From Beyond the Grave

The news that John had nearly beaten Sherlock to death was not something that overly surprised Melissa or Mycroft. After all, it was undeniable that Sherlock was responsible for Mary's death. Of course John would be angry.

That wasn't the thing that confused them. What did was the fact Sherlock seemed to have fixated on a man named Culverton Smith – a TV personality, Entrepreneur, and Philanthropist. Melissa had encountered him at galas before, but neither she nor Jim had ever seen anything intriguing in him, though the man was known for being an extremely creepy human being.

But there was nothing there for Sherlock to fixate upon.

There was nothing there to send Sherlock into drugs and danger.

As the agents searched Sherlock's flat, Mycroft took a seat in Sherlock's chair, putting his umbrella beside him. Melissa just perched herself on the back of Sherlock's chair. He'd called John on their way over, sending a car to pick up the man, and they'd sent someone looking for Mrs. Hudson.

For a few minutes, they waited patiently, but Mycroft quickly grew annoyed. "Where is she?" he asked one of the agents. "Where's Mrs. Hudson?"

"She'll be up in a moment."

John entered the flat, ducking under some of the string that Sherlock had strung around the place. "Uh, uh...what are you doing?"

"Have you noticed the kitchen?" Mycroft stood. "It's practically a meth lab. I'm trying to establish exactly what drove Sherlock off the rails."

Melissa gave John a wave, staying seated. "And I'm here because Mycroft didn't want to be alone among idiots."

"Any ideas?" Mycroft continued, giving her a small smile as he spoke.

John looked into the kitchen, watching the agents inside at work. "Are these spooks? Uh...are you using spooks now to look after your family?" he frowned as some agents put items into evidence bags. "Hang on – are they tidying?"

"Sherlock is a security concern. The fact that I'm his brother changes nothing."

"Yeah, you said that before."

Mycroft moved closer to the fireplace, casting a look over the mantle as he spoke. "Why fixate on Culverton Smith? He's had his obsessions before, of course, but this goes a bit further than setting a mantrap for Father Christmas." He shook his head. "Spending all night talking to a woman who wasn't even there."

John crossed his arms. "Mycroft, last time when we were on the phone..."

Mycroft screwed up his face, waving a hand. "No, no, no, no, stop. I detest conversation in the past tense."

John stepped closer. "You said the fact that you were his brother made no difference."

"It doesn't."

"You said it didn't the last time and it wouldn't with Sherlock, so who was it the last time? Who were you talking about?"

Melissa fixed Mycroft with a look, wondering what he'd do. They all knew he hadn't been discussing Lina, a woman who lived in London teaching music – at one point, Jim's plan had included her, but he'd changed his mind. She was perfectly innocent, perfectly normal. Perfectly unaware. Perfectly alive.

"Nobody. I...misspoke."

John frowned. "You're lying."

"I assure you I'm not."

John stared at Mycroft and then smiled. "Sherlock's not your only brother. There's another one, isn't there?"

"No."

But John still laughed. "Jesus! A secret brother! What, is he locked up in a tower or something?"

"Solving long division," Melissa mumbled, making Mycroft shoot her a look, but she just smiled.

They all turned to the door as Mrs. Hudson arrived. "Mycroft Holmes!" he sighed at her. "What are all these dreadful people doing in my house?"

"Mrs. Hudson, I apologize for the interruption. As you know, my brother has embarked on a program of self-destruction remarkable even by his standards, and I am endeavoring to find out what triggered it."

"And that's what you're all looking for?"

He nodded. "Quite so."

"What's on his mind?"

"So to speak."

"And you've had all this time?"

"Time being something of which we don't have an infinite supply..." he glanced at John "...so if we could be about our business?" Mycroft attempted to smile at Mrs. Hudson, but she just started to giggle.

"You are..." Mycroft frowned at John and Melissa, who'd swung her legs around so that she could rest her elbows on her knees, "...you're – you're so funny, you are!" Mrs. Hudson covered her mouth as she laughed.

"Mrs. Hudson?"

Mrs. Hudson gestured generally at John. "He thinks you're clever. Poor old Sherlock; always going on about you." She touched John's arm. "I mean, he knows you're an idiot, but that's okay 'cause you're a lovely doctor," she looked to Melissa, "and he always goes on about how clever you are, and you seem to be, I'll give him that, but you," she turned to Mycroft, "...but he has no idea what an idiot you are!"

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson, why'd you never say this sooner?" Melissa grinned at her. "I had no idea you were so brilliant."

Mycroft frowned. "Is this merely stream-of-consciousness abuse, or are you attempting to make a point?"

"You want to know what's bothering Sherlock? Easiest thing in the world; anyone can do it."

"I know his thought processes better than any other human being, so please try to understand..."

But Mrs. Hudson interrupted him. "He's not about thinking, not Sherlock."

"Of course he is."

"No, no. He's more...emotional, isn't he?" Mrs. Hudson turned to the wall behind the sofa. "Unsolved case: shoot the wall." She mimed firing a gun at it. "Pew! Pew!" Turned towards the kitchen. "Unmade breakfast: karate the fridge!" she mimed a karate chop, turning to the mantelpiece. "Unanswered question..." she turned to John. "Well, what does he do with anything he can't answer, John, every time?"

John had looked towards the fireplace as she'd spoken. "He stabs it." He moved towards the fireplace as Mrs. Hudson turned to Mycroft and Melissa again.

"Anything he can't find the answer for..." Mrs. Hudson pointed two fingers at the mantel. "Bang!" John pulled a knife from an envelope, turning back around. "...it's up there. I keep telling him: if he was any good as a detective, I wouldn't need a new mantel."

John pulled out a white DVD with 'MISS ME?' written on it, the sight of which had Mycroft and Melissa straightening. He bent, putting the DVD into the television in the corner of the room. All of the agents had paused as Mrs. Hudson spoke, the majority of them moving to watch the screen too.

Even Melissa stood, coming to stand beside Mycroft, who had a hand to the side of his face.

But it wasn't what anything of them expected.

It was Mary.

"If you're watching this, I'm...probably dead."

John backed away, holding out a hand. "Okay, no. S-stop that now, please." He turned away, getting as far away from the television as possible.

Mrs. Hudson paused it, standing. "Everybody out, now. All of you." No one moved, John turning the window. "This is my house..." she gestured to John "...this is my friend..." pointed at the television "...and that's his departed wife. Anyone who stays here a minute longer is admitting to me personally they do not have a single spark of human decency."

There was a moment of pause before all of the agents left the room. It took Melissa a moment longer, but she did step towards the door, pausing as Mycroft didn't move.

Melissa didn't know if she actually had human decency, but she did have the smallest sympathy for a man whose wife had just died because she'd sacrificed herself for Sherlock Holmes. Because Sherlock was responsible for her death. Melissa knew quite well how it felt to have someone you love kill themselves because of the consulting detective.

Mrs. Hudson walked close to Mycroft, leaning even closer. "Get out of my house, you reptile."

Mycroft blinked, startled, but Mrs. Hudson just gestured at the door with the remote. It was another moment before Mycroft unfolded his arms, grabbed his umbrella, and joined Melissa at the door.

They said nothing to each other, but Melissa's phone went off again. She didn't look at it, not yet, but she knew who it was.

She knew what they wanted.

~M~

Melissa was wrong. She hadn't known what they wanted.

They wanted something that could only be found on Mycroft's government laptop.

They wanted her to give them something that Mycroft would know she did.

After all, who else would be able to access it? Who else was able to waltz into his office and look wherever they wanted? Who else would get even remotely close to determining the password?

Who else knew where his home was and exactly how to enter it undetected?

If she did it, Mycroft would know it was her. She would not only break the law to the point that Mycroft probably wouldn't be able to save her, but he also wouldn't want to. Because she would have betrayed him.

If she did this, she'd lose Mycroft.

But if she didn't, they were going to shoot Sebastian in the head.

They sent her a toe with a very specific tattoo to make it clear they were serious.

She had to pick.

Mycroft or Sebastian.

There was no guarantee that they'd release Sebastian if she gave them what they asked for, even though they said they would.

They'd promised they would.

They knew that she needed a real reason to betray Mycroft, real hope.

They knew her. Melissa hated them.

It was the day that Sherlock, John, and Mycroft traveled to Sherrinford that Melissa decided to do it. That she decided to enter his office, to look for the laptop, and then go to his home and search it.

She found it in his bedroom.

Melissa sat on his bed with the computer in her lap and took a breath.

She was going to do this.

She was going to lose Mycroft.

She was going to try and save Sebastian.

If she was being honest, just sitting around helping the British government had gotten boring. She was performing a similar role as she had for her brother, but that had had a completely different level of enjoyment. That had been fun, interesting, new. She got to have tea with murderers and blackmailers and get the smallest of glimpses into their minds.

She'd had Magnussen, for God's sake. She missed Magnussen in the way Melissa missed anyone. She wished she'd gotten to understand him more, that she'd gotten to get an even deeper look inside his head. That he'd gotten to teach her everything he knew, make her into someone like him. But he'd just died, and it had gotten boring.

But it hadn't.

And it had.

And Melissa didn't know what was true.

She didn't know which of the two was a lie. She didn't know when she was lying to herself.

Melissa opened the computer and logged in without question, not even bothering to wear gloves for her fingerprints.

Mycroft would know that she did this no matter what she did. He would know she was responsible.

~M~

"Red alert! Red alert! Big bad bouncy red alert! Klingons attacking lower decks! Also, cowboys in black hats, and Darth Vader! Don't be alarmed! I'm here now! I'm here now! Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Miss me? Miss me? Miss me? Miss me?"

"Miss me?"

"Hello. My name's Jim Moriarty. Welcome...to the final problem."

"If you don't mind, please say hello to some very old friends of ours."

"Clever Eurus! You go, girl!...Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock...tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tock...tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick...tock-tock-tock-tock-tock-tock-tock-tick-tick-tick...come on now! Aaaaall aboard! Choo-choo! Choo-choo!...Fasten your seatbelts! It's gonna be a bumpy night."

"Mind the gap...the train has left the station."

"Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tick...tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tick...tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tick-tick-tick...tick-tock, tickets please!...tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick..."

Stop.

"This is my fault." Mycroft turned his eyes to Sherlock. "Moriarty?"

His little brother frowned, gun in hand. "Moriarty?"

"And Brook. Her Christmas treats: five minutes' conversation with Jim Moriarty five years ago and five minutes' conversation with Melissa Brook three years ago."

"What did they discuss?"

"Five minutes' conversation..." Sherlock lowered the pistol slightly, anticipating his brother, knowing his brother, and Mycroft shrugged, "...unsupervised." John was incredibly stunned at that, stumbling back. Sherlock just lifted the pistol again. "Goodbye, brother mine. No flowers..." he put his hands behind his back "...by request."

Eurus's eyes were wide behind them. "Jim Moriarty thought you'd make this choice. He was so excited."

Jim's face flashed on the screen again, the room going red. "And here we are, at the end of the line. Holmes killing Holmes. This is where I get off." He grinned, and he was gone, Eurus back.

"Melissa Brook less so. She really seemed to like you, Mycroft. Pity she's just sold all the government secrets she could get her hands on in a futile attempt to get her assassin lover back." Eurus shrugged. "Though, she did want a Holmes boy dead. You're just killing the wrong one. Technicality."

~M~

Once all the business with Eurus and Sherrinford and telling their parents that Eurus was still alive, Mycroft set about confirming what Eurus had said about Melissa.

Because Melissa had recorded a few short clips for Eurus's plan. Not nearly as many as her brother, but she was there. She was taunting him.

And Melissa had gone missing. He'd returned from Sherrinford to discover that no one, not a single government agent, could locate Melissa Brook. That alone had made his heart sink, but then he heard word of a foreign criminal agent with information that could have only been found on his private government computer.

When he looked on his security film, he saw her walking through his house. He didn't see how she entered or exited, but he saw her walking through his home.

She went straight to his bedroom. She'd known where the computer would be. She'd known him.

She'd betrayed him.

And he couldn't just let her get away with it this time because other people had been impacted by the knowledge getting out. Because other people could point it back to him, other people could point it back to the fact that Melissa had gone missing.

But that wasn't just it. It was bad enough that she'd seriously broken the law by giving out secret intelligence. Melissa Brook was a powerful woman. She'd always been, even before Mycroft had let her deep within the government.

Now, she knew everything.

Now, she was dangerous.

Now, Mycroft was back at 221B.

Sherlock wasn't happy to see him, but thankfully John and Rosie weren't there. His brother was sitting in his chair and Mycroft, as any other client, took his.

"What is it this time, brother mine?" Sherlock asked him, steepling his fingers. "Do we have another sibling you've been hiding my entire life?"

Mycroft didn't smile. "Sadly, that is not what I've come to discuss with you today. I've come to discuss Melissa Brook."

Sherlock lifted an eyebrow. "Did you two have a lover's tiff? Or a quarrel?"

"I'm being serious." Mycroft shifted in his chair. "She's gone missing. After...leaking classified information. It is necessary she's found as quickly as possible."

"You don't trust your agents' ability to track her down themselves?"

He leaned forward. "Melissa Brook gone rogue is possibly the deadliest threat to the British government there has ever been. She is the most dangerous woman in the world. And we need all the help we can get to find her." None of it a lie.

He'd trusted her. She'd known he'd trusted her. She'd always been the most dangerous woman in the world, even before he'd let her deep into the government, but he'd trusted that she wouldn't do anything.

He'd trusted her.

Sherlock said nothing for a time, staring his brother down. "You've made quite a few mistakes recently, brother mine."

"Don't worry." Mycroft swallowed. "I am well aware."

~M~

"What a situation you've found yourself in, sweet sister."

Melissa didn't open her eyes.

"Such a peculiar predicament."

"Shut up."

"Why are you ignoring me? Don't ignore me, Melissa. You can't ignore me."

"Yes, I can."

"You can never ignore me." She opened her eyes. Jim – not Jim, Melissa knew it wasn't Jim, not really – was sitting on the other end of the bed. Dressed like he was on the day he died. "There we go! Haven't you missed me? I've certainly missed you."

"Shut up."

He pouted. "That's incredibly rude. Don't be rude to me. I'm your brother."

"You're not my brother."

"Oh, come now, that's no way to approach this situation. Why don't we start again?" A blink and Jim was closer, the middle of the bed. "Haven't you missed me, Melissa? It's been four years. Far too long for the two of us."

"You're dead."

He rolled his neck. "Of course I'm dead, sweet sister. Shot myself in the head, didn't I? You should try it. So refreshing."

Melissa had a gun. She never put it down if she could help it, just in case someone found her. Just in case she needed to defend herself.

Just in case she wanted to die.

"Death is the ultimate victory, after all."

"For who?"

Jim smirked. "You've always been so clever, haven't you, Melissa? Even as children. Always so clever."

"So were you."

A blink and Jim had become them as children. Become six-year-old twins still dressed in matching clothes because their mother thought they still looked close enough to sell the illusion. Twins who spoke in unison whenever they could, who were never more than a few steps from each other.

Who stayed together against the rest of the world.

The young them said nothing, just stared.

Another blink and they were Jim again, but now he had blood on his suit, now he'd shot himself, now he really was dead.

"Don't you want to be with me, Melissa? Don't you want to not be alone?"

"I'm fine with being alone."

"You could never lie to me, Melissa, you know that. You're alone right now. Completely and entirely."

He was right.

Because the people who held Sebastian hadn't contacted Melissa again. Because she could never be trusted by Mycroft again. Because Mary, Seamus, and Magnussen were dead. Because Jim was dead.

If you'd asked Melissa before, she would have said she wanted to be alone. That she preferred being alone. But she'd quickly determined that that was wrong.

Melissa had never been alone before. She didn't like it.

~M~

There were a few times where they'd been extremely close at catching Melissa. The majority of the British government and any foreign government they could convince were looking for her. But Mycroft was quickly understanding that no one would be able to find Melissa Brook unless she wanted to be found.

And, right now, she didn't. She just wanted to taunt. She just wanted to get their hopes up. She just wanted to lay a trap.

Despite what Mycroft had concluded, he still had governments searching for her. He still tried to make it impossible for Melissa to escape.

He didn't want to find her because of some deeply rooted compassion that he felt for the sister of a madman – at least, that's what he tried to tell himself and others. He wanted to find her because she was dangerous, because there was a reason the government had allowed her so deep into its ranks.

Melissa was powerful. She was powerful and she was smarter than most other people on the planet. She couldn't use any of the contacts that she'd used while working for the government, as they were watching all those, but he had no doubt that she'd always had others she'd never talked about. Others she'd never cared to share. Others that they had no knowledge of that she could track down and enlist the aid of.

And Mycroft could do nothing. He didn't know if he wanted to. He didn't know if he should.

Once, she'd been a friend. An ally. An us against a world of goldfish. But never again.

Melissa Brook had betrayed him, had cut herself out of his small circle of compassion.

Melissa had been right, Mycroft had never lost anyone he'd really cared about. He'd never understood what loss felt like, what true grief could do to a person. And he wasn't saying that what he felt now was anything like what Melissa had felt upon the deaths of her brothers, Magnussen, or Mary, but Mycroft believed he was experiencing the smallest glimpse into her world.

In some small way, he was understanding what it was like to be Melissa Brook.

Mycroft could only hope that they found Melissa before she killed herself because he was well aware of how high of a possibility it was. He'd seen the signs ever since she'd appeared in his office three years previous. They weren't the traditional ones, nothing a normal would exhibit when suicidal.

After all, Melissa Brook wasn't a normal. She was him.

Mycroft had looked into her eyes countless times and been worried about what he'd seen looking back. About the isolation, the attachment, the underlying foolish self-sacrificing.

About the fact that, by doing what she'd done, Melissa had separated herself from perhaps the last person left in the world who'd given her any sort of affection.

Mycroft wanted to save her, but he knew he could never trust her again.

Wanting to save her might not be enough for Melissa.

No, he knew it wasn't.

He just needed to find her.

When June arose, Mycroft got even more worried. Melissa had gone quiet recently, no one anywhere in the world able to see any sign of her. He had no way of knowing if she was alive.

No way, except Sherlock, who told Mycroft that he was certain Melissa was still alive. That the triggers, the markers, showed every indication that Melissa Brook was still wandering the world.

Part of Mycroft felt guilty for feeling thankful.

A/N: Uh oh, what has Melissa done...