Sherlock and I stopped, only for a moment, to catch a few breaths. I wondered if Mycroft would even search for us, doubting it highly. Suddenly, I heard a pained yelling and my heart stopped. John.
"Myra!" John screamed out Mycroft's window. Mycroft laid a hand on his friend's shoulder and John sighed in defeat. She wasn't coming back; he knew, but did not want to believe it.
"Caring is not an advantage," Mycroft said quietly to John, but the man turned to Mycroft in anger.
"And what would you know of caring?" John asked before storming away to the room he'd been given. Mycroft shuddered at the sound of the wood door slamming shut. He did know about caring. He cares about all of them in a distant sort of way. It was easier that way. When Myra left all he had was himself to blame. She made him promise not to tell mum or dad and he did. He would always keep promises for her because they were twins and he would do anything she asked. So it was his fault that she had been taken. When mum asked where Myra was, Mycroft told them at Sam's. He couldn't have known then the trouble she was in, but still told himself that he could have saved her. For years, then, it was easier to live life alone and in a constant paranoia. If you didn't care about anyone, no one could rip that person from you. Now, though, Mycroft had found someone. Though their relationship was real to Mycroft, the DI still had a difficult time with it. He was afraid. Mycroft pressed the number two on his phone and then dialed. It rang twice before a voice answered.
"Hello?" The voice said.
"Lestrade, Myra has left my protection. She has gone with...Sherlock is alive." There was a long pause, during which Mycroft did not breathe.
"Alright, I'll keep an eye out for them," the DI said, almost about to hang up when he thought better.
"Are you alright, Mycroft?" He asked, his voice kind and soft.
"Yes, I believe I'll be fine," Mycroft replied to his lover.
"Believe? Meet me for coffee," Lestrade said before hanging up. Mycroft knew where; a little cafe not far. He also knew when; immediately. This was new. Lestrade usually wasn't so open. He never really wanted to do things in public. Mycroft's lips curled into the slightest smile as he grabbed his coat and left the room. His umbrella sat alone and abandoned at the end of his bed.
"We should go back," I said, the sound of John's voice affecting me more than it should. Sherlock turned to me, eyes boring into mine.
"We cannot," He said, offering no explanation before he stalked off into the dark ahead. I followed, needing no answer. I needed to save everyone from me. The only way to do that was being under the instruction of a 'dead' genius. Soon, we came to a road, which seemed to be empty at the moment. I went to cross, but Sherlock pulled me back and down to the ground. A car pulled past. There were no lights on, which lead us to assume it was them searching for us. We waited several moments after it had long past to stand and cross the road. In a little inlet branching off from the road was stashed a motorbike. Sherlock put on a helmet and handed me one. I put it on swiftly and very cautiously got on the bike. With a loud noise, the machine started and we were off in the opposite direction of the car. I held tightly to my brother as we traveled, my face buried deep into his coat. I had missed him much, though I knew him little. I now could imagine the pain he had felt when he thought I was dead. It was strange how that worked out. Both thought dead or killed, but both alive. I breathed in his scent and the fresh air around me as I let the sound of the wind and the bike soothe me into calmness.