sᴀᴛᴜʀᴅᴀʏ 8:14 ᴘᴍ

Mycroft slid into the room where Sherlock was resting. The lights were off. The buzz of a fan created a white noise which overruled the incessant chatter of the workers buzzing about even at a later hour. Mycroft promptly flicked on the lights and watched as his brother startled from his cocoon of bedsheets. "It's time to get up."

Sherlock propped his elbow up on the bed and rested his head in hand. He scrutinized Mycroft through an unexpressive gaze, taking note of the folder his brother held. Sherlock asked shortly, "What?"

Mycroft drew the folder into his hands. He spoke at a slow pace. "You asked for the whereabouts of Margaret for where she was when she was missing for five years."

"I don't think that's relevant now."

The folder was pushed into Sherlock's lap and Mycroft said firmly, "Open it." Sherlock raised a brow questioningly, an eye glimpsing the manila surface to search for any identifying features. When he found none he slipped a finger under the cover and opened it.

The photos struck him first. There were two: in the second a clear image of Margaret had been captured. He read the report in silence. A quiet turmoil was stirring within, rapidly drawing him out of the clutches of slumber. When he was done Sherlock set the folder onto the bed and stood up, resting his hands on his hips. "What is this?"

Mycroft set his jaw. "Our dear sister has manipulated the both of us. That is the truth behind our mystery, the reason why she can't be found." The room fell into a tense quiet. Mycroft stood rigid, his stony exterior observing his brother from the foot of the bed. Sherlock looked intensely at his brother, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Sherlock placed a hand to his chin as he asked snidely, "You do realize that you're accusing Margaret of killing and mutilating nine people, don't you?"

"I know." Mycroft bit out. "I also know that if you could take a step back you would be able to see the possibility of it."

"Are you implying that I'm too close?" Sherlock asked incredulously. "I am doing my job. I'm trying to find our sister. Yes I might have a personal investment in this case that's clouding my decision making yet it is because of me that she's in this situation so no matter what I'm going to find her!"

Sherlock's declaration brought about a profound silence. He glared at his brother then excused himself from the room. He flounced down the hallway, past the lobby and entered outside.

An evening rain had begun to fall. It was misting the streets. Pellets of the icy water striked his face when the wind blew directly at him; it could be mistaken for ice shards. Sherlock wished he could take the rest of the night off for he didn't want to see Mycroft but he knew he had to go back inside. He inhaled deeply, thinking of the end goal, and turned to go back in.

A loud, sharp pop abruptly sounded in the air. Sherlock recognized what the noise was as the bullet penetrated his skin.

A gunshot.

A/n

Yay I finally wrote another chapter (at 5am though). I get writing motivation/inspiration at the weirdest times.

Thanks for being patient y'all with my spotty update times! And hope everyone is safe with all that's going on out there in the world.