Mycroft Holmes is beyond stressed. At this rate, he would have a heart attack before 60. In less than 2 week Louise was almost kidnapped twice, change school to a military like institution ruled by a psychopath, and meet one of his ex boyfriends. He takes his cigarettes with one hand, not letting his niece go even for a second. "Boyfriend" fucking silly word for what Ian used to mean.
The government officer run the eyes through his child, he could practically see everything that happened to her. The running, hidding, being caught and fighting the agressor, being extraordinary brave. Good girl. He rise his tomb, without letting the hold, and pass it on her cheek.
The blue invading eyes come to his, going deep in his being. Those eyes, Sherlock's blue, Theres' blue and, annoyingly, Eurus' blue, beautiful, yes, full of memories of beloved ones, but extremely unsettling. That little girl was his last chance on so many things in his life, and he was falling her, the exact same way he failed with the others. Although the failure, he could see the profund hope and expectations Louise put in her uncle. Her uncle Myke. Never in years Mycroft Holmes imagine himself as the beloved and needed uncle Myke of a little girl with eating disorders, social anxiety and depression. His little one.
Louise puts her head on his chest, never letting his hand. An irrational will of holding her and never letting her go takes over his body. His niece was one of the only people who could make him be extremely irrational, really. Mycroft knew he would tear England apart for her without even blinking.
He puts his other hand on her hair, letting the cigarette go.
— We are going to see uncle Sherlock, alright? You can stay with John if it makes you more comfortable, I need to talk with your uncle.
— I don't want to give him trouble, uncle Myke — she, once again, invade him with the blue sad eyes, stormy doubts on them. — He will feel horrible for investing things involving me.
Mycroft almost close his eyes in satisfaction, his little one always worried about Sherlock, even if he is indifferent or rude, she would always love him. The irrational part of his mind knows how it was the exact same love towards her uncle Myke. It's amusing to think about it.
The car stops and the British government walks out, he is crossed and worried enough to just walk fast towards to door, without worrying about Louise holding his hand, she had to run a little to follow, but her uncle doesn't bother in observe it. And she doesn't mind that, knowing his stress, running a little was a small price to pay.
Sherlock is laid on the sofa dressed in his pijamas, both foot on the wall and head placed on the floor, looking just like a child, thinking. The blue eyes open to Mycroft, examining his brother, the tension, the smell of cigarettes, and the hand holding strongly Louise.
Sherlock would never admit, but the sight of his niece took him to a bloody house and a devastating pain, she was the exact copy of the picture of an old place of his childhood, running with Theres, she was his long side pirate. Now she was gone, and he could bare to look at his goddaughter, how could he?
— What do you want, Mycroft? — Louise find it funny the fact he doesn't even bother to move, staying upside down, but doesn't laugh, her heart is sinked on the bones, he could even bare to look at her.
Mycroft observes the two os them, Sherlock's eyes clearly avoid her vision, avoiding pain, and Louise simply accepting the guilt. After so many meetings on so little time, maybe it was better to take Louise back to a doctor, but that was a worry for another moment.
— Louise! — John Watson, getting out of exactly no were, hugs Mycroft's niece, pulling her away from him. The government officer feels the hand empty and has to control the will to take her back, away from the soldier — What happened to you? With your head?
— Why don't you take her inside, Dr. Watson? She might be hurt — she shakes her head and step back to his hand, grabbing with her both — I know, small one, I'm right here, just go. John will take care of you.
Louise obeys, letting go, making a bitter taste grow on his mouth, his hand never felt so empty. Sherlock sits straight, worried face, reading the situation. That's what Louise wouldn't see ir, how he still cares, even through his pain.
— I'm sorry, brother, for putting you through this again, but I had to come. And I need your help. She was almost kidnapped again, with guns, and violence, deaths, in the middle of the street — his brother face falls in to a tense form, understanding — Somebody wants her. Badly. And they don't mind the consequences.
Sherlock stands up, taking it seriously now. Mycroft find it amusing to see how his shoulders stay tense and his face falls in serious concentration, deducing, wondering, just like the boy who would call the police 15 time a day to tell them he solved a case and they were idiots. Maybe, just like when they were children, he could help his brain to work faster.
— Do you want the names?
— The small of the last two years — Sherlock doesn't sits, and his brother knows exactly how he will move next, think next — and the big of the last decade.
John holds Louise's face while putting some ice on her front head, he wonders what happened with her, but don't ask, she didn't need a curious old man right now. Her eyes are sad, deeply hurt, and a will to punch the responsible comes to his bones, she was so young to be so sad.
— I thought we would only see each other tomorrow — the soldier tries to take her mind of what happened — You had classes today, right?
— Yes, with Ian, my chemistry teacher — she gives a smile that shines lightly on the blue, John take a few seconds to realise that smile made his day — It was a nice day... Until the blonde guy came. I was scared, but Lestrade said it's ok to be scared, I'm fine now — she looked in the guessing room direction — My worry is uncle, he shouldn't be left alone. I have to talk if uncle Sherlock, John — it was one of the first times she called him by the batism name naturally, a warm sensation grew in his chest — But is OK to be scared, right?
Louise had a tense expression, the delicate eyebrows putted together, he wishes to show her how not scary is Sherlock, how her uncle is a sweet man. A flash of the adorable smile and the light blush of the pale cheeks of his flagmate comes to him bringing a shadow of a smile, a sweet man.
The girl gets up and take a pic through the door, Sherlock and Mycroft are deducing, playing, it a funny thing to observe, like a dance, their normal dance, of course, but without the annoying sequence big insults. She observes, waiting for them to finish, it's amusing, like the real brothers of many years ago.
— Is the only option, Mycroft, the two possibilities, but first I have to see the scene — Sherlock walks around, thinking, worried — Two fronts might make the protection easy, but we need a realistic strategy.
— You are going to the crime scene? I have to take Lou home — Mycroft's face turns profoundly sad and deep, the green eyes unable to focous, the worry moving in his brilliant mind. Louise knows that pain, and knows very well Sherlock's expression. He isn't satisfied with his brother pain. It was her chance.
— Uncle Mycroft? — she let herself be seeing, trying hard to ignore Sherlock's rejection — Are we leaving?
— Yes, small one — he rise his hand for her to grab it — Let's go, say thank you to Doctor Watson.
But, when she opens her mouth, it's not towards John, the blue eyes are stuck on her pale uncle. The two of them stare at each other for a few seconds. John and Mycroft are still, observing, both can see how much pain there is on that stare.
— I'm so sorry for everything, uncle Sherlock, sorry for taking you sister out of you hands, for give you so many bad memories — the detective can't move, he just keep his eyes on the small face — And now I'm bothering you again, I'm sorry for everything, I know I can't undo that. But please, Sherlock — she rise her eyes to Mycroft, the green deep eyes — do it for him. He is so stressed, I know is my fault too — she turn back to the youngest Holmes — Look at him, he cares so much, do this for him, I hate to see him like this. I think he even lost weight in the last weeks, I don't want him to stop eating again. He deserves to be ok. Please.
Sherlock observes his brother, mind running fast, so many information. Sorry for what? Stop eating again? Bothering him? Yes, Mycroft was smaller even, impressively stressed, tense lines on his expression, worried with his girl. Their girl. No. Sherlock didn't have the right of calling her his, although the idea of her believing being hate hurts, imensily. He just shakes his head and stand up, noticing the moves on the room. Fear coming from his goddaughter, angry from John and a slight pain from his brother. A hard painful thought comes to him, how he could do that to the important people of his live. Well, wasn't always like this?
— I will do everything I can — he answer, hard to put out the voice — To keep you under your uncle Mycroft wings forever. Safe. And, I assure you, it's the only way to keep him... Ok.
John is struck by that frase, even more confuse with the hole situation than before, but he was certain of something: Sherlock Holmes didn't hate his niece. It was exactly the opposite. He catch the eyes on Mycroft. The British government knew what the man realise, and, silently, both man decided, maybe not together, they were putting those two back on the same side. Back in the same family.