A/N I do not own any of these characters. They belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

A/N I'm dreadfully sorry that this chapter took so long in posting. There were many "road blocks," shall we say, along the way. My classes are occupying a great deal of my time and my computer crashed somewhere along the line, just to name a few. Again, I'm sorry that I took so long.

A/N To Chronos Keeper, I give you credit for doing your research, and I encourage you to continue on with your reading of the Canon. But, I have done my research, as well. I have read the Canon in its entirety, and I have many quotes to contradict the one you have presented. For example, this is my favorite: "All emotions, and love particularly, were abhorrent to his cold precise but admirably balanced mind... Grit in a sensitive instrument, or a crack in one of his own high-power lenses, would not be more disturbing than a strong emotion in a nature such as his." (A Scandal in Bohemia) I realize that this particular quote applies to strong emotions, but there are many others concerning his apparent lack of emotions. Thank you for your comment.

A/N One last author's note, I promise. I just wanted to remind you that this is told from the perspective of Watson, who, following in the tradition of the Canon, always quotes conversations that he's never heard...

It was twenty of eight and Mycroft was preparing to head to his lodgings at Pall Mall. He bade good-bye to his fellow members at the Diogenes Club, took his coat, and left. His walk was not a long one. His lodgings were just around the corner from the club.

Mycroft was a man of routine. He lived his life according to a schedule: everything in its own time and place. But something was out of place when he arrived home. He opened the door to his flat, walked over to his sitting room, and sat down in his chair, as usual. The next thing he knew, there was a rag thrown over his face, and all went black shortly thereafter.

When he awoke, his head was throbbing. He tried to massage the ache, only to discover that his arms were tied to the chair in which he was sitting. He struggled against his restraints for a short while, then succumbed to the blackness that enveloped his vision.

This cycle repeated itself several times, until finally, Mycroft was no longer alone. When he opened his eyes, there was someone in the room with him.

"Good evening Mr. Holmes. I'm so glad you could join us."

"Where am I? And who the hell are you?"

"I see the chloroform has affected you a great deal more than expected. Allow me to introduce myself. I am James Moriarty. I've had the, uh, pleasure of meeting your brother."

"And what does this have to do with me?"

"That has nothing to do with you. You are here on your own merit. Need I remind you what you do for a living?"

"Ah, yes." At this point, Mycroft had become more or less aware of his situation. "I suppose you are looking for information. Well, let me save you the trouble and tell you right now that you will never receive any information from me. I am sworn to secrecy on all accounts."

"But surely there must be some way to get the information that I seek. Aren't you even the least bit curious as to what I want to know?"

"No."

"Well, you don't really have much say in the matter, do you? I want to know where the Queen will be meeting with the foreign leaders. I want to know the time, date, and place of the meeting. If you don't tell me now, you will tell me later. Don't underestimate me, Mycroft. Your brother did it, and it may cost him dearly in the near future."

"You say that Sherlock underestimated you, but I believe that it is you that have underestimated both him and myself. Even at this precise moment, Sherlock is searching the streets for any shred of a clue regarding my whereabouts. And I'm sure that he will find what he is looking for."

"I wouldn't get your hopes up. I'm many steps ahead of the Great Detective. I have covered my trail very well. If he finds anything, it will only be something that will throw him off of my scent. He will not arrive here until I want him here."

"Like Reichenbach, I presume? But this time you get to destroy both Holmes brothers? What could be better? I see two holes in your plan. I will not disclose any information to you, and Sherlock outwitted you once, and I guarantee you he will do it again."

"I am a patient man, Mycroft. I will get what I want in due time. And aren't you the least bit curious as to how I survived the Falls, since you mentioned it?"

"The thought has indeed crossed my mind, but I know that Sherlock survived. But then again, he did not go over the Falls as you did."

"You are correct. I would have taken the bloody soul down with me, but he evaded me at the last moment. We all learn from our mistakes, and I plan to succeed this time."

"So how exactly did you survive?"

"I visited Reichenbach Falls before my encounter with your brother. I memorized every in and out of those Falls, knowing where the water was deep enough for a fall, and where a fall would be fatal. I even jumped a few times the night before the encounter so that I would feel comfortable if something should go wrong. My diligence paid off. When I knew that my fall was imminent, I quickly calculated how and where I should fall. It appeared as though I had fallen to my death, when in fact I had leapt to safety. I knew that if I went over, there were others present who would finish the job for me. Apparently, they failed. But this time, failure is not an option."

"That's a very touching story, Moriarty, but I very highly doubt that you will succeed this go round."

The conversation continued until Moriarty asked Mycroft for the information one last time. Mycroft refused to disclose the requested information, and Moriarty abruptly stepped out of the room. A man entered shortly thereafter, and offered Mycroft one more chance to speak. Mycroft still refused to speak, and the man proceeded to beat him.

The beatings continued for days, increasing in intensity with the passing of time. Mycroft was denied food, water, sleep, and everything else imaginable. But somehow he managed to maintain his iron will, and Moriarty was unable to retrieve the information he sought.

After roughly seven days, Moriarty was ready to play his final card. He sent a letter to Holmes and I, inviting us to see Mycroft.

------------------------------------------------

I continued my story, informing the Queen and company of our encounter with Moriarty, his subsequent death, and all of the details in between. I won't bother retelling every detail here, since I have already told it once.

Everyone present found the story to be intriguing, but we decided that it should not be relayed to the public. The Queen decided that we did not need to alarm the people unnecessarily and such. After a few more hours of friendly conversation, our visitors dismissed themselves. Many of them had a long journey ahead of them, and they did not wish to intrude upon us. Mycroft left with the Queen, escorting her back to the palace.

This left Holmes and I alone. I took the chance to observe my friend. His left arm was in a loose sling, due to the gunshot wound, and although he could use it, he wanted it to heal fully before he took any chances and damaged it further. He had gained some weight due solely to the fact that he had been cooped up in the flat while his arm healed, and Mrs. Hudson forced him to eat at least two meals a day. What bothered me most about his appearance was the look in his eyes. His gray eyes seemed to have glazed over and I was struck by the absolute lack of life portrayed in them. As I looked at his eyes, I realized that the dull look I saw was due to a tiredness deep within his soul. I was about to say something to him, but before I could, he stirred.

He rose and turned his back to me as he spoke. "As you have already observed, my dear Watson, this last case has weighed heavily upon me. I know that Moriarty is dead, but there will soon be others to take his place. There will always be someone, somewhere who has his mind set on bringing down the Great Detective, Sherlock Holmes. What will I do when I stumble and that someone is there waiting for me? You can't always be by my side, Watson, and neither can Mycroft. Or worse yet, what would happen if that someone chose not to take me down directly, but rather indirectly, through you? I would rather die than know that I was in some way responsible for any injury that befell you." At this point, he fell into a chair by the mantel-piece with its back facing me. He sat there in silence until I spoke.

"Holmes, I had no idea this was weighing on you so. I want you to know that if any harm ever came to me, I would never hold you responsible. I count it an honor to have been by your side all these years and I would change nothing."

He responded without turning his head, and although I could not see him, I knew he had steepled his fingers. "You surprise me Watson. I expected you to argue my perspective by saying that you would never fall prey to something like that of which I speak. But rather, you accept my perspective and relieve me of any responsibility that I might have taken upon myself. For your insight, I am truly grateful. I seem to have underestimated you."

We sat together in a silence that befit two intimate friends. I pondered what he said regarding my health and safety. I had always known that I was putting myself in harm's way whenever I traveled with him, but I never expected him to feel concern for me. And I never expected him to voice something so emotional.

"Holmes, the future that you speak of is rather dark and depressing. You speak as though very ground on which you stand is shifting. You say that even I cannot be counted upon as a constant. What else is there?"

"For me," said Sherlock Holmes, "there still remains the cocaine bottle." And he stretched his long white hand up for it. ()

() The last line of this story is a quote that is the very last line of "The Sign of Four," written by Doyle, himself.