Forty-eight hours later and there was still no word or sign of John and Greg. Glaring at the passing street lights, Sherlock ignored his brother for his own thoughts. He couldn't figure out who had taken them or why. Why were John and Greg targeted if they were after Sherlock or Mycroft?

Sighing in frustration, Sherlock glanced over at his brother, surprised to see the frown curving his lips down. They had been able to leave the house before the van exploded, leaving a large, gaping hole where the front door had once been. Once in the car and on the road, Mycroft had gone silent, keeping his thoughts to himself. Studying the other, Sherlock noticed that Mycroft was more worried than he was upset. "Mycroft, do you remember when you first started dating Lestrade?"

Looking up from his phone, Mycroft frowned in thought. "We were invited to the Winter Ball, I believe. Gregory insisted that we both go and you refused unless John were going as your date."

Sherlock watched the small smile that curved Mycroft's lips. "It was a good evening, despite the minor trouble we ran into."

Mycroft shook his head as he turned back to his phone. "The only issue we ran into was your refusal to wear the proper attire for such an occasion. It took the combined efforts of John and Gregory for you to put on a tuxedo." Forcing back a smile, Mycroft shook his head as he glanced up at Sherlock. "You were dressed rather smartly and I do believe John enjoyed seeing you in your tux."

Sherlock chuckled softly, fingers running through his curls as he thought about their first school dance. "I did not see why I had to wear one if I was not a senior but as it was pointed out to me, that is how most people would be dressed. John felt I would not blend in well in just my coat and slacks." Staring out the window, Sherlock let his thoughts drift back to that night. "If we had known then..."

Mycroft cut Sherlock off with a soft sound. "But we did not, little brother, so no use dwelling on things we can no longer change." Looking up, Mycroft frowned at Sherlock's pale face. "Are you feeling unwell, Sherlock? Should we have..."

"No, I am fine, I just want John back." Voice low, Sherlock glanced down at his hands, fingers clenched tightly in his lap as he forced his thoughts to slow down. "There is one more possibility, Mycroft. One that concerns this new case and I am sure Lestrade did not tell you about it."

Frowning, Mycroft waited as Sherlock seemed to turn into himself. The usually bright, alert verdigris eyes were dull with pain and worry. He didn't miss the pale face or the nervous fidgeting and wondered what was on his brother's mind. Sherlock never spoke about the past unless there was a specific reason to do so. "Who do you think it could be, Sherlock."

Sherlock frowned, eyes scanning the passing street as they left London. "When was the last time we heard anything concerning Abraham or his families where abouts?" Sherlock remembered seeing the family crest on a letterhead at their previous crime scene. Something that normally wouldn't have been noticed except Greg had noticed.

"He was killed in a car accident shortly before you graduated, Sherlock. Do you not remember the telegram we received?" Shaking his head, Mycroft felt his frown deepen. "Why do you ask, is there something that makes you think differently?"

"The last crime scene we visited had been familiar. It would have been ordinary if the staging hadn't had it's flaws." Sherlock studied an empty building while they sat at a light. "The night of your...accident, I found a telegram..."

Mycroft sucked in a quick breath, forcing himself to keep his features neutral. "The one concerning Gregory?"

"Yes, it stated he had been killed in action. None of my letters from John mentioned the death of Lestrade." Voice soft, Sherlock turned to his brother. "The scene was not your bedroom, of course, but the positioning of the body and the way everything had been laid out..." Shaking his head, Sherlock could remember his reaction to seeing everything setup. "It could simply have been coincidence..."

"We do not believe in coincidences, Sherlock." Mycroft felt his stomach flutter as he sent a text off to Anthea. "Do you believe it was someone in Abraham's family?"

"Who else would hold a grudge for so long? Abraham's death was never solved and a body was never found, there is a chance that he could have survived." Studying Mycroft, Sherlock noticed the uneasiness that suddenly surrounded his brother. "Mycroft?"

"I received a package, a late anniverssary gift, last week at the office. I asked Gregory if he knew the sender but..." Frowning, Mycroft glanced over at the small lock box in front of them. "There was no forwarding address just a card with a name on it. I had it analyzed but could not find where it had come from."

Shaking his head, Sherlock watched as Mycroft unlocked the small box in front of them. "The contents, Mycroft, what were they?"

"A letter, a photo, and..." Lifting the lid, Mycroft jerked back in surprise. "Our original marriage certificate." Voice soft, he stared down at the contents in front of him. "The letter had been written by Gregory before he was deployed overseas. The photo..." Breaking off, Mycroft glanced up at Sherlock. "I had only seen Gregory in his uniform once, the photo showed him..." Looking back down, he frowned. "The photo was of Gregory and his platoon, before they were attacked."

"Lestrade was a prisoner of war, correct? Would there be anyone else who might have a grudge against you or your husband?" Sherlock watched as Mycroft reached into the box, his hands were shaking and his pupils had dilated. "Mycroft, was there..."

"He swore he would get his revenge for having refused him." Shaking his head, Mycroft sighed. "I had thought he had done so when Gregory was reported killed." He lifted a piece of paper out of the box, eyes moving over the yellowed sheet and familiar handwriting. "Siggerson swore I deserved what ever I went through for refusing Abraham. He felt I had thrown my life away marrying Gregory."

"He was wrong." Voice soft, Sherlock studied his brother's profile. "Lestrade has made you stronger as John has made me. We were missing what they brought into our lives." Letting out a rough sigh, Sherlock shook his head. "We needed what they gave us and continue to do so everyday."

"We must find them, Sherlock." Holding the frayed and faded photo, Mycroft stared at the smiling man looking back at him. He knew that even if John and Greg were together, without the proper medical care he could lose his husband. "Do you believe..." He looked up at Sherlock, not surprised to see him on his phone. "Will she come?"

"Yes, if for no other reason than because we are family." Sherlock frowned at the last message, aware of their last meeting with his friend. "Do you forgive us for not having gotten involved sooner?"

Mycroft frowned at the question before studying Sherlock closer. "She believes I hold you both responsible?"

"If we had been there, you would not have done something so..." Breaking off, Sherlock shook his head as he looked out at the dark night. "I did not know how to help you, Mycroft, not when I could not understand my own feelings." Sighing, Sherlock turned to face his brother, knowing that they both had trouble discussing emotions. "It has been years since I graduated from University and never have we discussed what happened. Why did you do it, Mycroft? Why did you find it so easy to leave me behind?"

Mycroft sucked in a quick breath, forcing himself to remain calm. Hands trembling, he tried to think of the best way to explain what he was feeling. His pain at finding out Greg had been killed and he was now alone, again. "It was not an easy decision, Sherlock. I did not wish to leave you but the pain I felt at the loss of Gregory..." How could he explain it? How did he explain to Sherlock what he was feeling and he had never fully thought about it himself? "You are my brother and I will do anything I can to protect you or to see you happy. When John was sent to war, I saw the change in you. You became almost reclusive in your desire to be alone, nothing I could do would reach you and then I received the telegram..." Taking a deep breath, Mycroft shook his head. "I felt alone in my desire to help you and in my grief over Gregory. I simply wanted a way to escape the turmoil in my heart and mind."

Biting his bottom lip, Sherlock reached over and brushed a hand over Mycroft's. "It was not my intention to have shut you out, Mycroft. Without John I did not know how to express myself so I turned to my violin. When that wasn't enough..."

Mycroft felt the familiar clench of fear in his stomach as he thought back to before John's return. "I thought I had done enough by making sure your friends were around. You seemed agitated at my presences so I believed it to be best..." Shaking his head, Mycroft forced a smile to his lips. "That is the past, right now..."

"Damn it Mycroft, right now the past could very well help us with the present! He has taken both Lestrade and John from us and if we do not figure out why..."

"Because I refused him even after finding out Gregory was presumed dead." Mycroft held a small green velvet box in his hands. Lifting the lid, he felt his vision blur as a ringing started in his ears. "He swore I would regret choosing another over him. That I would never be happy as long as he lived." He stared at the intricate ring, a gift from a man who thought he could buy love and loyalty. "I could not let go of my feelings for Gregory, no matter what Abraham threatened me with. Until he tried to use you again."

Shaking his head, Sherlock let his mind go over everything he knew or had ever been told about Lord Abraham James. "They never did find the body, Mycroft. If there is a chance..."

"If she is willing to help us then we have nothing to worry about. I will have Anthea meet us at the family house in Sussex with everything we need." Mycroft could hear the thread of fear in Sherlock's voice, knew his own lack of emotional control was just as tenuous. "If she feels the desire to remain where she is..."

"No, she will be here no matter what." Sherlock sighed as he turned to study the outside scenery. "We will simply have to wait until she decides to meet us in Sussex."

Mycroft nodded, thoughts drifting back to the time in question. His first date with Greg had been before the school dance. During a night where the rain had made it impossible to see and the wind had taken their breath away. It had stormed that night, forcing Mycroft and Greg to seek shelter at a nearby inn. Most would have thought the night had been a waste. For Mycroft, it had been an awakening. The first real kiss he'd ever been given had been in the doorway of a quaint little inn with white washed walls and little blue shutters. The rain had soaked through their clothing, but the only thing that had mattered was the raven headed man pressed against him, and the pleasure he had given to one whose life had been devoid of so much.