BTW, later on there is French. If anything is wrong, you must blame Babelfish, because I only know Spanish.

I highly advise losing your temper, if only a little.

Watson looked upward at the ceiling, attempting to control his emotions by guessing through that odd power of touch what was above them, a strange ability he was still learning about as well as attempting to classify. From all the literature that he'd read on Titan powers, none included this one, and he wondered briefly if it was because of the mixed heritage.

"What's taking so long?" Mycroft's voice spilled into his chain of thought, causing Watson to sigh and rub his forehead. They had only just arrived at Baker Street when a note came by, stating it knew the woman in question and that she lived in The Myrtles, Beckenham. Mycroft had wanted to visit the man who sent it, but Watson had retaliated that they should go to see the police instead. When Wiggins appeared, breathless and only able to get out, "they have—", both men were out and heading to the station.

That was nearly an hour ago. Watson's plea about the case had Gregson working the case, but he could only work so fast to get authorization. A note from the Athenian police, as well as a call to the man who'd sent the note, had enough evidence for a search and seizure, but it was taking far too long for all the official channels to go through.

Watson looked upward again towards the ceiling, hoping again to continue the count.

"Doctor," Mycroft interrupted him again, Watson closing his eyes before looking back to the taller, larger man.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes?"

There was a small pause before Mycroft finally asked, "You have not known my brother long. Tell me…is he well?"

If there was a hidden meaning in there, Watson couldn't hear it, and he didn't hesitate to tell the truth. He'd never been a good liar. "He's well enough, when we have cases or something to keep him occupied."

"Do you know of our--."

"Mr. Holmes, your brother tells me little, and what I have learned of his past I learned when he was attempting to calm me down after I'd been hurt. I can say he's well, and that I do have an idea of your…early life…but both he and you seem to have had changes of heart."

Mycroft was silent then chuckled. "You could say such a thing. It does not help that such a life leaves little to change and, when one finds yourself unable to think of a reason for doing what you're asked to do. Both Sherlock and I found that out, and happily we can make something of ourselves."

Gregson came up, holding the signed document. "Come on, gentlemen, I'll get us a car."

The drive was much shorter then Melas remembered, but he was also quite terrified of what might happen. He'd never been much of a strong-willed person against others, though his attempt a few days ago had been more his romantic nature and the thought that, if he didn't attempt anything beyond putting in small sentences, what would Mycroft think?

The two were pulled in, Sherlock Holmes obviously not wanting to do anything to provoke the man with the gun, though his movements spoke of a man who was used to fighting. Melas paled as they were put into the room from before, and now when he looked around, he saw that there was no escape.

"I-I'm very--."

"You know, it really surprises me that you're my brother's type," Holmes said, motioning for Melas to take a seat. "You shouldn't be sorry at all. Knowledge of languages to your degree is astonishing, but can lead to dangerous areas. This possibly isn't the first dangerous situation you've been in?"

Melas nodded, sighing as he sat next to Holmes, suddenly wishing that it was Mycroft with him, so that he could lean against him, feeling his warmth and calming, large hands. He always loved attempting to fully hug Mycroft, if only because it was like attempting to hug a large stuffed animal when one was a child, and Melas had always enjoyed that past time. He also loved the warmth that Mycroft gave off, the feeling of being held and protected by such a large being that seemed to simply engulf him, touching him all over—

"How did you two meet?" Melas felt himself blush in embarrassment at the question, wondering if he'd been thinking out loud.

"When your brother opened the bistro and put out an advertisement for someone to live there. I was the only one who could pay the money and who also was fine with his experiments. I knew that I was…different, and it hurts my family to realize this, but also I accept it as how I am. I learned that your brother was the same, and…he said it was, um, very helpful, that I was able to live with him as a friend as well as a lover."

Melas was relieved to see Sherlock Holmes smile at that. "He would. You must forgive me, but my brother can be very lazy in many things. I am not surprised he was happy to find not only a roommate but also a lover, for it saved him that energy at least."

Melas blushed a little, remembering that Mycroft was, well, rather energetic, at times. "I suppose, though I was hoping there was other reasons."

"I doubt Mycroft would have bothered, had there not been," Sherlock Holmes said rather sternly, "My brother is someone who doesn't enter into anything long-term without weighing all the risks involved. He obviously cares a great deal for you, though, if he's become so possessive and also careless to a degree."

Melas looked at him, and Sherlock Holmes gave him a small smile. "It's quite alright. I was rather put out to hear it in such a way, but we haven't spoken for a while. It takes us a few moments to remember how to be civil with one another. We only have each other, you must understand."

Sherlock Holmes managed a nod before the two men returned, this time with the emaciated Epimedian with the sticking plaster across his face and sporting a few more bruises as well. Melas felt himself tense, as well as felt the almost tangible glare that Sherlock Holmes was sending to the laughing man and his friend. If that was one thing he had in common with his brother, it was the fact that his presence seemed to always be the most dominant in the room, no matter who else was there.

The Epimedian was pushed into a seat, the gun keeping all three seated as the giggling man passed over a slate. "Now then, Mr. Melas, let us try this again, and please, no heroics this time. We wouldn't want your friend to lose the use of his leg, would we?"

Melas cast a scared glance at Sherlock Holmes, and then slowly shook his head as the man giggled again. "Good. Now then, ask him to sign the papers."

Melas looked down at the table, then to the man, and asked, along with a few other questions. If he survived but the man didn't, at least he'd know the poor Epimedian's history.

Sherlock Holmes continued to glare at the men, arms crossed in front of him as if he was the one waiting on them, and Melas took comfort in that fact, doing what he could to try and help the Epimedian, as well as learn what he could.

It was an hour later that the man with the gun growled, "Enough. We won't get it, and that girl is going to try to escape again if we're not quick. There's no reason for us to still be here."

The room was already starting gain a choking atmosphere, and Holmes coughed again as he attempted to move closer to the charcoal filled tripod, Melas and Kratides tied to him and both against the nearest door. Kratides wasn't in any form to actually help in the escape, and Melas had been hit by the larger, older man who seemed to enjoy showing how superior he was to everyone. Holmes had almost gotten the gun away from him, but that had caused the two men to strap them together, leaving Holmes without his hands or feet free, same as the others.

Holmes coughed and choked again, wincing at the pain in his lung. His mind was still working, realizing he could overturn the tripod without risking dying by fire instead of this slow choking death. At least their bodies would be intact…

Holmes shifted to lie down on the floor, breathing a little easier and hearing Melas slightly moan. He was a little awake, but the coughing wasn't good, and he was quite sure that if anyone had to survive, at least Melas did. After all, Mycroft would be extremely depressed to lose someone he'd possibly just found—that raised the question he hadn't asked, on how long he'd lived with Mycroft, and then how long they'd been lovers. If he moved in shortly after the Diogenes was founded, that was perhaps six years ago…or was it longer? Shorter? He hadn't been paying attention to his brother before he came under Lestrade's management.

He wasn't thinking straight. He had to focus—another harsh cough from him jostled the two near the door, causing Kratides to moan loudly through the plaster. Holmes suspected that having to breath through the nose helped keep him alive.

Charcoal was working very fast, casing an eerie blue glow about them and he suddenly wished for some of Watson's powers, at least to open a window or toss the tripod out. He attempted to calculate the time that had passed since they arrived, but the choking atmosphere made it hard for him to think at all, instead feeling a pain in his chest that left him focusing on the tightness in his throat, the lack of oxygen, the darkness that was swallowing up his vision though he could swear his eyes were still open.

He was aware of a sudden noise, very far away, but he couldn't identify it. His whole body hurt, his mind shutting down as his lungs filled with the poisonous atmosphere.

"Doctor!" Gregson hissed at Watson as he returned, stating he'd found a way in. Mycroft smiled a little as the disgruntled man headed back, then came to the door quickly to let us in.

"This isn't good," he said, looking up and around. Despite the Doctor's outwardly Human appearance, one is not in the Resistance for as long as Mycroft was without noting the telltale signs of someone who isn't Human, but Watson was a confusing sort of non-Human as well. The fact that Gregson, an obvious Denebolan, and Lestrade, a Human, had come to his aid meant something that Mycroft wasn't quite sure what the Doctor's origins were.

They were able to look around, Watson's eyes on the ceiling and frowning in concentration before his eyes widened, pointing upstairs as a moan was heard.

Watson and Gregson were up the stairs before Mycroft, if only due to his bulk, and found them next to a door that was opened, noxious smoke pouring out as Gregson yelled in, "Doctor, what in the name of—"

Three figures were promptly dropped out, leaving Gregson and Mycroft to deal with them as a window flew open and a bluish flame went out of it. Watson came back out, coughing lightly and managing, "Charcoal" before falling down before the three men, checking on them despite shaking hands. Mycroft got Sherlock and Alexis free, his brother slowly coming to himself and coughing swifter then Alexis did, prompting Mycroft to care for him more and even place a few kisses on his face before he took in a weak breath. The other man, Kratides, was half-dead and Watson was caring for him a great deal, ordering him to be moved downstairs.

Mycroft carried Alexis downstairs as well, Sherlock helping Watson up despite the two not looking their best.

"Time," Sherlock managed, reminding Mycroft that the young man often used his mind to convince his body to keep going, despite the hardships within. It had always surprised the older members of the group, and Mycroft found their continue attempts to test Sherlock's limits all the more reason to take him away from such a life. He'd been unable to earlier, and always hated that fact.

Gregson looked over at him, "Really, Mr. Holmes, you can't possibly--."

Watson shot him a glare, and Mycroft blinked upon seeing the odd blue that they now were. Upstairs, a door suddenly slammed shut.

"Really, Watson," Sherlock muttered quietly, causing Watson to pale suddenly. "We must talk about this later, though. But a young woman is in danger, and we must get to her."

Alexis shifted against Mycroft, causing him to look down at his lover, who spoke quickly and quietly in French. Mycroft loved hearing him talk in French, but even more he loved to get him so lost he forget every language save Greek.

Mycroft frowned at the quick news. "He's quite right, Inspector." Reluctantly, Mycroft moved Alexis to a chair. "You must get the story from my Alexis…Mr. Melas, I mean…"

Gregson looked skyward. "Really, Humans, I've been to planets where one gender lives together and loves for years before they have an orgy of sorts to create the next generation."

"We're off topic," Watson said in a quiet voice, "Mr. Mycroft Holmes…would you care to accompany us? I'm afraid I won't be able to carry your brother on my own."

"I'm thin enough."

"I'm not able to breathe charcoal and save your sorry--."

"I planned to join you," Mycroft cut the two off, earning a thankful look from Gregson, "but we must be off now, without any fuss."

The two nodded, and Mycroft resolved to speak about Watson to Sherlock after all the excitement.

The coach got them to the station just short of the train pulling out, though it required Watson to run ahead, Holmes to push his brother into the compartment, and Holmes to barely get inside before the end of the platform and close the door.

"Really, Sherlock, I'm not built for this," Mycroft huffed as they sat, Watson glancing out the window. He'd lost his temper a little, and locked the doors upstairs. He disliked the fact that his loss of control resulted—

"Watson, if you persist in glaring at yourself for acting as any concerned and angered man would, I will have to consider you far less talented then I originally believed," Holmes' voice caused him to start, glancing at the man's pale face. As nothing moved or cracked, it only seemed to prove all the more how much of a hold the man had over his life and power, despite it being his own life and his power.

"I take it you're afraid of what might happen," Mycroft proposed, earning glare from Holmes, "You must forgive me, Sherlock, but I only just made the connection. I never could abide hearing Moran's tales, but he did mention a Watson, and his…unique…attempt to create a half-Human. You're part Titan?"

Watson sighed, nodding.

Mycroft smiled at that. "It is quite strange, then, that the only person who can room with my brother is one that will force him to confront our past." Watson frowned at him for that, Holmes giving him a reassuring smile before saying, "I take it you want a chance at Mr. Latimer?"

Mycroft's grin was rather wicked. "Why of course, my dear Sherlock. He harmed and frightened my lover, then kidnapped both my younger brother and my lover, and attempted to kill both?"

Holmes chuckled, coughing slightly and then returning Mycroft's smile. "Of course, brother mine. I should've guessed your protective nature from the beginning." He looked over at Watson. "Can you find the three?"

Watson glanced at him, then slowly nodded. "Did you know, about...this new power?"

"I had a guess. That you can tell a paper by feel rather than reading it, and move only that instead of all the furniture, gave me the idea that you might be able to. I'm not sure if you can detect three specific people in a car full of them, but we must try it."

Watson nodded, looking forward and concentrating. He did feel anger for the two men that had brutalized and frightened Mr. Melas and Holmes, if only because he'd resolved to repay Holmes for the times he'd saved him. So far, he was only even for once. "There are perhaps two compartments further up…two men and a woman. I'm not sure which one is the group, though."

Holmes considered. "Latimer had a gun. I think his compatriot might have had a smaller one as well."

Watson nodded, trying again and suddenly feeling it again. There was an odd feeling of pressure being released, as if instead of reaching and searching with his mind, he was doing so with his hand or eyes, or perhaps both. He'd heard of people who could see sounds as colors, and wondered if this is what it felt like, as if he could see waves through the compartments and to the one who had gunpowder on their hands and two guns in their coats. He could almost hear them…

What are you doing to him, you unnatural cur! It's all your fault! Use those again and I'll thrash you, boy!

Watson gasped, and the window suddenly gained a long, jagged crack, looking like a tree that was being struck by lightning.

"Watson," a hand, much larger then Holmes' was on his hand and Holmes' concerned face made it's way into his field of vision. He realized suddenly that he was shaking.

"T-they're further up. One's going to dinner."

Mycroft's hand squeezed his, warm and flapper-like. Watson sighed, attempting to control himself as he heard the porter coming down the way, calling for tickets.

Holmes looked over than back to Watson. "I won't ask for who it was that left…"

"The one with the smaller pistol."

Mycroft let go of his hand. "Sherlock, I do feel quite hungry. Could you and Doctor Watson keep your talk with the man short? And if it is Latimer, attempt to keep him around?"

"Of course," Holmes smiled happily as the two stood, Mycroft going and speaking quietly with the ticket collector as Holmes touched Watson's arm. "Do you wish to speak about it?"

"No," Watson said, "but I will have to, at one point."

"Sadly, it cannot be now. We have a damsel to rescue. Do you at least have your service revolver?"

Watson nodded. At least with that, he knew what to expect.

"Good man. Now…shall we?"

Mycroft had every confidence in both Sherlock and Doctor Watson, glancing at the compartment that Watson had mentioned to see the smaller, bespeckled man in there with a woman glaring at him but obviously unable to do anything. The fact that he wanted to deal with both men on his own was too difficult. He would leave Sherlock to take care of this one.

Making his way to the dining car, he spotted the man that Alexis had described as Mr. Latimer.

He was sitting, eating with a smile on his smug face, and appearing for all the world as if he had done the best thing. He didn't seem to care that he'd left three men to die a horrible death, or even that he had seduced and kidnapped a woman after abusing and holding someone dear to her hostage.

Plastering a smile on his face, he walked over, greeting the man. "I believe I've seen you at the Diogenes."

The man suddenly smiled. "Perhaps. It's a very nice bistro, isn't it? I enjoy the silence…it allows a man to think, doesn't it?"

"Indeed it does," Mycroft agreed, ordering a glass of wine. It wouldn't take a long while to get the man to talk, and if anything, he could at least give Sherlock and Watson time to deal with the other man.

Compartment B4 held the two, both preoccupied with each other when Holmes looked in, shifting back to whisper to Watson, "there is some danger in this."

Watson nodded, and Holmes offered him a quick smile before opening the compartment door. Both looked at him, and he managed a small Greek phrase before sitting next to Mr. Kemp, who's eyes widened upon seeing Holmes, his hand reaching into his jacket before he saw Watson's gun, which he kept trained on the man before closing the door.

Holmes smiled at the small man. "I take it, for now, you no longer think of this as a joke, Mr. Kemp. I'm glad to see I could finally get a straight answer out of you."

Mr. Kemp removed his hand slowly, the woman glancing at the two before looking over at Holmes, recognizing him to a point then.

"If you wouldn't mind," Holmes said, "could you get the gun, Miss?"

She nodded, reaching over to get the gun out, Kemp keeping an eye on Holmes' gun instead.

"Thank you," Holmes said as she readied the gun herself, glaring at the man.

"Miss…" Watson warned, looking worried while she muttered in Greek.

Holmes looked over at her before stating, "Kratides is alive."

"Barely," the woman ground out, "and because of him. Εμπιστεύθηκα αυτό το άτομο, και έβλαψε τον αδελφό μου, άλλος, ο ίδιος. Γιατί shouldn' τ τον σκοτώνω?"

Watson looked over at Holmes as he sighed. "If you do that, I must take you in for justice. Will that not hurt Kratides all the more?"

The woman kept the gun on Kemp anyway, Watson looking over at her before saying, "What is your relation to him, ma'am? Might I ask?"

She slowly nodded. "He is like a brother to me. I came here and was met by this man's smooth-talking friend, and he attempted to convince me to love him. When I found out Kratides was here…I should at least shoot him in the leg, to hurt him as he hurt my Kratides."

Watson frowned and looked over at Kemp, who sneered at that before looking back at the woman. "You love him?"

"I love Kratides," the woman said, "I loved him since I was a child. My parents sent me here because they thought I would find a good person, and Kratides came to save me. I will not allow them to harm anyone else."

Watson slowly reached over and touched the woman's arm. "He survived, and you are also alive. Don't worry about harming this man…he is defeated." Watson glared at the mildly sneering man, who paled even more, "What else can he do to you? He is going to be put away for attempted murder and kidnapping. That is enough time that he cannot harm you anyway."

Holmes smiled at Watson, though kept his gun trained on Kemp. The small man looked nervously between the woman and Holmes, as if attempting to figure out which one he could attack. That there was Watson as well, despite his pale look and stiffly-held arm, was still imposing.

Still, Holmes didn't expect the man to move after the young woman and Watson, the woman panicking and attempting to pull the trigger only to hear a soft 'click', signaling an empty chamber and, possibly, empty gun.

"The Continent? How nice. You know, I've never been away from England."

"Oh sir, that's a horrible thing. You must at least go there, and if you have to choose any spot, you must choose Greece."

"Greece? Why there?"

"Why sir, it is the country of gods, and the women…well, they have fire in their blood." The man took another sip of wine.

"You speak Greek, then?"

He blinked considering, "No…but, if you are lucky, you can get the…right interpreter."

Mycroft felt himself smile emptily while planning on how to break the man's fingers. "Of course…the right type of interpreter can make the difference in anything."

Watson grappled with the man, Kemp's foot connecting with Holmes' chest and causing him to cough harshly, not setting the gun off as the two were both too close to get in a clear shot in the crowded compartment. The young woman was stuck under the two for a moment before Watson pushed Kemp back, allowing her to get out of the way before Kemp hit his wounded shoulder, making Watson grit his teeth against the sudden flair up of pain, Kemp suddenly flying up and against the wall of the compartment hard enough to crack the wood.

The young woman blinked as Watson shifted away, Kemp falling back down against the seat, unconscious. Both Watson and the woman were shaking with fear, and Holmes glanced between the two of them before reaching to grab Watson's hand, pulling him so the three were situation to where he was between the two, the girl turned in against his shoulder while Watson was simply resting against his shoulder, blinking and looking in amazement at the unconscious man before them.

"I…I could have…"

"He's not dead, and you didn't. Either way, he would have killed three men and lived with it. He deserved to be harmed."

"Holmes…"

"Your friend is right," the quiet voice from the women came from Holmes' shoulder, the two looking over at her and Watson's shaking lessening, "he…gloated that Kratides would be killed, and that two others would follow him. He was…" she muttered a long string of what sounded like obscenities. "I am glad you hurt him."

Watson sighed. "You're not…"

"You are different. Kratides is different. I love him. I thank you for saving me, sir."

Watson relaxed quite suddenly. "Oh…"

"Are you alright, Watson?"

"I will be…my shoulder just hurts. It seems to throw my control into the wind."

Holmes slowly sat down with the young woman, who was slowly relaxed as well. Holmes shifted enough to get the gun and check it, seeing that it had only one bullet before he took it out and put it on the seat behind him.

Mycroft stood up as Latimer did, the man leaving some money behind and smiling at the larger man. "Well, this has been a good talk. I hope you do get a chance to travel, though. It was nice to talk to you."

The car suddenly shook, causing Latimer to fall against Mycroft as he started to sit again, but his large size helped keep the two up, Mycroft suddenly smiling at him. "Forgive me. I forget my size at times…"

Latimer smiled at him and left, Mycroft quietly following him. For all that he was a large man, he also knew how to use his bulk and was quite able to move easily and quietly when he needed to. After all, few expected someone of his weight to be able to do so.

Mr. Latimer stopped at the compartment, looking over at whatever was in the compartment and reaching into his pocket.

Mycroft's hand fell on the man's shoulder, gripping it a little tighter then he might have needed to, and the gun he'd stolen from Mr. Latimer now pressed harshly against the man's head. "I believe you're looking for this?"

Latimer froze, and Mycroft looked over his shoulder to see what was going on.

Watson and the young woman were sitting on the side, an unconscious man to one side. Watson had the gun in his good hand and obviously was annoyed with the pain in his shoulder. Sherlock was on the other side, breathing slowly and obviously having lost all of his reason to keep going and now needed to rest.

"Mycroft," Sherlock said upon seeing him, "Really…you were a little too kind to him, after what happened."

"True," Mycroft muttered, "but this area is crowded. I'll take him back to ours and you can have him at the end of the line."

The woman looked perfectly fine with that idea, glaring daggers at the man. Watson frowned at him, obviously worried.

"Oh, it's quite alright, Doctor. I'll ensure he stays alive."

"That's not what I'm worried about," Watson muttered, Sherlock smiling at that and Mycroft also added in his own, though much colder, smile before pulling Latimer away. "Come along, and don't fuss. Or do, I would so enjoy a reason to hurt you before we're alone."

"Why?" Latimer asked as they walked, "Why are you two helping that thing gain a Human for a wife? She shouldn't be with such a man."

"How old-fashioned of you. I'm not helping the lady out of knowledge of her or her plight, but rather I'm hurting you," they had reached his compartment, "because you hurt two people I have cared deeply for, and I do not take kindly to such things."

"Sir, you could've not broken his fingers."

"I promised myself I would, Inspector, so please don't lecture me," Mycroft said, looking over at the other carriage, "Is Mr. Melas alright?"

"He's going to be well, the police doctor said a few days rest will be the best for him," Inspector Gregson looked over at Holmes and Watson. "Are you both alright?"

Watson nodded, looking better than he did earlier, and Holmes smiled a little, still paler then before but obviously much better. "And Kratides? He's quite alright?"

"He's in the police hospital, resting. We took his statement with Mr. Melas when he was well enough to speak, and the note helped us as well. It's enough for a charge, anyway."

The woman looked worried, Gregson looking over at her and tipping his hat. "Miss Sophy, was it? Kratides has been asking if you were alright. I can take you to the Yard and have you look after him…the doctor said it might help him. I'll also need a statement as well."

She nodded happily, Gregson and his underlings leaving with the two men. Holmes turned back to Mycroft as they walked to the two waiting carriages. "You were far too nice to that man."

"I was not. I ran out of time, that's all."

Holmes chuckled as they got to the first carriage with Mr. Melas in it. "Brother, I would like to see you more often. I've missed you."

Mycroft smiled at him, reaching over to pat his shoulder. "Of course we must, my dear brother. I'm sad we only just learned more about each other, and considering I live above a bistro, you should at least visit, in case you're stuck on a case or something."

Holmes laughed a little at that as Mycroft got into the carriage. "Mycroft." The older Holmes looked over at his brother, who seemed to regard him with a strange look.

"It was an assignment like mine, only you discovered something about yourself. Something that lead you to your Alexis."

"Indeed it was. At least we're no longer so close-minded, are we?"

"No, we're not. Watson and I shall come by sometime later, then."

"Oh good. We can talk more and discuss some interesting things, I'm sure."

Holmes smiled brightly. "It is good to talk to you, brother mine."

"You as well, brother mine."

"You're being too protective," Melas muttered as he sat against Mycroft in bed, feeling better then last night but still slightly sick and bruised.

"If I was, I would've gone with you," Mycroft muttered, kissing the top of Melas' head and reaching up to gently stroke Melas' hair. He enjoyed the scent and feel of the curly hair. "Tell me again about those two."

"I told you already," Melas muttered, turning his head to listen to Mycroft's heartbeat.

"Tell me again, I said," Mycroft slowly began rubbing along Melas' back and arms, gently working the tension and knots out from where he'd been struck and held roughly, trying to be as gentle as he could.

Melas sighed happily against him at the touch and began, "Kratides was an Epimedian that was adopted by a Greek family. Sophy was his childhood friend and love."

"Ah, the reason he can only speak one language…Epimedians are horrid at learning another language, and often only know one. Much like Americans, I gathered."

"No, Americans learn if they need to."

"Ah. Very well. Did he ask for Sophy's hand?"

Melas shifted to be more on Mycroft's lap, the large man pulling him up and kissing along his hairline. "Mmm…no. But Sophy's father sent her off to see the world, and when they learned of what happened with Latimer, Kratides offered to go and bring her back, or if not, to ensure the man was worthy of Sophy."

"Hmmm," Mycroft hummed as he reached Melas' chin and throat, "How sweet. He wished to give her away, so long as she was happy?"

Melas groaned lightly. "Yes. But they held him, and threatened her. Then their other interpreter demanded too much, and they needed to get me."

Mycroft finally kissed along his neck and shoulder, holding the back of Melas' head lightly as he arched back a little. "I was worried, when you called and sounded so scared, when I saw you hurt. I should have broken his neck, had I not promised to return him alive to face justice."

"Mycroft," Melas muttered, "svp, je vous veux."

"Just because you speak French…"

"Je suis très bien," Melas complained, still in French, "Je veux vous sentir à l'intérieur de moi."

Mycroft chuckled as he continued to kiss, lightly touching one black bruise on Melas' shoulder. "I don't want to hurt you anymore then you are." He pulled away to looked at Melas before kissing him soundly, feeling the smaller man moan in his mouth. "The doctor said not to exhaust yourself…so I'll do all the work."

Watson sighed as he finished writing, looking over at Holmes. "I'm beginning to wonder if I should tell you anything."

"Of course you should," Holmes said from his place on the settee, "if you don't, how will I ever be able to help you when your powers backfire? It wasn't until you remember that odd thing that you did any harm, therefore whatever it was that you remember is harmful. As painful as it would be to rebuild a psyche from the base up, I might at least have to renovate instead." He sighed as Watson stayed looking at his desk or out the window, tapping his thumb on the opened page. "Watson, please. I would rather you tell me then I have to find out. If I know, then perhaps we can work through it, and you can gain more control."

Watson breathed out slowly, looking at his books and attempting to think of what to do. He had more control then before: only four months ago, he would've tossed everyone against a wall, or through it, and have felt more guilt over the use of his power then he did now. His powers were now almost held in Holmes' hands, and he was offering the key to holding it in his own.

"If you ask me a question," Watson finally said, "I will answer. That's all I can offer."

Holmes smiled at him, a bright one that had Watson smiling as well, feeling that this was something not everyone got. "Thank you."