"Mycroft?!"
Mycroft shifted against the sheets. His eyes burned, his throat was scratchy, and his mouth was dry. Letting out a soft groan, Mycroft slowly opened his eyes as his brother's voice echoed downstairs.
"Mycroft are you here?!"
Frowning, Mycroft looked around the room as he slowly sat up. Shaking his head, he tried to clear it as he looked for Greg. "Gregory?" Mycroft jerked around as the bedroom door hit the wall with a bang. Blinking in surprise, Mycroft left the bed. "Sherlock, what on earth..."
"You were not answering your phone! There has never been a time where you never answer one of my calls unless you are upset with me or unable to but you always call back and you did not do so!" Sherlock stood in the doorway, watching as Mycroft slowly stumbled from the bed. "John said you left hospital, but he was unsure as to where you had gone. Why would you not say you were coming back to the townhouse? If I had known..."
Mycroft stopped the rushed statements with a soft shushing as he gently pulled Sherlock closer. His brother was alive, the proof was in front of him as he tightened his hold. "Forgive me, I did not mean to worry you, I simply..." Mycroft broke off with a tired sigh. "The doctors felt I needed to be at home to rest. Gregory is supposed to have surgery later today and you..." Stepping back, Mycroft studied Sherlock. "You are not supposed to be here, I am sure John is worried about you." Despite the frown, Sherlock was pale and his eyes were slightly clouded with pain.
"I had to be sure...I-I did not wish to wait to see if you were alright. John will understand, he has known me long enough..." Sherlock broke off at the sound of John's angry voice downstairs.
"William Sherlock Scott Holmes! I swear if I find your bloody arse here so help me..."
Mycroft let out a soft sigh. "He does not sound pleased at all little brother, maybe you should..."
"Mycroft if he is here..."
"We are upstairs, John, I had to check on Mycroft!" Sherlock held his brother's gaze, looking for any signs as to how he were feeling. "Why did you not answer your phone? Did you take..."
"No, Sherlock I did not and my phone..." Mycroft looked around the room, frowning as he tried to remember where he'd left his cell. "My phone is in my coat pocket, I never put it on the charger last night." Reaching for his trench coat, Mycroft sighed. "The battery died." Voice soft he turned to see John now standing in the doorway. "Doctor Watson."
John glared at Sherlock then Mycroft. "Just what is it with you two? You..." John pointed an angry finger at Sherlock. "Are supposed to be in hospital recovering. And you..." He turned to Mycroft, expression softening as he studied the other. "How are you doing, Greg has surgery in a few hours, yeah?"
Mycroft nodded, turning to plug up his phone. "The doctors feel there is a chance..." Taking a deep breath, he turned to John. "Would it be possible, Doctor Watson, for you to assist in Gregory's procedure?" Mycroft held the blue gaze, aware that he was asking a lot from John. "You have known him for most of his life, I can not simply trust him to people who..." Shaking his head, Mycroft walked over to the dresser. "His doctors believe Gregory will lose the use of his legs, I do not agree. He deserves the best chance possible and I believe that chance is with you." Opening the top drawer, Mycroft pulled out a small photo and turned to John. "He told me about both his and your time in the war. How you were able to save so many in some of the worst conditions." Looking up, Mycroft gave John a small smile. "Your reputation, John, has followed you even in the highest of circles. The lives you saved and the methods you used..."
"Were under the worst conditions possible and in the middle of a war!" John threw up his hands as he looked at Mycroft closely. "I didn't do it because I felt the need to, I did it because they needed to believe that someone cared. Those soldiers needed a reason to continue to fight even if it meant stitching their legs and arms back on. And even then not all of them made it so my efforts..." John shook his head as he looked from Sherlock to Mycroft. "My efforts shouldn't be made to be more than what they really were, an effort."
"Any effort that is made is better than no effort at all. I can not stand by and not try and give my husband every opportunity possible." Turning to the closet, Mycroft sighed. Setting the small photo down next to his cuff links, he studied the two smiling faces. The photo had been taken shortly before his accident, after Siggerson had lied...Turning away from the picture, Mycroft looked up at the silence in the room. He could see Sherlock and John standing in the hallway. From the looks on their faces and John's hand movements, Mycroft knew they were arguing.
Shaking his head, he turned back to his side of the walk in, frowning as he tried to decide what to wear. He didn't have the heart to put on his usual attire, despite knowing he would feel more comfortable in a suit. Today, he didn't have the heart to be Mycroft Holmes, British Government. Today...today he simply wanted to be Mycroft Holmes-Lestrade, worried husband and brother.
"Mycroft?"
Looking up and around the door frame, Mycroft gave Sherlock a small smile. "Would it be to bold of me to wear something other than a suit? Maybe a polo and slacks, Gregory always says..." Breaking off, Mycroft let out a soft sigh. Greg loved how he looked in slacks. Shaking his head, he reached for a dark gray sweater and a pair of charcoal gray slacks. "Your silence is extremely worrying, little brother, are you alright?"
Sherlock glanced back at the stairs before slowly walking into Mycroft's room. He waited until his brother walked out of the closet before responding. "John is upset with me for having left hospital."
Mycroft adjusted his sweater before turning to the mirror. "He is your partner, Sherlock, he would understandably be upset about your health." He glanced up at the reflection of Sherlock behind him. "Even if you are worried about me, you should have remained. I would have returned either way." Smoothing down the soft wool, Mycroft looked up at Sherlock's silence. "Sherlock what..."
"Oui, just who do you think you are to..."
"John?" Sherlock glanced back at Mycroft before turning and heading towards the stairs. "Is everything alright?" At the sounds of a scuffle, Sherlock quickened his pace. "John, answer me, are you al..." He was cut off as a shot rang out in the silent house. Letting out a harsh breath, Sherlock looked behind him to see Mycroft standing in the bedroom doorway. "Were you expecting anyone?"
"No, I was going to be at hospital with you and Gregory." Studying his brother's pale face, he started in surprise when John's angry voice floated upstairs.
"Who are you and just why in the bloody hell are you shooting inside the house! No, no, let go of me! I am not going anywhere with you! You crazy, brainwashed bastard, I said..."
Sherlock turned back towards the stairs, taking them two at a time until another shot rang out. This one closer, almost hitting Sherlock in the arm. "John, are you alright?!" Pressing against the wall, Sherlock tried to stay out of sight of the shooter. "John?" When he was greeted with silence, Sherlock felt his pulse quicken. "John, answer me, please!" Forcing back the small tendril of worry, Sherlock slowly eased forward to look over the banister. He could see the over turned table and broken glass strewn across the floor. Looking around quickly, he slowly stood up only to be shot at again. Looking back up the stairs, Sherlock forced back an angry yell. He wondered where his brother was and why John wasn't responding. Slowly making his way down the stairs, Sherlock let out a soft breath of surprise when he saw blood on the floor. "John?!"
Mycroft reached under the bed and pulled out a metal box. Punching in the code, he opened the gray gun case, pulling out the small silver pistol and matching clip. Turning, he reached for his cell and keys. "Sherlock?!" After making sure he had what he needed, Mycroft glanced around the door frame. He couldn't see his brother but he could hear the sounds from a struggle outside. Leaving the room, he made his way over to the window and looked out, starting in surprise at the small group below. "John?" He moved forward, watching the men below load an unconscious John Watson into a black van.
Pushing open the glass, Mycroft leaned out but was stopped as a bullet bounced off the brick above his head. Moving back, he turned and headed to the stairs. "Sherlock?" Glancing around the corner, he saw his brother at the bottom, coat wrapped tightly around him. "Sherlock, they are trying to take John."
Giving him an angry glare, Sherlock nodded. "I know, we must get him back, Mycroft. If we do not..."
"We will, little brother, do not worry. Right now we need to find the shooter. They are not in the yard or with the others. There must be a sniper on one of the adjoining roofs." Slowly moving down the stairs, Mycroft stayed low until he reached Sherlock. "Do you see a way to get across the foyer without being seen?"
"I have tired, they keep shooting at me." Looking up at his brother, Sherlock felt his stomach clench. "If I had stayed at hospital none..." He was interrupted by the sound of Mycroft's cell. Shaking his head, Sherlock turned back towards the front door and the two men standing there. "We need to get past them, if there is any chance of us getting John back, we need..." He stopped at the soft sound of distress behind him. Looking up, he saw the look on his brother's now pale face. "Mycroft, is everything alright?"
"How did this happen, there was a guard posted in front of his room." Glancing at Sherlock, Mycroft tried to control the hot roll of anger twisting through him. "Find out who saw him last and find the security footage. Someone has to have seen something." Shaking his head in agitation, Mycroft let out a soft breath of anger. "No, we will deal with things here just find out where my husband is." Disconnecting the call, Mycroft forced himself to focus on the issue at hand. Looking up, he could see the worry in his brothers eyes. "We will worry about getting John back first." His heart was racing, the fear of losing Greg again was very real for him but the fear in Sherlock's eyes... "I swear to you, I will do everything I can to make sure you do not lose him again."
Sherlock nodded, aware that they were once again being forced into situations not of their own making. "We must get to hospital, if Lestrade is missing..."
Shaking his head, Mycroft slowly moved in front of Sherlock. "Stay behind me, the men who took John were in a van and have a sniper on one of the rooftops across the street." He whispered, unsure if there were others in the house. "Do you remember what you saw or heard?"
"There are two at the front door and I believe one at the back. John was arguing with two men dressed in black outfits and no head gear." Slowly easing forward, Sherlock listened for any sounds of movement. When he was greeted with silence, both he and Mycroft moved off of the stairs and crept up silently behind their unwanted guests. Giving Mycroft a quick glance, Sherlock moved before the guard in front of him realized what was going on.
Mycroft grabbed the man in front of him. Wrapping an arm around his neck, Mycroft tightened his hold until the other man went limp. He lowered the unconscious man before turning to Sherlock. "Sherlock?"
"The van, we need to get to John before they can leave." Looking around the door, Sherlock could see the back of the van, doors partially open. "They are waiting for someone but whom? Why have they not left yet?"
Glancing behind them, Mycroft followed Sherlock out the front door, crouching behind a pillar for cover. "Do you see the sniper? He shot at me from across the street."
Shaking his head, Sherlock scanned the adjacent buildings. "I do not see anyone." He slowly moved out from behind the pillar, keeping low to the ground to avoid being seen. Making his way to the van, Sherlock listened to the silence. Frowning, he glanced back at Mycroft. "Are you certain they put John in the van, the silence..."
Suddenly, the sound of a clock ticking echoed from in front of Sherlock. Turning, Sherlock, stepped back from the van. "What is it they are after Mycroft, if they have taken Lestrade and now John, what do you have or what have you done..."
"Nothing! Sherlock I have done nothing and nothing has been taken, there is no reason for them to come to the house! Unless..." Mycroft frowned as they both moved back towards the house. "Could it have something to do with the case Gregory was working on?"
"Lestrade brings cases home?" Sherlock turned towards the study, his bright gaze moving around him as they moved silently. "Of course he would, there has been suspicions of a leak at the Yard for months." Pulling on his bottom lip, Sherlock frowned in concentration. "The last thing we found was a bullet and note..."
"Gregory said that in your most recent case, you did not believe the writer wrote the note willingly." Mycroft looked down the dark hallway, a frown curving his lips down as he studied the shadows. "He said the concern was that the author was not fully lucid."
Sherlock straightened as he looked at Mycroft. "The usual idea behind a suicide note is that the person did so willingly. The hand writing, it was as if they were being forced to write it."
Mycroft pulled Sherlock behind hi as they moved down the darkened hallway. Despite it being early morning, the sky was overcast with clouds and the morning air was chill. "Stay close Sherlock, the ticking has gotten louder from the van and we must leave."
Sherlock followed Mycroft, glancing back behind him. He knew that who ever had taken John and Greg was connected to their current case. The only questions he had were how and why take Greg and John?
