Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes, be it the movies or the books. I am merely an admirer.

Thank you all so much for the reviews you have been giving – you have no idea how humbled I am, and I hope you enjoy what's to come. I'm sorry to say that I'm going to be so busy over the next week, so I can't say specifically when I'll update. However, here's a longer chapter to make up for it ;)

He entered his bedroom and flung himself on top of the bed covers. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep off the anxiety for what was yet to come.

The next morning found the pair sat together at the table, eating breakfast that Watson had managed to prepare. Neither of them spoke – Watson was reading the newspaper and Holmes was devising strategies as to how to play the upcoming game – but they ate in companionable silence. Both men were looking slightly healthier from a decent night's sleep, and they could feel the effects themselves; Watson no longer felt as exhausted as he usually did, and Holmes found he could think a lot more clearer.

After finishing his meal, Holmes sat back in his chair and studied his friend. After a few minutes, Watson noticed and eyed him warily.

"What?" he asked.

"What do you think of Silverstone?" Holmes quizzed.

"You couldn't have asked me that in the first place?"

Holmes didn't say anything.

Watson sighed, before setting aside his own plate. "Well, I haven't heard of him before. Is he in the government?"

"He's a member of the House of Commons." Holmes corrected.

"Parliament?" Watson raised his eyebrows. "Then he would have considerable power over the government. Does he have any reason to abuse that power?"

Holmes shook his head. "Not that I'm aware of."

Watson nodded slowly. "Should we get Mycroft involved?"

"I've already messaged him. We're to meet him this afternoon."

"Right. And what about Clarky?"

"I've sent a message to him, too. My brother has kindly set up an estate where Clarky's wife can stay for a few days with a relative, and the constable himself is coming in the evening."

Watson seemed to accept this answer. "Alright," he said. "What do we do now?"

"Nothing," Holmes said simply. "I'm afraid we can't do anything until we know what we're up against, and we won't know that until Mycroft speaks to us."

"Seems a good idea, although I think it's fair to say that Silverstone is dangerous." Watson added.

"Your powers of observation continue to astound me Watson." Holmes said, before a crumpled napkin hit him in the face.

"I'm serious, Holmes. You need to be careful. Not knowing what he can do means you have to be all the more cautious."

"I'm always cautious." Holmes retorted, snatching the newspaper from Watson's grip.

"100 percent." Watson smirked and rose from the table, wincing slightly as the stitches across his chest tugged on his skin.

"Are you trying to prove a point?" Holmes asked, raising an eyebrow.

Watson smiled softly, "I didn't say anything." he called as he left the living room and ascended the stairs.

Holmes unfolded the newspaper, "You didn't have to." he muttered to himself.

Three hours later found Holmes and Watson sat side by side in the Stranger's Room of the Diogenes Club. Mycroft Holmes sat behind his desk, fingers steepled together in a way so alike his brother that Watson had to fight back a smile. Holmes was staring levelly at the man, and Watson had the sneaking suspicion that the two of them were having some sort of telepathic battle. For five minutes Watson surveyed the surroundings of the office they were sat in: the red plush furniture and detailed architecture decorating the columns in the room allowed the doctor to ponder on how long it must have taken the designers to construct this building, and wonder how much it would have cost.

Finally, Watson grew tired, and he cleared his throat.

"Um... Mr Holmes?"

"Yes?" both Holmeses answered.

Watson looked at Sherlock, "Did you honestly think I was addressing you?" he asked quietly.

Holmes shrugged. Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"What can I do for you, Doctor?" he asked.

"Were you – er – planning on telling us about Silverstone?" Watson asked, not sure if Mycroft really didn't know why they were there.

"Actually, yes. Seeing as my brother had asked so kindly," Mycroft smiled at Sherlock. The younger brother forced a smile back. "May I see the note?"

"What note?" Watson asked. "The letters?"

"No, no, Doctor. The note that the constable gave my brother last night."

"Last night?" Watson frowned. "Holmes?" he looked across again to see the detective rummaging in his pocket and producing a crumpled piece of paper, before handing it to his brother.

"When did Clarky give that to you?" Watson whispered to Holmes whilst Mycroft read it.

"Last night, after you left." Holmes answered.

"Right. And were you actually planning on telling me this time?"

Holmes shrugged again. "It didn't seem important."

"Didn't seem–? Holmes, if it's from Silverstone then it's going to be important. What does it say?" he continued to keep his voice low, conscious of Mycroft, who kept shooting looks at him whenever he raised his voice.

Holmes looked away, muttering incoherently.

Watson leant towards him, "Sorry?" he asked.

Holmes looked at him sombrely, but before he could say anything, he was interrupted his brother.

"Well, it would seem you two have quite a problem on your hands."

"You don't say," Holmes muttered. "What can you tell us about Silverstone?"

Mycroft sighed, "I fear I cannot tell you much. Were anyone to find out, my position would become compromised, and I'm sure I'd find myself without a job."

"Would you rather lose your brother over your job?" Watson uttered. Holmes smirked.

Mycroft gazed at Watson flatly. "Of course not. I was merely warning you of the precautions the two of you – and the constable, too – have to take when investigating this man. He was not bluffing when he said he had contacts everywhere."

"Who is he?" Holmes asked.

"He occupies a position in the House of Commons, and as you know, the House of Commons is more powerful than the House of Lords, and it can have an influence on the current Prime Minister. He has been known for having a very... expressive personality. He is not afraid to give his opinions, and he can easily manipulate those beneath him."

"But why did he hire Samuel Davis to capture Holmes? Surely he would have known the risk he was taking by having another man know his identity." Watson asked.

"He had to take that chance." Mycroft replied. "I fear that when Beatrice Reynolds came to my brother regarding her husband's disappearance and death, Silverstone grew desperate. I would imagine he had threatened or bribed the police officers involved on the case, so that no leads would point to him. When he found out you were on the case, Sherlock, he panicked. You already suspected someone of higher power, am I wrong?"

"No," Holmes said. "Clarky confirmed my suspicions when he pointed out the fact that someone blew up the warehouse Watson and I were in whilst Davis was still with us. As far as I know, Davis was not on some suicide mission. He was fully intent on exiting that building unscathed, so it suggests that someone was cleaning up the mess. By killing myself and Davis, people still remain oblivious, and if questions were asked, I assume Silverstone would explain that the explosion was because the empty buildings were being demolished, and the two of us happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"And when he found out that you were still alive, he sent people after us to finish the job." Watson finished. "But why is he taking his time now, when before you said he was panicked?" he added.

"Because this time he's thought it through," Mycroft explained. "And he has leverage, so he can be certain my brother will not expose him."

"Leverage? Is he blackmailing you?" Watson asked Holmes. The detective said nothing; instead he glared at his brother.

"He needs to know." Mycroft said softly to Holmes.

"Know what?" Watson said warily. "Holmes? Mycroft?"

Mycroft wordlessly handed the doctor the note. Watson opened it, but not before glancing at Holmes, who continued to stare at his brother, a scowl now crossing his face.

Watson read the contents on the piece of paper, and when he finished he handed back the note, thanked Mycroft for his time, and left.

Mycroft was the first to speak. "You have to let him in, Sherlock."

"No I don't." Holmes snapped back.

"Yes, you do." Mycroft said firmly. "If you still want him around – and believe me, you need him – then you have to start telling him the things you know about the cases you solve together."

"He hasn't complained in the past." Holmes said sulkily.

"No, and if I'm honest, that amazes me. But he's hurting, Sherlock. I'm sure the death of his wife a few months ago has taken its toll on him, and the fact that you were not around to support him – I know that wasn't your fault," Mycroft had added when Holmes had opened his mouth to argue, "But all the same, it didn't help. You need to tell him you trust him, otherwise he's going to break."

"Since when did you become such an expert on emotions?" Holmes scoffed.

Mycroft sighed. "Just do as you're told for once."

Holmes nodded and got up to leave. He held his hand out and Mycroft gave him the note. On the way out, Holmes tossed the piece of paper into the fire.

Outside, Holmes found the doctor on the edge of the curb, waiting for a cab. Holmes stood next to him, and took a breath.

"I trust you." he blurted out.

Watson frowned. "Alright."

Holmes turned to him. "Do you trust me?"

Watson turned too, so that the pair were face to face. The doctor sighed, thinking of an answer. "I don't know," he said honestly. "When we're pursuing criminals, I know that you'll watch out for me, but other times... How can I prepare myself for what's to happen if you won't tell me what's going on?"

"I'm sorry." Holmes said flatly.

Watson laughed coldly. "I'm sure you are."

Eventually, a large cab drew up alongside them. As Watson stretched out a hand towards the door handle, a man dressed in hand-me-down clothes grabbed the outstretched arm and twisted it roughly behind him. Watson cried out, and sank to his knees to lessen the pain. Holmes jumped forward, but another man walked firmly towards him, holding Watson's cane. The man swung at him, and Holmes quickly jumped back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Watson elbow his attacker in the groin, and the ruffian quickly let go of the doctor, bent double. Watson span out of the way and landed a hard blow on the man's back, sending him to the ground. Next, the doctor looked towards him, and quickly opened his mouth, but Holmes had already received the message. He too span around and knocked the man who was attempting to creep up on him sideways. Suddenly, a noise behind him distracted him, and he turned to see two more thugs assaulting Watson – one had the doctor's hands grasped firmly behind him, whilst the other firmly held a cloth to Watson's mouth and nose. Soon, his friend's eyes rolled backwards and he collapsed to the floor. Holmes realised his mistake of watching too late and tried to turn back around, but a harsh blow to the head also sent him down, darkness enveloping him before he hit the ground.

A/N: Reviews are always appreciated, as you guys all know by now! Like I said before, I'm away for a few days, and the following week I have a ton of exams, so I honestly can't say when the next update will be, but I shall try to do it soon ;P