AN: So, this is the last proper chapter (a silly short epilogue will follow the day after tommorrow, hopefully).

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Apparently, Mae now thought she was qualified to give Mycroft advice on things unrelated to international relations, too.

"You will have to tell your brother about Moriarty, and soon," she said some weeks after the profound shift in their relationship happened. "It's been long enough."

"I know," he agreed. "I just..."

She only nodded. One of the things he...enjoyed so much about her company was that she didn't make him say the words aloud. She just understood.

"Yes," she said, "but still."

"I know."

And so it was that, the next Saturday, they set out to 221B.

He knew he shouldn't be taking Mae with him. Irene Adler was going to be there, having returned from Cuba recently, and it was a meeting he truly didn't wish to risk.

However, he actually realized that he was unable to do it alone.

It was embarrassing and sad, but bravery had never been one of his strong points, and facing his brother with something like this...well. He needed all the support he could get, which in this case was her.

It was even worse than he'd imagined: Mary and John were visiting. As soon as he saw them, Mycroft turned to leave, but Mae, from behind him, simply said: "No."

Then she added: "He'd tell John anyway, and John would tell his wife. Just do what you came to do."

Why did he take her with him again?

"Hello, Mycroft," John Watson said, and his wife smiled at him. He swallowed.

"Dr. Watson, Mrs. Watson. Allow me to introduce my...partner, Mae Ollivier."

Mae, being her charming public self, shook hands with both. John Watson seemed honestly surprised that such a pleasant woman would stick with him. Oh, if he only knew...

"I came to speak to Sherlock," he said.

"Well, speak," his brother said, not very encouragingly, his head down over the back of the sofa, while the rest of the room collectively rolled their eyes.

Mycroft sighed. He would much prefer if Irene Adler didn't know about his, but just as with John Watson, chances of his brother not telling her were zero, so...well. He could always threaten her later.

"It would be best if you wrapped up the Moriarty affair soon, Sherlock," Mycroft started. "It's been taking up too much of your time."

"Yes, well, thank you for your brilliant advice. Perhaps it hasn't occurred to you, but if I knew how, I'd have done so already," Sherlock said a little tersely, raising his head. "I have my suspicions that this is not really Moriarty at all, rather someone else, equally good, just using his name. But I don't know who."

"Yes, well, I could help you there."

All eyes were suddenly on him

"You know who he is?" Sherlock asked very intently.

"Um..." Mycroft paused. "That is..." He paused again. "I..." Why was he doing this? "I believe I..." No. He just couldn't.

"Oh for Christ's sake," Mae interrupted, "what he's trying to say is that he's invented Moriarty's return. It's been him doing these robberies all along."

The room was so quiet you could almost hear the sun reflecting on the cups of tea that were on the table.

"Yes," Mycroft confirmed, very quietly, "it was me."

Another long silence.

"Are you trying to tell me," Sherlock said then, equally quietly, "that you actually did the thing Moriarty accused me of?"

"Not then, no! He was real enough!"

"I know that. But now, this time around...you did, didn't you? Why?" Sherlock rose, and stalked towards him. "Are you as insane as they painted me to be? Are you actually the sociopathic one, as well as the smart one? Why, Mycroft, why? You left me waste weeks, months of time on this – and not just me, Irene too – so tell me, why the fuck did you do it?"

Mycroft looked to the ground.

"Tell me, or I swear I'm going to beat it out of you!" His brother shouted, standing right in front of him.

Mycroft shifted his weight. Sherlock seemed to be about to make good on his promise – and no one seemed exactly willing to defend him, and God knew he wouldn't defend himself – when Mae said: "Tell him, or I will."

"Why does she know so much?" Sherlock asked angrily, and Mycroft could hear Dr. Watson behind him utter a short, incredulous laugh at the unexpected comeuppance. "She's supposed to be a foreign spy, isn't she, so why the hell did you tell her?"

Mycroft laughed bitterly. "You never really did wrap your head around that 'smart' bit, did you? I didn't tell her, she'd worked it out on her own."

"Right," Sherlock said, apparently not believing him at all. Well, if he didn't believe him that, there's no way he was going to believe the true answer, even if got one.

"Just tell me, either of you," his brother continued.

Mycroft sighed again, and said, trying not to look at anyone at all: "I didn't want you to die."

"What?"

"I didn't want you to die," he repeated. "I told you the truth that Christmas: your loss would break my heart."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, of all things. "Oh, sure. Of fuckin' course. Did you really think I was gonna fall for that, Mycroft? You usually invent better lies."

Another sigh from the older Holmes brother. He had known it would be like that, of course, but what could he do? He had no better explanation to offer.

Sherlock seemed ready to fulfil his promise of physical violence again.

And once more, it was Mae who interjected, though this time in a rather different way.

"For Christ's sake, look at yourself!" She exclaimed. "How can you be so bloody thick-headed? Every one in this room, every single person, knows this to be true. They were puzzled and didn't understand why Mycroft of all people would do such a thing, but once he uttered the explanation, it immediately fell into place for them and started to make sense. Every one of them knows that is the only reason Mycroft would possibly do a thing like that. Everyone except you."

Sherlock looked at her, tilting his head. "I thought you were supposed to be in a cool, detached relationship, merely using each other for information?"

"Yeah, well, I thought you were supposed to be at least moderately clever," she shot back. "Where do you get this bloody stupid idea that he hates you?"

"Just look at him. He hates everyone."

This time, Irene Adler's incredulous laugh sounded in the room. "You do realize who you're talking to, right? This is a woman in whom your brother managed to provoke such a passionate response. Obviously, she's not going to agree with you."

"That just means she's not a clever as she thinks she is."

"Really," Miss Adler drawled, "do you absolutely insist on destroying your reputation of, as she said, a moderately clever individual every time you meet Miss Olivier?"

"Why, thank you for your support, Miss Xiu...or should I say Miss Adler?" Mae answered, and on hearing Mycroft's quiet curse, softly smiled.

"Wait, you two know each other?" Sherlock was momentarily distracted.

"Indeed, we met once in France about five years ago," Irene replied. "You're lucky I didn't know it was Miss Olivier in front of whom you made an idiot out of yourself, otherwise I'd have been much nastier. It tarnishes my reputation by association."

Mae smiled. "Oh, fortunately I had my sister and Mycroft sing his praises, so I didn't think he was completely impossible after that evening, just naive and slightly confused. Though I might soon change my mind if he goes on like this."

"How is your sister these days?" Miss Adler asked with interest.

"Well, thank you," Mae replied with a small nod, "though slightly bored I believe."

"Perhaps I should visit her," Irene Adler said with her cat's smile.

"I don't think the Earl would appreciate it," Mae pointed out mildly.

Miss Adler's smile widened. "No, nor would you, I'm sure, which is what worries me more. Still, pity."

"It is, isn't it? I think she'd have liked to see you too."

"Wait, wait, wait," Sherlock interrupted. "I'm glad we're all practically family here, but there was another more important topic than Irene's love escapades we were discussing."

"Nothing's more important than my love escapades," Miss Adler commented, and she was right that surprisingly few things were.

Sherlock ignored her. "Could someone kindly tell me what was Mycroft's point, if you all like to pretend you know?" He said.

Taking one look at Mae's face, Irene Adler seemed to take pity on her and said: "He already told you," to spare her the trouble.

"What? Don't tell me you believe that trite?"

"Miss Ollivier was right, you know," Adler replied in her ironic drawl. "Everyone in this room knows it's true, except for you."

"Then everyone in this room is an idiot – but then I have known this all along." He seemed ready to leave.

"Look, hypothetically," Mrs. Watson joined the discussion again, stopping him, "if it was true, what would convince you?"

"Nothing, because it's idiotic. He's always despised me," Sherlock said, still facing the door.

"Well, let's start by answering Miss Ollivier's question, then," Mary Watson said patiently. "Why do you think that?"

"Oh for God's sake just look at him!" Sherlock turned around and gesticulated in Mycroft's direction. "He belittles me and makes fun of me all the time!"

"Sherlock," Dr. Watson now, in a tone that indicated this was very serous indeed. "Do you hate your brother?"

Mycroft looked away. He knew the answer to that one, but didn't particularly wish to hear it out loud.

Surprisingly, though, there was no answer forthcoming.

"Sherlock?" John Watson repeated. "And honestly, please."

Mycroft flinched again.

After a long silence, Sherlock said slowly: "Not...exactly."

Mycroft whipped his head around so far he was surprised he didn't break something. What?

"And yet you make fun of him and belittle him all the time, too. Why do you think he'd despise you, then?"

"Oh, John, don't you see? He thinks I'm an idiot, useful in some ways, but mostly just a great danger for his career and his plans to rule the world one day. I'm a liability, someone who refuses to play his obedient puppet, which irritates him to no end. Everything about my life and my choices offends him, and if he could, he would remake me according to his plans. Isn't it so, Mycroft?"

It seemed today was a day for honestly. Mycroft took a deep breath, steeled himself and said: "In many ways you are right. You are a liability, a weakness if you will, and you do irritate me to no end. Many of your life choices do offend me, though there has been less of that lately. I do not, however, think that you are an idiot. Oh, and I have no plans to rule the world." Britain was quite enough of a handful, thank you very much.

"Oh great, thank you for the compliment, so I'm not an idiot. Fantastic. See, John? Hardly reason enough to commit a series of robberies."

"That is not all you are to him, though," Mae said, and there was clear warning in her tone. That warning, Mycroft knew, was directed at him.

He turned to look at her. She couldn't seriously mean for him to say it aloud, could she?

Her eyes bore into his, and he could clearly hear her as clearly as if she spoke aloud. 'You need to do this now, Mycroft, right now, or it will all fall apart, even the remnants of it, I know you hate it but you have to do it.'

"What else am I, then, oh lady who knows so much?" Sherlock asked sarcastically.

Mycroft took another deep breath, turned back to look at him, and said as calmly as he could: "You are my brother."

Sherlock was already taking a breath for a sarcastic reply, but suddenly all air seemed to be knocked out of him. He only stared.

After another silence – this one felt infinite to Mycroft – he said, quietly: "As you are mine."