I found myself at Darkwood Manor for the second time that day. But unlike the terrible solitude and realization of complete failure, I had company. I would have preferred the other to be honest. Irene and I sat at the table as Sherlock sat in a chair away from us. Brooding.

I tapped the phone. "We have people to get into this." I told her.

"I tested that theory for you. I let Sherlock try it for six months. Sherlock dear, tell him what you found when you x-rayed my camera-phone?"

"There are four additional units wired inside the casing. I suspect containing acid or a small amount explosive. Any attempt to open it burn the drive."

"Explosive," she purred. "It's more me."

"Some data is always recoverable." I informed her.

"Take that risk." She knew she was winning.

"You have a passcode to open this. I deeply regret to say we have people who can extract it from you."

"Sherlock?" She called.

"There will be two passcodes, one to open the phone, one to burn the drive. Even under duress you can't know which one she's given you and there would be no point in a second attempt."

"Oh, he's good, isn't he?" she asked me. "I should have him on a leash. In fact I might."

"We destroy this then. No one has the information."

"Fine. Good idea. Unless there are lives of British citizens depending on the information you're about to burn."

I raised my eyebrows. "Are there?"

"Telling would be playing fair. I'm not playing anymore." She reached into her purse and pulled out an envelope and handed it to me. "A list of my request and some ideas about my protection once they're granted." I opened it and began reading. "I'd say it wouldn't put much of dent in the wealth of a nation but I'd be lying." My eyes went wide at some of the things she was requesting. "I'd imagine you'd like to sleep on it?"

"Thank you, yes."

"Too bad." I looked up at her and Sherlock scoffed.

"Off you pop," she told me, like I was her pet, "and talk to people."

I sighed. "You have been very thorough. I wish our lot were as good as you."

"I can't take all of the credit. I had a bit of help." She turned to Sherlock. "Jim Moriarty sends his love."

"Yes, he's been in touch. Seems desperate for my attention which I'm sure can be arranged." I made a mental note to have my people bring him in as soon as possible in fact.

She stood up, "I had all this stuff, never knew what to do with it. Thank god for the consulting criminal." She half sat on the table talking to Sherlock. "Gave me a lot advice on how to deal with the Holmes Boys. Do you know what he calls you? The Ice Man and the Virgin. Didn't even ask for anything. I think he just likes to cause trouble. Now that's my kind of man."

"And here you are, the dominatrix," I stood up, "who has brought a nation to its knees. Nicely played."

"No." Sherlock's voice rang out in the small room.

"Sorry?" Irene inquired.

"I said no." He turned toward us. "Very, very close but no." He stood up. "You got carried away. The game was too elaborate, you were enjoying yourself too much." He walked over to her.

"There's no such thing as too much." She cooed.

"Oh, enjoying the thrill of the chase is fine." He moved closer to her. "Craving the distraction of the game, I sympathize entirely. But sentiment?" My brow furrowed in confusion. "Sentiment is a chemical found in the losing side."

"Sentiment?" Irene scoffed. "What are you talking about?"

"You."

"Oh dear God. Look at the poor man. You don't actually think I was interested in you? Why? Because you're the great Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective in the funny hat?"

"No," he whispered as he grabbed her wrist, "Because I took your pulse. Elevated. Your pupils dilated." He reached behind her and grabbed the phone from the table. "I imagine John Watson thinks love is a mystery to me but the chemistry is incredibly simple and very destructive." He walked away and she followed him. Now I was interested. My brother was close, I could feel it. Sherlock turned around.

"When we first met you told me that disguise is always a self-portrait. How true of you. The combination of your safe, your measurements, but this-this is far more intimate." He flipped the phone. "This is your heart and you should never let it rule your head." He hit the first key with force. "You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here today with everything you've worked for." He hit the second key with the same force as the first. "But you couldn't resist it, could you? I've always assumed that love was a dangerous disadvantage." He hit the third key the same as the other two. "Thank you for the proof."

Irene reached up to stop him from hitting the final key. "Everything I said, it's not real. I was just playing the game."

"I know." He hit the final key, "and this is just losing." He held up the phone and everything became clear. The screen read I AM S-H-E-R LOCKED. Sentiment indeed. He handed me the phone. "There you are, brother. I hope it's contents make up for any inconvenience I may have caused you tonight."

"I'm certain it will." I was proud of him. He walked off.

"If you are kind lock her up, otherwise let her go. I doubt she'll last very long without her protection."

"Are you expecting me to beg?" She pleaded.

He stopped at the door. "Yes."

"Please. You're right, I won't last six months."

Without looking at her he said, "Sorry about dinner." And with that he was gone. I turned to her.

"So do you think me kind?" I smiled at her, a wolf's grin. She turned to me, fear lighting her dark eyes.

"Please," she begged. "I'll do anything. I can tell you where Moriarty is!" I chuckled cruelly.

"I already know where he is." I turned away from her and started calling Harry. As it rang through I uttered the word with such finality.

"Go."

***

Sherlock graduated from college with a practical chemistry degree and things seemed to going well for him for the first time in his life. I had been appointed to the foreign office, finally landing my dream job.

I suppose that what the problem was. We were happy and he couldn't stand that we could be. How we could be happy without her. Sherlock found him. I got the call just as I was on my way to meet the Prime Minister.

"Sir? It's from your brother." My secretary told me.

"Oh what is it now!" I picked up the phone.

"What?" I was in no mood to miss this meeting.

"You need to come home." I rolled my eyes.

"I really am too busy for some little problem you might be having."

"You come home right now!"

"Sherlock, I am meeting the Prime Minister in a half hour can't this wait?"

"Do what you like. It your house now, Mycroft." He hung up on me. And I thought for a moment. What did he mean it was my house now? The only way Darkwood Manor would be mine was if… oh god.

"Cancel all my meetings and send the deepest apologies to the Prime Minister. I have a family emergency."

I grabbed my coat and strolled out the door. I was back home within two hours. I saw the police running around.

"He killed himself, Mycroft." And he threw the note at me. I picked it up off the floor and sunk to my knees.

To my boys-

I'm glad that you are both happy with your lives. I never could be with mine. Not after your mother died. I had been wanting to do this for quite sometime. But I had to make sure you were all grown and able to take care of yourselves.

I hope you do not think less of me.

Your father

The funeral was even smaller than mother's. He had pushed everyone away. The only reason his law firm even tolerated him at all was because even though he couldn't stand up in court anymore he could write better than all of the partners combined. And he made them look good in court.

It was me and Sherlock and handful of the partners from his firm. Sherlock looked shattered. I wondered what would happen next. I thought I would be prepared. I was wrong.

***

On a case like this I decided to follow John wishes, just this once. I didn't kidnap him and I stood outside the cafe next to their flat, smoking a cigarette. It was a down pour. So my umbrella was actually being used for its intended purpose.

About half way through my cigarette, John finally showed. "You don't smoke." He told me.

"I also don't frequent cafes." I dropped the cigarette on the pavement and crushed it under my heel. I grabbed my suitcase and closed the umbrella so that we could talk inside.

I pulled out a case file out of the brief case and set it in front of me.

John took a sip of his tea before he asked, "It's the file on Irene Adler?"

"Closed forever. I'm about to inform my brother- or if you prefer you are- that she got herself into a witness protection scheme in America. New name, new identity. She will survive and thrive but he will never see her again."

"Why would he care? He despised her in the end. Won't even call her by her name, just 'The Woman'."

"Is that loathing," I asked, "or a salute? One of a kind, the one woman who matters?"

"He's not like that. He doesn't feel things that way." He paused unsure. "I don't think."

I hissed out a breath. "My brother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher, yet he elects to a detective. What might we deduce from his heart?"

"I don't know," John whispered.

I sat back. "Neither do I. But initially he wanted to be a pirate."

"He'll be okay with this, witness protection, not seeing her again, he'll be fine." He moved back to the topic on hand.

"I agree. That why I decided to tell him that."

"Instead of what?" Damn. I forgot that John was far cleverer than most people I deal with.

"She's dead. She was captured by terrorist cell in Karachi two months ago and beheaded."

"It was definitely her? She's done this before."

"I was thorough this time. It would take Sherlock Holmes to fool me and I don't think was on hand, do you? So…" I slid the file over to John. I rested my head my intertwined fingers, my elbows propped up on the table. "What should we tell Sherlock?"

***

He started acting out after that. Being prone to violent rages and destructive behavior. And I let him. I figured he was a grown man he could take care himself. I was busy. Or so I told myself. Had I been paying attention I would have noticed the signs.

"My mind rages!" He screamed at me. "Give me problems! Give me work!" I rolled my eyes.

"For god sake Sherlock, calm yourself." He sat on the chair in front of me his legs curled up on the seat, his arms wrapped them as he swayed back and forth. He looked up at me eyes wild.

"You're the only one that can help me Mycroft. The police think I'm a young idiot that doesn't know anything! You have to tell them what I can do. Please!" Sherlock was starting to get manic. I had never seen this before. But then I suppose with school his mind was always occupied in some form. But perhaps it was merely the pain of losing our father in a similar manner to our mother that brought this on.

I wrote a small note on piece of paper and handed it to him. He looked at it rolled his eyes at me.

"I don't need a doctor Mycroft, I need problems."

"You have plenty of your own, you don't need others."

I knew he went to the doctor, what I didn't know is that the man boiled down to being a drug dealer. My colleges had recommended him on the sheer basis that he could get them any drug they needed.

Because he was manic the idiot gave Sherlock morphine. And when that stopped working heroin.

I found my brother strung out on his couch. His flat smelled like urine and sulfur.

"Sherlock…" I asked through the smoke.

"Hmm…" I could here him and made my way to the center of the room, using my umbrella to navigate through the debris. I looked down on him and he was pale and thin. Far thinner than he should be. I saw several empty packs of cigarettes and a half empty one. There were bottles of alcohol littered around him.

He saw me looking at the bottles. "The alcohol does nothing." His voice was detached.

"And what about the other stuff in your veins?" I asked.

"It calms my brain. I don't have to think anymore. I don't even dream anymore."

I didn't know what to do. But I shouldn't have walked out that door. And yet perhaps it was the best thing that could have happened to him.

***

I was planning on having a nice quiet afternoon at my club. Of course my brother had other ideas. He always did enjoy yanking my chain as the saying goes. Except this time he did more than yank my chain. He stole a top secret clearance badge.

I got the text alert letting me know that I was currently in Dartmoor at the Baskerville facility. I rolled my eyes. There was only one person would dare impersonate me. And I immediately texted him.

What are you doing? - M

The response I got was a jab at my abilities. I don't understand what I did to deserve a brother like this one. Clearly in a former life I must have been a terrible person. I had no doubts the alarms were going off and that he would be carted off to be experimented on. And while I didn't doubt that thought the thought had some merit, there was no telling what they'd do with the information.

I got a call from a Major Barrymore chewing me out for dropping in on his facility.

"May I remind you Major that while you may have free reign of the place there will be time that your government would want to see where its money has been going."

"Of course," he grumbled. "I just assumed that I would be told if there were any concerns."

"Well, like Captain Watson was quick to point out, it wouldn't be much of a spot check if you were warned, now would it?"

"I can't believe that I was outsmarted by a man of lower rank."

"Well, from what I understand the only reason he's isn't a higher rank is because Captain is a high as an enlisted man can get even if he is a doctor. You army chaps… always trying to keep the common man in their place. Tsk tsk." The man snarled something unintelligible and hung up on me. Good heavens I was turning into Sherlock. Defending John like that.

But then I supposed that John was worthy of such merit. He stuck by my brother for over a year when most people ran screaming after two minutes. He did help my brother in ways I never thought were possible. He had been the making of Sherlock. Everyone could see how much better Sherlock had become just by his association with the ex-army doctor.

But he need one more person to make it complete. He had his doctor. Now all he needed was his inspector and this nonsense would be solved in no time at all and I could back to my current, if unpleasant task.

***

I got a call on an early Tuesday morning at about 3 am.

"Hello Mr. Holmes?" came the cockney accent on the other end.

"Yes." I had been awake working on the current crisis.

"I didn't wake you, did I?" His concern was evident.

"No, I was up working. What can I help you with…"

"Detective Inspective Lestrade." He supplied. Oh god. He's killed himself, I thought numbly.

"How can I help you Detective Inspector?"

"It's about your brother Sherlock."

"It always is." My tone was bitter.

"He was arrested on drug charges soliciting from an undercover cop. And I'll be damned if he didn't know he was dealing with a cop."

A small smile appeared on my lips. Of course he knew it was an undercover cop but why did he continue to try and buy drugs from them?

"Apparently, he wanted a place to sleep tonight and didn't want to bother you." Oh.

"I can come get him if you like?" I asked.

"Nah, he'll be okay here tonight but you'd like to stop by in the morning that'd be great."

"Very well Inspector, thank you for informing me."

"Have a good night Mr. Holmes."

I arrived the station first thing in the morning and was greeted by a man about my age but his hair had already turned a gorgeous shade of silver.

"Mr. Holmes?"

"Yes, Detective Inspector Lestrade I presume?" We shook hands. Once the niceties were out of the way he ran his fingers through his hair nervously.

"Follow me if you please." He led me to the detox cages and moved all the way down the line to end.

There sprawled out the floor was Sherlock, his eyes closed and his palms and fingers pressed firmly together under his chin, if he had been a spiritual man, one would have assumed my bay brother was praying. I knew otherwise. He was thinking.

"Inspector Lestrade, you'll find the murderer's case on the north side of Thames river. He dropped it there in hopes no one would find it."

"Now how would you know that?" the poor detective exclaimed.

"Oh it's obvious. I overheard the facts from the two sergeants. It is the only location close to the scene with low chance of being seen with the type of soil found on the man's boot and pant leg. In addition water he'd assume would ruin the pages found within. What he didn't know however is that case he used was a special one that was waterproof. You'll be able to find everything you need to convict him in that case."

He opened his eyes and they were clear as the day he was born. "Hello, Mycroft. Come to bail me out?"

"Yes, brother dear."

I heard later from Lestrade that not only had Sherlock been right about the location, the briefcase was water proof and all the information contained there in safe. Sherlock really did seem to need cases to survive.

I called Lestrade into my office a few days later.

"Detective Inspector, please sit down."

"You can call me Greg," he said, extending his hand to me. I shook it and he sat down.

"Greg, then. How do you feel about my brother?"

"You mean as a person or as something else?"

"As a person. How did you get along with him?"

"Fine I guess. He doesn't seem like most addicts I've met. Once he overheard the case, he sobered up faster than I'd seen before. It was incredible how he worked it all out just from hearing about it."

"How would you feel about having him consult on a couple of your difficult cases? Just as a way to get him out of the house. You wouldn't have to pay him."

"I suppose I could. I mean I know he's not much younger than I am but I can't help think of him as a child, you know?"

"I do."

"I'm guessing you're the older brother, why didn't you get him help?"

"Because he wouldn't take it from me. We have what you might call a difficult relationship. Things have been hard on him his whole life and I think this will honestly help."

"All right then. Just one or two mind, I'm not calling him on every case."

"That would be fine."

He got up and moved toward the door, at its threshold he paused and turned back to me.

"Mr. Holmes?"

I looked up, "Hmm…?"

"I- never mind." And he swiftly closed the door behind him. He was an interesting fellow and I vowed to keep my eye on him.

***

He was dashing to work, coming back from a trip, when I pulled along side him.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade, if you please." I told him as my man opened the door for him.

He turned and pointed up at the New Scotland Yard sign. "I was just-"

"It's been taken care of. Please get in, Greg."

"Well- I-" he sighed and got into the car without much protest.

"You know I'm starting to think John has a point. You like kidnapping people. It makes you feel powerful."

"I don't need to kidnap people to feel powerful. I have enough it, thank you."

"The shadowy steward pulling the strings in the background." I blinked slightly at his apt analogy.

"Quite."

"So what's he done this time?" He asked after a moment of silence.

"Oh well you know my brother. Knee deep into trouble. And I'm afraid that it's actually criminal this even out right treasonous if I were to be honest about the whole thing."

"Treasonous? Sherlock?"

"Yes well he wouldn't think so certainly. You see like he takes your police badges he has taken one of my IDs and has gotten himself into trouble and I would like you to go down there and make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

"I'm guessing the ID he took was to a super secret military base."

"Yes. How did you know?" He had surprised me twice. In less than five minutes. No one had ever done that before.

He chuckled. "Because it's the only place that I could see Sherlock wanting to break into." I smiled wanly. The inspector knew my brother all too well.

"Will you do it?" I asked.

"I just got back from holiday. I don't have anymore time off available."

It was my turn to chuckle. "Oh that's already been taken care of too." He stared at me shocked. "Any other objections, Inspector?"

"No. So where is this super secret military base anyway?"

"Dartmoor."

***

I had thought he was doing well. He seemed to thrive on the cases Lestrade was throwing his way. But somehow it wasn't enough. Between a particularly bad bout of not having cases, he overdosed on heroin. After all not of Lestrade's cases required help or were interesting enough. And chasing that high was the only thing he lived for.

Lestrade found him. He was coming over with a particularly interesting case about a missing thoroughbred and a murdered man, when he found Sherlock lying on the floor, thankfully on his side so he hadn't drown in his own vomit. The first call had been to the emergency line. The second one had been to me.

"Mr. Holmes? He's done it again." I cursed and told him to meet me at the hospital. They had managed to save his life. But what a life it was.

"That's enough of that." I told him as strolled deliberately into his hospital room.

"Go away Mycroft. This isn't any of your business." He looked away from me.

"Like hell, it isn't. How do you think it looks on me if I have a brother who's a drug addict?"

"It's always about you isn't? You and fucking career. Well piss off Mycroft. I don't need you."

"The Inspector was telling me that this time you will be forced into rehab. There is no escaping it."

"Fine. I don't care."

"I have found a nice place in Florida for you. Sunny beaches, quiet and respectful."

"And far away from you. I like it."

"Sherlock…"

"Go away, Mycroft."

He came back six months later with clear eyes and a firm resolve to stay clean. He had even managed to help a lady he met there with a small problem she was having with her abusive husband.

"You need something other than just police cases Sherlock."

"I've taken up smoking again. It's relaxing."

"Besides that."

He just smiled.