This chapter is also double length because I'm tired and nothing matters. Enjoy!

Chapter 52

Sherlock and John were escorted from the helicopter into Magnussen's house. Appledore was very modern, all glass and white leather and dark wood. Sherlock looked around and frowned. "For some reason I pictured you more as a weeb."

"That's my house in Japan," Magnussen said. He was sitting on the sofa with a drink in his hand. "However, all the furniture here is highly absorbent—"

"Because you're fucking sweaty, we get it," John snapped. He turned to the TV screen on the opposite wall. "Hold on, what the hell is that?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Maybe he gets off on that kind of stuff. You shouldn't judge people for their sexual preferences, John."

"That's me in a bonfire."

"Actually, it's you getting dragged out of one. Kind of a positive message, really."

"Whose side are you on?!"

"I needed to find a pressure point for Mr. Holmes," Magnussen said. "The drug thing I never believed for a moment. But look how you care about John Watson. Also, I do jack it to this occasionally." He clicked a remote and the footage shut off. "Let me explain to you how leverage works, Doctor Watson. Mycroft is the most powerful person in this country, other than me and Idris Elba. Mycroft's pressure point is his junkie brother Sherlock. Sherlock's pressure point is his gay lover John Watson. John Watson's pressure point is his straight lover Mary. I own Mary...I own Mycroft."

Sherlock withdrew a plastic bag with Mycroft's hair in it. "I will give you this in exchange for all documents you have on Mary."

John grimaced. "His hair?"

Magnussen chuckled. "You really think it will be that easy?" He shook his head. "Absorbing Mycroft's hair would give me incredible strength. But I know the contents of that bag are wired with GPS. The authorities will convene on this building to reclaim a national treasure, and when they find it in my hands, they will have every justification to search my vaults. They will find many sensitive documents, and I will be imprisoned."

"Okay, for once, I actually followed all of that," John said. "Just one thing: why is Mycroft's hair a national treasure?" He briefly looked around for Nicolas Cage.

"The Queen got drunk one time and named 'Mycroft's sumptuous body' a national treasure. Her words, not mine," Sherlock said with a grimace.

Magnussen laughed evilly, his forehead glistening. "All right, then. Let me show you the Appledore vaults." He stood up and led them to a set of double doors farther inside the house. He opened them, revealed a white room with a chair in the middle.

"Okay, so where are the vaults?" John asked.

"What vaults? There are no vaults in Appledore." Magnussen spread his arms. He sat down in the chair. "They're all in here."

Sherlock gasped. "It's all in your mind palace."

Magnussen smirked. "I'm sure you would know all about that, Sherlock."

"So you just sit in this room and think about all the dirt you've collected on people?" John asked. "Like, you literally have a tiny room in this rich-ass house with just a fucking chair? That's sad."

Magnussen ignored him. "I just sit here, close my eyes, and go down to my vaults...my memories." He closed his eyes and began walking as though he was going down stairs, his legs bending a little more with each step.

"This is stupid." John tripped him up. Magnussen fell onto his face with a loud squelching sound. He turned back to the room, the gravity of the situation catching up with him. "Wait, so there's no actual documents in the house?"

"Nope."

"I'm calling bullshit." John walked into the room and picked up the chair. "There's gotta be a switch or something. There's no way this dumbass room was just built for a chair." Then he cried out in triumph, swiping a flash drive from the underside of the chair.

"No!" Magnussen slipped to his feet. "Don't touch that!"

"What are you gonna do, bitch?" John held it above his head. But since he was only four foot two, Magnussen quickly grabbed it from him. "God dammit."

"It's my hentai collection, if you must know." Magnussen scowled. "Limited edition. I don't need your grimy hands on this." He held up the flash drive and snorted it.

"Woah, what the fuck?"

"Anyway, I am pleased to announce that you two will be heavily featured in my newspaper tomorrow—the gay lovers who tried to sell state secrets to me." Magnussen began walking out. "I can't wait to see you arrested."

"Shit." John turned to Sherlock. "You have a plan, right?"

Sherlock was still stuck at step one. "It's his mind palace!" He high-fived himself. "John, I solved the case!"

"Yeah, and now we're about to be fucking arrested!" John threw his hands in the air. "You have a plan, don't you?"

"Uh…" Sherlock started rifling through the script. "So we get to Appledore...and then he shows us the room…"

John slapped the script out of his hand. "Without cheating!"

Sherlock shrugged. "I got nothing."

With a sigh, John walked out, crossing himself.

Magnussen was waiting outside, looking at the sky. "They'll be here any minute now."

"Okay, I don't get it," John said. "How do you just know things?"

Slowly, Magnussen turned to face him. "I want to absorb your face."

"What the fuck?"

"Can I at least flick it?"

John turned and looked at Sherlock, who shrugged. "Okay, fine. Whatever."

Magnussen eagerly stepped forward. "Okay, just lean your head forward like that…" He extended one hand and flicked his cheek. He leaned back and shuddered. "Oh god, the power…"

Sherlock picked up his phone and quickly dialed a number. "Mom, can you come pick me up? I don't feel safe here. Oh right, I drugged you." He hung up.

"Can I do your eye now?"

The three of them looked up at the sound of helicopters.

"Oh, thank god," John said. He started waving his arms. "Please, just arrest us already! Get me away from this madman!"

Sherlock walked next to John and faced Magnussen. "So, just to clarify, Appledore's vaults only exist in your mind, and nowhere else."

"Yes, it's all in my mind palace. Except for my hentai collection," Magnussen said, the wind from the helicopters whipping his sweat around.

"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson! Step away from that man!" Mycroft said into a speaker as a squad of men with rifles surrounded the patio.

"What, no dramatic lights or smoke bombs this time?" Sherlock asked.

"Are the five gigantic helicopters not enough for you? We're on a budget, asshole!" Mycroft snapped. "PRIVATE GEORGE, PUT DOWN THAT GRENADE LAUNCHER!"

Sherlock reached around John's back and took the gun from his coat pocket. "Yoink!"

John turned around. "Did you just take my gun?"

"Maybe."

"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, step away from that man!" Mycroft shouted, trying to be the center of attention.

Sherlock stepped away from John and shot Magnussen in the head. He dramatically blew smoke away from the barrel. "Gun."

"Man down," said one of the SWAT team members (or whatever the fuck they have in Britain). He aimed his rifle. "I have the shot on Sherlock Holmes. Do I take the shot?"

"Stand fire!" Mycroft shouted into the microphone. "Do not fire on Sherlock Holmes!"

"Got it. Taking the shot."

Sherlock heard a distant pop, followed by more pain in his chest. Everything slowed down as he entered his mind palace. He looked over at Molly, who had suddenly appeared.

She looked in exasperation at the bleeding hole in his chest. "Again?"

-Later-

Mycroft was standing in a meeting room, looking dramatically out the window. "As my colleague is fond of remarking, this country sometimes needs a blunt instrument. Equally, it sometimes needs a dagger—a scalpel wielded with precision and without remorse. At other times it needs a plunger, to suction up a whole lot of bad stuff. And on rare occasions, what this country needs is a nice, warm hug."

Several men sat at a conference table, all of them staring at him.

"...What?"

"What I'm trying to say is, my brother is a murderer. There is no prison in which we could incarcerate him, so we have nothing left but the alternative…" Mycroft nodded at Lady Smallwood. "...Which will require your approval."

Lady Smallwood looked down at the paper he had handed her and sighed. "It's hardly merciful. The whitewashing controversy will be brutal."

Mycroft shrugged. "It's Marvel Studios. Nothing they can't brute force their way through."

-The Tarmac-

Sherlock (who now had two bullet scars in his chest), John, Mary, Mycroft, and some random security dude were standing in front of a small plane.

Mary, Mycroft, and security dude stepped to the side so John and Sherlock could have one last conversation.

"So...where are you headed off to, now?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Going to film a movie. It's about a rich, incredibly smart man with dark facial hair who sustains a horrible injury and travels to Asia, then uses a round glowy thing to gain incredible powers and save the world."

"I thought Robert Downey Jr. already made one like that."

His eye twitched. "Don't ever say that name to me again. Just because he talks fast doesn't make him the better Sherlock." He spat on the ground.

"Um, okay." John shuffled his feet as an awkward silence ensued. "You know, I honestly have no idea what to say."

Sherlock sighed, his shoulder sagging. "John, there's something I should say...I've meant to say always and then never have. Since it's unlikely we'll ever meet again, I might as well say it now." He took a deep breath. "I'm a virgin."

"I love you t...wait, what?"

"Youheardmebye!" Sherlock backflipped into the plane, which immediately took off down the runway.

John outstretched one hand toward the retreating vehicle. "Sherlock, wait…"

The wind blew dramatically across the tarmac as Celine Dion's My Heart Will Go On started playing.

John turned around. Golem was holding up a boombox a few feet away, swaying slightly. "You're here, there's nothing I fear…"

"Will you stop that?"

-A Bar-

Greg and some of his friends were watching The Game. By some of his friends, I mean the several empty shot glasses scattered in front of him.

The television buzzed with static, and several of the patrons roared in outrage as they missed 0.2 seconds of their precious Game.

The TV began buzzing more intensely, and soon they could see a man standing in the frame.

"Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Bitch, did you miss me?"

One of the men pointed at the screen. "HE TAKE AWAY GAME! KILL!"

All the sportmen ran out of the establishment, screaming about revenge. Greg crawled under the bar and took a nap.

-Back on the Tarmac-

Mycroft picked up his phone. "Hello? What? Uh huh. Uh huh. Yes, I want mayonnaise. No. Yes. No, we can't have children there." He paused, listening for a long time. "No...that can't be possible…"

John turned to him. "Did something happen?"

"The deli is out of pickles. Also, Moriarty is back. His face has been broadcast onto every television screen in London." Mycroft put the phone back to his ear and listened for a moment. "No, wait, he's dead again now. A group of angry men who missed their sports game went to his home and beat him to death with baseball bats."

"So Moriarty's dead for real, this time? But who will be the villain for the next season? What other interesting, morally gray, intelligent characters whose names begin with M are on this show?"

Mary raised her hand. "We could always do a filler episode."

"Great idea, Margaret!" The two jumped up for a high five, which ended in a freeze frame.

-15,000 Feet in the Air-

Sherlock pressed his face against the window, watching the rapidly shrinking trees and Cheeky Nandos of London. "I can hear the call...England needs me." He stood up, preparing to backflip out the window.

The pilot glanced back at him. "Sir, if you break a window at this altitude, I can't guarantee I'll be able to keep the pl—" He was cut off at the sound of breaking glass. "Really? Really?"

-Tarmac-

"What is that?" Mary pointed at the small speck descending from the sky.

"That's…" John squinted, then recognized the billowing gay coat. "Jesus Christ, Sherlock."

In the background, the plane was rapidly spiraling out of control. The pilot was madly pressing buttons, screaming into his comm, "ALTITUDE IS DOWN, AIR PRESSURE LEVELS ARE AT CRITICAL, MAYDAY MAYDAY! AAAAAAAAH!" He crashed in a ball of fire.

RIP Maggy, the slimiest villain to ever lick. Anything you want to see for the other villains? I'm pretty sure all that's left is the 70 pound old lady, hospital dude, and bullshit sister. Let me know.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Until next time!