35. Old scores - revisited
Mycroft closed his eyes for a split second. When he opened them again, he showed the arrogant-indulgent smile he kept in store especially for his younger brother. "Did I never tell you that eavesdropping is a bad habit, dear boy?"
"No! Besides you're doing it for a living. Oberstleutnant, excuse us please!"
"Take all the time you need, Sherlock!" Demirkan's step had a spring to it when he walked away with the inevitable Peter in his wake. He knew he'd won. Not by his threat against Carruthers. That was merely mustard for the meat. Mycroft owed him, and they both knew it. The Oberstleutnant smiled fondly. Being obliged like that to another service, and to one he secretly despised - would drive the stiff-necked English rascal mad.
Almost as mad as the fact that his own little brother had given his plans away. But why on earth Sherlock had insisted that Mycroft should know about that – it beat Demirkan completely. Well, luckily that wasn't any of the BND's business. "Wo ist Dr Watson?" he asked a yawning Peter, relieved to return to one of his two native tongues.
The younger agent also slipped back into the German language. "Having a late night snack in the lounge" he said wistfully. His stomach growled in sympathy.
Demirkan rolled his eyes. "How much does he know by now? Watson, I mean? Sherlock didn't want me around when he spoke to his friend."
"It's a miracle, how Sherlock keeps all the different versions in mind, and what he's told whom" Peter said while walking. "He told John that he took the poison at Moran's order, that Moran thought him disabled, that Sherlock could therefore get to the weapon he'd hidden in his living room and shoot Moran. Oh, yes, and that Moran was behind John's kidnapping, as Carruthers has always been working as Moriarty's mole inside MI 6."
"What was the doctor's reaction?" Demirkan asked when they entered the lift.
Peter cocked a brow. "Relief, I'd say."
"Relief?"
"That it hadn't been a suicide attempt. After he'd heard that, he did not pay much attention to the rest."
"Makes sense to me" Demirkan said. "They are friends, after all. A bit like brothers."
"Imagine, being friends with Sherlock-the-freak" Peter growled under his breath, which earned him a forbidding look from his superior.
"Anyway" Peter hastily took up the thread of his story where he'd left it, "in return John told Sherlock that he and Vanessa had broken it up for good. A heartbreaking fiction about the fragile Lady striving for a future of being married to her art, in spite of John Hamish Watson's passionate declaration of undying love."
Demirkan, who had had Watson's mobile bugged long ago, smirked. He remembered the real telephone conversation between 'the fragile girl' who really was an agent hard as flint-stone, and the 'caring lover' who indeed cared only for his friend, not for his girl. "Did they believe each other? Watson and Sherlock?"
"No" Peter grinned. "But I'm sure John doesn't know about Miss Moriarty and that's the only thing important to Sherlock. As to the rest – they both grinned knowingly, and left it at that."
"I want you to leave it at that, too" Demirkan said sternly. "This is way – way – beyond your head, Mr Foolsbottom-Gärtner. No taking revenge on Sherlock by spilling the beans to Watson."
Peter winced at his real family name, as always, but he shook his head. "Don't worry, Oberstleutnant. As you said – what the two Holmes brothers will have to say to each other tonight – it'll be worse than anything I could do."
Actually, Peter would have been disappointed in Mycroft. For once Tarantula wasn't quite up to the task. "You persuaded Demirkan to postpone my coming here, not John" was the first thing he said to his brother once they were alone in Sherlock's alleged sick room. It wasn't a very effective opening; it sounded whining and hurt, even to Mycroft's own ears.
As expected, Sherlock made good and immediate use of the weak flank. "Of course I did. I needed time to prep our German friends for you. After I'd figured your plan out."
"Why, Sherlock? Why did you tell them?"
"You deserved some punishment, big brother. You lied to me about Vanessa, you permitted Carruthers to kidnap John, you left me to …. – there's no need to go on, is there?"
Mycroft gulped down a lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. He had thought of accusing his brother and now he found he was the accused; and defence seemed difficult. "I had someone in place to keep you safe from Moran" he said. "I did not know the man had had an accident until the Germans told me."
Sherlock spoke fast, he fired his words as if they were bullets. "You went to Heathrow airport, to make your own staff believe that you really thought John would be on that plane. But although you'd given me your word, you knew he wouldn't come. Am I right?"
"No" Mycroft retorted. "I wouldn't do this to you. You must believe me, Sherlock."
"Do you know how John must have felt?" Sherlock growled, unimpressed. "He's been through this before."
"I didn't know about the kidnapping until after the event" Mycroft defended himself. "Carruthers told me he had a chance to win Miss Moriarty's trust, but nothing more. I gave him carte blanche."
"To be a kidnapper?" Sherlock was not to be consoled.
"I'm sure John was never in danger" Mycroft objected.
Sherlock darted round, shouting in anger. "From the bit he's told me, I know John was scared witless. Isn't that enough?" Only inwardly he added "and so was I, for a while. James had me on that rack for years!"
"John's not a child, for God's sake" Mycroft snarled, and, as if reading Sherlock's mind, he added "Any road, you had no right to betray your own country."
"I did not betray merry old England" Sherlock sneered. "I just made sure that you must share the spoils of your victory. I owe much more to the Germans than to you, brother dear. The Lucky Cat has taught me to honour my obligations as best I can."
"So I am supposed to be grateful you informed Demirkan and not the Chinese?"
"You're damned right, big brother, that's exactly how you're supposed to feel."
"Sherlock, you wanted to work alone, against James' organisation. For all your pretty promises, you've kept me in the dark, from the first step to the last. Even about a certain hard disk full of vital information."
"And how right I was to do it. You'd blown my whole operation to pieces!"
Both were breathing heavily, both were at a loss as to what to say now.
In the end, it was the elder brother who made the first step, albeit it did not exactly sound like one. "Let's say I'm willing to overlook your childish antics, Sherlock. Let's say, we're even. What now?"
It took the wind out of Sherlock's sails. Pushed out of his well rehearsed tracks, he felt awkward. Mycroft should not give in so easily. The younger brother knew how to battle him; however, defeating the big brother in an argument was unknown territory.
"By the way" the same elder brother continued lightly, using the other's brief bewilderment "the farewell note in your computer – Demirkan sent me a copy. It looked genuine to … anyone but me!" No need to tell Sherlock how very genuine it had looked. In the first moment, genuine enough to cause nausea. "Miss Moriarty faked it well."
At once, Sherlock regained his arrogance. "She didn't fake anything. Years ago I drafted a farewell note. I planned on sending it to you on Halloween, together with a photo of my smashed head."
Mycroft, who had sat down on the bed, rose again. "You what?"
"Relax big brother, I never sent it. I just kept it. You know, sentiment. She must have found it in my cloud."
Rubbing his forehead discreetly, Mycroft thought that it was another one of these moments with his brother. One he should not dwell on for too long.
Sometimes Mycroft marvelled at his younger brother's rare gift for hurting him.
A change of subject. Tarantula needed a change of subject, now! "Would you mind telling me what you know about Vanessa Moriarty?" he asked his younger sibling.
"What" Sherlock shot back "the woman I asked you to investigate because she was close to John? The woman you said was just a hare-brained little actress?"
"As you've obviously found out who and what she is, what are you complaining about? My plan worked a treat, she'll take Carruthers into the heart of Chinese intelligence. You always were a bit squeamish, Sherlock."
"You lied to me!" the younger repeated.
"For the God's sake Sherlock, we've been lying to each other from the cradle."
To Mycroft's pleasant surprise, Sherlock clapped his mouth shut for a moment. "Little brother, for once I can glimpse into your mind" the elder thought. "Truth be told' you're saying to yourself 'it's fair enough. I can't deny it'. Isn't that what you're thinking, little one? You and your peculiar sense of fairness. Always misguided."
And, with his next words, Sherlock proved him right. "All right, Mycroft. Let's call it even. But I'm the victim here, choice of weapons is mine. And my verdict is: Half an hour of total truth, for each of us."
As Mycroft kept silent and looked away, Sherlock pressed on. "C'me on, brother dear. I'll start if it makes you feel better."
Mycroft sat down again. "Who am I to decline an opportunity of hearing 30 minutes of truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, from my own brother?"
"Good" Sherlock said eagerly. "Vanessa really is James Moriarty's twin sister. That's why the Lucky Cat chose her as his operative when James became a nuisance. Long before the submarine weapon plans. As early as James started working for the Black Lotos."
"But?" Mycroft prompted.
"But" Sherlock said angrily – he absolutely detested interruptions when he was in his 'lecturing mode', as Mycroft knew perfectly well – "Professor Chang had to take the Black Lotos' allies inside China into consideration. Therefore he needed Moran's denunciation of James as the person responsible for the fraudulent sale of the weapon plans. With that, he could finally proceed against the Consulting Criminal. Nobody would dare protecting someone who'd made so many Chinese officials lose their faces."
"You're cheating, Sherlock" Mycroft stated punitively. "That's quite obvious. You're wasting my time." Mentally the elder brother crossed his fingers behind his back. It hadn't been so obvious to him at first. Actually it had taken him quite a while to figure it all out.
Sherlock glared at him before he continued, now also comfortably on the bed, his fingers in front of his face forming the same old pyramid. "Vanessa had a soft spot for the Far East, she studied Far Eastern Literature and Art at several universities, Berlin among them."
"Which was why you, as Alfred Musil, developed a sudden interest in the same sciences" Mycroft interrupted again, just to see the comical irritation in his brother's face once more.
"Yes, obviously, I thought I might get some useful information about James' once closest but now demised associate. May I go on now?"
"Naturally, Sherlock. I'm sorry."
"No, you're not" the younger Holmes said, audibly miffed. He let a few seconds pass in silence before he went on "Vanessa also studied the higher levels of criminal consulting with her brother James. I stumbled on the existence of a sibling when James gave me some of his crime schemes. They differed in style and sophistication. They were all brilliant, but some were even better than the others."
"Hers?" Mycroft assumed, but clapped his mouth shut at once.
"Hers" a frowning younger brother confirmed. "Although, when I confronted James with my suspicion, he denied it. Cost me two weeks in 'the room', actually." Sherlock bit his lip. He hadn't wanted to talk about that. Brought him too close to talking about how he had felt back then.
It was pure kindness on Mycroft's side that he ignored the slip of the tongue. "Then who told you?"
"Jenkins never touched liquor, but one day he was raving drunk. He yelled at me, said that James would finish me off the way he'd done away with his twin. James had hired one of his snipers to murder his own sibling. Jim Moriarty wasn't one for sharing his glory."
"That's the sharpest contrast to the Holmes family's warm and close ties from heart to heart" Mycroft replied amiably. "Is it not?"
"Indeed, dearest brother. However, it rattled Sebastian Moran more than me. He'd been regretting his joining up with James for quite a while, but from that day on, he wanted out. Sebastian had murdered his own brother, the wrong brother, naturally, but the thought of James murdering his sibling gave him the creep. Aren't ordinary people peculiar?"
"You tell me" Mycroft said "you're the expert. You know them much better than I do."
Sherlock gave him a suspicious look, but the sleek surface of Mycroft's unmoved face gave nothing away. Especially not the thought of Sherlock and John, and their friendship, and how much Mycroft envied them for it.
"Well" the younger Holmes continued a bit uncomfortably "the mobile hard disk was Sebastian's idea. He had access to James' network, but he could make neither head nor tail of what he saw. He gave me access, and I stored the relevant stuff. Would have been the best life insurance, if only we had got the disk out when we escaped."
"Why didn't you?"
"Jenkins had craftsmen in the house the evening of our escape. He locked me up, with Sebastian as my guard. Neither of us could get the disk without running into Jenkins. Sebastian assured me he had the two RCs, or I wouldn't have left." Sherlock cleared his throat, rose, and started pacing again. With his back to his elder brother, he added "I'm sorry to say that the Colonel lied to me, and I didn't notice."
Mycroft was silent at first. A confession like that from Sherlock Holmes – it made up for a lot of things in the past few months. In the past few years. "Stealing the plans from me was the next best thing" he gently told Sherlock's stiff shoulder blades. "It grieves me to say that I thought differently at the time. If only for a day or two. Before I had a surgeon cut the chip out of my neck. And I wish... there'd been a way to let you know that I was safe."
"The clearest sign that you are getting on in years" Sherlock snapped insultingly, and their world was once again straightened out.
"By the way, just to humour my curiosity" Mycroft said lightly, to ease any potential residue of abashed tension, "where did you hide the hard disk? No one could retrieve it, Moriarty did not know it was there, the BND overlooked it, my men did, undoubtedly the Chinese searched the villa in Grunewald themselves..."
"Under a floor board in 'the room'" Sherlock said. "When I wasn't … confined there, it was the only place in the house with no life cameras or microphones. Nobody dreamt of looking for me there, even if I vanished from their monitors. They were too sure I'd never go near the place voluntarily. Jenkins once found me, immediately in front of the door, and even so he thought I'd come in from the gardens."
"Must have been awkward for you" Mycroft said. During the last few months, he'd tried to watch Moriarty's 'research report' several times. He'd never come very far, but even the small part he had seen made him sick. Both brothers suffered from claustrophobia since childhood, and to imagine Sherlock in this cell was – not agreeable.
"It had its moments" the younger brother retorted curtly. "Anyway, my first night back in Berlin, after I had rid myself of Peter, I retrieved the disk from the abandoned house. Lucky me, must have been the only time no one was on my tail."
"Indeed" Mycroft said musingly. "Still, there's the question of how the Lucky Cat came to recruit Miss Moriarty in the first place. But you can't know that, of course..."
"Why not, it's obvious enough" Sherlock retorted, preposterously pleased with himself, just as Mycroft had thought he'd be. "She was in China when James ordered her execution, Macao I should think. Until then, James had suppressed his resentment against her, as she had suited his purpose. It must have been her who brought James into contact with the Black Lotos, a thing that was bound to catch the Lucky Cat's attention."
"So?"
"So Professor Chang sent Li Gong to intercept Miss Moriarty. Befriend her. Perhaps this whole love affair was staged, at least in the beginning. Vanessa needed support to escape her brother's murder scheme; this will have helped to win her over. Small wonder James' plans to take over the Black Lotos' network in Europe and the U. S. weren't very successful."
"How much does Vanessa know about you?" Mycroft asked. That a foreign service should have intimate information about his brother was - disquieting, to put it mildly. Tarantula felt – exposed. Naked.
In blissful ignorance of his brother's professional paranoia, Sherlock was untroubled. "She knows quite a lot about me, I shouldn't wonder. Doubtlessly she had someone inside James' spider-web. Aaand...." Sherlock drawled that last bit out with vicious relish "the Lucky Cat sure gave her a copy of James' research report."
Mycroft flinched in indignation. Why was everyone taking him for a coward, just because he was reluctant to know everything about Sherlock's captivity? Preferring to not have some pictures in his head wasn't so very unnatural. They'd haunt him forever.
Perhaps Sherlock would like that.
Clearing his throat irritably, Mycroft changed the position of his legs.
Sherlock smiled briefly. Big brother had done that even as a boy, whenever he'd felt uncomfortable.
As baby brother enjoyed his jibe, the professional in Tarantula won the upper hand. For all the petty bickering, he had heard a perfect analysis. And it sounded so easy, as if every six year old could have figured it all out. That was the mastery of it, Mycroft presumed. A child's game for the one, impossible to do for almost any other. The little one was still as sharp as he'd always been.
"Miss Moriarty must feel euphoric about her achievements" he said to Sherlock. "The last remains of her brother's legacy destroyed, the last missing pieces of the Black Lotos puzzle in her handbag – mission accomplished. The Lucky Cat will be proud of her."
Sherlock snorted softly. "You better be glad. This euphoria is the only thing that keeps Carruthers alive. It obviously blinds her enough to overlook the holes in his story. The woman is smart. Real smart."
"Coming from you" an astonished Mycroft replied "that's high praise indeed."
"The woman is special, as I said" Sherlock retorted, and it was clear that he considered the matter closed.
Now it was Mycroft's turn to smile to himself. Sooo, little brother. 'The woman'. Interesting. Very interesting.
"That should cover it" Sherlock meanwhile said. "I think the rest you know."
Mycroft opened his mouth to deny that. He was filled with questions, almost bursting. This was a singular moment, a chance to get things right with his brother, once and for all. Indeed, the words were stumbling about each other in his head" Sherlock, please forgive me, I should have found out where you are, what happened to you, why you did what you did ... tell me how you felt during these five years, let me help you, share it with me the way you did with John back at Angelo's, give me a chance to make amends for all my blunders, for all my wrong turns....."
"Time's up, brother dear" Sherlock said with much relief, taking his eyes from the wall clock to once more glare at his brother. "I've kept my side of the bargain. 30 minutes of absolute truth from me. I'm free. Your turn now."
"Sherlock, I want..."
"Oh no Mycroft, too late to back off now. I can ask what I want and you must answer. You promised!"
"Sherlock, no, I..."
"Gotcha. You promised!" The younger looked like a puppy that had only just gained its first fresh bone.
Mycroft looked at him - and found it in his heart to surrender "You're right, Sherlock. I promised. It's just that – you've figured it all out. I don't know what to tell you."
Sherlock turned away again, drumming his fingers on his right leg, his cheeks burning red with unwanted pleasure about the sudden, unhoped-for compliment.
But then, and for the one reason alone that he wanted his elder brother to be at fault, he smelled a non-existent rat. "Do you want to take me to London tonight?" he snapped after a long minute of silence.
"Sure. If you want to."
Mycroft saw his brother grimace in the mirror of the window pane. "Since when do you care what I want?" Sherlock said truculently.
"Since when do you know what you want?" Mycroft asked back.
"I always knew what I don't want. For example, being locked up in that hospital by your order. Or being forced to ask you for money. Or you spying on me, everywhere I go."
"Would you believe me if I told you that your withdrawal in the hospital had nothing to do with my career?" Mycroft asked back.
"You sacrificed our mother for the family reputation, why not me for yours?"
The elder brother flinched violently. An hour of truth. Indeed. For years and years Sherlock must have carried that question in his mind, to spit it out now. So much for this 'truth' game being a spontaneous idea! How long had little brother planned for this moment?
Yet, now that Tarantula had walked into Sherlock's trap, there was no other defence but the truth.
"Mother was crushed by our father while he lived" Mycroft said quietly, but with great urgency. "When he died, he took a part of her with him. She wasn't fit for this world, Sherlock, neither of us could've changed that. Had I told anyone what our father did – to her, to you – we both had ended up with some legal guardians. They'd shipped me off to heaven knows where and you to an asylum first chance they got. There was a fortune to be made, if only one could push the two of us aside."
"You were of age!"
"When mother died, yes. When our father died I was but sixteen, and his testament was what counted. You were a child and after what he'd done to you, they'd easily denounced you as mentally afflicted. A perfect excuse for holding you under disability for as long as they wanted. I had no choice!"
"So you just told anyone what a great man our father had been, and what a wonderful woman our mother was. You effectively had control of everything and mother never got the care she needed until it was too late!"
"Our mother was beyond all rescue since her wedding night!"
"You wanted to protect the family fortune!"
"For God's sake Sherlock, I wanted to protect you, can't you get that into your head?"
"When did you want to protect me, when you got me a solicitor for a guardian as you left to start your career, or when you had me dragged into that damn hospital, with no one the wiser, to spare your bosses an embarrassment?"
Mycroft raised his hands, desperate to explain himself. "I admit I started to search for you to avoid damage to my reputation, but when I found you …. you were dying, Sherlock. What did you expect me to do? Leave you in the gutter to die like a rat?"
"It's your half hour of truth, brother dear. You tell me."
"You told John you know I love you."
"I never denied you love me, you just never understood me."
"Sherlock Holmes, you do not wish to be understood. You prefer to be an enigma. Ask John, he'll tell you the same thing. And as to money – you always told your clients you don't need an incentive. Seems to me you wanted to come to me from time to time."
Mycroft had meant that as a mere shot in the dark, but the effect was astonishing. Sherlock was completely baffled. Vanessa had said something about him being an enigma, too, and as to the question of money...
Belatedly it occurred to Mycroft that he, unintentionally, had hit on a very sore spot within his brother. "Oh, little one. What an oaf I sometimes was." All these years, all these quarrels about trifles of sums – they had been the little one's way to make sure they stayed in touch, without ever admitting that he liked arguing with his brother.
In obvious frustration, Sherlock paced another few steps, then he uselessly fumbled with the pillow. "That still leaves the spying thing" he complained, quite lamely compared to his former passionate accusations. With that he dropped all his former issues as if he'd never thought of fighting them through.
But then, perhaps he hadn't. Who knew what was going on in that funny old head, as Mrs Hudson had once put it? Certainly not Mycroft Holmes. Never had, and never would know. A glimpse, a shred, sometimes, but the whole truth living behind these grey-green eyes? Never.
Even now, Mycroft had no clue as to why and how the discussion about their parents, a debate they both had been waiting to have for all their adult lives, was now over. As abruptly as it had started. Whether Sherlock had got what he'd wanted from it – who would be the judge of that?
Tarantula would not arrogate that right to himself. "Had I spied on you five years ago, Moriarty had never captured you" he stated, answering Sherlock's last question. "I feel very strongly that I've let you down, little brother. And I will always feel that way. If you were to consider that ample punishment for my sins – couldn't we start anew? You and I?"
Sherlock stared at him, wide eyed. Suspicion battled with another feeling Mycroft couldn't quite put a name to. Hope? A wish to let bygones be bygones, if only to get a bit of rest? A feeling that enough was enough? That a little trust was due, for both their sakes?
Whatever it was, the battle didn't last long. Sherlock face showed that he had come to a decision. He took a bag from the wardrobe, and threw the few things Demirkan had taken from his flat into it.
"You're packing." Mycroft stated, when the silence became stale.
"Good deduction" Sherlock curtly answered.
"Going anywhere particular?"
"No, not really. Berlin's a big city."
"Half the size of London, though."
"Bound to happen when you're cut in halves for forty years. It could still grow up."
"Cheaper than London, too. But you'll still have to live."
Sherlock drew a deep breath, but he said nothing.
"Naturally" Mycroft went on "there's still the money I gave to John on your behalf. He'll be pleased to be the one with the unlimited credit card for a change."
"I do not need him. I've got my Stradivarius. Musil says I'm quite good." Sherlock zipped the bag and went for his coat. Still the one Vanessa had taken from John's wardrobe.
"Sherlock" Mycroft said. "Come back to London. Please."
The younger man's hand hovered above the coat, in two minds about grabbing it or leaving it. "This case is closed" he said.
"There will be other cases."
"I don't want charity from you, Mycroft."
"But John and I – we could do with some charity from you, my boy."
"You're way pass the thirty minutes limit, big brother. No need to expose yourself like that. It's embarrassing."
Silently Mycroft collected his own things, opened the door, and left without another word.
For long minutes his brother awaited his return. With more arguments. With John and his irrefutable common sense. Or with four bullies and a straight-jacket.
Only at long last Sherlock believed that Mycroft had left him for good.
The younger brother analysed his feelings. He'd learned to do that as a child whose emotions had been nothing but an open flank in hostile surroundings. An incalculable, unacceptable risk.
'Mycroft gone' felt - infuriating and gratifying. Threatening as well as liberating. A crippling, painful loss, but it allowed Sherlock to breathe easily.
After long, dark ages in a coffin of oppression, he stepped into the light and felt that he was free.
Marvellous experience.
If a somewhat lonely one.
It was a bit - ambigious. And ambigious was bad.
Sherlock decided that he needed time to think.
Neither freedom nor loneliness would be going anywhere.