The picnic lunch was in full swing, crumbs littering the plush lawn around the patio table. The spring weather was sunny with a hint of a chill. An older woman was approaching the table with a tray of drinks, when she nearly stepped on a well wrapped tiny human lolling about on the grass. "Oh my goodness, Rosie, I almost didn't notice you!" the woman scolded the little girl good naturedly. "You really shouldn't be eating the grass, it might interfere with your digestion. Why don't you try a sandwich, dear?" The baby stared at her blankly, before turning her attention back to the blade of grass she was currently sampling.
"Rosie, come here, princess," came a man's voice. "You nearly made Aunt Mildred trip on you! That was naughty!" The baby toddled over to the man on shaky legs, giggling. "Dada!" she called. She launched herself at her father, a short man with dark blond hair. Seated next to him, a man with curly dark brown hair grinned. "Her gait has really improved in the last couple of weeks. She probably needs shoes or something. Do they make them in her size?" he asked.
"No worries, they do," his friend reassured him. "I'll need to take her shopping. Perhaps take along someone for expert advice."
"Oh, I can do that. I can tell you exactly what kind of material the shoes are made of. You wouldn't believe how many manufacturers sneak in inferior quality materials in their products, which can have a detrimental effect on the overall-"
"Sherlock," his friend interrupted him with mock exasperation. "I meant somebody who has some knowledge of style, and what's practical for kids. I'm sure I can rule you out." He rolled his eyes as the other man pouted. A white haired man watched the scene, smiling serenely.
The picnic lunch was the brainchild of one Sherlock Holmes, who had caved in to his mother's demands and arranged for John Watson and his daughter Rosamund to visit the Holmes estate. The elder couple had warmly welcomed John and cooed over the baby. Sherlock had suspected ulterior motives to their behavior. The elder Holmes had mostly given up on having grandchildren, what with the complicated personalities each of their children possessed. Sherlock's goddaughter was very likely the closest they would come to having a grandchild, and Sherlock assumed they would favor her as one, if John allowed.
"She looks to be a smart one," William Holmes chuckled. "Look at the way she's grabbing all the cheese out of the sandwiches when no ones looking." Everyone turned their heads towards the little girl, who was now sitting on the table, surrounded by mangled sandwiches and a pile of cheese in the center. Her face and hands were smeared with a mélange of substances and colors.
"Of course she's smart," John replied. "She takes after her mother." There was a moment of silence, and then Mrs. Holmes patted John's hand gently. "From that time I met her, I can safely say Rosie takes after both her parents." The elder Holmes added, "Yes, both her parents." Sherlock snuck a glance at John, watching his expression. There was obvious pain in his eyes, as well as contemplation. "Her personality is more like mine, I think. She likes to keep to herself, whereas Mary was very extroverted." Sherlock was pleased that John had mentioned his late wife's name without falling apart. That was definitely progress.
"Wasn't Mikey supposed to be here yet?" Mildred fretted. John glanced at Sherlock, his eyebrow quirked. "Oh, it's just a nickname Mycroft loves. Make sure to call him that as often as possible." Turning to his mother, he replied, "He texted me about some work emergency that came up. He should be here in a few."
It had taken a lot of arm twisting to get his brother to come. Sherlock suspected that the emergency was nothing more than a delaying tactic, but had no proof. He was relieved when, fifteen minutes later, his brother's car appeared in the driveway. It would not have been pleasant to endure more of his parents' fretting, although he was secretly pleased at that. It was a sign of the repaired relationship of his brother and parents, which made for less drama and more peace in his life.
The customary barbs were traded between the siblings ("That will buy you an awful lot of chocolate bars, Mycroft!" "At least I wasn't reduced to penury in the first five minutes of the game!) and John found himself trading rueful looks and some wry words with the Holmes patriarch. "Were they always like this?" he asked. "No, sometimes they actually didn't get along." They chuckled, and found both brothers glaring at them, having overheard the remarks.
Mycroft's mobile phone beeped while he was trying to collecting rent from Sherlock, who was near broke and offered him a piece of fudge instead. Mycroft's demeanor instantly changed, the British Government coming to the fore, as he excused himself to make a call. The others continued playing for another few rounds, until John and Sherlock both went bankrupt and William Holmes emerged the winner. They went to check on Rosie, and found her with her newly dubbed Aunt Mildred, both seated on the carpet in the gym room, playing with an old set of blocks. Aunt Mildred was trying to teach Rosie how to build a tower, but her young protégé was more intent on bringing it down.
Sherlock and John joined them on the floor, each one trying to outdo the other with intricate architecture. After about half an hour, Sherlock excused himself to go find Mycroft. He didn't want to pass up an opportunity to get his brother on the floor, building with blocks next to a toddler. Perhaps he could even get some pictures...
He found him in his old room, talking intently on the phone while motioning to Sherlock to keep quiet. Sherlock quickly deduced whom he was speaking to by the amount of 'Yes, Madam's' he heard. Only the Prime Minister could command that amount of respect from Mycroft Holmes. Or the queen, but his stance would have been different when talking to Her Majesty. As he wasn't sent out of the room, he continued listening. There appeared to be a hostage situation in a foreign embassy, with four people being held by an unknown amount of terrorists.
Mycroft put down the phone and stared gravely at his brother. "We might need your help. Go see if Dr. Watson can accompany us." Sherlock nodded and went to bring John. The three men closed themselves in in Mycroft's room while he briefly explained the situation to them. The four people, three men and one woman, were all citizens of the foreign country in which embassy they worked. The terrorists had made demands of both the British government and their native country. Mycroft had recommended negotiations to stall for time, while assembling intelligence about the possibility of a raid.
"What if that isn't possible?" John inquired. "Will you agree to their demands?"
"No. That would be unwise. It would put the security of our country at risk, as well as send a message that we are giving in to terrorism."
"All they are asking for is the release of two of their leaders, as well as safe passage out of the country. Can't you just release them and then have them tracked or something? There are innocent lives at stake here. Isn't that more important than any policy you might have? Is it because these people aren't British, so it's not your problem?"
"Captain John Hamish Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers," Sherlock spoke up before his brother could respond.
"What was that?" John turned to him, puzzled.
"You were a soldier," Sherlock continued. "My brother is more like a general. Even as an army doctor, you must have had to make decisions to leave people behind. That's what the triage system is all about, right?" John reluctantly nodded at this. "A general needs to look at the bigger picture. He needs to take into account the impact his actions will have on everything surrounding the situation, both in the present and in the future. You can trust my brother and his associates to have calculated all of that and arrived at the best decision. I don't think anyone wants the hostages to die, and they will try their best to save them. Nevertheless, sometimes difficult decisions need to be made on the battlefield.
"We sometimes make the same type of decisions in our work, perhaps on a smaller scale, so its shouldn't be surprising to you." Sherlock turned to Mycroft. "You know, that day in Sherrinford, I finally understood what kind of responsibilities you're carrying around. It was your reaction to the girl on the plane that hit me. John and I were worried about the little girl, hoping to help her land, while you were hoping to get her to crash. It seemed to be the height of cruelty, but ultimately it was the opposite. It was about saving lives, wasn't it? You calculated that the chances of her landing the plane safely were close to zero-a little girl, alone, her only assistance being a person over the phone with no flying experience- the most you could do was prevent an even greater tragedy."
"He could have at least sounded like he cared!" John burst out, ignoring the fact that Mycroft was standing not three feet from him.
"This is not the first time you're making this mistake, John," Sherlock gently remonstrated with his friend. " You are mistaking lack of reaction for lack of caring. You did the same thing with me in the beginning. If my brother didn't care, he wouldn't bother with trying to save anyone at all. It would be easier to just leave things to play out by itself. Why would he and his associates be attempting a raid if they didn't care?
"It's easy to point fingers, but difficult to actually do the job. I for one am glad that the one doing it has a strong moral code and is actually somewhat competent."
"I'm glad that you put so much trust in the government, but we do need to get going," Mycroft said sarcastically.
"You are the British Government, you idiot," Sherlock shot back.
"So you admit to trusting my judgment. That's definitely different. I think your friend should examine you to see if you are truly alright."
"I always said that you know what you're talking about. You just don't have to rub it in all the time."
"Alright, can we stop fighting over here, there's a battle to be won," John interjected. "I will drop off Rosie at Mrs. Hudson's and join you afterwards. Don't worry, Sherlock, I'll just shut up and do my job."
"Please don't be like that, John. Your opinion is very valuable, we just need to have trust between us to be able to work together," Sherlock said.
"We do appreciate your contributions, Dr. Watson. However, my brother is right. We can't have people second-guessing our every decision. We are all on the same side after all."
Sherlock went with Mycroft to the intelligence headquarters, where the situation was being handled. On the way, Mycroft spoke softly to Sherlock, while keeping his eyes on the road. "I do appreciate your coming to my defense. Your friend sometimes seems to believe the worst of me. That's understandable, really. We didn't quite get off on the right foot, what with me basically abducting him off the street. We've had plenty of disagreements, mostly over our common denominator-that happens to be you, by the way. There was also the little incident in your flat when you were in the hospital, which I'm sure he told you about."
Sherlock frowned. "You were there when he watched Mary's video? Oh, so that's what happened. Mrs. Hudson would have ordered you and your men out, and you must have stayed put. You can be really thick sometimes, you know that?"
"I was very worried about you Sherlock. I felt I needed to see the video to find the answer to your behavior."
"If you were so worried, why didn't you show up, call or something, like a proper brother? Why do you always need to resort to stalking?"
"If you insist on pressing that point, I suppose I'll tell you." Mycroft sighed, sounding both exasperated and defeated. "Do you remember what you told me as we left the aquarium, right after Mary Watson was shot?"
Sherlock was quiet for a moment, thinking hard. "I asked you, "All this time, there was a poisonous snake working under your very nose, and the great Mycroft Holmes didn't notice it?!" he repeated his words verbatim.
"I understood that you blamed me. I didn't want to risk a confrontation with you. I was afraid one or both of us would say or do something that would be irreparable."
"You were afraid of me," Sherlock whispered. "You were afraid I was out of control, and would hurt you without a second thought."
"I was afraid for you, Sherlock. I was afraid that just hearing my voice would set you off. I didn't know what else I could do but monitor you. I hoped that your other friends would keep an eye on you. I knew Mrs. Hudson was there, and even that Wiggins guy wouldn't have let you kill yourself outright."
"I'm not sure about that last part, but I believe you. I've never been a very good brother, have I? I never thanked you when you helped me out. I heaped accusations and resentments on you, especially when I was high. I even got physical on occasion. Yet you kept on watching out for me. I had been thinking about that when I asked you about calling me for help. I figured out why you were so hurt. I broke the bro code."
"I'm not sure what exactly that means, but you don't have to do a full confessional now. You know I don't hold anything against you. You're turning out to be not too bad for a little brother, you know."
"That's my choice. I want to tell you about my deductions. First, I planned a prank with John to scare you out of you wits. That's rule number two of the bro code: one may torment a brother oneself, but must stand up for him when others do.
"I honestly didn't know how much it would affect you. The only times I have ever seen you so afraid is when I was in extreme danger. Then I made you come to my flat, and let Mrs. Hudson humiliate you. I treated you like a stranger. You said, "I'm not a client," and I told you, "then get out." I didn't even have a good reason for that treatment. I never gave you a chance to explain. That was rule number one: ones brother is family, and one should never deny that. It was ironic that I then referred to John as family. I don't think family is something that can be forced upon someone. It should have been your choice to consider him as such, regardless of my own feelings.
"You must have known all along whom I would choose if I ever had to make a choice between you. Even Moriarty knew. It should never have been so easy. The friend who gave me loyalty, warmth and happiness, versus the brother who kept me alive so I could experience that. There shouldn't have been a choice at all! I would never have pointed a gun at John, and I shouldn't have done it to you. Yes, you made a major mistake. But this is me talking. If you needed to be shot for a mistake, then my body should have been riddled with bullets.
"You know why I never considered making such a choice? Because I never even considered losing you. You were always around, and I was always the one in danger, not you. I never thought about the consequences if you were gone. Now I have, and I really don't want that to happen. For a change, I will be the one to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Mycroft. I will try to fulfill my fraternal duties in a more proper manner in the future."
"May I say something now?" Mycroft said. "The bro code is not an official piece of legislation ratified by Parliament, therefore I do not regard it as valid." He smirked at his brother, who grinned back. "Either way, apology accepted. Now back to work, we have lives to save."
A/N: Phew! That was my longest chapter yet. I hope to resolve the hostage crisis in the next chapter. I don't think I can write too much action, but it would be interesting to see the trio working together (again).
This chapter is dedicated to KathyG, who got her wish fulfilled in the first part of the chapter. Hope you enjoyed!