Sherlock wasn't sure if there existed a more frustrating adversary than an apathetic teenaged boy with an IQ of 165. Sebastian Moran was intelligent enough to wreak havoc on a massive scale but not mature enough appreciate his own perilous mortality. Sherlock walked a fine line on the edge of control at that moment. His fingers itched to throttle the teen within an inch of his life for making him play this game. Molly was in grave danger, if not already . . . he shook his head. He couldn't even entertain the thought or he would lose his already tenuous grip.

"I don't care if you're barely post-pubescent, Sebastian. I will have my answers, one way or the other."

"Ooh, scary, Mr. Holmes! What're you going to do? Slap a second ankle monitor on my other leg?"

Sherlock smiled and clicked his teeth together. He moved around Sebastian's room, inspecting various items before turning his gaze back to the slight, dark-haired boy with sallow skin. Sebastian could be his younger twin which was unsettling. It made him think of Molly and possibilities and how he might guide a young man with such misunderstood talents. The direction of his musings unnerved him. He folded his fingers into his palm and glared at Sebastian.

"I know you've been online. In fact, I know about the tablet you are hiding from your mother in your underwear drawer. That's a terrible place to conceal it, by the way. It's the first spot she'll look if she suspects anything."

Sebastian crossed his arms and slouched back into his chair. "What does it matter if I have a tablet? It's not like we're allowed to have internet anymore. Maybe I just play games and listen to music on it."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "As if you haven't hacked all your neighbor's Wi-Fi passwords! In fact, there has been some suspicious activity attributed to the IP address located two houses over. A lot of medical database searches have been conducted. Most of which are behind secure firewalls and the like. Somehow I don't think the octogenarian Mrs. Wentworth, despite her assertions that she's 'with-it' technologically, has those kind of hacking capabilities."

Sebastian cast his eyes away. "So prove it already. What they going to do?"

Sherlock straightened his collar and stared down at the young lad. "It's not 'they' you have to worry about. Do you know who you're dealing with, Sebastian? My older brother is a viper, he will not hesitate to lash out at you, your mother . . . your little sister."

Sebastian sat up. "Josie? What issue would he have with Josie?"

Sherlock raised a brow. "What indeed?"

"Would he hurt her?"

"What do you think?"

Sebastian sat forward with his head in his hands. He looked up after a spell.

"What do I do?"

"You give me information so I can stop him. What is he after?"

The troubled teenager shook his hands at Sherlock. "I dunno! Course I don't know. I deal in data, not answers. He seemed especially interested in records like birth logs, organ donor registries, and blood bank archives for some reason but I couldn't tell you why, dude."

"Anything else?"

An almost imperceptible tremor of Sebastian's eyelid gave him away. "This is going to get me into a lot more trouble, isn't it?"

"Tell me what else you have done or I'll have my brother Mycroft relocate you to his favorite sheep farm in the Shetlands."

The kid shrugged. "That's your threat? Doesn't sound so bad . . ."

"They only have dial-up."

Sebastian's face twisted in horror. "You really are a sicko, you know that?"

Sherlock slammed his hand down on his desk. "Out with it!"

"Alright! Alright! He had me make some trojans, you know, malware. He wanted backdoor access to the computers at labs providing haematology services for the NHS."

"What do you mean, backdoor access? What can he do?"

Sebastian chewed his fingernails. "Um, I dunno, whatever a lab tech with access would need to do. File management, requisitions, etc. Nothing global or anything, mind ya. He can only look at individual records, alter them if he likes, order tests and so on."

Sherlock shook his head. "And you had no moral compunction with giving him the ability to potentially kill someone? What if your little sister had a severe infection and he changed the results to hide the cause? What if your mother had a screen that falsely showed she had some fatal disease and the improper treatment led to her death?"

Sebastian didn't answer. He fidgeted in his chair. "I can shut him out anytime I want."

Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose. "Perhaps you should think about doing that sooner than later."

Sebastian nodded. "Sure, I guess."

Sherlock made to leave the room but turned and looked back over his shoulder at the young man staring out the window of his bedroom. His brow was furrowed and his hands quivered on the armrests of his chair.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "You are gifted with extraordinary abilities and can leave a lasting impact on the world, Sebastian Moran, but you have a choice to make. You can continue down this dark path and keep accumulating dark companions until all you do is live in the shadows. That's the easy road. Villainy is easy. That's why there is so much of it in the world. You want a real challenge? Try to make this cesspool better."

"I've found her!"

Anthea nearly tripped on the ornate Kyrgyzstan rug as she rushed across the expanse of Mycroft's office. He pushed his laptop to one side on his heavy oak desk.

"Where?" He asked.

"Brixton. She's at King's College receiving treatment for some injuries."

Mycroft winced and leaned back in his leather desk chair. "Elaborate, please."

Anthea peeked down at her new phone sheathed in its bulky protective case. She swiped up to check the email she'd received minutes before.

"Not too bad, considering the alternative. A cut to her leg requiring stitches, several large contusions and a broken wrist. That's the worst of it."

"So, she's able to be discharged then?" Mycroft stood and straightened his vest. "We must act quickly before Sherlock finds out."

Anthea frowned. "What?"

"She's a distraction. One that needs to be removed in order for my brother to do his job. Take her wherever it was that you had planned to take her before and do it quickly."

"Isn't that . . ." Anthea's voice faltered.

"Isn't that what?"

"C-cruel? To hide that from him? How would you feel if the shoe were on the other foot? What if it were m-me?"

Mycroft rounded the desk and grabbed her by the elbows. When he had drawn her closer, his hands travelled upwards and he cupped her face. He stared down at her quivering lips.

"All I can think about is – 'what if it were you'," he murmured. "What if it were my Anthea?"

She ran her tongue over her lips. "M-my Anthea?"

He nodded. "I appreciate that this is a highly unprofessional thing to admit while one's at work. However, it's hardly the least unprofessional thing I've done on the job lately so you'll have to forgive me, but well . . . "

His eyes cast about nervously. He swallowed and then rubbed her jaw with his thumbs.

"I think I am in love with you."

She steadied her hands on his sides. Her eyes felt raw and tingly. She hadn't blinked for several moments.

"What?

He kissed her briefly. His next words resounded against her lips. "I love you. I want to stow you away on your own deserted island to keep you safe but more than that, I want you here beside me and that puts you in harm's way. Sherrinford needs to be stopped if I am ever to sleep properly again. Sherlock is the only man who's ever outwit him and he needs to be 100% focussed on that task."

Anthea was speechless. "Wait . . . y-you love me?"

He scoffed. "As if you didn't know."

Her eyes widened. "I didn't."

Mycroft's pale blue eyes searched hers. "How could you not? I've been smitten from the moment we met. In fact, I almost fell over the first time I saw you."

Her eyes darted to and fro. "I-I remember. Your umbrella slipped."

He smirked. "I leaned too heavily on it."

Her mind was a spin cycle. "You've known you loved me all this time? Truly?"

"Being struck by lightning is quite hard to overlook, my dear."

She squeezed him tightly. "Did you know how I felt?"

He looked askance. "I had my suspicions but I would never presume to say I ever really knew for certain . . . or know now for that matter."

She clutched his shirt at his waist. "You daft man. You bloody fool. What did I do that very same moment I first laid eyes on you?"

His eyes narrowed as he reminisced then he looked at her as if a bulb flashed behind his eyes. "You dropped your phone."

"Guess the lightning caught both of us then," She mumbled. "Because I love you, Mycroft Holmes. I always have."

They held each other fiercely then. His hand caressed her hair for a time before he started laughing softly against her temple.

"What is it?" Her head laid against his chest.

"I was thinking," he said softly, "this rather un-complicates things."

"I know! What are we going to do with each other now?"

His hand slid down her back. "Oh, I can think of a few things."

"Simple things?"

"The most basic."

"Ugh," Sherlock muttered under his breath as he pulled the door to Mycroft's office, which had been cracked, closed. "Such dribble."

He wished he could be angry with Mycroft for plotting to keep him from Molly but it was a relief to know his pathologist was alive, albeit not completely unharmed. He relaxed his balled up fists and stretched his fingers. His chest constricted. He wanted to rush to her and promise once more that he'd protect her, but he knew as long as his brother remained at large he would fail again. Mycroft was right, teeth grindingly and one hundred percent, irritatingly right. Sherrinford needed to be stopped because it wasn't just those who they cared about in danger, it was anyone who had ever been in contact with the National Health Service. Which meant pretty much everyone in the UK.

Mary had been a demonstration of sorts, he was almost certain of it. The ghost-like wisps of Sherrinford's plan were frustratingly hard to pull together but the answers were out there. Mycroft was correct to hide Molly away because he needed to focus and she needed time to come to grip with things.

He felt a grimace set into his face as he made his way down the hall from his brother's office. Hopefully, she didn't hate him for staying away, or his lack of impulse control regarding her prescription the day before, or being related to a psychopath who took every opportunity to harm her, or . . . well the list was unfathomably long. He needed to believe she could forgive him because he was finally convinced.

Molly was the key to everything.