While Hades searched the lower levels of the building in search of Lady Smallwood the woman herself remained in hiding along with Lestrade, Sherlock, John and Anthea. None of them had made any attempt to leave the small storage room, just sat on the floor staring off into space – apart from John who kept his attention firmly on his lover – as they all tried to process the horror of what had happened outside.
What hurt Greg the most was that Artemis had honestly made Mycroft a happy man. He wasn't entirely sure how he and the British Government had become friends but they had, in fact Gregory would have gone so far as to say they were best friends. Though he didn't have an intellect like Sherlock or Mycroft had he wasn't blind, he'd seen just how tragically lonely the elder Holmes brother had always been. In the beginning Lestrade had thought about trying to set his friend up, get him a date although, he'd then realized that Mycroft played everything so close to his chest that he didn't know if the man was gay, straight or all of the above; Lestrade had suspected asking would have just reminded Myc of his loneliness. In the end he'd simply decided that all he could do without scaring the elder Holmes and being avoided for the next three years quite successfully was to ignore everything else and focus on just being there for Myc; having a true friend would at least ease the loneliness somewhat. Gregory had done that and Mycroft had opened up – only a little of course – and accepted Greg as a friend; that had meant the world to the policeman. Now though? What was there now? Mycroft had found that love Greg had always wanted for him and it had turned around and put a bullet in his heart. Fuck! Why was everything always so fucking complicated.
Lestrade glanced around the room. Elizabeth was doing her best to hide the fact she was freaking out, Watson hadn't taken his concerned eyes off of his boyfriend, Anthea kept looking at her phone like there would suddenly and magically be a signal or a text from a dead Mycroft. Sherlock though, well, Lestrade hadn't ever seen him this way. He looked human, broken. Sherlock didn't cry, he wasn't the sort of man for that, but he'd gone blank and Greg had spent enough time with Myc to know the younger Holmes was wandering around in his mind probably talking to whatever version of his brother was up there. That actually gave the cop some comfort, as long as Mycroft was up there in his brother's brain to argue and provide advice for Sherlock then the man wasn't really gone; his friend wasn't truly dead.
He could remember the first time he'd introduced his daughter, Violet, to Mycroft. It had been purely accidental, they'd been walking up the street towards some fancy restaurant that Greg had saved up for and Violet had practically walked straight into Myc as he'd left the Diogenes Club. The taller man had always claimed he'd never been good with humans and though Greg hadn't doubted it he'd seen just how good the man was with children. Anything over thirteen probably terrified him but under that and Myc was a pro with kids. At first Greg had been amazed and a little confused but then he'd thought about the seven years between Mycroft and Sherlock and the eight which separated him from Eurus. Hell, Myc had probably been in tailored suits by then and would have, undoubtedly, taken it upon himself to care for his siblings as if they were his own; in the end wasn't that what had gotten him killed?
The detective inspector sighed and ran a large hand through his hair as he glanced up at the door beside him. Mycroft had given them the chance to survive and sitting in that fucking storage closet wasn't saving them, Myc had laid the groundwork and now it was up to them to get out of it. Mycroft may have been the Odin of their little merry band but Lestrade had been a police detective for a very long time, he could do this shit too it would just take him a little longer.
"They never locked this door, we could just stroll right out." He muttered to himself thinking of how quickly they'd get shot.
Sherlock heard his mutterings though and quickly flashed him an angry look.
"Don't be stupid, Lestrade, even you have more brain power than that. We open that door even a crack we'll be dead. Guard, remember?"
That wasn't like Sherlock, it sounded as if he were just giving up and frankly that scared Gregory more than the idea of getting shot did. Despite all his cocky arrogance and logical reasoning Sherlock had always been the hopeful one amongst them. Always been the one to remind them a plan could still work even after its success percentage had dropped into single digits.
Anthea piped up then and finally drew her eyes away from her phone. She sat opposite Greg with her back to the photocopier; a little mascara had run where she'd cried.
"We could use the air duct maybe?"
Everyone's eyebrows shot up then and she took it as a hint to elaborate so she shoved her phone away, scrambled to her feet and pushed the photocopier out the way towards Lady Smallwood to reveal a pretty person sized – conveniently – air duct cover.
"People crawling through vents doesn't happen in real life." Sherlock snapped and for the life of him Greg couldn't work out if his tone was born of having watched his brother die or not having seen this all coming.
"While I seriously doubt Hades has people stationed in there," began Lady Smallwood "I wouldn't recommend going in. The air vent network for the lower levels of this building a very extensive. They're big enough to crawl through, sure, but worse than a labyrinth, you'd have to have memorized the whole thing to avoid getting lost."
John peered at the large vent curiously. "Why are they so big? Aren't most vents tiny."
"We're fifteen meters under ground, Doctor Watson." The gray-haired woman explained as if he was being stupid. "We needed a larger air supply."
Clearly none of them knew a way around the maze of metal inside the walls but still Lestrade pulled the vent cover free with Watson's aid. The pair set it down as quietly as possible beside the photocopier and then stuck their heads inside for a look.
"Maybe one of us could scout it and come back?" Greg suggested when he pulled his head back.
Lady Smallwood scoffed. "You'd get lost and we'd find your body in a few weeks."
Christ, she's full of light and comfort, grumbled the policeman's mind. Still, the woman was right, he would get lost. They had suffocation in a dark vent or a bullet in the head through the door, neither option looked particularly great. He sighed as John went back to Sherlock to try and prompt his fluffy-haired lover to use that big brain of his.
"Come on, Sherlock, you're the genius, remember? If anyone can get us all out of her it's you. Look, the door and the vent are both pretty death-y, you're Sherlock bloody Holmes so thing of a way out." John's hands cupped his lover's cheeks to force him to look up at the doctor. "Come on, baby, you've got your hero coat on and everything."
They all knew Sherlock was in shock, or at least his version of it, and didn't really feel like doing anything but he really was their only option.
"Mycroft was the one who pushed me to admit I loved you, you know?" Said Sherlock completely ignoring John's plea for help. "He was always the lonely one and he wouldn't let me be like him. I never thanked him for that, never thanked him for anything. Told me to be with my goldfish." The curly-haired man breathed out a sorrowful laugh. "He couldn't ever find his own goldfish."
Greg sighed. "He stole that term from Artemis."
That got Sherlock to tilt his eyes upwards at him while John grew increasingly more concerned for his lover's state of mind.
"She was his intellectual, quite literally the perfect woman, apart from the fact she beat him."
"Baby, there are innocent people out there still trapped and terrified in this building, we can't just sit her and let Hades pick them off like a video game. And what about Rosie?" The mention of his god-daughter got Sherlock's blue-green eyes to finally perk up and pay attention. "She's already lost her mother, Sherlock, so I'm not going to let her lose her father and her godfather." John pointed to Gregory loosely. "Greg's got Violet."
That was right, he did have Violet, the little girl who'd taken to Mycroft in little more than a second. The little girl who called him 'Uncle Mycie' originally as a joke but it was a term Mycroft had come to quietly treasure. How was he going to explain to Violet that Mycroft was gone?
Suddenly Lestrade dropped into a crouch and grabbed Sherlock by the shoulders so he could shake the younger man forcefully.
"My best friend, your brother, died so we all had a damn chance of living! You are not going to throw that away just so you can sit here and sulk." He released Sherlock then and dragged both hands down his face while everyone stared at him for his sudden outburst. "Myc wasn't a good man, he was the best of them and you only ever gave him shit for it. Well, he's dead so you can't blame Mycroft any longer. Grow up and prove what he always knew, you're not a selfish bastard, you're a hero. We'll mourn Mycroft later, that's how he'd have wanted it."
Sherlock stared at the ground for a moment as if he'd vanished back inside his head, probably had, probably was being told the same things by his internal Mycroft. Then, finally, he rose to his feet and fluffed up his hair as was his way before he turned his attention back to Gregory.
"For Myc, for the kids."
Sherlock agreed, for his brother and the children. "Although, he we see Artemis just carry on without me, just keep going because I am going to kill her."
"Sherlock-"
The great detective cut his short lover off. "No, John, she didn't just kill him she toyed with him first. We see her and you just leave me. I am the sociopath after all."
"She'll kill you." Said Anthea softly.
No one said it but they all knew Sherlock didn't care about that, not for a single second. One Holmes had already died, they'd not allow another to pass on.
It was Lady Smallwood who drew them all back to the topic at hand, though ut was with an irritated tone and more for her own preservation than anyone else; not that she wanted anyone else to die.
"Would you just hurry up and think of something. A police inspector, an ex-soldier and the little brother of the greatest mind I've ever known, you should be able to figure this out. Door, vent, hack a hole in the wall, make your minds up."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "No way you'd ever break a hole through that without heavy machinery." He gestured loosely to the white walls. "They're all two feet thick and made of re-enforced concrete. A bomb could go off in this room and it wouldn't make a dent."
Two noises sounded then. The first was a dense thud that died down as quick as it had appeared, a heavy sound like something dropping. The second was a far quieter noise, more metallic, something that wanted to be a clangor but hadn't quite managed to get past being a ding. Whatever the two noises were it forced the hostages to silence instantly and Lady Smallwood hid behind the filing cabinet once more. They had no choice but to wait and see what happened.
Everyone's eyes flicked to the door handle when it jiggled ever so slightly and then it opened. The group steeled themselves for whoever entered. Lestrade wouldn't go down without a fight, nor would John or Sherlock. Imagine their surprise when of everyone who could have shown up it was Artemis the traitor who slipped inside.
"All still alive then." She said only to be cut off by Sherlock launching at her.
His eyes burned with ire but Artemis was too well-trained to let Sherlock Holmes pin her to the door and choke her to death. In a split second of innate reaction she was out of the taller man's grasp and had Sherlock down on the floor on his chest with his arm twisted behind him. Watson and Lestrade raced to grab her before she broke Sherlock's arm or did worse while Anthea shuffled backwards into the corner nearer Lady Smallwood; Anthea had seen enough death for one day.
"Little Assassin, I'd rather you stopped threatening to kill my little brother."
Every single pair of eyes snapped to the vent, Lady Smallwood even charged out from her hiding place to see around the photocopier. There in the vent opening, one leg still inside by a large bag while the other supported himself on the supply room floor was Mycroft. Greg's mouth dropped open. The ginger's clothes were an abysmal mess, tie loose, shirt crinkled partially open and stained in red, as was everything else he wore; a little blood had even managed to splash up his neck and the bottom of his chin.
"Mycroft?" The name practically fell out of Lestrade's mouth
They all just stared at him utterly lost as to what was happening, all except for Artemis who stood up straight as a smug smile donned Mycroft's face.
"Did you miss me?"
Sherlock glared daggers at his elder brother. All that sorrow, fear and pain had instantly faded away only to be replaced by anger.
"You bastard! You total and complete bastard!" Sherlock yelled still pinned down by Artemis.
Carefully Mycroft slipped out of the vent fully and stood to his full height while continuing to be stared at like he'd just taken his clothes off and screamed Debbie for literally no reason. Though his clothes were messy and bloody Mycroft still held himself with his usual authority and prowess; he didn't look bothered in the least by his brother's anger.
"You didn't honestly believe all of that out there, did you?" He straightened his cuff, a completely pointless attempt at tidying up his suit. "Brother mine, I knew you were slow but this is getting serious. Does it hurt being so slow?"
Next thing Mycroft knew he was encompassed by Lestrade who had his arms wrapped tightly around the slightly younger man as if Mycroft would suddenly fade away or turn to dust. Clearly surprised the ginger just stood there a moment until he did finally manage to return the hug though lightly and awkwardly. Once he'd been released he made an attempt at straightening himself again, he couldn't quite stand being such a mess; his OCD was screaming at him no matter how many walls he put up between it and himself.
Mycroft cleared his throat. "Now, if Artemis lets you up are you going to attack her again or are you going to be quiet and do as you're told? If I remember correctly you're not even meant to be here."
The curly-haired Holmes never answered, just grumbled to himself.
"But we saw you get shot." John said plainly. "Point blank in the heart."
The British Government rolled his eyes as Artemis finally let Sherlock up; hadn't this all been very obvious?
He fixed John with a pointed look. "If Artemis was going to actually kill me she'd have put a bullet in my head not my heart, Doctor Watson. They told Artemis they were coming, after that we came up with a plan which would have worked lovely despite them showing up early except for two things."
John pulled a face that said he clearly wasn't sure what was going on. "What things."
"He means us, John."
Mycroft nodded at his little brother's assessment of the situation, the consulting detective and his pet doctor had most certainly been the root of his plan's problems. Then again Mycroft entire life had been like that, Sherlock hadn't always been the cause of his problems but he'd definitely helped Mycroft to forget what those problems were.
"Yes." The elder Holmes confirmed. "You see I could have held out long enough for reinforcements to gather outside and then we could have faked my death. Instead we had to do it far faster and Artemis had to threaten to kill you to stop someone else who would have actually done it killing you. And because of you I had to crawl through almost a mile of vents where as before I could have just used the stairs."
The silver-haired policeman snapped his fingers as realization struck him full force and then he pointed to his friend's bloody chest.
"While we were having lunch, you kept shuffling. I thought your waistcoat was too loose or something but it was that vest, wasn't it? You've had it on the whole time."
Artemis nodded. "I wanted him used to it. Good job I did."
As if to prove the plot Mycroft reached into his tattered, bloody clothes and fidgeted about for a moment only to come back with a mangled bullet which he simply let go of. His chest was bruised to hell but Reapers would have spotted if Artemis had suddenly started using blanks.
Lady Smallwood seemed to have gone from being amazed her colleague had faked his death so well even the great Sherlock Holmes had believed him dead to pissed off she'd not had a full briefing in about thirty seconds flat. Her brow furrowed deeply showing off her age and a her lips pursed.
"Well why didn't you tell me?" She demanded.
Myc hardly even spared her a glance. "You've been in Soho all morning. I was going to have Anthea send for you upon your return but, as I said, Hades came in early."
Gregory closed his eyes a second to try and get the timeline in order, his mouth flapped a couple of times and then finally words managed to form.
"Why even bother with all of this?"
Sherlock continued to glare at his brother but he couldn't resist pointing out how simple Lestrade's brain was compared to himself; seemed his arrogance was back where it belonged.
"Obvious, Lestrade, to get all the generals in one place at the same time. He's going to cut the all the heads off at once and use his little murderer as an inside man."
Mycroft sighed, he hated the way Sherlock always acted like Lestrade was a moron, yes his intellect wasn't quite to the level of either Holmes or Artemis but that didn't for one second mean his friend was stupid.
"Well, now we've dumbed it down for the jocks amongst us may we return to the task at hand? Reinforcement are already on the upper levels. Artemis and I need to open the internal doors so they can get down here though."
"We need to do it quickly." Artemis informed. "Soon the generals are going to realize I've gone AWOL and the rest of my unit has suspiciously had their necks broken. When they do they'll come straight here to wipe you out and if they see her," the raven-haired beauty pointed to Lady Smallwood, "then we're fucked."
Artemis was right and they all knew it.
Lestrade had been full of rage just as Sherlock had over the lies and faking Mycroft's death but when he'd paused to see the way she looked at his best friend Gregory didn't know why he'd believed it to begin with. That girl couldn't feel pain or anything else really but there wasn't any mistaking her love for the taller man. He remembered what she'd said way back in the beginning, ' 'Mycroft Holmes is the one man in the world I will not kill. I refuse'. No, she'd never hurt him. Greg wasn't sure how he'd feel about it later but for now he'd gotten his best friend back from the dead and they had to escape this madhouse.
"What do you want us to do, Myc? They took our stuff and we haven't got guns."
The taller man flashed his friend a small smile. "O ye of little faith, Gregory."
That was Mycroft Holmes, always a man with a plan. He reached back inside the vent to grab the large duffel bag that he'd tugged along behind him which he dropped down on the photocopier and unzipped revealing an armory inside.
"Artemis, on the radio you asked for SA80 and an M4 Carbine, which would you like first?"
Well there weren't any prizes for where Mycroft had been during his stint as a corpse, that was why Artemis had gotten him moved.
"The M4." Easily Mycroft lifted the heavy weapon out of the bag and handed it over. "Thank you, British."
It struck Gregory then that even he'd missed hearing her nickname for his friend; odd. Before the silver-haired inspector could think through that strange thought even slightly Mycroft thrust a shotgun out at him then gave John a handgun.
"You intend on shooting people now, do you, Mycroft?"
It seemed that any and all love and regret Sherlock had felt over the treatment of his brother had died a far more permanent death than Mycroft had, he'd returned to his usual self as if the last ninety minutes hadn't ever happened.
"Oh little brother, I may not be a very good shot but I am one excellent weapons valet. Sherlock grab the magazines in there and be ready to do the same for John. Anthea kindly assist Gregory."
Anthea nodded and did as asked. The way her face had been wiped clear and her lack of worry and panic wasn't lost on Gregory who subtly eyed her. Anthea may not have known everything but Lestrade suspected she'd known far more than the rest of them had; she'd drawn their attention to the vent, she'd told them about the silent alarm and she'd quietly suggested to them that Mycroft had known all of this was coming.
"What the hell are you planning, Mycroft?" Elizabeth asked with a gruff tone as if Mycroft had planned all of this just to spite her.
"Artemis is on point. We move to the control room with Gregory and Doctor Watson bringing up the rear and the rest of us in the middle. Only fire if you have to, it would be nice to stay quiet as long as possible."
"You're learning nicely, British."
Myc couldn't help the little, stupid smile that settled on his lips before he leaned in to kiss Artemis' soft lips.
"And you have proven yourself a remarkable actor."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Can we please get this over with?"
John sighed, he knew exactly what his lover was doing, burying his feelings deep, deep down where he'd never have to see them again. Watson would try and talk some emotions out of his lover later when they knew they would all live and he'd snuggled Rosie.
Artemis glanced down the sights of her assault rifle then, happy with it, reached for the door. If they were going to do this they had to do it now before Hades realized Artemis wasn't on their side, had killed at least five Reapers and had played them all.