*Eyepatch in the Suit*

by: Whitegloves

a/n: Little flash back here and there to make us happy :)

oh, and warning for violence and heart beats!

Enjoy the story! :)

9. Dead Men Tell No Tales 1

"Have you ever thought about something horrible happening to you? I don't mean your daily basis, but something really horrible happening to you?" Sherlock threw at his brother one evening as they dined together at the Grand Hotel after the British Government Head had summoned him regarding the Baskerville event that needed clearing and explanation. Sherlock acknowledging that he stepped out of line while using his brother's identity decided to humor his brother and asked him out, much to Mycroft's chagrin, defining the moment as 'no fine line between the punished and the punisher.' The horrible topic being Frankland getting blown to pieces in the Grimpen mine.

"Horrible?" Mycroft inquired while Sherlock nodded.

"Yes. What would you do?"

Mycroft gave him a decisive look and sarcastic smile.

"I'll get rid of you."

Sherlock knew something horrible has happened.

The moment the pirates with black dress and turbans came for him, dragged him by the arms and tied a rope around his body, he knew his worst fear had happened. The reason he messed up in the first place was because the pirates received Mycroft's profile—the irony of him being the one to reveal it to their enemies was eating him. And now that the pirates assembled and surrounded him inside his small hut, armed with the highest caliber guns and ominous eyes was enough to understand that things just went from worse to worst.

Sherlock braced himself as he knelt in the middle of the ring, feeling his very senses heightening and his mind at its most riveted form able to see the men for what they truly are. This was one of the perks of having been drug induced, his natural superpower enabling his faculties to concentrate more—his mind palace blinking away the unnecessary and highlighting what matters most—a way to escape.

But to do so, he needs Mycroft to be around. Whatever his older brother said about staying and getting saved by his Secret Service now does not matter if these men knew Mycroft's real identity. Whatever was the consequence of that, Sherlock only had one goal as he counted the pirates and fixed his eyes at the door.

Will Mycroft appear? If he didn't, it means his position has been compromised and he's being held against his will. Which would mean this assault was for interrogation… which then would mean this was a dead end.

Sherlock understood that clearly. If he was to die here, he would make sure never to tell them a thing. But he needed to see his older brother. It was the only thing that was keeping him from running amok for after all, the drug was not totally out of his system and he was still prone to snap.

It was then that the man of the hour came in. Sherlock's eyes fell on him that instant and recognize the smug look on the American's face. But he came alone. With all the seven pirates in black turbans pointing guns in Sherlock's direction, the American stepped forwards confidently, unaware of the damage Sherlock can do even with his hands tied.

But he had to be patient… Mycroft was in danger.

Then Jones gave him a narrowed look and stepped closer.

"You're already sober? Shame, I thought I had to beat information out of you."

Sherlock instinctively looked behind Jones that did not escape the American's notice.

"If you're looking for your brother, he won't be coming." The American said, glancing side wards and shrugging while Sherlock stared at him in full in the face. So, they really know? As if understanding the unasked question, Jones nodded. "Oh yes, he told me everything about you so no point keeping secrets, is there?"

"Where is he?"

Jones smiled widely and stopped in front of the agent. "Look at you with your British accent. What talented bunch are the English men. Do you all take acting lessons as prerequisite? All those drama schools seem not wasted. Your brother must very proud."

Sherlock glowered as the American knelt in front of him too till their eyes were levelled.

"It's alright, spit it out." Jones goaded, "Your older brother already gave details that I need confirming." The American's eyes danced. "All you have to tell me is why you're also here. Of course, I'd know immediately if you're both lying. So, come on, do tell before you lose the chance of saving your tongue from getting sliced."

Sherlock sat rigidly and did not waver. In his mind palace, Mycroft was already speaking, but this was not merely his brain conjuring his older brother's image.

It was an actual memory…

"How's work?" he asked Mycroft one dull Saturday evening as he found himself inside the Diogenes after spending the whole day in St. Bart's waiting for any mysterious murdered body to turn up but without success. It was his second year living in 221B with John but with his flat mate out and about on his tedious dating schedule, Sherlock had found his feet moving towards the familiar street he once considered a haven for his creative mind.

What better way to get rid of his annoyance than to infuriate his easily cross, tranquil-obsessed, self-pampered and homeostatic older brother. John may have the wrong impression that it was Mycroft who usually nags Sherlock in 221B when in fact it was him who typically consults his brother for relative information. That was part of the charade Sherlock wants to continue building for how else would John find him intriguing if important people don't come to him personally? Mycroft, of course, was aware of this and had been rolling his eyes ever since. But well, it was all for John's benefit.

"Sherlock." Mycroft's tone was full of warning and exasperation he barely even glanced at his younger brother. "If you're trying to strike a conversation, stop. The only way you can get an answer from me is when I fall from the Queen's balcony during an important annual event with thousands of eyes watching from all corners of the globe and then I'll tell you how insufferable it is."

Sherlock smiled on his corner and raised an eyebrow.

"You're going with the Queen on the balcony? What are you going to do there, shout 'off with their heads'?"

"Drop it."

"Come on, I'll even cheer you on if it's the last thing I do." Sherlock smirked. "Really, the last thing I'll do."

"I said drop it!" Mycroft finally glared at him and Sherlock gave him a cheeky grin.

"Brother dear, you're a capable man even without standing behind the Queen. If you want to become famous then go have an affair with the royals—"

"Yes, because the world has not enough sensationalism as it is. No thank you. Keep the newspaper front pages exclusively for yourself—"

"I don't intend to—"

"— really? Then ask your flat mate and that awful blog—"

"—I shall take no responsibility over that. You have no idea how inaccurate he writes. My reputation—"

"—which is so insignificant but you are still about to lose in a year's time if you don't stop John Watson—"

"What are you so cross about? He's never even mentioned you there—"

"I'd like to see him try." Mycroft's tone was crisp in that comfortable air that surrounded them. Sherlock grinded his teeth and glared at his smirking older brother whose face was lit by the light of the fire. "Sherlock, you have responsibilities as my brother, I hope you remember. We don't just mingle because it's dangerous."

"Like getting abducted, you mean?"

"As long as you understand "

"You explained it with a diagram—the anti-abduction plan—how could I not? But a fault of yours, brother dear, what exactly would you do if we really do get abducted?"

"No. It's only going to be you." Mycroft was positive even with another nasty look from his brother. "I would never slip that bad for you to even consider it. Besides, with your kind of criminal, I don't think my minor role in the government will serve a purpose for their cause if all they needed to know is your secret hideout or your favorite brand of tea."

"You're really going to tell them?"

"Oh, Sherlock. What you think is important is immaterial to me. The more important question here would be—what if you were to be used against me—that is highly probable. That is why I keep asking you never to mention my name to any of your little friends."

"I'd be asking them to find another hobby if they ever inquire about you." The consulting detective continued with his eyes becoming alive at the idea, "Now, naturally, you'll be used against me, that's how I see it. My enemies are far more daring—"

"—and barbaric—" Mycroft noted—

"— I wouldn't be able to tell them what you do even with a bullet on my head—"

"Not in any of your context, no—"

"But to be used against you," Sherlock paused, eyes travelling back to his brother, then he smirked. "I don't think I need any persuasion. I'll give you to them with the right amount of money."

"Yes, and then I'll have them arrested and you can still enjoy your sum. Win-win." Mycroft sat straighter with an expression mildly unconcerned for they both know the chances of him getting the slip was nearly impossible. But this expression soon turned grim, and before Sherlock knows it, the older Holmes had turned to him with a sudden grimace.

"But if in case something unique were to happen… and this were the case…"

Sherlock shot his brother a levelled look. "What?"

"In case… something would come up. And we find ourselves cornered…"

The younger Holmes gave his brother a scrutinizing gaze, before a sudden smile crossed his lips and a twinkle lit his eyes.

"Ah… it's one of your to-die-for secrets, isn't it?" Sherlock was not sure, but did his brother turn pale? Mycroft looked pensive for a few moments, before pulling his thoughts back and gazing back fully in his younger brother's eyes.

And Sherlock remembered him say…

"Don't fret when it happens. We can always conjure a story, but it would be risky so better not lie. Simply put, Sherlock, you stick to what your mind palace remembers to be true. Lacing lies out of nowhere will only prove unstable so stick to the facts. If we ever reveal our relationship to the enemies, it only means we're in a critical position. It can be our duress code. Act like we're the kind of brothers who have this surmounting care for the other. Humans typically fall for it, it's a textbook pattern. Well. It just means we're almost about to get killed."

"Then why bother when we're about to die?"

"Excellent point." Mycroft concurs.

Sherlock paused as his mind pulled him back to the present where the waiting American was searching his face. His body was still cold from the recent drug fiasco and he could feel the dampness of his back. This succeeding event was not doing any good—but more importantly— what has Mycroft told them and what do they already know?

They don't know about the profile. The back of his mind spoke.

Clearly. Otherwise a more urgent man would come facing him now with excitement at the very idea of one country falling in their hands… no, they weren't showing any sign of that kind of euphoria. Mycroft's profile was safe.

"I came here for my brother." Sherlock began with heart hammering on his chest.

Jones leaned down his large body and levelled his square face with that of the agent. "And what about your sister?"

Sherlock kept still, making sure his pupils don't betray him as well as his Adam's apple. They know about Eurus… which means they know about the Davy Jones file. Eurus also left a message on her email apparently. What else did she tell them? Where was Mycroft?

"I can't tell you that."

Andrew Jones chuckled as if he was expecting it.

Then before Sherlock saw it, he felt a painful jab below his chin that shook his every sense as his head was thrown backwards with excruciating pain able to disorient his brain. He doubled down the ground and shut his eyes as his surrounding started whirling, his eardrums making a buzzing sound. But the pain was bearable. With a groan, Sherlock blinked his watery eyes and felt the numbing of his jaw. Jones had given him an upper cut

"Your brother did say you were going to be stubborn." The American continued conversationally as her checked his knuckles while Sherlock flexed his jaw and spat blood on the ground, "But we already had a deal, I only want to make sure he's not playing me. I know how dangerous he can be."

Sherlock froze. Deal?

The next thing, his dark hair was pulled back, giving him the feeling that something was peeling on his scalp. Jones had grabbed a fistful of his hair till they were once again staring at each other with the American's face inches away from him and no sign of mercy.

But what deal?

"Go on. Tell me what you know or I'll give your eyeball to your brother." Jones tried to touch his eye in the air, "He's been working very hard to keep you safe, it's a poor way to repay him. And he's already surrendered, what makes you think you can keep this up?" he pulled the younger Holmes' hair back but Sherlock kept his burning eyes on him.

Inside his head, Mycroft was leading: Tell him what he knows already.

Sherlock grinded his teeth and pursed his lips adamantly. Jones closed in and asked:

"Who's Mycroft Holmes?"

Red lights of warning flared in Sherlock's eyes as his mind raged with obstinacy for he had never been asked so casually and never for the life of him had he ever though of betraying his older brother's true nature. It was something he considered sacred if anything else, the only kind of respect for Mycroft. Anyone who asks for such information was an automatic threat that has to be eliminated. It was a common response he was accustomed of growing up beside his big brother. It was natural that nobody should find out.

And yet, Jones said Mycroft had told him… what did Mycroft say?

Lace from the truth, fool.

But Sherlock merely smiled mockingly at Jones. "You're wasting your time, I have nothing to tell you."

Another punch on the face and a kick on the stomach was all the younger Holmes received but he didn't care—he had nothing to tell them! He would never betray Mycroft even when Mycroft had betrayed himself!

"You just don't know when to let up, don't you?" the American swore.

Sherlock felt his head swim at the sudden attacks, but he continued biting his lips when he felt Jones stepping on his mid center. Opening his eyes, he found the American gazing down at him with a dead pan expression.

"But I must say, you brothers are pretty good to have wormed your way here just to confront me. Too bad I already know how feral you are, and your brother does stand out a lot too so I kept my eyes on him. I knew he was always something." He stepped away and turned, making Sherlock bring himself up and shout behind the man—

"Where's Mycroft?"

The weapon's dealer looked back at him coolly, and then laughed aloud. "You want to know, do you? But did it ever occur to you I am the one asking questions here?"

Sherlock rigidly knelt on the floor with determined eyes and ignored the idiot as he persisted on, "You said there was a deal. What deal?"

"What… mumbo is this?" Jones sighed as he shook his head. "You just don't understand your situation huh? Your sister in betraying all of you just wrapped everything as a gift for me—your brother included."

The consulting detective frowned. "What?"

"She's more than a genius, that's what I think. She included a note on the password protected file saying one Mycroft Holmes would be coming to give it to me. And he did. Isn't she amazing?"

Sherlock nearly gasped. Eurus did what…?

But Jones had lost interest in him, he could tell. Why won't he when he thought he knew the truth already.

Still… Eurus knew Mycroft would be coming to clean her mess…. Because that's what Mycroft had been doing for them from the very beginning… And does Mycroft know that he had been setup That this was not all about the country and the missiles… but about him falling victim to one of her schemes…? She knew he would come. But did she calculate that he, Sherlock, would be coming too?

Sherlock's eyes glinted in deeper understanding.

Of course.

Why didn't he quickly realize?

Eurus and Mycroft knew each other so much they could counter each other's moves. And yet when it came to him, the middle brother… a truce. Eurus knew Mycroft so much to bet with her life… that Mycroft would do anything in his power to protect both his siblings even at the cost of his life. Typical Mycroft.

Sherlock's eyes flickered as he raised his head and watched the weapon's dealer. Did Mycroft really believe for one second, he could get away this easily?

"I cannot allow that."

Jones briefly turned back but he wasn't at all convinced. "Keep your head down man, I just decided I don't need you."

Sherlock squared his jaw and smiled too.

"Moriarty."

One word. It took one word to wipe the smirk off Andrew Jones' face.

"What did you just say?

Sherlock clenched his jaw, knowing what a psychopath this man was and what it meant to mention another psychopath—like a Neanderthal showing another Neanderthal in a mirror the could only end in catastrophe. He prepared himself for what was going to happen next. He wasn't disappointed when Jones ordered his men to pull him up and with the other black men in turbans, he was dragged outside into the clearing and dragged halfway into another quarter where Sherlock knew Mycroft would be.

He was dragged inside the hut just in time to see Mycroft stand up from a corner with eyes fully on the American walking towards him. Jones, without stopping, closed the gap between them in few strides and then wrapped his large fingers on Mycroft's neck and slammed him on the nearest wall with his whole back shaking at the force. Mycroft's breathless groan filled the room and Sherlock could only watch as he was held strongly on each arm by the Somalis.

"I thought you forgot to tell me something." Jones whispered on Mycroft's ear but enough for the consulting detective to hear. Mycroft coughed painfully and looking a little shaken at the assault, he pried his eyes open and found himself looking in confusion at Jones.

"W-what?"

"Your brother."

Mycroft looked around at once till his eyes fell on Sherlock who had eyes on him. With mouth hanging open at the development, he turned back at the American.

"What are you talking about?" Mycroft was forced to keep still as the deranged American turned so close their eyes were almost a blink a way.

"You never told me you were acquainted with Moriarty." His hands tightened around Mycroft's neck. "And if you are Mycroft Holmes then who do you think was that other Holmes involved with Moriarty, huh? You think I wouldn't know about the man who got rid of all his networks? The man who got him killed? You think I wouldn't know that?"

His hand nearly crushed the older Holmes' throat who was holding back breathe with eyes tightening close. With a gasp, Mycroft clawed his fingers on Jones' arms and was half expecting for his feet to leave the ground when—

"Leave him alone!" Sherlock forcefully tried to free himself from his guards, pulling away but not succeeding, his eyes burning holes at the back of Jones' head. Not succeeding to get attention, he went on, "I'm the one connected to Moriarty—so hands off my brother!"

"Oh, I know you are." Jones barely glanced at him as he loosened his grip on Mycroft's neck but did not budge an inch from where he was standing and continued ogling at the older Holmes. "I know of how he met his death, it was the talk in the underground and the name Sherlock Holmes— I should have seen the connection! It was all over the networks. But it wasn't that that made news on the Dark Web. Someone else was mentioned."

Mycroft could barely look away from Jones whose eyes were transfixed on him while Sherlock's lips parted.

"A man able to pull the strings behind while Sherlock Holmes remained the bait." Jones continued, "The man whom they said was working in the shadows of the British Government. Moriarty would make reference about him many times. He said this man had Sherlock Holmes wrapped on his palms. You think I wouldn't guess? Mycroft Holmes, my smart fellow who can make people do exactly as he said…or perhaps… the Antarctica?"

"And you really think the most important man of the country will come here, begging on his knees?" Sherlock retorted with heart pounding at the revelations that weren't meant to happen. If this continued, and Mycroft was found—

"So, you really do know him?" Jones' first sign of interest to Sherlock returned as he glanced back at the detective but then—

"So, what if I am?"

Sherlock froze in pure terror as he found his older brother speaking again. Even Jones was stunned at Mycroft's casualness. He stood there, an inch from Andrew Jones and breathing hard but his face remained resolute.

"Mycroft—" Sherlock began but his older brother cut him off with one look at the American.

And his tone was ever cold.

"So, what if I am?" he repeated tersely, "We already have a deal. Knowing this only adds a price on my head, but I don't think it's a reason for you to overreact."

"Overreact? You call this overreacting?" Jones opened his mouth, and then the next thing he was chortling and tapping each of Mycroft's shoulders, holding him like a prize and squeezing his arms. "You have no idea how much price you will be, Mr. Holmes. But what the hell, we do have an agreement. You've no idea how you just changed the orbit—"

"Mycroft!"

Both Jones and Mycroft turned to the consulting detective who was angrily staring at them from where he stood.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Mycroft didn't say anything but remained looking at his brother too. Before Sherlock found himself face to face with Andrew Jones who had finally turned his way with a big smirk on his face.

"Your brother has a minor position in the government, you say?" he grinned now at the maddened consulting detective who was only kept still by the guards holding his arms. "I don't think you understand the meaning of that. Who cares about the missiles if I can have my own navy?"

"You think my brother would betray his country?" Sherlock whispered testily, eyes bent on Jones.

"He already did." Jones shrugged with a smile, "Gave me the password. I already saw the codes."

Sherlock looked pass the American towards his brother who stood still, unmoved but with blank eyes staring at him too. The detective immediately turned to Jones with a step forward.

"Tell me about this deal." When Jones didn't speak, Sherlock nearly threw himself at the man but was held back by strong hands, "TELL ME!"

It was at that precise moment that yells from the outside suddenly broke the remaining tranquility outside. Sherlock and the rest looked around in attention, and then Jones was outside within seconds. Sherlock took the opportunity as the other of his henchmen followed the American and strode to where his brother was standing.

"Are you okay?" he asked first with eyes searching Mycroft's face, and then falling to his brother's reddened neck. It made the younger Holmes swallow hard.

But Mycroft was the epitome of calm. With eyes looking at the ceiling, he turned to Sherlock quietly. "That's them."

Sherlock stared, and then in understanding he blinked several times at his older brother.

"Your Special Operation?" he said in disbelief, then accused his brother— "Are you calculating all of this?"

"Listen, we don't have time." Mycroft gave him his sharpest glare. "We will proceed as planned. You have to give the message—they will understand. We'll have to do something radical now that Jones has the keycode."

"He already has the keycode—what else does he want from you?"

"Well, you can imagine what he'd want to do with the man who has access to all of Great Britain's sources, don't you?" Mycroft raised an annoyed eyebrow, "But it doesn't matter—"

"Doesn't matter? You threatened anyone who comes closer to me in fear of discovering your name and now they know who you are 'it doesn't matter'—!?"

Sherlock stopped in midair as Mycroft's hand shot out of nowhere and grasped his arm tight to get his attention.

"Sherlock." Mycroft's face was very solemn, "It will all not matter if you succeed with your job. You understand? You must get left behind and be rescued. It's critical. I trust no one else in this world, you know that, except you."

The younger Holmes looked startled. Then he smirked. "Is this textbook to you too?"

Mycroft shook his head, "You must get the coordinates to them in time. You must let me be taken away."

At that, the younger Holmes halted for he knew that tone of Mycroft's. He always knew when he had to really follow. Mycroft always knows how to make him after all.

"What'll happen to you?" he asked.

"I'll be just fine." Mycroft slowly let go of his arm and stood warily, especially as they heard running feet and shouting people outside. "I can't disappear beside Jones. I have to make sure he'll be there when this happens or risk having him escaped. He's notorious for being slippery, and he already has the codes and my identity. I can't let him get away."

From a far, Sherlock thought he heard a helicopter's sound. Something at the pit of his stomach churned as he looked at his older brother again. He knew something was wrong, but he also knew Mycroft was being reasonable. He had to choose his own set of action now. But one thing was for sure, his older brother looked truly worn out.

"Why is Eurus doing this?" he couldn't help but ask defeatedly. "To you?"

Mycroft, who was already expecting people to come thru the door, glanced back at him and paused at his question.

"Sibling rivalry?" he suggested in bemusement.

"Mycroft." Sherlock could just feel his brother slipping by.

"She hates me as how sibling would hate irresponsible big brothers." Mycroft finished with a short nod. "But she just didn't think a little 'well' could contain me."

Sherlock blinked, but the pirates came surging in with big steps towards his big brother. Jones was waiting at the doorway when Sherlock was shoved aside and Mycroft was taken by the arms. The American shook his head as he and Mycroft looked at each other.

"I knew you were behind all those raids."

"If we go now, they won't even catch us." Mycroft offered.

"And you're no longer to contact anyone starting now, Marco Polo." He nodded at his men who dragged the older Holmes out, leaving Sherlock watching his disappearing form, before his eyes found the American whom he despised so much at the moment.

"Why not take me too?" Sherlock growled, knowing full well Mycroft would get cross with him but he doesn't care. Something was not right with their parting and he was pretty eager to get reunited just to annoy Mycroft again.

"That's part of the deal, I don't get to take the younger one or the older will be less cooperative." Jones frowned, "I don't know what logic he used to make me agree, but you will stay here till we're done at sea. Your brother has decided to work for me without letting Garlack know our connection. I don't intend to share him with Garlack or anyone so I'm keeping my part of the bargain. You, on the other hand, looks like you'll be in the middle of a war for a while."

"Jones!" Sherlock gritted his teeth in frustration, "Leave me here and you won't have another peaceful day—!"

"Yeah, yeah, try to survive first, would you?" Jones called and he was gone. The next thing, Sherlock heard the American's land rover roar its engine and within seconds the sound of their vehicle roaring away. The other Somali pirates were still running around, calling orders and shouting at each other while Sherlock slumped himself down the floor at the lost of his older brother.

But it was no time to feel defeated. Mycroft gave him one purpose and that was to survive. If it was mere surviving, Sherlock had never questioned his willpower to do so. What more with the intent to run after his brother almost immediately. He didn't trust Jones but more so the idea that Mycroft was on his own again.

He didn't like how he found Mycroft here in Middle East the first time because it forcefully changed him to someone Sherlock hardly recognized. Mycroft was not fit to fight war in the frontline—he was the man supposedly found behind office tables, near the fireside and meeting halls. Not in front of guns with a torn and patched up body. That was Sherlock's job. He didn't like Mycroft bearing with this because from the very beginning he believed and still believe—

Mycroft was not as strong as he thinks he is!

How could he be sure?

Because the moment he and Jones came inside the house where Mycroft was sitting on the chair, Sherlock's quick eyes found his brother with face pressed hard on his palms and he was shaking. And if anyone had looked closely at all, they would find how vulnerable and defenseless Mycroft was for a brief second before he got assaulted by Jones— and if Jones had any sense then he would've seen how Mycroft's eyes were red from crying before he was slammed on the wall.

If anyone had been looking they would have seen not the man behind everything, but the man bearing everything.

Sherlock saw all of it and wished he had seen it sooner. Mycroft was breaking.

The helicopters were on top of the roof in a matter of fifteen minutes. Sherlock stood up from where he was sitting and jumped into the open light of the rescuers with all vigor of a survivor intent on doing another purpose.

Mycroft lied to Sherlock. He always does.

But to say he still have doubts, that was imaginary.

The land rover roared away on to the desert and travelled far within the next half an hour while he sat in the middle of four Somalis at the back of the vehicle. In the next few minutes he knew his plan would be in action. He knew that by then Sherlock would have been rescued. By then his little brother would have given the coordinates to the alpha leader who would then understand and send the message to the UK Navy whose missile coordinates had been jeopardize by his sister.

If his mother would ask him again, this time he would say it repeatedly: he did his best.

Because there was no way he would have told the Defense Secretary of his sister's involvement that would endanger her life. There was no way to change the keycodes Eurus gave away without the Navy asking questions. There was no way to solve any of this without sacrifices.

Thus, the only thing in his power to do was to give command. Command the launch of missiles at a certain point, certain coordinates that would finally put an end to this traumatic experience.

Once his men received his order, then the Navy would fire these missiles and no one can use Eurus as a leverage any longer. The missiles will be used, end of story.

To where it was headed, well… Mycroft didn't work hard for the past three months for all of it to go to waste. As of now, all the Kingpins, Elders, remnants of AL Qaeda, ISIS and every other terrorists' organization in the world will be attending the awaited Black Market's meeting in the middle of the Indian Ocean to discuss their 'compromise'. The Jolly Roger report did cite the impeding meeting of this terror groups in order to dominate the South. So then, all that was left was to take them by surprise.

No need to capture them. He'll just destroy everything. No need to inform anyone, they were all dead men.

He looked at his clock with the noise of the land rover on his ears. Twelve hours left before then. Jones was driving and he looked simply satisfied through the rearview mirror. If only he knew the counter gift Mycroft would give him that would be sure to surpass that of Eurus. Even Sherlock would find it hard not to praise him.

Yet, in his silent reverie, Mycroft held his hands together and closed them tight as he remembered Sherlock and what it would mean once he realized how he became an instrument to his brother's plan.

Sorry brothermine… but something horrible is about to happen soon.

But it's alright.

I've gotten rid of you.

-To be Continued-

A/N: *shoooooooook*

Thank you for reading!