of own comfort… I was subconsciously pushing her away, Sherlock. I had no right. So everything turned into a game for her and I don't blame our mother is she slaps me and tell me how much I'm worth! A limited person who could not even listen well to his sister's plea! I don't deserve to be called the older brother, Sherlock. Eurus is as much as my victim as I am hers. I should not have shut her down."

"Why are you defending her?"

"Because it's the only thing I can do for her now." Mycroft whispered softly with heavy eyes and trembling lips, "She deserves my apology. Please give her my regards." Mycroft breathed with a hand passing over his face, "You must not blame her for this, Sherlock. It was bound to end this way. Eventually."

Silence met his ears again but it did not last as Sherlock spoke, "I don't care about any of that now. What am I supposed to do about you? How can I help you?"

"You're not supposed to."

"Stop yapping, give me something that will stop your idiot men in pushing the big red button!"

Mycroft actually chuckled. "I can't. Nothing you will say will stop everything now. The navy's bound to follow my orders, it's in the highest note. It explicitly means a spy managed to get their key codes and they have to get rid of the weapons as soon as possible before it gets compromised by anyone else. Thus, the landing is in the middle of the ocean, to the exact location I indicated. This is war, brothermine."

"War is by no means the only solution to your every whim—use your brain for god sake! Mycroft—"

He held his breath. "It's over, Sherlock."

An inhale and a lost silence.

"Mycroft, please. Do something."

The older Holmes turned the mobile away as he controlled the turmoil that had begun to stir at the pit of his stomach and was making his whole face hot. He already had made peace with his decision but this was beginning to shaken his resolve. Walking to the nearest couch, he spoke again.

"Sherlock, listen." He pressed the phone next to his ears one last time, "You never believed in immortality. You understand why this has to happen—"

"No, I don't! I want you out there—I want you to get to the lifeboats and sail back here! Your job is to survive!"

"Sherlock—"

"NO—DON'T!" the younger Holmes bellowed deeply that rendered Mycroft speechless, "Don't you tell me you meant for this to happen! Don't ever tell me your sacrifice is the smart choice! You know you're not thinking straight! So listen to me and do something! Don't you dare fail me on this, Mycroft! Don't you dare!"

Mycroft pressed his eyes close and paced on the floor.

"Please, Mycroft." Sherlock's voice uncharacteristically shook. "Please, for me. Save yourself!"

Mycroft slumped back defeatedly on the couch with his face on his hand, his other firmly holding the phone like it was his lifeline. Sherlock was a good man. He was the better man.

"I'm proud of you, brothermine." Mycroft breathed on the phone, but then seeing the seconds on his watch, he shook his head. "But I'm sorry."

"MYCROFT!"

"Goodbye."

And he hung up the phone and clasped it with both of his hands, his head bowed near his chest.

There were so many things he wanted to tell his brother, but he imagined that would only make it difficult for the two of them to move forward. Not that he had useful knowledge left to impart, Sherlock had grown into such a person Mycroft was happy to admit he was going to be proud of. If only there were more time to watch him grow fully into someone in full capacity of his faculties and his human emotion: a creative genius.

But then, all good things must come to an end, and for him—checking his watch— comes down into the last 50 minutes of his life. He was a dead man walking. Mycroft threw the phone on the table he considered now useless, wiped his warm face with both palms and was just about to stand up when he heard someone tinkering with his doorknob. Frowning, he turned his face at the door, wondering if it was about time for Jones to show up again who would pull him in front of the most desirable wanted men of the world when he remembered he had deleted the Davy Jones' file. He shot the phone a look and was just about to snatch it when the door opened and came in his guard.

Mycroft managed to snatch the phone, but it was already too late when he realized that the Somali pirate had barged in and was already beside him with his weapon raised. A moment next, and the said pirate pulled his black mask away from his face revealing none other than—

"Oh, geez." Mycroft cried with all energy draining from his body as there just a step away from him stood his younger brother in that dark outfit of the black turbaned pirates with a broad grin on his cheeky face.

"Hey, bro."

Mycroft ogled at him long enough with his mouth open. Sherlock met his eyes with a ready smirk.

"What are you doing here?!" the older Holmes cried.

"Uh, saving your life?"

"But—but on the phone—"

"I was calling you from the outside. What?" he asked defensively when his older brother kept gazing at him as if seeing a very mean ghost. "I knew what you were planning—you really think I wouldn't know you had other plans with the coordinates? Am I really just some kind of an idiot to you?"

"How could you do that to me—"

"I always do things to you."

"But you gave my men the coordinates?" he sat up, a strange flicker of urgency on his eyes. "Sherlock?"

"I did. Which means this place is still going to be blown up—a highly risky strategy but I really appreciate it. Who can resist a good scenario up close?" Sherlock removed the machine gun from his middle and placed it on the table as he checked his watch, "Which only gives us uh… 30 minutes maximum to jump on a speed boat if we plan to not get sucked by the whirlpool." He glanced up at his brother with another smile. "Shall we?"

Mycroft blinked several times, still unable to believe—but he might as well do so when this was his younger brother pulling on one of his own tricks in what was supposed to be his perfect plan.

"I'm not going anywhere!" he said stubbornly, not standing.

"Well, I hope you're prepared to be hauled inside a sack and dangle on my shoulder because I'm obviously not leaving here alone. You sure you want to waste time?"

"You're insane!"

"Ditto. Now move—" he reached for Mycroft to which his brother tried to pull away—

"And how do you propose to leave here unnoticed!?"

"Leave that to me—I have my share of sneaking around!"

"Let go—I'm not suicidal!"

"Oh really?"

"Sherlock—"

But his younger brother had already pulled on his mask and machine gun before giving him a dirty look.

"You move or I'll make you? Isn't it more sensible to give it a try than sit here and wait for the sky to fall?"

Mycroft breathed, and then quietly collected his thoughts. The excitement his brother's presence gave him was not good for his heart, that much he knew. He could still feel the shaking of his limbs and because of what—because Sherlock was there ready to risk everything to save him?

The older Holmes fell silent as his head cleared. Blinking, he finally stood up with eyes falling on his younger brother.

"Changed your mind?" Sherlock asked with a leveled look at his older brother.

"Well, when you realized your younger brother has attached on your lifeline like an octopus, one is bound to do an action." He replied drily. "You're an idiot, you know that, Sherlock?"

But Sherlock only smiled. "My favorite word."

The two exchange mutual looks that somewhat eased the panic Mycroft had been silently feeling. It was no good. A new sense of hope he didn't think he needed was fighting its way back to his consciousness. It was the effect Sherlock always had.

Hope.

"You know there are about a hundred pirates out there?" he asked his younger brother as they strode towards the door with Sherlock already spying the outside. "How do you suggest we wade ourselves out?"

"Have you forgotten?" Sherlock opened the door and turned to his brother, smiling. "We're pirates too."

The older Holmes sighed in defeat as he followed his over energetic younger brother outside and realized this was just the kind of game Sherlock Holmes would play. And he was getting sucked into it like how Sherlock would always call for him to play when they were children.

Feeling a bit calm, the brothers headed for the main door at the end of the wooden hall into the chilly night sky that had enveloped the sky the moment the sun disappeared. Sherlock and Mycroft stood side by side, exchanging silent glances and nods till they found themselves walking among the passengers in the main dining hall outside the hall. There were already hundreds of people there, mingling and talking with air of severity and tension. This was after all, a Black Market's organization. Somewhere in the middle, pirates and terrorists alike will have negotiations and—

Mycroft's thoughts were halted when Sherlock's hand shot out of nowhere and grabbed him by the upper arm, halting his movements. Struck, the older Holmes threw his brother a look. From where he stood, the older Holmes could just see that his brother was looking at something he couldn't see. Wondering what on earth it was, he followed his brother's line of vision and then gasped at what he saw.

It was like a cold bomb was dropped inside his stomach and Mycroft staggered.

For there, standing in the middle of everyone else, mesmerizing in her dark gown and glowing dark hair cascading down her exposed back was none other than she. There was no mistaking her familiar dead eyes. The epitome of fear in Mycroft's subconscious. How did she...?

And that was when Mycroft realized that no one was going to come out of there alive.

-To be Continued-

A/N: *ten times shooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooook*

THE EPILOGUE AWAITS!

Thank you for reading!