"Sherlock?" a voice questions, lifting Sherlock out of his light sleep. Without opening his eyes he concludes that he fell asleep in the worst possible place. Silently he curses, drawing his coat tightly around himself.
"Sherlock?" the voice questions again, the pitch slightly higher, hinting at fear, and potentially paranoia. Sherlock smiles to himself, it's the first time in a long time he has heard that voice as anything other than cool, calm, and collected. Sherlock looks up at his brother, Mycroft's face emotionless, but his eyes giving him away. He's afraid.
Sherlock unfolds himself from his chair Aches and pains pull at his joints, protesting how he spent the night.
"Yes, Mycroft," Sherlock groans, pulling himself out of the chair, "it is me." He smiles half heartedly.
"You died, Sherlock." Mycroft states circling his brother, his brows furrowed in confusion. "Five months ago, you died. Dammit Sherlock, I saw your body, I identified you!" Mycroft grabs Sherlock's coat. "Sherlock, nothing has been the same, this better not be one of your blood experiments."
"A bloody experiment?" Sherlock yells. "You think this was an experiment? I know what happened because of my death. I know that Lestrade took a break from work, because he blamed himself. I know that Mummy is angry, and heartbroken. And John…" Sherlock starts turning to look at the wall of screens "and John is a shell of himself." He whispers. "I wouldn't have done it, if I didn't have to, Mycroft.
"I trust you've told no one of my presence here." Sherlock mutters, his eyes locked on the screen showing John scrolling through his laptop. He withdraws a pack of cigarettes from his coat, and lights it.
"Of course not, Sherlock, I would appear quite crazy if I clamed my dead brother was in my house." Mycroft says accepting the cigarette Sherlock offers. "I thought you had quit."
"Good, as far as everyone knows I'm still dead." He says "Being dead changes you." He sighs blowing out a large puff of smoke.
They smoke in silence. Sherlock watching John, Mycroft watching Sherlock, each noting the sadness of the one being observed.
"You should let him know you are alive," Mycroft says placing his hand on his younger brother's shoulder.
"It's not safe for him," Sherlock glares at Mycroft, "if he knows, Moriarty's men will know, and my trick will be for nothing." Sherlock notes the confusion on Mycroft's face. "It was either me, or Ms Hudson, Lestrade, and – John. There are men out there making sure that I didn't pull anything." He throws himself back into the chair and scowls at the screen, showing all of London.
"So, what are you going to do, you can't think you are going to take them down by yourself."
"Who else is goi-" He trails off, his eyes lighting up with an idea, he springs out of the chair. "Of course not, Mycroft, you are going to help me."
"Asking for help, Sherlock? Didn't know you had it in you." Mycroft chuckles. "Why would I help you, Sherlock? I can't just drop everything and leave for you. In case you have forgotten, I do have an important job to uphold."
Sherlock groans sinking back into the chair. "No, not you, not directly, you can make people help me, you have power. Obviously they will be doing the dirty work, making arrests, and all that. BUT I can figure out where they are, I can lead your men to them." Sherlock's eyes glisten with excitement at the thought of the job. "The more people on this, the quicker I can come back."
"Sherlock, I can't just have people go running around the world so you can come back." Mycroft sits in the other chair. "What incentive do I have to help you?"
Sherlock groans, "Let me explain it to you."