Hey guys! Sorry for the incredibly long authors note before, I just had so much stuff to tell you all about the upcoming...yeah. And, if you read the last chapter, go back and read it. It's imperative that you do. I somehow didn't have anything that I had written uploaded, but it was all saved. I'm thinking because I now have it all saved on my flash drive. So, there's that.

And, well, I'll attempt to get some writing done, lol. I'm on Skype with a friend. So, this should be interesting.

Sherlock was sitting in his office, pouring over his evidence and pictures, when the phone on his desk began to ring.

"Detective Inspector Holmes." Sherlock said.

"Sherlock, it's me." Mycroft said.

"Oh." Sherlock sounded displeased. "What do you need? You called me at work, it must be important."

"I think I know how you can solve this Johnson case." Sherlock sat up.

"Oh?"

"Yes, and it'll require you, Inspector Stratford, John, and Lestrade. I'll be going as well." Sherlock started putting everything back into the file.

"Tell me more, brother." Sherlock said.

"Simple, really. We're going to Germany to find the group of gentlemen who have been killing your Johnson's." Sherlock found that line slightly amusing, but realized the situation at the same time.

"Murderers? As in, more than one?"

"Must I repeat myself, brother? Yes, more than one." Sherlock paled slightly. "I've informed the others, they're on their way to my office now." Sherlock dropped the phone in it's cradle, pulled on his coat, grabbed the file, snatched up his keys, and went out the door. Sherlock locked the door behind him, and left.

"Where you going?" Roger asked. Sherlock ignored him, and went out to the back. He ran into the parking structure, and unlocked his car with the clicker, before he got in, and jammed the key into the ignition. He dropped his file on the seat, and backed out, threw the car into forward, and drove off.

His first stop was Baker Street. Sherlock grabbed his laptop, and flew out the door again. He got back into his car, and pulled out, and drove the half an hour to Mycroft's office. Once he got there, Sherlock grabbed his laptop, case file, and made sure his gun was in the holster (in the back of his pants) and got out. He locked the car, and ran up to the front. The secretary who wasn't Anthea (Anthea had been away on business for Mycroft) wasn't going to let him in without ID. She had done it to him before.

"DI Holmes, let me through." He snarled, flipping his badge at her, and bursting through the door.

"Good timing." Lestrade said. Sherlock sat down.

"You came prepared. Good." They were at a long table. Sherlock knew that through the door to the left was a bathroom, and the door to the right was Mycroft's actual office. This was more of a planning room. Sherlock booted up his laptop, and shoved the case file at Mycroft. He looked over it from his chair.

"Set it up like only you know how, Sherlock." John said. "Display it so we can all see it." Sherlock wordlessly got up, grabbed the file, and pinned each picture to the bulletin board. HE sat back down, and crossed his legs.

"Good, good. We know these are our victims. Three teenagers, four women, and five adults." The number was increasing rapidly. "And two red herring deaths." Sherlock nodded. He was thinking.

"We'll need back up." Lestrade said. "Are we going to have some." Sherlock looked at Inspector Stratford, who was wearing a suit, rather than his uniform.

"Yes. I's Agent J from MI5, and we'll be helping. This guy attacked the Prime Minister's grandson, who is related to the Queen."

"What do they have to do with it?" Sherlock asked.

"The boy's last name is Johnson." Sherlock looked up in surprise.

"Is it?" Another man, auburn hair, green eyes, bespectacled, and wearing a tie, sweater vest, and a dress shirt, had his fingers steepled together.

"It is indeed, Sir Holmes." He said. "It's become a matter of national security, and therefore, we need our best man on the job. Of course, he needs his best colleagues as well."

"The only problem is, they know. The Bandits, they call themselves." Stratford said. He looked uncomfortable. Whatever he had to say next, would not appeal to Sherlock. "This means that your girlfriend, your sons and daughter, everyone is in danger." Sherlock didn't move. "As are Doctor Watson's family, and Superintendent Lestrade's family."

"My suggestion was sending everyone to Holmes Estate." Mycroft said. "Archibald and Lucinda will already be there." Sherlock nodded, thinking.

"Molly will like that. Roger?"

"His family was already invited for the weekend."

"Lucy is actually out for the weekend at a friends, it'll just be Mary. Her and Molly can hang out." Sherlock nodded curtly once.

"I've spoken to her boss, who has obliged to get Molly out of work for the weekend. I know Mary is free this weekend?" John nodded. "And what of Megan, Greg?"

"She's finished her stories for the week, so she'll be free."

"Good. We can pull Jonah from school altogether on Friday. Mrs. Hudson can go as well. Better safe than sorry." Sherlock nodded again. "Did you know that Alfonse is her 'gentleman caller'?" Sherlock smirked.

"Of course I did, it was transparent." Sherlock said.

"Alfonse...isn't that your parent's butler?" Lestrade asked.

"Yes." Sherlock said. "Before you ask, it was his cologne. She reeks of it when she comes home." John sighed.

"That's a little less information I could have gone without knowing about your landlady." Sherlock ignored him.

"Well, now that we have that settled. Agent R, what do we need to do first?"

"We've received the samples from Barts lab. If Sir Holmes would kindly go with us to headquarters, we'll take him to our labs, and he can do more tests, to see what else he can find about the fingerprints."

"Do your archive's hold everyone's names?"

"In England, most certainly. The Bandits are English natives. We'll also introduce you to our backup team. You drove here, so give Lestrade your keys, and he'll take your car back. We'll take you to MI5."

"How did you know I drove here?"

"You were in a rush, and hadn't put your keys in your pocket when you came in. Elementary, really, Mr. Holmes." Agent R stood up. "I hope you don't have an aversion to heights." Sherlock smirked, after his moment of dumbfoundedness.

"You're asking the wrong man, Agent R." Sherlock said, scooping up his laptop. He tossed Lestrade the keys, and followed the two agents to the helicopter pad on the roof. They all clambered in, pulled on helmets and microphones, seatbelts, and checked their saftey gear. They lifted off, and flew towards the buildings.

In twenty minutes, they had landed, and caught a cab another twenty minutes away. The led Sherlock to a Vaccuum shop, where the two agents flashed their badges, and were nodded through. Sherlock was lead through a hall, and to a janitor's closet, where they were lifted down, into a vast lobby. In the lobby, there was a secretary, bored, and buzzing them in. They went through to a large room, and Sherlock found a few more people in there.

"Sir Holmes, Agent R, Agent J, glad you could get here in such vital time. How's Mycroft?" Leave it to Mycroft to know the employees at MI5 personally.

"Well, sir, sense his heart attack."

"Good, very good." He bore resemblance to Agent R."

"Head Agent J." Another man walked into the room, and greeted the man who was just speaking.

"Senior Agent J." He replied back. You have got to be kidding me.

"All right, listen up, Sir Holmes-"

"Please, call me Sherlock."

"All right, then, Sherlock here is going to assist us with our case. He will be in charge of any lab work, and he also will be the one to figure this out. This is his case we're intruding on." Sherlock looked at him. "Sherlock, you will be teaming up with our MI5 team. You are familiar with weapons, I presume."

"He's armed." Agent R drawled out, sounding a bit bored.

"How could you possibly know that?" A skinny, light brown haired man said.

"Easy Agent M. He lifted his arms to get into the helicopter, and you can see it."

"I'm a police officer, of course I can handle a gun."

"Can you handle one of ours?" Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I have my own, thank you."

"We'll get you more ammo, just in case." Sherlock did like that. "Agent Greene, you lead the CIA team." A man with tan skin, muscles making his polo almost too tight (somehow, Sherlock knew that his shirt wasn't that tight on purpose) and short blonde hair was nodding.

"Yes sir." He drawled out. "Just so y'all know, I'll have backup stationed everywhere, in case we need more people." Southern American, then.

"Good thinking, Agent Greene." Agent R said. "You want to get that started too, Agent S?" Sherlock's eyes met a man with black hair, a pale face, and gray, distant eyes.

"Sure thing. I'll get on it." He said. "I think I have a few ideas already." Agent R smirked.

"Always two steps ahead, aren't you?" He asked.

"It's always been my method, you of all people should know this by now." He shot back, looking at the other agent. They smirked at one another. It reminded him of John and Sherlock together.

"All right boys." They grinned at Head Agent J (too many J's around here). "Sherlock needs to be taken to the lab."

"I'll take him, Dad, I've got to go down there for my report on my last mission anyway." Agent R stood. So they're father and son. Makes complete sense.

Sherlock took his things, and followed the agent to the labs. "Where exactly are we going?"

"Lower levels. Labs are down deeper." Sherlock nodded, and followed the young man.

"How old are you exactly?" Sherlock asked. Agent R smirked slightly.

"Twenty." Sherlock gave him a look of surprise. "Don't look it much, do I?" He shook his head. "Yeah, a lot of people say that."

"And I presume your wife is the same age." Sherlock said. Angent R nodded.

"What about your girlfriend?" Agent R asked. "What does she do?"

"She's a pathologist in the Morgue over at Barts. What about your wife?"

"What do you think?" A girl approached.

"Oh, hey Remus!" Her dirty blonde hair lay in loose waves down her back, and she wore a pantsuit.

"Amie, this is Detective Inspector Holmes."

"Di Holmes, nice to meet you."

"Sherlock, please." They shoot hands.

"I'll be home tonight around six." Agent R said. "Possibly. Depending on how late I have to work for a new mission."

"Another one all ready? Remus, you've been gone six times in the past four months. Take a break." Remus...the man's name was Remus. What kind of name was that? Then again, what kind of names were Sherlock and Mycroft?

"Except this one they're desperate. Two missions I volunteered to do." They kissed. "I'll be home, don't worry. In pletny of time to see the kids."

"You better, James was mad at you because you didn't come home like promised."

"Not my fault that MI6 can be a bitch."

"Try telling your son that." They walked away.

"She writes a lot...translator."

"Good, Sherlock." Remus sounded impressed.

"How many children do you have?"

"Two, actually." Wrong.

"A third on the way." Sherlock said. Remus blushed.

"Yes, actually. We just found out, so I'd appreciate it if you'd keep that little fact a secret."

"Oh, it's not my business. Been there, done that. Twice." Sherlock said. Remus laughed.

"Two kids?"

"A nineteen year old and an eighteen year old. Oh, and my adopted son, who's seven." Remus grinned.

"Bit of a gap there, mate. You wait on purpose?"

"You watch the news."

"How do you know?"

"You work for your government, of course you watch the news." Sherlock said. They went in through a set of doors, and Sherlock found the most extravagant laboratory he'd ever seen. Sherlock was enthralled.

"I take it you're a man of science?"

"And you obviously aren't."

"So?" Remus said. "I'm a man of law enforcement. You are too. I meant in your spare time."

"Spare time? I'm a consulting detective, I don't have spare time." Sherlock said. He looked around. Everything is state of the art, brand new, up to date. I like this already. Sherlock mused silently. Mycroft strolled in.

"Mycroft." Remus said.

"Agent R, I trust you and my brother are cooperating well."

"Of course." Mycroft was watching Sherlock. He likes this all too well. Mycroft thought.

"Where are the samples?" Sherlock asked. If he wanted to be home in decent time, he wanted to make sure that he got everything done right away.

"Right here, sir." An older gentleman sat in a stool, and pointed across the lab table. Sherlock nodded, and pulled off his scarf, his gloves, and his coat, and hung them up. Then, he got to work.

"Legally speaking, you aren't supposed to be here." Remus said. "So, here's a lab coat with your name on it, and our last man died in a chemical accident, so here's the station you'll be sitting at." Remus said. Sherlock nodded, and sat down. "There are notebooks and pens for anything you might need to write down." Sherlock nodded, and pulled the tray of samples towards him. He shoved up his reading glasses (he left them on all the time now, as his eyesight had been affected by the ash and smoke. Contacts, his eye doctor had told him, would further progress the damage. His new glasses would be here tomorrow.) Sherlock took the blood, and started in on his tests. The doors opened again, and a thin, bespectacled, nervous man came in. He wore a pair of khakis and a polo shirt.

"Remus."

"Jedidiah, hello."

"You asked to speak to me."

"Yes, have you gotten into those security camera's yet?"

"Not yet, sir. I have broken into their computer networking systems. It's the most complex thing I've ever seen." Sherlock ignored them. He ran the tests, and found these machines gave more results than the one's at Barts.

"Everything's coming out the same." Sherlock muttered. Clean, save the poison. Sherlock put the hair through the machines, and put blood on some slides, before peering through it.

"One had a cold, Two were suffering from a low oxygen level, probably severe asthmatics, and another had..." Sherlock peered closer. "Cancer." Sherlock looked closer. "One of the cancer's you get from Agent Orange."

"Agent Orange?" Remus said. "But that was Vietnam. They wouldn't have contracted that cancer now, all the victims weren't old enough."

"No, but the blood is a Vietnamese male." Sherlock said, looking at the group. "I think we have an ID on our first murderer." Remus looked at the computer holding the test reuslts. "The hair, which is from a Bulgarian militia man, and a third is...French. Some of them got careless." Sherlock said. "I'm assuming our killers are these people here." Sherlock pointed to the three results that were not identified by name.

"Can we move in soon?" Remus asked. "We've got what we need."

"I think so, but we don't want them to know we're out on a mission." Sherlock said, standing up with his cell phone, and pulling off the lab coat, before picking up his own coat and scarf. "Mycroft, tell the media that Molly and I went on vacation, kick them off our scent." Mycroft left immediately. Sherlock swept from the room.

"Sherlock." Agent S was standing outside. "Come with me." Sherlock followed the second man.

"Seth, you seen Remus?" Agent M asked.

"Can's say that I have, Mortimer." Seth, Agent S. Mortimer, Agent M. Made sense. Why all the Agent J's though?

"James-" Head Agent J began, as they headed through the hall.

"No, Jon. It's not happening, sorry." He said. Best friends, regret to turn him down. Sherlock thought. Seth lead him into a room, and he was handed a handgun, a pair of protective goggles that fit over his glasses, and a pair of noise canceling head phones. Sherlock looked at him.

"Target practice, sir." Seth said. "This gun is filled with blanks. We'll give you real ammo in your own gun for more practice." Sherlock nodded. "Show us what you've got." Sherlock pulled on the protective gear, and went into the vast room filled with targets. Sherlock aimed, and hit spot on every time. Even though the targets took on human shapes.

"You're good at that."

"I took down a criminal mastermind's network alone, didn't I?" Sherlock retorted. Seth smirked.

"I followed that mission. Three of the men that were already dead were actually my doing. National security, nothing personal." Sherlock smirked back, and was handed a full magazine. He removed the one from his clip, and replaced it with the one he was given. He shot, and he shot well, better than with the blanks. They pulled out a mannequin, and he shot all the lethal spots, plus. After they had left, Seth looked at him, quite impressed.

"You're a relatively good shot, there, Detective Inspector."

"My wall certainly can agree there." Sherlock said. Seth wasn't sure whether to laugh, or to be concerned that Sherlock was using his wall as target practice. "I'll meet you at my parent's home. We'll leave Friday." Sherlock swept from the building, and into the cool night air. He hailed a taxi, and went home. Fortunately, Roger had invited Jonah over for dinner. Sherlock came inside, and found that Roger was just dropping off Jonah.

"Son, Roger."

"Sherlock. That Johnson case?" Sherlock only nodded, heading up the stairs, before hanging up his coat on the back of the door, and heading to the kitchen to make tea.

"You okay, Daddy?"

"Son, I need you to give me a moment with Roger." Jonah nodded, and took his stuff to the bedroom upstairs. Once Sherlock could hear Jonah moving around in his room, he turned to his cousin to speak. "Roger, if I had to leave the country, because that's where my case took me, would you be completely adverse to the idea that I may need you to bring Molly and Jonah with you? It's for their saftey."

"Oh, of course. Where to?" Sherlock wasn't allowed to say.

"That's confidential. Although, if you are questioned by anoyone from the media, Molly, Jonah, and I went on a long weekend to see family in France." Roger nodded.

"Of course." Sherlock turned to his cousin.

"Thank you, Roger." Roger took his leave then. Jonah came downstairs, clad in his pajama's, and looking sleepy.

"Daddy, will you tuck me in?" Sherlock pulled the kettle off the stove, and turned off the heat, before heading up to see Jonah to bed.

"Story?"

"Not tonight. I'm sleepy." Sherlock dropped a kiss on Jonah's head, and turned out the lights. He went into the living room, and found Mycroft sitting in John's chair, leg's crossed, looking deep in thought.

"When did Archie move out?" Sherlock asked.

"Eight months ago." Mycroft said shortly. "He was angry with me. Again." Sherlock calculated.

"That was just after your heart attack." Mycroft nodded. Had it really only been eight months? This case was eating at time. Sherlock handed Mycroft a cup of tea, and made himself one, before easing himself into his own chair. "What brings you here, brother. You don't do social calls." Mycroft smiled.

"I needed to get away, if that's alright with you."

"Get away? From Lucinda?"

"Her and Archibald both." Mycroft took a sip of his tea. "Lucinda was screaming at us, Archie was telling me how horrible of a father I am, and I couldn't handle it."

"So why here?" Sherlock asked. "Greg surely has better advice than me. I have a seven year old who behaves himself like a boy graduated from military school, and two adults I didn't raise. What do you want me to say?" Sherlock looked at his older brother.

"Something distracting. Or tell me what you think Archibald's problem is."

"First off, there's your problem, Mycroft." Sherlock said. "You gave him a stupid name, and refuse to listen to his requests that you use his nickname." Mycroft just looked at Sherlock.

"I named him after you, brother."

"I'm well aware where my Godson and nephew got his nickname, brother, but that doesn't make it any less of an awful name. You're problem is the same as what Roger went through. You don't listen to Archie. You don't even know who the boy is, do you?"

"He's my son, of course I do. Don't be-"

"Stupid? Mycroft, I talk to your son on friendlier terms than you, and we all know my inability to make friends." Sherlock retorted. "Mycroft, your son is hurting, because his father demands that he gives up his dreams and his hopes, and wants him to be what his father decides. Remember, that was Father's problem with Grandfather Holmes." Sherlock retorted. "You don't listen."

"Sherlock, what am I supposed to do, the boy told me he thinks I hate him!" Mycroft replied back angrily. "He told me I'm the worst excuse for a father ever, and that I don't even love him."

"Do you Mycroft? When he was born, you wanted nothing to do with him. You were forced to hold the boy for photographic opportunities, and after that, Lucinda was the only one who took care of him. You were too involved in your work to be bothered by a child. He's your son, and you act like he doesn't matter." Sherlock said. "Remember, our dearest cousin who felt like that? And what happens, his parents are murdered in a fatal, deliberate car crash." Sherlock was angry. "He regrets that he never told his parents what he felt. Do you want that to happen to you and Archie?" Sherlock retorted. Mycroft just sat there. Suddenly, the stairs creaked, and they heard a sob.

"What in the world?" Mycroft muttered. A white-faced, sobbing, scared Jonah came into view. Sherlock's angry pose dropped instantly, and he crouched down, holding out his arms. Jonah ran right at him.

"Sh...there, there, son. What happened?"

"I had a bad dream." He whispered, shaking, and crying. "Daddy, it scared be." Sherlock scooped the boy up, and sat on the couch.

"Don't worry son. It wasn't real." Sherlock said, rubbing circles into Jonah's back, soothing the boy. "All right?" Jonah nodded, and clung harder to Sherlock.

"I don't want to go back to bed alone." He whispered, fear filling his face. Sherlock knew it would be cruel to make him face that alone...again.

"Go into my room, son."

"Not alone, Daddy. Please. Anything but alone." He whispered, clinging harder. "I don't want to be alone." Sherlock didn't press the matter. He simply switched off the nearest lamp to dim the lighting in the room, and rubbed Jonah's back.

"What makes you so good with children?"

"Archie isn't a child, Mycroft." Sherlock said. "He's an adult. Legally speaking." Mycroft gave Sherlock a withering look. "Doing what I do is...you see a lot of dangerous stuff out there, and it scares you." Sherlock thought for a moment. "Coming home, seeing Jonah's innocence, his caring, his pure childish look on the world. It makes a nice escape from what I see every day. I can come home, and someone will love me no matter what. Someone will smile, and giggle, and make sure I know everything is okay, even after he's been through hell and back. I know that I can come home, and Jonah won't be afraid to say he loves me. Jonah will always make sure I know that. And the only way to repay that is to do everything I can to be the best damn father I have ever been." Sherlock looked at his brother.

"How do you do that?" Sherlock looked at Mycroft, who looked lost, uncertain, sad. Maybe even a tad jealous. Sherlock looked his brother in the eye.

"You love him for who he is, not what his potential could be."