"They're calling it the crime of the century! The Tower of London, Pentonville Prison, the Bank of Bloody England! All broken into at the same time. All by the same man."

"Sebastian Moran." Mycroft said in awe.

"He's in police custody!" John shouted with excitement. "They found him, in the bloody case, wearing the crown jewels. They have it on video. It's!" John found himself flustered and unable to finish his thoughts. "It's as if Christmas has come early! There is no court in the country that wouldn't find the man guilty!"

"This is the news of a lifetime!" Mycroft shouted with a slight slur. He had had a good sum of sherry before John had found the two of them in the kitchen. Sherlock had a stoic look on his face as he absent mindedly swirled his sherry in his wine goblet.

John was near jumping with joy. "Sherlock! Have a little Christmas cheer! All our problems are solved." Sherlock leaned against the island cabinet and sipped his sherry with a sad look on his face. "I don't know how or why, but at least-"

"… he ended up in custody." Sherlock gave him a look.

"Don't do that." John said crossing his arms.

"Do what?"

"The look."

"Look?" Sherlock asked.

"You're doing the look again."

"Well, I can't see it, can I?" Sherlock said with a sneer. John held up a silver platter that was resting on the kitchen island so Sherlock could get a good look at himself. Sherlock shrugged. "It's my face." He said plainly.

"Yes, and it's doing a thing. You're doing a 'we both know what's really going on here' face."

"Well, we do." Sherlock said furrowing his brows and shaking his head at John like he was an idiot.

"No I don't, which is why I find 'the face' so annoying."

Sherlock let out a heavy berated sigh. "Must I explain everything?" Mycroft tumbled slightly back into the stove.

"Yes well, I am just as… hck." Mycroft hiccuped. "Just as interested as the next man."

"Is it nice not being me? It must be so relaxing. You both are so… vacant." Sherlock said with a smile. His smile faded quickly. "If Moran wanted the Jewels, he'd have them. If he wanted those prisoners free, they'd be out on the streets. The only reason he's in a prison cell right now is because he chose to be there." Sherlock put down his wine glass. "Somehow this is part of his scheme."

"The clock-wise bomb?" John asked.

"Yes. When I started my in depth research on Moran, I looked into every report I could get my hands on involving civilian and military casualties from improvised explosive devices overseas over the past decade."

"My God that must have been quite the task." John said grabbing Sherlock's goblet and taking a sip of his sherry. He grimaced, he was never a fan of fortified wine.

"Not when you know what to look for." Sherlock grinned smugly. "A clock-work bomb stands out in a sea of wires." Sherlock grabbed his glass from John's lips mid-sip, causing John to dribble slightly. "Masterfully crafted, positively beautiful. With no fail-safes. Well save one. However, he has likely found a way around it by now."

"Which is?" Mycroft asked pouring himself another glass.

"What makes clocks tick?"

"Escapement of the balance wheel." Mycroft said raising his eyebrows. John looked towards him in confusion. "It allows stored energy in the coil to escape bit by bit, without it the coil collapses, releasing all the energy at once." Mycroft giggled, his face turning red. "Boom."

"My God Mycroft." Sherlock said running his hands through his hair. "So he has found a way around the fail safe?"

"But of course!" Mycroft said raising his voice unnecessarily loud. "Your records are quite outdated I'm afraid. Moran's clock-wise bomb has evolved vastly in a short amount of time." Mycroft chuckled.

"How?" Sherlock asked digging his nails into his head. "The man is a complete idiot! How can he make such intricate works? He can't even create a proper chlorine bomb! They were able to use the gas effectively in World War one but the idiot didn't consider delivery by artillery shell? Did he sleep through his military history courses? Are we not supposed to learn from our past?" Sherlock groaned and brought his head to rest against the island counter.

"Brother, brother." Mycroft slurred giving Sherlock a pat on the back. "Moran is locked away safely! He is so blatantly guilty of the crime of the century. He'll be given multiple life sentences. He's no longer an issue. Now have some sherry. Celebrate! Tomorrow is Christmas day. Joy to the world!"

"Justice is blind…" Sherlock said into the air.

"Yes but-" John started.

"No! It is absolutely blind! Moran could be wearing the bloody crown on his head during the trial and they'd let him go scot-free." Sherlock shook his head. "He won't mount a defence and they'll let him walk away."

"Sherlock! That is the ultimate pessimistic statement." John said. "Have some faith in the court system."

"Yes, let's set back and watch as the clock turns. We're all so safe and cosy now that Sebastian Moran is behind bars. It isn't as if the ring leader has any circus clowns to carry on with the show." Sherlock scoffed taking another swig of sherry. His hands were shaking.

"Now, now Sherlock. Don't fret." Mycroft said placing his goblet down. "Your little boyfriend won't be harmed. I'll see to it he returns to Dublin and is placed in a nice foster home."

"After he's subjected to your interrogations?" Sherlock hissed.

"Naturally."

"He won't talk."

"We have our ways." Mycroft said with a soft grin. Sherlock glared at him.

"He's not my boyfriend."

"Sure he isn't." Mycroft said pretending to zip his lips shut. "Just as John is my colleague." Mycroft laughed and looked at John. John shook his head.

"Will you have him detained then?"

"I see no other solution. He's without a fixed abode. He can come and go as he pleases, as long as he is willing to cooperate." Mycroft said trying to keep his composure as he swayed back and forth. Sherlock looked to John. John looked deep into Sherlock's eyes.

"No." John said turning away. "No!" He shouted for emphasis. "Not in a million years."

"John, he is a refugee."

"And a sick fuck. I've heard stories." John said waving his hands sporadically trying to make a point. "Plus he got you hooked on the needle."

"It was the Baker Street irregulars that supplied it. I was only trying to show my defences were lowered, that I was easily controlled. I was entirely-"

"Out of control." John finished. "You were going to run off with Moran." John shook his head. "He's a spy for God's sake. A traitor."

"Is Michael Dimmock a traitor as well?"

"Dimmock was kidnapped!"

"And so was Jim." Sherlock said trying to sell his point. "He didn't choose to be a slave."

John held his head in his hands and squeezed. He growled and let go. "Why do I even bother?" Mycroft came up behind John and wrapped him up into a reverse embrace. He hummed and started swaying back and forth to imaginary music.

"You've gone and upset poor John." Mycroft said with a slight giggle. He buried his face in John's neck and let out a loud purr.

"Mycroft stop." John said reaching a hand back to rest on Mycroft's head. Mycroft began nuzzling into John's neck. Sherlock turned away in hurt and anger. He stormed out the back door and out on to the garden terrace.

Mycroft's nuzzling turned to nipping. He ran his hands up the bottom of John's shirt and started stroking his abs.

"Mycroft, really we shouldn't… Sherlock's-" Mycroft's hands went south to John's groin and he started groping John's bulge.

"Mycroft!" John knew he hadn't said it himself; someone else was in the room with them. He jolted and near knocked Mycroft over. Grandmother Holmes had come to apparition in the kitchen. John caught Mycroft as he stumbled backwards and near cracked his head open on the kitchen cabinets.

This is how I die. At the hands of a gran.

"Please, please. He's just had a bit too much to drink." John pleaded holding Mycroft up.

"You didn't seem to mind." She stated with fire behind her eyes.

"It doesn't mean anything!" John said frantically.

"What?" Mycroft slurred bumping into John causing both of them to stumble. "Our love means nothing to you?" Mycroft asked with a grimace.

"Love?" John and Grandmother Holmes asked in unison.

"That's right lub." Mycroft said. He grinned drunkenly and rested his head on top of John's. He pulled John into a tight hug.

Why must everyone who loves me torture me so?