"Hello, brother dear. How are you?" I cringed. I thought things would have been handled by now. But no… here he was pestering me again.

"What do you want Sherlock?" He rarely called and it was never pleasant.

"I want to get back into Baskerville."

"Like hell. You have caused quite enough trouble there for at least a decade. I'm not letting you anywhere nearer to that place then you currently are."

"Why haven't you solved it yet? You have everything you need."

"Not quite. I need to get into one of the labs to test a hypothesis."

"But you don't want just the one lab do you Sherlock."

"That would fantastic! Thank you, Mycroft. I'll text you the details." And he then he hung up on me. I was starting to see a pattern. Apparently being a Holmes meant that we couldn't say good-bye we just hung up on each other.

I think a drug is being used and I need to test it on an average mind. -SH

Why do I have a feeling this is not going to turn out well? - M

It'll be fine. -SH

I wish I could have believed him but somehow he had convinced me to let him play this little game. I just hoped no one get hurt in the process. Least of all John.

I called Major Barrymore. After I explained what had happened before and he got done with the swearing, we got down to business.

"I suggest you do this Major." I told him.

"Why?" he was furious at being duped.

"Because I am one of the few people in the entire country that could pull your funding." My voice took on its most dangerous tone. "Completely."

"I see. And what exactly am I suppose to do?"

"Afford him every courtesy. And I mean every courtesy."

"Do I have to stay the whole time?"

I laughed. "No. There is only one man that can stand being with my brother for any length of time and you've met him."

"I'm assuming you are referring to the man that was with him? Capt. Watson was it?"

"Yes. He'll be along too."

"Very well. Good day Mr. Holmes."

"Good bye."

I was grateful to learn that the case was wrapped up that night. I wasn't pleased to learn however that it took hacking into Maj. Barrymore's clearance to do so. The apologizing I had to do on that one took me days. Days that I didn't have.

***

It would be a few months before I found out what his plan had been. I was surfing through the internet and came across a website, The Science of Deduction. I rolled my eyes and called my brother.

"Sherlock…"

"How do you like the new site, Mycroft? I have decided to make money off our little game. You said I needed more than police cases. So I'll take on other people's problems too. Provided they're interesting."

"Like a private detective?" That sounded dreadful.

"Well… I'd like to think of it as more like a consulting detective. I can consult on police cases and consult on other cases that come my way."

"I've never heard of a consulting detective before." Only my brother. I shook my head.

"That's because I invited the job, Mycroft. Don't you see? This is the answer. What I've been looking for my whole life."

I shook my head and let the call end. I was worried about the reason behind all this. Why did he take such delight in murders and crime? I supposed I would never know. That Sherlock would just keep going on as he always had.

***

That night I took an unmarked car to a place that would have given Baskerville a run for its money in terms of sheer nastiness factor. The Americans had Guantanamo, we had this place. I made my way through the vast tunnels. It's twists and turns. I knew the way. It was a path I had taken many times since the incident with Miss Adler.

There he sat, like a fat spider in the middle of gigantic web. He was in straight jacket having the privilege of having his hands free taken away from him. He had used it to scratch a name into every surface of his little cell.

He stared back at me. Those piercing brown eyes searing through me. He knew what was coming. I wish I could have said the same. How I wished I had known that this spider would turn my whole world upside down.

"Let him go." Those three little words that would change the face of the world. In hindsight I wish I had put a bullet into his brain.

He smiled up at me. He knew that letting him go was the only way to get what we wanted. That god damn code. My masters wanted it and they would have it no matter the cost. The spider shrugged out of his straightjacket and without a single backward glance walked out, the two men following him. The third man the one that had released him from his bonds walked further into the room, staring in shock at the force he must have used to write the name over and over again.

The man: Jim Moriarty. The name: Sherlock.

***

I spent a good portion of his time in Florida hunting the object down. I was disappointed to learn its fate but its sad story only spurned me on to find one comparable.

I had learned the fate of the violin my father had gotten to replace the one I had burned. My brother had pawned it to get money for his drug habit. I tracked down the shop he had taken it to only to find that it had been sold to a young couple. I next tracked down the couple and they had given it to to their nephew. Finding nephew was harder than the others as the family moved about quite often. Once found however, it became the end of a rather fruitless journey.

He didn't want to learn how to play it anymore and deliberately sat on it.

It meant however that I would have to find a violin that he would like, that would match the tone he wanted. And not having him here for that made it difficult. But if I wanted it to be a present I would have to use my abilities to their fullest.

I disregarded the Italian Masters right away. Stradivarius and Guarneri would have to be guarded night and day. And my brother would feel the pressure of it all and never play the damn thing. Which would be counter to the point of getting it for him. I moved to the French and German masters instead. The works of Steiner and Roth were well enough but it didn't quite have the tone I was looking for.

I finally found one that fit him perfectly. It was a rare Pierre Silvestre, it had a beautiful cherry finish and tone that would fill the room.

When my brother came back from Florida I sat in his flat and waited for him to walk in.

"So this is why you weren't at the airport." He came in and threw his luggage in the corner.

He stopped up short when he saw the package. "What is this, Mycroft?" I smiled.

"Deduce it, Sherlock." He ran his hands over the package he held it up gently, looking at it from all angles.

"It's a violin. An antique judging from the wrapping. I would have to open it to guess the maker."

"Do so then."

He unwrapped it carefully, even more so knowing what it was. He pulled the case out of the box and his long fingers danced over the surface.

"I'd say French." He told me. This just from the case.

"Go on." He opened it, the strings were loose. Within minutes the violin was perfectly tuned. He pulled out the bow and resined it up. He tightened it and placed the bow to the strings. He drew out a long mournful note. He closed his eyes as he bent to the music. It was beautiful and heartbreaking.

"Pierre Silvestre. Mycroft where on earth did you find one?" I smiled.

"Not going to tell me are you? Well, I'll just keep this shall I?" He gestured to the violin in his hands.

"Well, it's for you after all." I got up and reached the door to exit when I heard the barest whisper.

"Thank you."

I would be the last time I heard it play so beautifully. He would take pleasure in playing it badly whenever I was around. I think he was trying to get me to tell him where I found it. But I would never tell. Not even now.

***

"So you can't even say pass the sugar?" John asked as I moved about the small room.

"With the diplomatic corp and half the british government, it's better for all those involved. We don't want a repeat of 1972. But we can talk in here."

"You read these?" John picks up the tabloid.

"Caught my eye. Saturday they're doing a big exposé."

"I'd like to know where she got her information," he was very upset.

"Called Brook. Recognize the name?"

He shook his head, "Old school friend maybe?"

"Of Sherlock's?" I laugh. "But that's not why I asked you here." I moved to pick up the files I had drawn up. I handed him the first.

"Who's that?" he asked as he opened the file.

"Know his name? He's taken a flat on Baker St. two doors down from you?"

"I was thinking of doing a drinks thing for the neighbors." His dry wit didn't amuse me.

I smiled sardonically, "Not sure you'd want to. Suli Mari. Albanian expertly trained killer, living less then twenty feet from you front door."

"Well it's a great location, jubilee like. What's it got to do with me?" I handed him another file.

He opened it and frowned. "I think I've seen her."

"Russian killer she occupies the flat opposite."

"Okay…I'm sensing a pattern here."

"In fact four international assassins have relocated within spitting distance of 221B, anything you care to share with me?"

"I'm moving?" Again with that wit. I'd swear he would be dying and still crack jokes.

"So hard to guess the common denominator, isn't it?" My own biting wit came out.

"You think this is Moriarty?" He seemed well… not surprised but… resigned.

"He promised Sherlock he'd come back," And I would know seeing as I had been the one that had released him back into the world.

"If this was Moriarty we'd be dead already."

"If not Moriarty then who?" Seriously after all these months with Sherlock he was still dense.

"Why don't you talk to Sherlock if you are so concerned about him? Oh god don't tell me…"

"Too much history between us John, old scores, resentments."

"Nicked his Smurfs? Broke your action man?" He looked at me. "Finished?"

"We both know what's coming John. Moriarty is obsessed to destroy his only rival."

"So, you want me to watch out for your brother because he won't accept your help?"

"If it's not too much trouble?" I sneered at the thought.

***

I checked out everyone my brother associated with. Even the ones that didn't know he was becoming friends with. If he mentioned them more than once I rushed to check them out. Of course John was a special case, things moved faster with John than with anyone I had ever seen.

When he mentioned the new pathologist, I wanted to meet her. Of course I used the guise of identifying a body. She didn't need to know she was being watched after all. I stood outside the morgue waiting for her. She came out with her head down looking over her list. She came to an abrupt stop when she saw my feet.

"Oh hello. Are you here to- um…" she looked behind her to the morgue. "I was expecting someone else." she admitted.

"Yes, well. I'm Mycroft Holmes." I said as I extended my hand out to her. She took shyly and shook it once before letting go.

"Oh. Hence the Mr. Holmes on my list." I smiled at her.

"I don't suppose you were expecting a Sherlock Holmes?" I inquired a small smile graced my lips.

She blushed. "Any relation?" she asked, almost hopeful.

"I'm here to see Jenny Haypenny, Miss Hooper."

"Oh, yes of course." She moved back and forth unsure which direction to turn. "This way." She turned around and led me back to the morgue.

She unzipped the bag. I nodded my acknowledgement of who it was.

"Is this the first- I mean is this your first time having to ID a body?" I looked at her and the look in my eyes must have told her something that I didn't realize because the next words out her mouth were, "Oh sorry. Were you close?"

I stepped back. "It was my father. How did you know?" She just shrugged. She had inner depth. It was not something I was expecting. This little mouse of a thing, could tell what a person was feeling just by looking at them. That made her perfect for watching out for Sherlock. She would do it without needing compensation.

"You look like him you know…" she said as she zipped back up the body.

"Hmm…" I inquired. I had been lost in thought over her ability to see through people.

"Sherlock. You look like Sherlock." She told me.

"Ah you know, you're the first person in years to say so. We looked alike as children but as we grew older, he took after mummy and I took after father."

"Brothers?" I nodded. "So that means his father is dead too?"

"Yes."

"That's sad."

I chuckled softly. "Well, I suppose. Good day, Miss Hooper." I walked off, she moved forward as if she wanted to say something more but she stepped back and looked back at the body sadly.

"Is there something more you needed Miss Hooper?" I asked her, taking pity on the girl.

"No, not really. Good day Mr. Holmes." I never did find out what she had meant to say that day in the morgue. But I knew she would be good for Sherlock in some way. I hoped, vainly that maybe he would turn to her for affection. In fact a couple years later when the hospital was forcing to cut back on staff I used my influence to make sure she wasn't one of the one cut. She never knew of course. She just thought herself lucky.

***

When I got to my club I got handed a message that a Dr. John Watson was waiting for me in the guest room. I sighed and made my way there. The door was open and I could tell from the tightness of his shoulders that he was upset.

"She really done her homework, this Miss Reilly knows things only someone close to Sherlock would know."

"Ah." So he had figured it out. It was a matter of time after all. I sat down.

"Have you seen your brother's address book lately? Two names, yours and mine. And Moriarty didn't get this stuff from me."

"John…"

"So how does it work then? Your relationship? You go out for coffee? Now and then. Your own brother and blabbed about his entire life to this maniac." He was waving the papers in his hands around angrily.

"I never intended - I never dreamt-"

"This, thi-this is what you were trying to tell me, isn't it? 'Watch his back because I've made a mistake'." He put the papers down. "How'd you meet him?"

"People like him, we know about them, we watch them. But James Moriarty, the most dangerous criminal mind the world has ever seen. And in his pocket the ultimate weapon. The key code. A few line of computer code that can unlock any door."

"And you abducted him? To try and find the key code?"

"We interrogated him for weeks."

"Then?"

"And then nothing he just sat there staring into the darkness. The only thing that made him open up, I could get him talk. Just a little. But…"

"In return you had to offer him Sherlock's life story." He was beyond angry now. He was livid."So one big lie, 'Sherlock is a fraud' and people will swallow it because the rest of it is true. Moriarty wanted Sherlock destroyed, right? And you have given him the perfect ammunition." He stood up.

"John, I'm sorry." He scoffed at me. "Tell him would you?" I watched as he stormed off. I buried my head in my heads. I hadn't felt this low since the incident with thatdamn woman. But Sherlock had pulled out of it in the end. Surely he could do so again? I honestly didn't know.

***

I walked into Sherlock's flat with disgust. It was small, cramped and starting to smell with what ever experiment he had been working on that week.

"This is terrible Sherlock. You need to find another place to live."

"It's all I can afford." I rolled my eyes.

"Find somewhere else." I walked out. A couple days later I heard he found a place with the lady he helped out in Florida but he would need help paying the rent even after the discount she was willing to offer him.

I figured it was time to meet this woman, the one he simply called Mrs. Hudson.

I did some digging before though. It wouldn't do for any surprises.

"Mrs. Abigail Hudson formerly of Jacksonville, Florida?" I asked as she came into my office.

"Yes. And there is no need to tell me who you are Mr. Holmes." I smiled.

"Very clever. How did you know?"

"I've been a mother Mr. Holmes. I can tell when I meet brothers. You're more the quiet, whiskey at the club type, preferring others to your work for you."

"How could you tell?"

She just smiled at me.

"So Sherlock will be staying at one of the flats you are renting out at…" I looked through the book. "221 Baker St."

"Yes. 221B."

"And what exactly did he do for you in Florida?"

"He made sure my husband went to the electric chair."

"And why would that be a favor for you?"

"The victim was our son." Her eyes turned cold and all motherly pretense dropped. Of course that explained the past tense she used 'I've been' not 'I am'.

"My condolences." I told her.

She smiled. "It's all right dearie." she looked at her watch. "I really must be going. I have to show the flat to Sherlock, he's bring over someone to look at it." She stood. "I'm hopping it's a nice girl. He needs the company."

Little did either of us know exactly the type of person he was bringing over. The person that would change Sherlock. For the better. Dr. John Watson, formerly of the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers, just invalided from Afghanistan.

***

I sat there at my club unable to think. Let alone breathe. All I could think about was my last meeting with John and how he tore into me for selling my brother down the river. I thought I had done it for the greater good. I thought Sherlock would survive. He always had before.

Everything thing that had been thrown at him he had overcome somehow. Everything but his reputation being ruined. That had broken him. Or perhaps it was some perceived danger that John might have been in. Those two would do anything for each other. They were closer than he and I ever were and we were brothers.

A tear slipped down my cheek and I didn't bother to wipe it away. I pulled out a small scrap of cloth out of my suit pocket. It use to be white once upon a time. Now it was dingy and grey with dark spots covering most of it. I closed my eyes and let the tears flow silently down my face. I felt a warm hand on my shoulder and I looked up to see one of the page boys holding out a note for me.

It read:

Someone in the guest room to see you

I didn't want to see anyone but I didn't have a way to communicate that so I went to office and told the person waiting there, "Look, I'm in no mood to speak with anyone today. I lost my brother and…" I choked up, I clutched the cloth tightly in my fist.

A warm baritone reached my ears, "Caring, Mycroft? I thought caring wasn't an advantage." I looked up, in the chair that John had occupied mere hours ago, was Sherlock. My brother. I sunk to my knees.

"Oh, god. You- you're alive." I buried my head into my hands. "I thought I lost you." I choked through my tears. I felt arms wrap around me as I cried with joy. My own arms wrapped around him and I clung to him like a life line.

I left a finger touch the cloth I kept clutched in my hand.

"What's this?" He asked me as he gently pulled it away from me.

"Give it back," I pleaded.

"I will if you tell me what it is."

"It's my promise."

"A promise of what?"

"The only one I had. The only one I broke. My biggest regret."

"Is this what I think this is?" I could only nod. "What happened to caring wasn't an advantage?"

"How do you think I knew caring wasn't an advantage? It was something that had continued to plague me my whole life. No matter what I did, I couldn't protect you. I tried. Dear god did I try."

He sat stunned for a moment. And then he said, "I need your help Mycroft. Please?" I looked up at the face of the man I had been mourning just moments before.

"Hide me. Please. No one can know I'm alive. Lives depend on this, please?" He pleaded.

"Whose?" My voice cracked.

"John, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson."

"Oh god, Sherlock. Your friends? Why?" He pulled away from me and sat back on the chair and I moved to the other chair. I wanted to touch him, grab him, hold him close and never let him go. But how I managed to mention composure I'll never know. Perhaps it was merely the years of practice.

"Moriarty. He said- he said- oh god Mycroft!" He buried his head in his hands. I got up and crouched next his chair and muttered soothing words as he sobbed. I reached up and rubbed his back in smooth circles until the sobbing slackened.

"He had snipers. Said if I didn't jump, he'd- he'd-" he couldn't finish but it was clear what he meant.

"Is there anyone else who knows?" I was honored that he told me. But there was no way that I could be the only one who knew.

"Molly Hooper." Well that made sense. He needed someone to fake the death certificate.

"Anyone else?"

"No. I paid some people to help me but they didn't know what was going on. They think I actually died. I paid one to knock John down so wouldn't get to me before I had time to setup the death. I paid a few others to keep John from closely examining me. But I believe they thought that I just didn't want John to see me like that. I took a drug that slowed my pulse so that even the doctors thought I was dead. I wanted to laugh at them. How could they think that with my 'injuries' that I could have died?" He sounded so bitter.

"I already miss him." I blinked not sure who he was referring to and then it hit me.

"John?" He nodded. "What will you do?"

"Hide. And hope no one finds me." He looked up at me, his beautiful blue eyes rimmed red. "Please help me. Help me keep my friends from danger." I grasped my arms around my baby brother and held him close.

"Anything."

***

Hello, my name is Mycroft Holmes and today I learned to believe in miracles. Today against all odds my baby brother returned to me.