Here we go, next chapter! Usual disclaimers apply.

Chapter 25

As it looked as if Sherlock's reunion with his brother would become an all-nighter, Molly decided to excuse herself to her bedroom, after offering various refreshments which Sherrinford accepted enthusiastically. As she left them, he was sitting on the sofa devouring an odd mixture of cold pizza and custard creams and gulping a large mug of coffee. Meanwhile, Sherlock was perched in her armchair, his legs drawn up in front of him as he expanded on his theory about Irene Adler's involvement in the latest attack on British security. As far as she could make out by the set of his shoulders, Sherrinford seemed resigned to his involvement in the case – with Sherlock at least, even if he refused to assist their older brother.

She slept fitfully, as she often did when there were guests in the house, particularly two as peculiar as the current ones. On the occasions when Sherlock had slept in her bedroom during his years 'away', she'd often been kept awake, not just by the fact that she'd had to move to the uncomfortable sofa but also by the sound of him pacing up and down behind the closed door. And right now, she could hear the rumble of voices through the closed door, occasionally rising in sharp disagreement.

She must have drifted off at some point, because she suddenly found herself shocked out of sleep by something – some noise or movement in the room. She couldn't hear or see anything, but somehow was suddenly aware that there was someone in the dark room with her. Heart thumping, she reached out and switched on the table lamp.

"Sherlock! God, you frightened me!"

He was sitting hunched up at the foot of her bed, hugging his shins with his knees under his chin, rather as he had been in the lounge earlier. He was frowning at nothing in particular and didn't seem to be startled by the light going on.

"Shhh. Thinking."

"And you couldn't do that in the lounge?" She shifted herself into a sitting position, pulling the duvet up a little to cover her shabby pyjama top.

"I needed someone to bounce an idea off."

"You mean the skull," she groused, pushing tangled hair off her face before reaching for her bedside glass of water. "Wasn't Sherrinford any good?"

"He's asleep."

"You surprise me," she replied, drily.

"Well, really." He spread his hands wide. "At a time like this, with so much going on?"

"Well, he looked like he needed a good meal and an undisturbed night. We don't all have your ability to exist on limited or no sleep… So you thought you'd come and wake me up instead? Or were you planning to talk to my sleeping self?"

She sighed as she eyed him. He was frowning at her now, seeming confused by her grumpiness. She noticed that he was barefoot and dressed in just his shirt and trousers in her drafty, unheated bedroom.

"For heaven's sake, Sherlock, you must be freezing! Come under here." Without thinking too much about it, she shifted over slightly in bed and pulled back the duvet.

"Cold? No, not really." He seemed puzzled by the observation, even though there was a bluish tinge to his lips and his hands were shaking slightly.

"Well then, you're making me feel cold. Come on, if you've got to talk and I've got to be awake for it, we might as well be comfortable."

She lay down again, making sure she had left enough room for him. Her bed was a smallish double, but like most habitually single people she was used to sprawling across the middle.

He didn't move immediately. "I'm not… This is not – I had no intention..." His voice faded away, awkwardly.

"I know that," she said, quietly. "If you'd come in here for any other purpose than just to talk, you'd have said so. But Sherlock, I… Look, I haven't seen you for weeks and I've missed you. Not being able to kiss you or touch you, or even just speak to you – it's been so difficult. It doesn't mean that this, right now, has to lead to anything - I know you need to focus on the case and you can't be distracted by anything else right now. But I –," she sighed, feeling a lump in her throat. "I just want to be with you….even just lying next to you for a while. Can't we do that?"

"Well, if you don't mind…" There was still an air of hesitancy in his movements as he shifted over and lay down very carefully on the other side of the bed. As she dropped the duvet over him, she wondered whether he'd shared a bed with anyone in his life. He lay on his back at a careful distance from her, motionless and with his hands folded neatly over his chest.

She watched him for a minute or two and then giggled, her heart lightening. "You look like a corpse that's been laid out for burial."

It was hard to make out his expression by the dim light of her bedside lamp as he stared at the ceiling, but he shifted a little nearer, putting his hands behind his head instead. "This mattress is too soft," he complained.

"No, it's not – it's a bit old, but that just makes it saggy and comfortable. And besides, I usually end up rolling into the middle. It's like a den… What an odd conversation to be having." And what an odd situation, she might have added. Somehow, when she'd visualised getting him into her bed, she hadn't imagined this.

He gave a brief nod, which might have been agreement or at least acknowledgement, before going on. "I've been thinking about Irene Adler."

She mentally rolled her eyes before giving him an interrogative "hmm?"

"Why did she get Sherrinford out? What does she want him for? Why is it in her interest to arrange the release of a dangerously clever man with a grudge against her?"

"Well, I don't know…maybe Mycroft is right. Maybe he's working with her. Mycroft wondered whether he was involved in that Moriarty thing or the security hack on those shops."

He shook his head violently. "No. Sherrinford would never do that. He has no motive."

"Wouldn't -," she swallowed. "Um, wouldn't she be motive enough?"

"For Sherrinford?" He turned his head and she saw his eyes glittering oddly in the dim light as he grinned. "Hardly. When he said he was only interested in her brain, he meant it. Oh, he knows how to turn the charm on…"

"He certainly does," she agreed.

"Hmm. Yes, I noticed that he seemed to have quite an effect on you." Was there just a hint of jealously in his sharp tone? She was suddenly reminded of his behaviour in the hospital when he seemed to think that she was getting a little too close to Mycroft.

She smiled lazily, turning on her side to face him. "Have you considered the fact that his charm might simply remind me of you?"

"Really?" He sounded more than a little disbelieving.

She shook her head, laughing a little. "What gets me about you, Sherlock Holmes, is that you seem utterly unaware of the effect you have on people – on me. That – that utterly irritatingly frustratingly disarming charm of yours… And yet, you do know – you must. You use it enough during cases to get something you want."

"Oh well – cases," he said, dismissively.

She stared at him for a minute before realisation hit her. "You used it on Janine! All the time – all those smiles and eager conversations at the wedding. The engagement…it was all just for a case!"

"But of course." He peered at her in a puzzled manner. "What did you think it was?"

She thought back, frowning. "The smiles looked genuine. And you seemed fascinated by her. You've never -."

She stopped quickly, but he deduced what she was about to say. "Molly – listen to me. When have I ever smiled at you in public or showed any interest in your conversation?"

"Never," she muttered, her good humour evaporating for a moment.

"No – so don't you see? Look at me!" He reached over to cradle her cheek in his hand, lifting her face up. His expression was serious and intent. "That's not me, Molly! I don't follow all the rules of polite society. It's just not the way I am." He stroked her cheek very gently. "So, if you see me behaving like that, you know it's not real."

She smiled, lifting her hand to cover his. "You know," she went on after a moment, "I actually feel sorry for Janine now. To think you cared about her when you didn't. Even if she was a scheming, conniving little -."

"You don't know anything about her," he interrupted. "You don't know what problems she was facing, so don't judge her."

"Even the papers? That was a horrible thing to do."

He shrugged. "True, but she made money out of it – money that she needed once it was clear that she could finally be free of Magnusson – yes, she was one of his victims too."

"At the hospital, you said something about her being pragmatic, not wanting things she couldn't have. You seemed to like her."

"I did – very much in fact. She was far more intelligent than she pretended to be."

Something in her eyes – some uncertainty at this revelation - made him lean over and kiss her softly before drawing back slightly. "I'm not in love with her, though."

"Sherlock…" His face was still very near; her breath mingled with his before she leaned forward to capture his lips once more, gripping his shirt with one hand to keep him close. He was slower to react this time, she noted, his actions calmer than they had been back at 221B. His warm palm curved around the back of her head almost soothingly, as his mouth opened to her questing tongue. He was temporarily pliant under her hands and mouth, seemingly allowing her to choose the pace.

Her spare hand ghosted briefly over the pulse in his neck and she felt the beat pick up slightly as she bit and sucked at that tempting lower lip. A low quiet moan escaped his throat and he rolled over, partly on top of her, both hands tangling in her hair as he began to take back the initiative, exploring her mouth more thoroughly. She felt a muscular thigh coming over her body, effectively pinning her to the bed as he ground his hips into hers.

She felt her own heart speed up – partly in response to the feel of his warm lean body pressing her into the mattress and partly because the move itself seemed daring for Sherlock. Did he – was he really ready to take this to the next level? Was this it? As his tongue explored her mouth and one of his hands trailed lightly down the side of her neck, it occurred to her that he was either a very quick learner or had been doing some serious research. She could only hope that the research had been purely theoretical. A brief spark of jealousy at the thought of the alternative made her loosen her grip on his shirt to put her arm around him, running her hand firmly down his spine and over his buttocks. He moaned again – a beautiful low rich sound that turned her insides to warm liquid – and pushed his hips into her more rhythmically.

Despite his obvious excitement, the evidence of which she could feel pressing into her lower belly, he seemed happy to take things slowly. He ran his fingers down her side, brushing over her breast almost teasingly, and rested them on her hip in a leisurely manner, as if they had all the time in the world. She wondered in a dazed way what it was that he'd wanted to discuss with her in the first place, and whether in fact that had been an excuse to come into her bedroom. And yet he hadn't seemed to want this when she'd first woken up – he'd seemed concerned that she'd misinterpreted his intentions…

Almost as if he was reading her thoughts, he eased out of the heated kiss, pulling his head back and putting a firm hand on her chest when she automatically tried to follow him. His eyes closed briefly as he fought for a moment to control his rapid breathing. He gave her a wry almost apologetic smile, while at the same time gripping her waist tightly, as if to stop her moving away. "This was not in the plan. You're distracting me from the case at hand."

She laughed, shakily, removing her hand. "Nice to know that I can…although, thinking about it, I guess I wouldn't be altogether happy to carry on with this while Sherrinford is sleeping in the next room. I think I'd rather we were alone."

From the startled look in his eyes, she could tell that he'd temporarily forgotten that his long-lost brother was in the next room.

Taking pity on him, she removed his hand from her waist and shifted out from underneath him, smiling at his grunt of protest. "Tell me about him." She settled herself more comfortably on her pillow, cushioning her head with her arm.

He blinked, still seeming a little dazed with passion. "Is this really the time? Molly, I need to think -."

"No you don't," she interrupted, quickly. "You're going around in circles at the moment – you can't see the wood for the trees. If you want to sound out your theories on me then fine, we can do that, but tell me about him first. Come on, Sherlock. I promise not to try to distract you again."

He smiled at that. "What do you want to know?"

She repressed a sigh. "I don't know – your childhood maybe? What was he like? Did he dislike Mycroft as much as you and if so, why did he start working for him? And why are you so convinced that he's not interested in Irene Adler? And – most importantly – why have you never told us about him? Does John know that he exists?"

He shifted a little, perhaps made uncomfortable by his waning erection. He turned onto his side more, wriggling his hip into the mattress and bringing up his arm to cradle his head. It was an exact reflection of her own position, but she didn't know if it was deliberate – in the dim light, his face looked distracted.

"You're imagining a mildly humorous scenario in which the two younger Holmes brothers teamed up to torment older brother Mycroft and get into trouble with their parents. You're quite wrong. We – all three of us – were…individuals. Mycroft had his books and his photography – he was very keen at that stage. I was fascinated by the natural world. And Sherrinford? He was always in his room, fiddling with some piece of technology or another. Mummy hated that – she used to say that at least I was outside most of the time and Mycroft would usually sit reading in the corner – but Sherrinford would lock himself away for hours. He'd acquire old computers, cameras, walkie talkies, even early mobile phones, any piece of tech he could get his hands on, and would spend hours taking it apart and putting it back together." He smiled, reminiscently. "At school, he was the bespectacled geek, founder of the computer club back in the day when the school possessed a single IBM 5150 and the keen boys would queue up for a five minute session. Mycroft and I simply didn't fit in, but boys liked Sherrinford. He had a way about him, which meant that even though he should have been a target for the school bullies, he wasn't…"

His voice trailed off. Molly sensed that he could say a lot more about those bullies if he chose to. Was that part of the reason why he and Mycroft had sought to close themselves off from emotions in their adult lives? Exactly what had been the catalyst? She wished she could talk to Sherlock's mother – perhaps she could shed light on what had gone so badly wrong for at least two of her sons.

Wordlessly, she reached out her spare hand in the darkness to take his. He returned the comforting squeeze and kept his fingers entwined with hers as he went on.

"You thought that perhaps we ganged up on Mycroft due to our similar ages." He smiled. "Well, perhaps we did from time to time. Mycroft was…deeply irritating. Smug, superior, too clever, thought he always knew best."

She hid her smile at this apt description of someone not too far away from her at the moment.

"Occasionally, when he'd really annoyed me, I might play a trick on him – plant a home-made stink bomb in his bedroom, that kind of thing." He chuckled lightly. "A frog in his bed was a favourite – Mycroft was, and still is, terrified of them. Most of the tricks he could predict and avoid, but sometimes I managed to surprise him. Our arguments used to drive our parents mad. Sherrinford would never get involved, though. He didn't stick up for me but didn't favour Mycroft either.

"I remember some occasion when Mycroft was particularly obnoxious over dinner – Mummy insisted we always dine together, no matter what - and he was making snide comments about my 'pointless' experiments. Ridiculous really, because if anyone should have been concerned about my 'lack of application', it ought to have been Dad - and yet he never said a word. But Mycroft liked to nag – the implication being that I was wasting my time and opportunity for a sparkling career. By fifteen, he already had plans to join the Service.

"Sherrinford was sitting quietly, eating his dinner and paying no attention to us as usual. But as we left the table, he slipped something in my pocket without saying a word. It was a circular container, resembling those little plastic containers that old films were stored in and that Mycroft had hundreds of due to his hobby. I was able to leave it on his desk among his other films. It contained a tiny gadget with a recording of a common frog's croak. It would emit the sounds at random intervals and Sherrinford had rigged it so that the sound was 'thrown' across the room. Mycroft spent most of the night trying to locate the frog that he could hear somewhere in his room – he was too scared to go to sleep."

She laughed at the image, moving a little closer to rest her face against his shoulder. He took his arm out from under his head and wriggled it underneath her, pulling her tighter against him.

"Mycroft went off to university when I was eleven and Sherrinford twelve, and never really came home again. I didn't see any more of Sherrinford than I had before. He wasn't particularly unsociable, but he didn't like to be interrupted when he was working on something, and by the time he was in his teens, he was designing his own electronic devices. He started out by creating his own computer games or improving on the commercially available ones, which made him popular at school of course, but he soon moved on to other projects. By twenty, he was away at university studying computer science, but when he was home, he'd be installing hidden cameras around the house, recording devices, tracking equipment…"

Sherlock paused for breath before going on. Molly closed her eyes, enjoying his warmth and the comforting rumble of his voice deep in his chest. "Mummy and Dad used to go mad, but in retrospect, I think they were probably quite concerned. The thing about Sherrinford is that despite his genius for all things technical, he was – and still is – quite an innocent in many ways. He's too trusting, especially of anyone with specific IT talents. They feared he would be led astray. They must have said something to Mycroft, who had sailed through his law degree in two years instead of three, and was now apparently in a junior position at the civil service while actually working as an operative for MI6. Naturally, he had an eye for an opportunity. He hadn't paid much attention to Sherrinford in the past, but he started to visit frequently and talk to him, to draw him out and gain his confidence. I didn't see much of that, as I'd gone to Cambridge to study chemistry and rarely went home. He must have been persuasive though, as the next thing I knew, Sherrinford had gone straight into the Service after graduation.

"I thought then – and still do – that it was a mistake. In theory, he fit the Service well. He's a – a noble person, if I can put it like that. Quietly patriotic, without being bombastic, discreet, serious about his work, always wanting to do the 'right thing'." He sighed, his fingers moving restlessly over her back. "It's not his fault that, in Mycroft's line of work, it's not always easy to define the 'right thing'."

He fell silent. After a few minutes, Molly prompted him gently. "And Irene Adler?"

Sherlock sighed again before continuing, his other arm coming up to hold her more tightly. Her face was pressed into his neck and she closed her eyes again, savouring the spicy scent of his aftershave.

"You don't know all that happened with Adler and…well, I'll tell you everything one day, but suffice it to say that I was called in by Mycroft initially to obtain incriminating photographs of a minor Royal. Later on, she passed details to Moriarty of a joint operation by MI6 and the CIA to foil a terrorist plot and also attempted to blackmail Mycroft. That was my fault."

She moved her head to look up at him. "How so?"

He was silent for a moment. "I – it's a little complicated. However, her plans failed and she later fell foul of Al-Qaeda…and I had to rescue her from that situation… You might call it returning a favour, I suppose…"

She settled down again, feeling warm and sleepy. "And where did Sherrinford come into it?"

"Ah…well, I suspect that I wasn't Mycroft's first choice of brother – he no doubt went to the more amenable one first. Possibly he thought Sherrinford might use some technological wizardry to retrieve Adler's data – he failed of course, because she was too clever to be caught out that way, hence my involvement. All the same, he became fascinated with her. The first I knew of it was after Adler's disappearance. I had her phone – kept it as some kind of memento, I suppose – and Sherrinford asked to have it back. Apparently, he'd been retrieving the contents, some of which were encrypted, and Mycroft had taken it from him. I thought it was an odd request, and initially I was reluctant." He paused. "You have to understand – I felt nothing…sexual for Irene Adler. It was fascination – I was simply fascinated by her mind. That's all. She was the one person who got the better of me."

She moved her head slightly and pressed a light kiss in the dip at the base of his throat. "You don't have to explain to me."

"I know, but… Anyway, Sherrinford's motives were much the same, I suspect. How, I don't know, but he traced her and – I guess – tried to convince her to come and work with me. What he didn't know was the degree to which she was still involved with Moriarty."

"Do you think he had something over her?"

"I…am not sure. I think it's possible that she simply recognised his power and decided to do a deal with the devil. He wanted to hurt me and to do so, he had to disempower Mycroft. He did that in two ways – firstly by threatening the nation and secondly by threatening me… To do that, he showed Mycroft the full reach of his power by attacking Sherrinford. Oh, it was Irene Adler who set up the so-called 'evidence' that Sherrinford was selling US state secrets, but it was under Moriarty's direction. Killing Sherrinford wouldn't be enough for him. He wanted Mycroft to see that he could manipulate everything and everyone to his own ends - even the CIA. And he could dangle Sherrinford's continuing safety under Mycroft's not inconsiderable nose. He could promise that one of his brothers would be safe just so long as Mycroft was prepared to sell his other brother." His voice sounded bitter and she stroked his chest comfortingly.

"Do you think -," she began, cautiously, "- that Mycroft put Sherrinford's safety before your own?"

The pause was so long that she began to think he wouldn't answer. "From Mycroft's perspective, it was logical. Sherrinford wouldn't have survived the general US prison system; he's far too naïve. It would have destroyed him. I don't know what power Moriarty had, and over who, but it sounds as if Sherrinford received preferential treatment."

"And what about you?" she asked, roused briefly from her somnolent state by indignation on his behalf.

She felt his chest rumble with amusement. "Oh, I didn't need Mycroft's protection. I've always been a survivor."

"True," she agreed, settling herself more comfortably on his chest again. As her eyes began to close, she mumbled, "So, what was it you wanted to discuss with me?"

He shifted onto his back, his arms settling around her, comfortably. "It can wait."

When Molly woke again, in broad daylight, she was alone.

For a moment, it seemed as if the previous night must have been some strange and wonderful dream, but then she opened her eyes fully and saw the indentation left in the other pillow by Sherlock's head. Of the man himself, there was no sign. She touched the pillow, trying to sense how long he'd been gone. It was stone cold.

Sitting up quickly, she turned towards the door. It was closed, but she heard a low rumble of voices. Sherrinford must be awake too, and she assumed the brothers were resuming their discussion from the night before.

She lay back down, stretching out and feeling a warm glow of contentment. Just to see him again would have been enough to elate her, but to be kissed and held by him, even if they hadn't got much further than before, had been perfect… She felt a wide grin stretch her face from ear to ear.

After luxuriating in her memories for a few indulgent minutes, she resolved to get up. She hummed cheerfully under her breath as she pushed the duvet back and searched for her dressing gown. It wasn't all that often that Molly felt utterly happy, and she resolved to keep her rare good mood for as long as possible, whatever the day ahead might hold.

So, it was a sudden and severe shock to push open the bedroom door...and find Irene Adler sitting in a chair in her living room, smiling back at her.