Hi everyone! It has been quite a while I know and I am terribly sorry for that.
I have tests all the time and hence this year has been really busy so far and quite hard on me too, which left me only a little time for writing. However, just for Christmas I made a special effort to get you the only present I could :)
I hope you enjoy it and thank you for all the follows, favourites and comments, keep them coming!
I hope you have a merry Christmas and a happy new year!


"There are two possibilities at the moment. One is good, you can say, and the other is horrifying," Mycroft stepped forwards and handed John two files from the chair next to the bed. "I wasn't completely honest with you about my brother." He set down on the chair and hung his umbrella from the black armrest. "What does it matter now?" John asks, quite

disappointed for some reason. He didn't know why. "Everything. John, he is alive. At least I hope he is, hasn't been in touch for a few months now. I thought he was just being but now I think something seriously bad had happened."

"I'm sorry what?" John attempted to keep it together but couldn't stop wondering what the actual fuck is going on.
Not only they kept it hidden from him for god knows how long, let him morn and watch him go through that depression phase. Mycroft had also figured that it would be okay to just throw it at him like that. "How long?" he asked, trying hard to maintain the anger in his voice. "How long have I known about it?" Mycroft seemed quite amused by his reaction or perhaps his ignorance, if he wasn't that weak he could have killed that man. "Since the very beginning," he went on "I was the one to plan everything. My brother is smart but we both know I'm smarter." He smiled and then carried on talking. "So, your girlfriend-"
"She is not my girlfriend." John interrupted him, annoyed.
"Very well then, Sarah. She was smarter than I thought." She always looked very smart to him.

"So," Mycroft continued as if John wasn't basically broken inside "until he went missing, I recorded every step he'd made. Of course I kept it all very secretive and no one knew besides a carefully selected group of people who, of course did not know more then what was absolutely necessary." he looked at Lestrade who seemed to be just as confused as John. "The last place I know he had been to is a little wood in Norway. I have already called my contact man there and he said that after the twenty fourth of December my brother had disappeared." He said all that so calmly you could mistake this to be somebody else's story. But that was Mycroft, too cold to show he cared. But knowing the man, John knew that somewhere deep down he was worried sick. "I looked in all the security videos in all the airport but I couldn't find him, which means he might still be in Norway."

The three men looked at each other, all thinking about the same thing. "We're going to Norway aren't we?" Lestrade asked. A question of which the three had already known the answer of. "We leave tonight." John's rushed statement was immediately followed by Lestrade's opposition. "No way John, you need to rest." John stood up, maybe to make himself seem more threatening, not that someone would find him frightening in that ridiculous hospital tunic he was wearing. "There's no way you're going there without me and we are not delaying. We can't afford to waste time, for all we know he could be in a terrible danger. And he's Sherlock, getting himself involved in dangerous things is a talent of his."
This was probably the first time someone got Mycroft to do something he didn't want to do, for he released John from the hospital despite the doctors' disapproval and in less than one hour the DI, the doctor and the most powerful man in the UK were on a plane on their way to Norway.


Thinking of it now, he had no idea how long he'd been rotting in that godforsaken place!
Could have been a week, a month or two years as far as he could tell.
That's it! Sherlock was sitting on his bed pressing his elbows against his hips with his fists clutching his long and curly black hair. "I have to get out of here," he mumbled to himself while roughly pushing himself to a standing position. "But how?" He walked around rapidly in tiny circles, rubbing his hands against each other. "How? How? How? How!?" Each word came out louder than the previous and Sherlock, mad with anger and desperation hit the table with his fists as hard as he could. So hard, blood started to running down his knuckles.
Though he didn't really notice. That stupid computer! He thought to himself, his mind buzzing with despair, making it hard to think reasonably. The fact that he did not know whether John was alive or dead didn't help much as well. He set down again on the bed, his legs trembling and his right eye twitching annoyingly like it'd been doing for the undefined period of time that followed the last task he'd been given.

If John was dead, all that time he wasted there was pointless. And anyway, if John didn't make it he had no will to come out of there alive. As he had once told Moriarty he would do what ordinary people won't do. He would make Moriarty beg to die and then hurt him some more and more and more. For Moriarty's sake, John better be alive.