Disclaimer: settings and characters as depicted in BBC series not mine. No money being made. Plot is mine.
Redemption
Sherlock fell asleep on the floor and woke on the couch. This concerned him for two reasons. Firstly, it meant that John had picked him up off the floor, an action that meant pain and distress for his flatmate and secondly, it meant that John was not where Sherlock could see him.
Leaping from the couch, Sherlock hurried for the most logical place that John could be, the loo: when that failed, he then checked the bathroom, the kitchen and Sherlock's room, followed by John's room. His Heart was nowhere to be found in the flat at all, and Sherlock spun on the spot, his mind calculating and discarding scenarios, everything from John dying and him sleeping through the removal of the body, to a sleeping agent being introduced to the flat's air and John being abducted. He would have found concentrating easier if there hadn't been a continuous rustling sound every time he moved…
Oh. John had pinned a note to Sherlock's chest before disappearing. Glad that no one had been present to witness his… consternation… Sherlock removed the note and read it through. John was downstairs with Mrs Hudson; presumably she had helped him get Sherlock onto the couch, and would wait until Sherlock came down to collect him before attempting the stairs again. Sherlock smoothed the wrinkled paper carefully before carrying it into his room and sandwiching it carefully between the leaves of his great grandfather's sketchbook. Satisfied that his note was safe, Sherlock turned his attention to grooming, spending a leisurely hour setting himself to rights. He did not resent the time he'd spent on John's care, but was pleased that Mrs Hudson was available to take it over for a short while.
Once done, he bounded down the stairs and along the hall to Mrs Hudson's door. He could smell tea and hot butter and sweet, which meant she'd made John pikelets of all things and drowned them in real butter. John was speaking quietly, in a steady, strong voice that brooked no argument, which naturally alerted Sherlock that there was someone else in there with them.
"Mycroft, I thought I told you not to bother coming back," Sherlock sighed, sweeping John with a quick look and reaching over with a frown, "John, I thought we agreed you'd use the sling."
He adjusted his flatmates arm on the table to a better angle before sitting in the seat Mrs Hudson fussed him into, snagging a pikelet and smothering it with jam. He endured her pleased mutters and accepted a cup of tea from her while John gave him the 'who's the doctor here' look. He nodded in reply, pleased that John subsided without verbally chastising him, which meant his Heart understood his concerns.
"I asked Mycroft to come, Sherlock," John said quietly, "I had some things to discuss with him."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow and made a silent show of checking his brother for bruises.
"I'm better than that, Sherlock," John huffed, "I'd never leave a visible mark."
Martha giggled into her own tea cup and Mycroft frowned, displeased at being held up to ridicule by Sherlock and his … family would be the most appropriate group noun in this case, though Sherlock would never admit to the word aloud.
"I thought I'd make sure that he knew where things stood before we enlisted his resources in your plan," John continued in an even tone, one which would have made Sherlock nervous if he hadn't known the other man so well. The very idea that John would take Mycroft to task on Sherlock's behalf was … unprecedented. There were emotional connotations too, ones that Sherlock would need time to process and label. He put them aside for later and turned his gaze on his brother.
Mycroft was not best pleased to have been on the receiving end of John's lecture, nor was he best pleased to have been excluded from Sherlock's familial sphere by two very common and ordinary people. He was of course masking his reaction to these events under a very bland face, but Sherlock knew what he was thinking.
"I take it that you have a semblance of a plan?" Mycroft asked in a bland voice to match his face. Sherlock nodded and folded his hands around the mug Martha had given him, enjoying the heat that seeped from the thick porcelain.
"I do," Sherlock replied in the exact same tone, "It will involve some law breaking, but I do not believe I can avoid that at this juncture, not without giving up Baker Street completely and going 'on the run' as it were."
"You would stay here?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow, "Whatever for?"
"Oi!" Martha protested, "This is our home!"
John winced, not in pain, and Sherlock buried his face in his mug for a moment to hide the smirk. Both men had heard this tone before – Mycroft was in for a scolding.
"Mrs Hudson, you cannot be expected to…" Mycroft's voice was supercilious instead of conciliatory, exactly the wrong one to use. Sherlock had learned this through experience.
"Don't you take that tone with me young man," Martha interrupted, "I'll have you know that I'm not so over the hill that I can't help out when necessary."
"Of course, my mistake," Mycroft back tracked, his face arranged in his best 'apologetic' expression. Martha sniffed, clearly not mollified but let the argument die. John gave her a gentle pat to the hand and accepted another pikelet: feeding her tenants always seemed to soothe Martha.
"What precisely do you want from me?" Mycroft clearly thought it would be better to cut the conversation short, which suited Sherlock anyway.
"Access to various computer networks, assistance in manipulating surveillance and data, perhaps weaponry or chemicals if needed," Sherlock replied, "I intend to inform Moriarty that I will take up his 'offer' and I imagine that events will move on rapidly from there."
"There will of course be a loyalty test," Mycroft murmured, "One that may well involve harming Mrs Hudson or Dr Watson."
"That is too obvious for Moriarty," John interrupted, startling both of the Holmes brothers, "It's more likely that he'll keep that as a punishment. I'd lay pounds to pennies that he'll ask you to kill Lestrade or someone else from the Yard."
"Good point," Sherlock nodded, proud of John's astute observations. John rolled his eyes, not fooled, but didn't complain.
"There's no point in borrowing trouble," Martha intervened before Sherlock could irritate his flatmate further, "If a murder is required we'll deal with it then."
"So you wish me to stand by with secure locations to stash your various victims? Is that all?" Mycroft sounded bored, but Sherlock knew better than to fall for that old trick. Mycroft was at his most interested when he sounded bored. Mycroft was, in fact, eager to participate in more than merely cleaning up after politicians.
"For now," Sherlock replied magnanimously, "After all, we cannot expect Scotland Yard to help us catch a criminal of this magnitude."
"Very well," Mycroft sighed, getting to his feet with an expression of long suffering patience, "I trust that you will keep me informed through the usual channels."
"Of course," Sherlock replied neutrally, "I'll show John how to access them too."
Mycroft very nearly tripped over his umbrella at that little sally. Sherlock had never shown anyone how to contact his brother through their secure network before. It was completely without precedent, but the only way Sherlock could think of to show his brother that he was serious about John; that John truly was Sherlock's Heart.
Sherlock smirked as Mycroft strangled through his usual leave takings and showed himself out. Once the front door shut, Martha slapped Sherlock's arm gently, tutting at him.
"That wasn't nice, Sherlock," she reproved, and Sherlock beamed at her unrepentantly, snagging the last pikelet.