The cast of Moriarty's war, in order of appearance, turned to Mycroft gravely, before the chimes of midnight.

The day of the trial had been their chance to gain some information on at least, the scale, of Moriarty's plan. How obviously he drew attention to Sherlock had discomforted Mycroft greatly. It didn't fit a narcissist like Moriarty, to wish to share fame.

The day of the Hansel and Gretel kidnapping, was zero hour. Of course Sherlock solved the case, his mind had never been so sharp. He knew it was Moriarty and that somehow, it would connect to him. The little girl still spooked him.

The unwittingly compliant police officer, was the first to call.

"Inspector." Mycroft spoke into his mobile, keeping the accusation out of his voice with difficulty.

"Mycroft. Sherlock and John resisted, and indeed escaped, arrest."

"I'm aware of that. On whose authority did you attempt arrest?"

"The chief constable."

"Ah yes, the one with the newly broken nose." Mycroft mused with a grim smile. "Can I ask what you think is happening here, Lestrade?"

"Moriarty's trying to discredit Sherlock." Lestrade replied without hesitation.

"You worked this out?"

"No, Sherlock told me."

Mycroft smiled, loyalty seemed to surround Sherlock.

"Mycroft, what are you going to do?"

For his loyalty, Mycroft was compelled to honesty.
"I don't know."

A few texts from Sherlock filled him in on Moriarty's plan, but by that point, Mycroft had a feeling he'd known for a while where this was all going to end. He turned his mind to an escape route for Sherlock, by any means necessary.

An angry, pompous member of parliament, was the second to question Mycroft.

"Holmes, why is your brother on our police wanted list, armed and dangerous?"

To a man who imagined himself in possession of more power than reality reflected, Mycroft lied.
"I don't know."

Sherlock was frantic, when he finally called him from St Barts. He'd shaken off John and was busy working on the computer code.

"Mycroft, he's winning, he's won. I can't fight this."

"Just calm down." Mycroft responded firmly, wishing he felt quite so calm himself. "You knew he wasn't planning just to kill you, Sherlock. Who's in danger?"

It was then, Sherlock gave the response that prohibited Mycroft from doing so again.
"I don't know!" He near wailed. Mycroft was talking in riddles.

Mycroft fought against the urge to tell him to run, for the second time.
"Think. Sherlock. He wants to destroy you. Who is in danger?"

"…John. Mrs Hudson. …Lestrade."

Mycroft took a deep breath, frustrated beyond all reason he couldn't be of more direct help. He'd known from the start though, that this would all be on Sherlock, in the end. He would have to stand clear for the last moments of his brother's magnum opus.

"You need to direct Moriarty's next move. Find a meeting place you can control and call him there. He will try to end this there. Your goal is very simple, neutralise the threat, and stay alive."

He knew from the silence on the end of the line, Sherlock understood. The next move was his. Mycroft would cover his tracks once it was over.

Mycroft returned to the sitting room of his private quarters at the Diogenes club and stopped dead. Last but far from least, came the loyal doctor.

Mycroft felt nothing, at laying to waste his already fragile reputation, in the eyes of Sherlock's flatmate. Such a thing hardly mattered, compared to what Sherlock was facing. He did feel his guts churn as John left though. He believed he was all that stood between Sherlock and Moriarty now. The inevitable fall, would only hurt him more for it.

His gratitude for the role John had played in Sherlock's life, suddenly showed, when Mycroft very nearly blundered.
"John…I'm sorry…"

John scoffed in near despair and Mycroft knew his mistake had gone unnoticed. He thought he meant he was sorry to Sherlock. That was true too really.
"Tell him, would you…" He breathed, rather pointlessly. John was gone.

At the immense sadness that suddenly hit him, he took out his phone and sent one last aid to Sherlock. It occurred to him that not all of the cast, were so visible as Sherlock's three friends. As he himself, Sergeant's Donovon and Anderson, the Crown Court and the odious journalist, had played their roles, someone else must surely have a part to play.

Half an hour later, Sherlock would call him with news of victory. Moriarty was dead and Sherlock was about to jump off the hospital roof.

'Sherlock. Molly Hooper. M.'