Sitting down on the edge of his bed, he patted the space beside him with his hand, holding the other hand out to her. 'So delicate,' he thought, as he watched her sit beside him, he'd always thought of her as taller, stronger but in watching her now he realized his memories were those of the boy he'd been. 'Slightly taller than Mummy' he thought, 'though that could be attributed to the prosthetics.' He studied her for a long silent moment.

"Never mistake small for weak, Sherlock, you know better than that," she remarked. She sighed heavily, annoyance evident in her expression, "You can't see it any plainer than he can, you're both so …"

He shook his head, one hand rifled through his curls quickly. "Oh the contrary, I see it quite plainly. Mycroft and I, we frequently mock open sentiment but that does not mean that we are immune to it, no matter how much we try. Since my Fall, it has bogged down my actions more often than I care to admit. Mycroft says that caring is a disadvantage but John, no, John would argue that those we care about protect us." Focusing in on her, he smiled, "How to protect everyone and bring down Moriarty, no, that's what I can't see at the moment and it's an interesting puzzle. It's a puzzle that you and I have an hour to work out." At her quizzical look, he said with an impish smile, "That's the duration left on the sedative on Mycroft's patch."

Propped up on pillows and leaning back against the headboard, she watched him for a moment and then said, "We're agreed then?"

Sherlock nodded, "Given what little we know about his current operation, I cannot see any other way. This affords us some measure of time, we force his timetable this time." He fell back onto the mattress, head resting on his wrist as he stared up at the ceiling, "We start in the morning?"

"I should think so, waiting gains us nothing." She twisted slightly, setting her 'feet' on the floor, stood in a single fluid movement and walked to the door. She stood there for a moment, her hand on the doorknob, "Thank you."

He quirked his head slightly, "Whatever for?"

They studied each other for a moment, a shared gaze before she gave him a smile that was positively serene, "For acknowledging that we need to find another room." At his blank look, she said, "It's something that Dad said to me once – I always marveled at how someone with the attention span of a sneeze could alternately spout off things so profound." Seeing confusion flit across his expression, she smiled again, this one bright and cheerful, "Once when I was so very young and full of myself, I lamented that I was bored," her voice became very monotone, "so very bored and everyone there was so very boring," she explained, seeing his knowing smile as he acknowledged her viewpoint. The smile slipped from her face, replaced with one of intense focus, "He just stared at me and said 'If you're the smartest person in the room, you better find another room, right?"

"A tad simplistic isn't it?" he murmured.

"Everyone in this family focuses on how brilliant we are – brilliant mathematician, brilliant chemist, statistical genius yet we always sell him so short. The man is a Master of Philosophy, Sherlock, what do you think?" She shook her head, the curve of her lips was mocking, "One of the simplest statements ever uttered – 'I think therefore I am' was one of the most profound. He was right. The problem with being the smartest, in believing we're the smartest is we underestimate them and overestimate us. We think we've covered all the angles and we play it safe."

He nodded, understanding what she was trying to tell him, and grinned fiercely, "Well, today, we shall be bold in deed."

Mycroft became aware of the room with a start and sat bolt upright, glancing around. If he was surprised to see his sister in Sherlock's chair partaking of a cup of coffee, he gave no sign. She appeared to be freshly showered, her makeup was flawless which was impressive given what it hid and the wealth of her mahogany hair was neatly twisted and braided with precision. She was dressed in what he would have considered a battle suit, a rich azure blue wool with a slightly paler silk blouse, the only thing that surprised him was the state of her legs – she was dressed in a pencil skirt that reached to her just above her knees. The prosthetics that were visible were surprisingly life-like and she wore what appeared to be a very expensive pair of high heeled shoes on those feel.

"You appear to have slept well," she said by way of greeting, "Feeling better?"

Blinking rapidly, his eyes narrowed as he studied the room, noting Sherlock's absence, "I was not asleep."

She gave him a very toothy smile which he found somewhat disconcerting – a look that would have made Sherlock laugh given how often he'd seen that look mirrored on Mycroft's face. "Of course," she drawled, "the drool and blanket are figments of my imagination." She smiled at him, a false little smile that set his teeth on edge, "Sherlock," she began, "is in the shower. When he's done, I would suggest you avail yourself of it, you look a little peaky."

His spine went rigid, "You're up to something and you are far too smug not to be up to something."

Those extraordinary blue eyes of hers sparkled with merriment, "I'm simply rested, we have much to discuss once Sherlock is back and you've showered. No offense, brother mine, but you're a tad rank."

Several minutes later, Sherlock emerged from the bathroom clad in pyjama bottoms and his favourite blue dressing gown. With a glance, he took in Mycroft's stiff posture and Sherrinford's merriment and asked in exasperation, "Who baited who?" Mycroft looked pointedly away from Sherrinford, his gaze levelled at Sherlock, whereas Sherrinford glanced at Mycroft and fought back a laugh. "All right, well," he began, "Do I have time for a coffee before war games begin?"

"Oh grow up, Sherlock!" Mycroft spat before storming off down the hall, he slammed the door as he escaped into the bath.

They watched down the hall for a moment before Sherlock asked, "Were you able to get what we needed?" He poured himself a coffee, sat down in his beloved chair and at her nod; he took a sip of coffee and smiled. "Splendid."

When Mycroft returned to the living area, he was presented with a scene that struck him as odd, even for his siblings. Sherlock sat at the table that Anthea had previously used for her work; he was dressed in what Mycroft thought of as his work attire – charcoal grey suit coat, matching trousers and a dove grey linen shirt. What appeared to be the significant part of three sets of chess pieces, each patterned after the Lewis Chessmen, rested on the table. Gone were the black pieces and the pawns – all that remained were the multiples of the primary pieces – King, Queen, Bishops, Knights and the Warder versions of the Rook lay on the table.

Surveying the pieces, he asked, "What's the plan?"

Sherlock looked up at him and said simply, "I'm going to invite him out to play."

Notes:

As always, thank you to my beta HeayPuckett who reads all this before you so you don't have to put up with my messes. The song that I was listening to for this was Nothing Left to Say by Imagine Dragons.

Two more - thanks for reading.