Flashback:

Jim looked up with a sad sort of smile before reaching out to tuck a stray curl behind Sherlock's ear. 'We would have been amazing, but now I am not sure what to do with you. You can't be allowed to carry on...you just can't.'

Chapter 38- South

Lestrade grimaced as he ended his phone call. There was new information but it was hardly encouraging.

'What news?' Mycroft shot off so unexpectedly behind his left ear, that the Inspector jumped.

'Christ...don't sneak up on a body like that,' the police man hissed, as he turned around.

Mycroft arched an eyebrow, 'I didn't sneak up on you. You were miles away, so they say.'

And with good reason.

'Is John still getting some air on the roof?' the Inspector asked, folding his arms across his chest.

'You have a report? ' his companion pressed relentlessly.

Again Lestrade grimaced, 'Nothing concrete. One of the residents said they saw a dark panel van leaving at around midnight. It was heading in a southerly direction.'

'That's it?' Mycroft queried in icy disappointment. 'Where exactly South?!'

'Have your "operatives" done any better?!' the detective snapped; bristling under the other man's attack.

The conversation quickly descended into a hostile silence, before the two men glanced at each other in mute apology. It had been a tense hour of waiting since they had found Sherlock's phone and precious little else. Yes, Sherlock had always shown in the past that he was exceedingly capable under fire, but that was then. Now everyone knew he worked with a partner, and it was this prolonged absence from John's side more than anything else, that was enough to warrant some worry. In the meantime, the government agent narrowed his eyes, reading the cues in the other man's body language with practiced ease.

Mycroft gestured with one hand, 'speak what's on your mind.'

The Yard detective huffed in surprise but obediently leaned against the Victorian wall paper that decorated that side of the living room. 'You and I have been colleagues, for want of a better word, for almost a decade, trying to keep Sherlock healthy, focused, clean. I have seen the way you "interact". It's like that game with the pea under the cups. John is a straight up bloke, so I don't think this approach is going to work.'

'I don't follow?'

'Mental radar?!' the man cried out ,'What the blooming hell is that all about?!'

The government agent raised his hand again to cut him off; skewing him with a look of disbelief. 'You really think that I would invent a story like that.'

'I don't know what to think!' the man barked, 'but if you are not going to be helpful, I think you better clear off!'

Mycroft smirked in amusement, reading in between the lines at the deep seated loyalty and concern that John and Sherlock had aroused in one of the best officers of Scotland Yard.

'I assure you that all of I have said is true,' he insisted in a soft voice, gesturing to the other man to follow him up the stairs that would give them roof access. 'Sherlock has demonstrated it to me, on more than one occasion.'

He turned back when he didn't hear the man's heavy tread on the step behind. As it was, it took a few hard swallows before the Inspector could speak at all. 'You couldn't possibly be as calm as you are now, when you first saw the evidence.'

'I was sitting right on that settee,' Mycroft pointed, 'when Sherlock showed me. I had suspected for awhile now but the idea was so fantastical, that I refused to believe what was right before me.'

'I don't blame you, it's like something out of my nephew's comic books,' Lestrade murmured in astonishment, trying to fully digest what he had just learnt and pick out the bits that were the most important. How could something like this be happening? This was the 21st century for crying out loud!

'How come John didn't know?' the police officer inquired abruptly. The poor doctor had been so shocked that he had turned an unhealthy shade of white. 'You almost gave Watson a heart attack, I think.'

'Follow me,' Mycroft announced, 'John has been alone too long.'

'John is not alone!' Lestrade hissed, insulted that the other man had brushed aside his question with no attempt at subtly , 'From the amount of shadows that have flown passed the windows in the last hour, it looks as though the whole roof of Baker Street is covered by Harold's friends.'

'Ah...so have not you forgotten that my brother is missing...'

'...the investigation of which, you are currently impeding!'

'Both you and John are focused on the wrong thing right now,' the government agent sighed in exasperation.

'What should we be focused on?'

'Hopefully, John's ability to track Sherlock through London, of course!'

'And what should we not be focused on?

Mycroft could not help but grin in admiration at the man's tenacity. No wonder his brother chose to work with this man. It took the work of only a moment to make a decision to trust Lestrade with the whole story.

'There are some aspects of the Black-White winged mythology that are not as benign as tracking.'

Now that made the other man peel off the wall in a hurry. 'I beg your pardon?'

'There is the potential for one to abuse the other; mentally perhaps physically,' Mycroft explained with a sigh, 'and that's the reason John threw up in the bathroom.'

'I don't understand,' the inspector pressed anxiously as they climbed the stairs together, 'That's crazy! What could John be thinking?! Sherlock would never hurt him.'

Mycroft eyed the other man's shocked face.

It's not Sherlock that John is afraid of.

Mycroft actually thought he would be very excited if he could control Sherlock, but John clearly didn't feel the same way. It was to be expected. His relationship with his brother was not comparable to John's.

'And as I said,' Mycroft drawled as he opened the door at the top, 'this is not really important now. It is a deeply personally matter that the boys will have to face together. I trust you will not mention it, especially as it is worrying John.'

All eyeballs swiveled in their direction as they walked on the small roof, except for John who sat Indian style on the roof's edge; with his hand propping up his head, lost in his own little world of misery. In the background, Mrs. Hudson was weaving in and out of the crowd; trying to drown out her worry by serving iced tea and biscuits. However, Mycroft had to cup the Inspector's elbow and pull him forward as the detective stood there frozen in shock at the sight of so many black winged in the tight space.

Agreeably, the men parted for them; neatly tucking away their overly large appendages so they could make their way to where John sat.

Harold, noting the duos approach, climbed to his feet from where he was seated at his friend's side. He shook his head and gave them a stubborn look; warning them that he would be most displeased if John was upset again.

Silence fell as Lestrade, recovering himself, waved his arms commandingly to bring them to order and focus on what he was saying. The inspector nodded pleased as they obeyed him instantly. He was also happy to note the many different types of uniforms he saw in the crowd ranging from army to police to firemen. He had been worried about using civilians; even though they could use all the volunteers they could muster to conduct a search.

'On behalf of Scotland yard, thank you for coming. We are going to split up in teams of three and do a search. We don't have much, but we have a general direction,' he announced; pitching his voice loudly so it could carry to everyone.

'Is it South?' John asked quietly. The Inspector cursed colorfully in shock even as Mycroft dashed to the doctor's side.

'What did you say?' the agent asked in a breathless whisper, 'are you sensing his direction? Just point for me. Well done, John! Well done!'

Mycroft stared in concern as John, flushed with a fine sheet of sweat across his face, anxiously rocked to and fro. Sherlock had never exhibited any sort of symptom like this before.

'Take me to him,' Mycroft pleaded, 'show us the way.'

But John only shook his head vehemently, 'No.'

'You don't have to do anything, just come to the car.'

'There's no time,' he croaked feebly in protest.

'We have plenty time,' Mycroft replied confidently as he reached out, preparing to drag the man to his feet. Instead, John jumped up and pushed him away and there was a momentary pause of alarm when the doctor teetered on the edge of the building.

'Calm down this instant!' Mycroft warned him sternly as if addressing a toddler who was throwing a tantrum. 'What's wrong?'

'Sherlock, is in trouble!' John cried out tearing his gaze from the south, 'he's in trouble. He's in trouble, now!'

Mycroft made a mad grab for the doctor then, as the ex-army soldier unexpectedly threw himself off the side. If not for Harold's quick reflexes, he would have gone over the edge too.

It was a strangled mixture of horror and awe that gripped the small crowd, when far from needing a rescue, John suddenly soared upwards. Maybe a hundred years ago they were plentiful as weeds, but never had anyone of these men seen a white winged human take to the skies, and all stood gawking stupidly up at the slash of moving white against the blindingly blue sky.

'Interesting,' Mycroft murmured with a genuine smile. The man half suspected now that Sherlock had orchestrated this all, just to have this unexpected outcome. However, he couldn't examine his theory any closer, because Mrs. Hudson chose that exact moment to crash her empty tray down on his head in frustration.

'What the bloody hell are you still standing there for?!' she shouted at them all, 'Go after him!'