A/N: I own nothing. Every regard to ACD and Moffat/Gatiss/BBC. Danke Danke.

Molly was sitting in the lab stunned with Moriarty's message going over and over in her head. She was the one who had performed his autopsy. He had come in with a massive whole in his head and half his brain remaining on the roof of Bart's. Even he something mad had happened, she had removed all his internal organs. She toughed though that procedure with Jim's eyes staring wide until Sherlock had reached over the slab and shut them when he noticed her quiet rage bubbling as she pulled out his heart and liver. It was a rare moment, him noticing her emotions, but maybe Moriarty's face had been haunting Sherlock as well.

Today hadn't been the best to start out with. She had received a text from Sherlock that morning. It had just said "I am leaving tomorrow for something trivial for Mycroft. Thank you for everything. Be well. SH." It was simple and passive but it spoke much coming from him. She worried that this "trivial" thing might lead to him being gone for a long time. He had made a few trips back to her flat during his last stint away so she made a silent prayer to anyone who would let him come back one day. Now with Moriarty taunting the public, she was had managed to send texts to Mary, John and Sherlock asking what she should do. Mary replied about 45 minutes later for her to get to 221B but she needed a moment to think about each step she had done during Jim's autopsy. It was calming her down when Lestrade came in to the lab.

"Molly, are you alright? I have a text from John to meet at Baker Street. Do you want a lift there? Molly?"

She blinked and exited her thoughts when Greg said her name the second time. His questions took a few seconds before she could answer.

"Yes. That is nice of you, Greg. Mary told me to head over there. Is Sherlock there?"

Greg's phone made a noise. "Well since he's ordering me to bring you, I assume so. Bossy git. I'm a bit more intuitive than he gives me credit for."

Molly giggled at that, breaking the tense mood that she had been in. "Let's go then." She gave a small smile. "If we keep him waiting he might start shooting the wall. Again." Greg smirked at the usually mousy pathologist and they left the lab after she grabbed her coat.

Greg and Molly got to Baker Street about 15 minutes before the Holmes and Watsons. Mrs. Hudson was sitting in her kitchen to make a shaky cup of tea when they greeted her. They caught up quickly with their limited information as Greg was consoling his team members that Sherlock Holmes was on the case and to gather the demanded reports and information they had gathered on Moriarty after Sherlock's death. Molly was just in the middle of explaining Moriarty's autopsy when Sherlock bust though the front door and loudly clambered up the stairs to his flat with John and Mary on his heels. Mycroft peered into Mrs. Hudson's flat to find the rest of Sherlock's compatriots.

"DI Lestrade, Dr. Hooper? I believe my brother requests your presence upstairs even if he is so rude to not ask. Social rules, as you know, are not 'his area.'"

Molly and Greg headed upstairs with Mrs. Hudson electing to stay behind. She called on Mycroft when he was halfway up, "Let me know when it is safe to breathe again. And Mr. Holmes? You do a better job at keeping him in the country this time around."

"I believe England would fall without him here. It is certainly trying to." He rolled his eyes and continued his journey to his brother's mess of a flat.

In 221B, Sherlock was viewing all the files Lestrade had sent to him from Scotland Yard's investigations of himself and Moriarty on an unnecessary amount of laptops that were scattered around the sitting room. Some of them were playing the 'Did you miss me?' clip on repeat at which, upon sight, Molly grimaced. He was extremely focused but John noticed a smirk from time to time when he viewed the notes from Anderson and Donovan. Probably thinking their idiocy was entertaining, even in a time like this.

The rest of the group grew uncomfortable at Sherlock's disinterest in them and began to fidget. Mary sought to relieve her back and feet and settled in John's chair and Molly scuttled off into the kitchen to make tea and John made a quick run to the loo. He knew that he was probably going bolt across London and Sherlock was terrible about allowing for necessary breaks. After his business was completed, he washed his hands and splashed a bit of water on his face to perk up. He couldn't believe what a mood whiplash this afternoon has been. First he was saying goodbye to his best friend, (for the probable last time as Sherlock mentioned that in the car), and now he was back in his sitting room gathering information to take down a man they thought was dead. Really he had no idea how he was going to balance all of this once the baby came. He was glad that he did have Mary, the most understanding wife/assassin any man could have. She'd probably be more upset that she'd be resigned to home more often than he would when Sherlock came calling.

John reentered the living room to find Mary and Molly watching Mycroft and Sherlock argue intently like it was a crap telly show that is so bad you can't look away from it, all the while Greg was just standing in the door frame switching looks from confusion to exhaustion at watching the brothers. John thought to stop the fight but Sherlock was in a state he hadn't encountered before, he was downright emotional. He understood now why the others were in a state of shock instead of breaking up the fight. Sherlock being emotional was a sight to see.

"Tell me your plan, Sherlock. This is not the time to hold something I need over me for your personal selfish gain."

"Really this is tops as one of the least selfish things I have done in my life. You may be the 'smart one'," Sherlock gave an air of sarcasm to that last remark, "but I know how to exploit an upperhand. I need her for this case, so give that excuse to your council of pompous government officials."

"I had to fight for you to get the deal you ended up with. Sending you to an undercover mission that would lead to your death was the best I could achieve. How do you think I can convince them to accept your return and hers?" Mycroft was losing his usual poise that could only be ruined by his obdurate little brother.

"That's because you never fought for her. You just tossed her aside because you didn't approve of her behaviour." Sherlock began to glare at Mycroft, "How many times have you lied to them about missed dinners? I've seen the birthday and Christmas cards you've sent in her name—they are tacky by the way and not her taste at all. You could at least have done a better job at that."

Curiosity got the better of Lestrade, "Who is this person you are arguing over?"

Both Holmes snapped at Lestrade and he stepped back to give the brother's their battle ground back. The reaction put down the others' developing inquiries they wanted to ask, but with increasing hysteria, they thought better of it.

"I was not in a position to make decisions regarding her, Sherlock. You've grown complacent with the power I have now. I am not magic. There were many obstacles I could not overcome then but I did try. She isn't just important to you, Sherlock. I lost her too." Mycroft's voice was soft at the end. If one didn't know him they would call it sentiment. "Besides she is half-way round the world right now in Malaysia looking for a nuclear arms dealer that has gone into hiding. It would take too long to extract her."

"Lies." Sherlock interjected coldly.

"What?" Mycroft's previous frustration was coming back to break his composure.

"Only lies have detail," Sherlock said curtly. "Where. Is. She?"

Mycroft took his umbrella and placed it dangerously close to Sherlock's face. "She is unobtainable, Sherlock. Stop this childish behaviour now. Complete the task at hand."

Sherlock then gave a wicked grin. "Oh she is close. She is so close you are worried right now. Did you move her nearby as you sent me away so I wouldn't go looking for her? So I would complete the task at hand? Where is she? Belgium? Spain? Germany? France? That would be a nice pert action on your part. She just loathes coffee and quaint cafes. I'll bet that you've set her up with the crudest handlers just to—"

"Sherlock," Mycroft interrupted, giving pause when he was able to halt his brother from a stream of beratements. "She's in the Highlands."

This gave a rise to a Sherlock that John had never seen before. He was brimming with anger. "The HIGHLANDS?! She's been in SCOTLAND?! How long, Mycroft? How long has she been in reach of us? HOW LONG?!"

"She was relocated to the UK three weeks before your incident with Mrs. Watson. As you'll recall you were indisposed at the time." At this Sherlock threw one of the laptops in between Mary and Molly and into the fireplace causing both of them to falter out of their trance. John and Lestrade jumped to attention, placing their hands up towards Sherlock, hoping to calm him down.

"She's been here for months, Mycroft? Months? When were you planning on telling me this? Was she going to be our Christmas present so you can earn your forgiveness? Well, you aren't helping your case now. If she is so near, why are you so hesitant to let her come home? What are you afraid of, Mycroft?" He was breathing heavy with each sentence. John and Greg tensed up when Sherlock's fist clenched, afraid of him assaulting his brother with them.

"You know why. Don't be irrational, Sherlock," Mycroft scoffed. "Believe it or not this pains me too. I've been working on getting her here but orchestrating her public return has proven difficult with certain members' memories still scorned from the past and she hasn't been helping herself in recent years." He sighed and leaned on his umbrella again as Sherlock continued his blazing stare at him. "But, I'm prepared now to severe ties and detonate relationships for you to get your favourite person back. Be grateful for once."

"Oh, is this going to start a multinational war, Mycroft? One of your exiles being released and given some edge of freedom?"

"No, but it might cause something you might regret later, Sherlock. It always does."

Sherlock was calmer now. "When will she be here?"

Mycroft took his phone and shot off a text to an unknown person and waited less than 20 seconds before he received a reply. "She will be here in four hours. I'll have her delivered to Baker Street then. Now," he straightened up and returned to his usual aloof state, "What is your plan, Sherlock and what are you wanting to use her for to justify your unreasonable demand?"

Mary had had enough. She had been sitting down and drinking far too much tea with a baby pressing on her bladder, making an urgent loo trip very necessary. She was a bit bolder than everyone else in the room who had clearly learned how to tip-toe around Sherlock's moods. So she asked, "Sherlock?" he turned his eyes to her. What was in them? Exhilaration? No. Anticipation. "Sherlock, who is she? Who is so important to you, you'd fight like this?"

His fists started to clench. Remembering something that looked like it might give way to another argument. So Mycroft answered instead. "Mrs. Watson, she is our sister and it seems that you will all soon have the pleasure to meet her shortly," he said impatiently. "Now Sherlock, the plan?"

A/N: Thank y'all for reading. I put in some effort today to put up more words than I did yesterday. Let me know how it is! I also have this on over on A03 and I'll update at the same time usually.