221B Baker Street
"Please. Sit," Mycroft said, nodding towards the chair in the far corner. Sherlock ignored him, walking towards the window at the other side of the room.
"Where's John?"
"I don't know," Mycroft said, a smug smile crossing his face. "Mrs. Hudson was kind enough to let me into your flat." Sherlock continued to glare at his brother.
"On a more serious note, I have a proposition to make."
"No."
"I would suggest listening first, Sherlock," Mycroft said coolly, leaning back on the couch as he crossed his legs. "At least then you'll have something to argue with."
"You're wasting your breath."
"Well, that's my own poor decision, then. Now listen carefully, brother." He paused, waiting for Sherlock's attention. Sherlock continued to gaze out the window, staring intently at the morning traffic below.
"I had to get you out of some trouble with the Ministry the other day for that bit you pulled with sending the Russians to my house, and it wasn't easy." He stopped, brushing a hair from his suit coat. "I had to pull a few strings, and you were very nearly going to be detained and sentenced to fifteen years in Belmarsh."
"Aren't I lucky to have a brother like you…"
"Very lucky indeed," he said, catching Sherlock's eye. "So you're going to do me a favor in return."
"No."
"I thought you'd say that," Mycroft said, the smile returning to his face. "It's a wonder how I can anticipate what you're going to say. So let me rephrase the proposal."
"No."
"Either you help me, or I'll let them take you to Belmarsh." Sherlock turned around, his look of boredom replaced with hatred.
"You're bluffing."
"You know very well I'm not, Sherlock," he said quietly, watching as Sherlock turned away.
"I said no."
"Are you sure?" Mycroft said, letting the question hang in the air. "The Ministry needs an answer by tonight."
"What do you want me to do?"
"That's not for me to say."
"Where? And how long? I have more than enough business to handle on my own, without your..."
"I don't know." Mycroft said suddenly, looking his brother in the eye. He looked defeated, shrugging he shook his head. "Sherlock, I really don't know. And I'm afraid for your sake." He sighed, glancing at his feet. "My influence in the Ministry only stretches so far. The truth is...they will take you to Belmarsh. If you don't have anything to offer, you will be in prison the rest of your life, whether you're my brother or not." Sherlock stared at him, watching as his brother walked towards the flat's outside window.
"When do we leave?"
"So you've agreed?
"No. But I don't plan on going to prison," Sherlock said bitterly, nodding at his brother. "I'll be ready by morning."