Mycroft and Anthea were reunited with the passion and zeal that was befitting someone of Mycroft's social standing and position in the British Government. In other words, they spoke awkwardly with Mycroft underplaying his injuries and Anthea seeing straight through him, and Anthea talking lightly of her concern for him while he detected in the tightening of her jaw just how distressed she was to see the bruises and abrasions covering him. It surprised him, and he stored it away to ponder on in a more opportune moment. Perhaps Anthea could be considered as a member of the exclusive club of people Mycroft Holmes considered as friends rather than just an employee?
By then it was late and Anthea had to leave the men - she couldn't risk staying longer without it looking suspicious. They hadn't had time to do more than fill her in on the sketchy details of the kidnapping and associated plot, but she agreed to return the following day if she could manage to do so without arising suspicion. They had agreed between them that Anthea would continue to work as normal and be their link back to Mycroft's office for the time being so it was vital no-one suspected her of anything. All parties were curious as to how the interloper in the office would react now that the kidnappers had lost Mycroft. This might be the easiest way to identify them if they did something rash.
"I'll be back tomorrow Mr Holmes," Anthea confirmed in the doorway, pausing as she exited with a little smile for her employer, "Do take care of yourself, won't you?"
Mycroft inclined his head in accord while John escorted Anthea down to the front door. Once John returned he set about making a simple meal for them all while Mycroft and Sherlock hashed out theories at the kitchen table. John put plates of pasta in front of them and frowned at them both until they guiltily picked up forks. Mycroft hadn't eaten properly in a week and found it hard with his swollen jaw from the cracked cheekbone but managed a reasonable meal. Sherlock had a couple of mouthfuls before he got sidetracked onto a wildly improbably theory involving Norwegian terrorists and lost interest in the food but John didn't push him to eat more. John knew there was no point when Sherlock was mid-case - he'd save his energy for later on when Sherlock would need him.
After dinner John told Mycroft in his best trust me I'm a doctor voice that he should go to bed and sleep so he could start to heal. Mycroft was surprised to discover quite how tired he was, despite having slept for most of the day, and capitulated to John's badgering with only a token denial. He climbed into Sherlock's bed gratefully, aware of all the aches and pains that the mental stimulation of the last few hours had kept at bay. He had no sooner thought that when John appeared at the door with a glass of water and some painkillers, and a promise of more in the morning depending on how Mycroft felt.
Mycroft lay in the bed and listened again to the quiet sounds around him of the flatmates winding down their day. It was comforting to have other people near him and he realised with surprise that he hadn't once in the last week thought longingly of his own London house other than a fleeting desire for the softness of his bed when he'd been lying on a cold concrete floor. It was a perfectly nice house - but that was all it was, a house. It wasn't home in the way 221b was for John and Sherlock. Mycroft spent more time in the office and in his club than he did in his house. He was usually far too busy to ever be lonely as such, but once again he was glad he'd come to Baker Street and the companionship and care Sherlock and John offered.
He fell asleep listening to Sherlock's rumbling baritone quietly berating John for his lack of insight into the case while John softly laughed and teased him,
"I'll leave insight to the two geniuses here. You know you only keep me about to make the tea and be impressed when you solve it…" was the last thing Mycroft heard.
oOo oOo oOo
Sunday morning started early in 221b. John again appeared at Mycroft's door with painkillers and helped him with fresh dressings for his wounds before leaving him to shower and change. Mycroft was just about able to manage on his own, but was glad that yet again the clothing provided was soft and easy to pull on with his broken wrist. By the time he made it into the living room he was greeted with the sight of a fully functioning Sherlock case wall thanks to the detective working on it through the night.
Every thought and trace of evidence Sherlock had been able to find in the last twenty-four hours had been pinned to the wall of the living room in a complex spiral mapping representing Sherlock's thought processes. There wasn't much yet in terms of actual evidence as Sherlock hadn't been able to get out to examine any of the scenes yet, but even so the story was impressively documented. Mycroft stood in front of it and reviewed, easily following his brother's concepts and logic of placement.
It took no time at all before the two of them were working in unison to adjust various pieces and add notes and comments as their joint minds came up with new connections. John stood in the kitchen doorway and looked on admiringly, enjoying seeing the brothers put aside their usual sniping and sibling rivalries to work together. Their expressions were animated and John knew that despite the seriousness of the situation they were actually having fun. He thought it was a shame they couldn't be civil more often. One Holmes was a formidable opponent, but the combined intellect of Mycroft AND Sherlock was going to be pretty much unstoppable.
I almost pity the guys behind this, thought John smugly as he watched, Well, I would have if they hadn't hurt Mycroft. Still, I bet they have no idea of the pain that awaits them when we catch them… They are really going to regret starting this.
oOo oOo oOo
Anthea returned at lunchtime and was quickly ushered into the living room to sit with John on the sofa and listen as Sherlock, with Mycroft's assistance, explained what they had deduced and their suggested plan of attack.
"The biggest challenge we have," Mycroft surmised, "is time. The trade deal is due to be completed on Wednesday. That gives us only two days to find the culprits and neutralise them, as well as revoke any agreements made in my absence before I need to be able to be back in the office for 10am Wednesday to facilitate the PM's signature on the papers." He smiled apologetically, "and I'm afraid it is all going to have to be done with the utmost level of discretion too. We can't have everyone knowing we have been manipulated in this way - it would destroy our standing on the world stage."
"Which does add an interesting extra element to the whole thing," agreed Sherlock, "We can't go in guns blazing -" giving John a stern look while John returned it with an exaggeratedly innocent expression, his eyes glinting with mirth - John had suggested an approach which would have undoubtably been effective but had erred on the side of brutal, involved plenty of firepower, and was anything but discrete. "Subterfuge and misinformation are going to be our best weapons…"
When Sherlock had finished explaining the plan the four sat in silence for a moment, processing. It was daring, dangerous, and both Sherlock and Mycroft had admitted it had a fairly good chance of failure which would be career - if not life - changing for them all. But it was the only approach they had and neither Anthea or John could come up with anything more likely to succeed, or even suggest something safer. After a momentary silence to digest the plan as it stood the floodgates opened and they talked long into the day, arguments fuelled by biscuits and endless mugs of tea. They walked through elements and suggested alternatives and refinements until eventually they were all agreed on the strategy.
When they were done Anthea stood gracefully while the men stretched joints which ached from sitting for too long. Sherlock and Mycroft wandered back over to the wall to add some last touches leaving John and Anthea to take the mugs and detritus from the day back out to the kitchen.
"Are you sure you are okay with this?" John asked her quietly when they were alone, not wanting to draw the brothers' attention, "You are going to be the most vulnerable in all this - we won't be able to get into your office to protect you. I'm very aware we are asking an awful lot of you." He looked at her carefully, the concern and sincerity he felt showing on his face for her to see. "If you change your mind at any point or you feel threatened for any reason just tell us. We can find another way. No trade agreement is worth you getting hurt, and we know they won't hesitate to do so." They both glanced over to Mycroft almost involuntarily at that, taking in his battered form.
Anthea smiled gently at him and shook her head. "Thank you John, but it is fine. We both know this is the only way we will get to the people behind it." Her expression was suddenly fierce before her mask of pleasant neutrality returned. "They can't be allowed to get away with what they did to Mr Holmes. I won't let them."
"He is lucky to have you by his side," John told her admiringly.
"It is no more or less than you would do for Sherlock," she reminded him simply.
He wondered what it was about the Holmes brothers that commanded such loyalty from them. "You're right," he told her, "Of course you are. But it doesn't make it any less dangerous. Please. Be careful."
She nodded in acquiescence and he walked her to the door of the flat where they were joined by Sherlock and Mycroft.
"You know what to do tomorrow? You will keep in touch?" Mycroft asked with a touch of concern in his voice, unable to resist repeating himself.
Anthea smiled and in a surprisingly playful tone replied, "When have I ever let you down Mr Holmes?"
Mycroft smiled at her gently, "Never, my dear. Never."
oOo oOo oOo
They went to bed late that night, each trying to find any loopholes or flaws to be hashed out before they took action the next morning. This was the last chance to change things before they hit the point of no return. Once started the momentum would carry them all along for the ride whether they wanted to or not with no real escape route planned. It was a high risk approach and one fraught with danger for all involved. Ironically Mycroft would now be in the least peril - his face was too recognisable, especially in its current bruised state, for him to be out and about. He would be coordinating from the flat for as long as possible to enable the others to put their elements into effect.
"I just want to thank you both," he told them as they all headed to bed (or in Sherlock's case, to the sofa). "If you hadn't agreed to help I would have been forced to go through official channels and… well… minor government officials are all too easy to replace when these kind of nations are involved. I'm not underplaying my power - I think this one would have been genuinely beyond me to fix for once."
"Think nothing of it brother dear," said Sherlock magnanimously, before turning to look at his brother, a speculative glint in his eye. "Of course, it stands to reason I will be owed a considerable favour in return one day."
Mycroft sighed and rolled his eyes good-naturedly, more than used to dealing with Sherlock's self-centredness and somewhat grateful to him for lightening the mood, "Yes Sherlock," he agreed placatingly, "I'm sure you will find some ridiculously excessive way for me to repay you. I have no fears whatsoever on that count."
They parted company then, Sherlock musing aloud about expensive laboratory equipment he wanted in the mortuary at Barts while John and Mycroft exchanged identical looks of amused tolerance at the detective's ability to flit into a whimsical mood in the middle of so much worry.
Tonight they would sleep, and tomorrow battle would commence.
A/N - Well! Hope you are enjoying the story so far - it is my first action based story so I'm trying to keep it fast paced without giving too much of the plot away too soon.
Reviews and comments would be appreciated as always. Next chapter will be up in a few days x