Holding his breath, the consulting detective silently dismantled the security cameras and broke into the room. The balaclava and black clothes were so clichéd as to make him wince, but effective nevertheless.
This was all Mycroft's fault, once again. His premonition had proved itself to be right, when the meeting turned into a blowup. Mummy had flung sharp words and accusations, and Mycroft had tried to defend himself, to no use. Sherlock had at one point felt sympathy for his brother, sitting there looking so beaten. He spoke up in his defense, saying that he had tried his best. That statement only brough the more harsh words from Mummy.
In the end, Mycroft was summarily dismissed as Mummy turned to Sherlock for his advice. Her words still brought a warm glow in his heart whenever he thought about it. His parents both seemed to agree that he was the grownup, the mature one, and he would make sure not to let them down. A small part of him felt bad for his older brother, but on the other hand, he felt that Mycroft had it coming to him. He had messed up badly, and was now paging the consequences.
Sherlock focused on comforting his parents and thinking about ways to reach Eurus. It had taken him a while to realize that his big brother was giving the whole family the silent treatment. His texts and phone calls were always answered by his brother's PA, who relayed messages back and forth between them.
221b had been rebuilt, and Sherlock was back to solving cases with John. He also made twice weekly visits to Sherrinford, coordinated by Anthea. Mycroft refused to have contact with him directly.
Sherlock was irritated with his brother, and decided to let him play his game. He stopped trying to contact him. Sometimes, he would whip out his phone and begin typing a text, asking for information or assistance in some cases or other, when he would catch himself and angrily delete it.
When Mrs. Hudson once tried calling Mycroft when her car was towed, Anthea had picked up and politely informed her that speeding while holding a mobile was against the law, and Mr. Holmes was involved with other matters. The landlady fumed at her attitude, and asked Sherlock to intervene. Sherlock solved the matter through Lestrade, but was fuming too.
He predictably marched into the anteroom of Mycroft's office, and flatly demanded to be let in. Anthea looked at him coolly, and informed him in bored tones that her boss was unavailable to meet with him.
Before Sherlock could attempt to break in, Anthea spoke up while still typing away. "We both know why you're here, Mr. Holmes. You come here only to take, and never to give." She busied herself with her tasks without saying another word.
The detective stayed rooted to his place, looking alternatively at the PA and his brother's door. He then turned around to leave with quiet steps, his shoulders unnaturally slumped.
During his continued visits to his sister, Sherlock began to feel a burning need to do more. He wanted to look at her previous psychiatric records, which now had a D notice slapped on them. He felt that if he could access them, he would gain much needed insight, and perhaps give back to his parents a daughter who would actually talk to them.
After fruitless appeals to Mycroft, through Anthea of course, and even Lady Smallwood, which were met with frosty refusals, Sherlock took matters into his own hands, and broke into Sherrinford, where the records were kept, and hacked into the computer system for good measure. He had found what he came for, with none the wiser. Or so he thought.
It was only when he found himself trussed up like a chicken later that night, in his own home to boot, that he realized how erroneous his assumptions were. He didn't know who the five big guys were working for, but they were clearly well-trained and dangerous, and wanted all the information he had on Sherrinford.
Their attempts at intimidation was laughable, until they began showing him the video clips. They had their eyes on everyone! John playing with Rosie in Stella's kitchen, Molly curled up on her couch with Toby, even Lestrade drinking at his kitchen table in a dressing gown. The cameras were close enough to get all the details, and a frisson of fear slithered up Sherlock's back.
They wanted to know more than he was ever prepared to tell them. Giving them the information would let loose the most dangerous of criminals, and then nobody would be safe. Nobody. Eurus might even take the opportunity and come after them again. No matter how much he cared for her, her twisted psyche made her a threat.
"No," was all he said, over and over again. "No, no, no." The sudden pounding of feet was heard upon the stairs, and he dared to hope. Had rescue arrived?
He had never been more glad for the sight of his pompous git of a brother. A sliver of warmth stole into his heart. Big Brother was still following him around, still watching him. He watched Mycroft walking over calmly to one thug, swinging his umbrella. "Mission complete," he said, and the guy nodded, "Yes, sir," and left with his men.
"Mycroft?!" Sherlock said, his voice small. "What... what was that?"
His question was answered by none other than Lady Smallwood, who had arrived behind Mycroft. "We needed to know whether our security had been compromised by you. We had to find out whether you would be willing to talk." She looked at glared at him icily.
"You have an invitation, brother mine, at my office tomorrow," Mycroft said in his coldest voice, which made Antarctica compare to the Sahara at midday. "Eleven sharp. Be prompt. You don't want to make us come and get you."
Mycroft and Lady Smallwood turned around and left without another word. Sherlock stayed behind, feeling furious, betrayed, and heartbroken.