*Eyepatch in the Suit*

by: Whitegloves

a/n: This is some brain zinger! Don't get lost!

Enjoy the story! :)

11. Dead Men Tell No Tales 3 [End]

[A Prelude] Fifteen hours ago.

Discontented, grumpy and disagreeable were only some of the words John Watson could think of to describe his current mood as he stood rooted on the spot with eyes focused entirely on a monitor hanging just in front of him. He was in his dark jacket and casual trousers, comfortable shoes and a full acid expression he normally wore when Sherlock was being stupid. To define stupid here would mean being out of touch for months after hooking John with the details of retrieving a certain agent that was lost amidst terrorists and pirates alike. John would have given anything to accompany Sherlock with the mission but with the intricacies of the details, not to mention to absolute inconsistencies that Mycroft Holmes had left behind which made him appear suspicious, Sherlock advised that it was best for him to go alone.

A load of good it did him and now he too was gone.

Pacing on the floor, John scratched the side of his nose and mulled over his last resort to jump in and take action if today didn't pan out in any way he wanted, wondering if his old buddies from Iraq and Afghanistan could give him access to Yemen when he heard the buzzing sound of someone opening the glass door of the room he was presently occupying and found himself facing the Lady of whom his last string of hope was attached.

"Dr. Watson," Lady Smallwood smoothly greeted as she crossed the room without breaking her route towards the table, her inch heels making that clopping sound that made John stood rigidly. She placed documents on the table and once facing the doctor, she offered him the chair opposite the table which John casually brushed aside and remained standing instead. Lady Smallwood took the gesture and settled on the chair behind the table, pulling on her dark coat and putting both hands together which John didn't find consoling.

"Do you know where they are?" he began.

She met his eyes. John waited.

"There was an order to raid the Southern region of Yemen in Alhawta. We believe it's the current position of the Holmes brothers. CIA operatives had just reported the success of their mission not ten minutes ago and managed to retrieve one."

John stared at her without blinking, his anticipation getting the best of him.

"Who?"

"By description, I think it is Sherlock Holmes."

The doctor bit his lower lip. "And Mycroft?"

She shook her head. "The details are still unverified and whatever happened to Mycroft— only Sherlock Holmes could enlighten us now." She gripped her hands again and looked at the documents she left on the table. "I'm afraid this has reached the level of more than just finding out what happened to him."

John frowned. "What's that mean?"

She looked up, her expression a matter-of-fact, "Mycroft's actions have been suspicious as of late, and whether he was working for the interest of the nation or his own, I'm afraid this doesn't bode well for him. That is, if he even plans to come back alive, what with all the lines he's crossed and questionable things he's done."

"Seriously, who puts the bar?" John opened both hands in a shrug, "He's been doing shady things as far as I remember and you're only going to judge him now because what—he's not in the country?"

Lady Smallwood reached for the documents but only tapped it with her forefinger.

"I cannot disclose any details, but from our point of view on evidences, it has reached a certain degree of alarm." She eyed the doctor again, "One that could pass for treason."

Startled, John took a moment before he stepped towards the table and placed both his hands on its edge. "Look, I'm not a big Mycroft-fan but I know from our acquaintance that he's the most loyal, if not upright servant of the nation and if you're telling me that this man who's served your office for half his life has committed treason then maybe it's your documents and evidences that needs rechecking."

Lady Smallwood was silent for a while, before putting both hands together again, her striking eyes not leaving the doctor's.

"I applaud your loyalty, Doctor Watson, and I know just what you feel. I was also in that position, determined to believe Mycroft much more than anything… why do you think I conducted my own investigation?"

John slowly straightened with eyes falling on the documents. "You conducted your own—?"

"To prove Mycroft's innocence not for the sake of the government, but for my own satisfaction. I'm afraid the results were not on his favor." John stared at her hard as she continued, "If anything could par with Mycroft Holmes' loyalty to the nation… don't you think it's his family?"

John bit his lips again, and then chuckled. "You're kidding?"

She gave him a levelled look, but the doctor shook his head.

"The man put both his siblings in prison just because he thought it's the right thing!"

She nodded. "He's also the man who sent his younger brother on deathly missions without as much as blinking an eye."

"See?" John was still frowning at her unconvinced expression, "So if you're saying Mycroft's attachment to his family has made him do inconceivable things then you really have to check your facts. Mycroft is never overly sentimental. My god, the man barely visited his sister after Sherrinford—don't you think that's saying something? The last time I saw him he was convinced he couldn't do anything for her sake and would not even try! He was more concerned with a parking ticket for christsake."

"So, you really think Mycroft is incapable of—"

"Feeling?" John gave her a flat stare, "I think that ship has sailed a long long time ago, I don't think— and I thought you know him better than I do?" When she didn't reply, the doctor shook his head, "So I'm begging you not to escalate anything until we know further about what's going on. I'm sure Sherlock has an answer."

Lady Smallwood straightened her back with eyes on her documents. "That's why I have not raised this to the Cabinet's attention. If anyone should know about this first, I do think it's Sherlock Holmes."

John nodded, "So are we going to hear from him soon?"

"I asked the unit to make contact immediately. I'm waiting for the line to open since they're to connect here, it's been five minutes." She barely finished her words when the main phone on the table suddenly rang. Lady Smallwood watched it ring for a second before briefly exchanging looks with John before taking the call.

The voice on the other end made her put the receiver down and hit the speaker phone.

"Sherlock Holmes?" she called much to John's relief.

"It's me—" came the familiar voice of his best friend that got the doctor stepping towards the phone—

"Sherlock—Sherlock can you hear me?"

"John?" there were radio statics in the middle but the connection was still clear and the doctor heard his best friend calling him again, "John—Lady Smallwood—?"

"She's here, keep on talking!" John nearly planted his face by the telephone, "What's happening? Where are you?"

"I'm on a chopper heading straight to Balhaf!"

Lady Smallwood looked taken a back.

"I knew it." John gave another sigh of relief, but his face was grave, "So Mycroft's alive? You're coming after him?"

"Yes—that idiot's planning something idiotic, again—"

"I see you made the Special Operations Unit follow your instructions?" Lady Smallwood was frowning. "What have you found?"

"Why don't you first tell me if you know anything about coordinates?"

"Coordinates?" Lady Smallwood glance up at the doctor in bemusement, "What are you talking about?"

There was a sigh on the other end.

"I knew it. So there's no rescue mission involved with these coordinates."

"What coordinates?"

"Sherlock, Lady Smallwood doesn't know anything your brother is planning." John answered for the lady had looked as blank as he was if he looked in the mirror, "Mycroft's working on his own."

"I figured. Why do you think I'm headed to Balhaf? I need to catch the ship before it sailed to the middle of nowhere."

"What coordinates are you talking about?" Lady Smallwood inquired, now seemingly urgent.

Sherlock hesitated, John felt it. "Sherlock?"

"It's something our sister plotted to have Mycroft running down in Middle East. Which reminds me, how's Eurus? Is everything alright? Any anomalies—inexplicable escape perhaps?"

"No, I don't think so." John turned towards the monitor behind him distractedly, "She's the same as the last time you saw her. Unresponsive."

"How can you be sure?"

"Well, you did tell me to look after her while you're gone." John quietly said with a glance back at the phone. "I mean, I've been going back and forth in Sherrinford to the last couple of days. I'm here right now, Sherlock."

"Did she do anything suspicious? Like a week ago at most did you see her anywhere near a computer?"

"No, she's pretty much the same."

They heard Sherlock clicked his tongue impatiently. "Lady Smallwood you have to explain yourself—was there anyone—anyone who you can name who wants to come after my brother in the higher ups?"

"Mr. Holmes," Lady Smallwood's voice sounded urgent. "Does this have anything to do with your brother's profile?"

"Yes—dammit we're in the middle of a war and you let someone hack over something so important!?"

A long silence, John straightened again with an ominous feeling building in the air as the lady looked down the documents on the table, and with carefully chosen words, she went on, "Mr. Holmes, it isn't who you think it is."

John frowned at the Lady but Sherlock beat him to it. "What do you mean?"

"That profile." Her jaw squared. "It's inexistent." Silence met her words. John averted his eyes from the phone to the lady who went on, "Your brother had no existing profile in our archives. He was the one who insisted it would only cause trouble because he didn't trust anyone. Imagine my surprise when I received a report it was hacked."

There was a tiny gasp at the end of the line and the doctor could just see his best friend going wild in his mind palace as something occurred to him in the middle of everything.

"Sherlock? Are you alright?"

"John, are you sure Eurus is there?"

"What do you mean—of course I'm bloody sure."

"Are you outside her room?"

"No, but—"

"What if it's all computer simulated—?"

John was already running towards the exit of the room before Sherlock could finish his words.

"Bloody hell." He muttered as he made his way to all the entrances with his passcode able to open doors till he found himself running in the familiar hallway heading to the direction of her room. Once outside the last door, and with a suspicious glance at the men guarding the doorway, John immediately threw himself forward to the limiting glasses, his eyes falling immediately to its captive.

John swallowed the excitement that was reverberating in his body. Then he nodded more to himself as he saw her sat still at the edge of her bed, immobile and expressionless but solid, nonetheless

"Yeah…" he sighed, "Yeah, she's here."

"She's really there." Lady Smallwood told Sherlock on the other end, watching John Watson catch his breath outside Eurus' glass room. "And if you must know, Sherlock, it's not from her account that the Davy Jones file actually came from. It was made to look that way. It's not her, Sherlock. She's not the enemy."

The consulting detective seemed aggravated. "Why, what did you find?"

"I had Sherrinford investigated in the absence of your brother and it turned out—"

"Let me guess," Sherlock interrupted with deep set voice, "Uncle Rudi?"

Sherlock tugged on his brother's arm as his eyes scanned the crowd and saw more of Garlack's men for it was him that he saw in the middle of the crowd. The deck was huge and filled with pirates and terrorists where he knew the Kingpin was bound to be part of the so-called 'Summit' but to actually run into him in the middle of their escape was a probability he didn't anticipate. Garlack does have a beef with him with regards to the mobile phone, and he doesn't even know if the kingpin knew Jones had taken Mycroft in the ship but he wasn't going to stay long to find out, so taking his brother by the arm, he was about to stir him away when he found Mycroft immovable on the spot, like a stone statue fixed on the ground.

"Mycroft," he hissed, walking behind him and was surprised to see his older brother's pallid face. "Mycroft?"

But his brother was not budging an inch, nor was he showing any sign of hearing him whatsoever. Alarmed, Sherlock followed where his brother was looking and only saw Garlack. Was his brother reacting to some past trauma with the kingpin?

"She's here."

Sherlock froze upon hearing his older brother's voice and looked at him full in the face.

"Who's here?" he whispered slowly, his hand not leaving Mycroft's arm.

Without breaking his line of vision, the older Holmes heaved a deep sigh.

"Eurus."

Sherlock shot the spot where Mycroft was looking again, then looked everywhere else. With a startled look, the younger Holmes began beckoning towards his brother with some uneasiness.

"She's not here, Mycroft. That's impossible."

"No." Mycroft's voice shook, and when it did, the alarm in Sherlock's head went wild that despite their position, despite their play, he crossed his brother's path, stood in front of him and looked him in the eye till Mycroft was looking back at him too. The sweat pouring on his face and the fright reflected on his eyes only made Sherlock blink and raised a reassuring hand on his uninjured arm.

"Mycroft, listen," he whispered softly and was glad his brother seemed aware of his presence, "Eurus is not here. I know it. You have to snap out of it."

Mycroft's eyes flickered to his younger brother, and then towards the spot where he thought he saw her and then blinked several times. There was something in his expression that the younger Holmes didn't quite like but with time not in their favor, Sherlock looked back at where Garlack was and then to his brother.

"We have to get out of here."

Mycroft didn't say anything but it was enough for Sherlock to pull on his brother's hand again as they wade themselves out of the throng— all the passengers had already lulled themselves in the false sense of their securities and were all busily making acquaintances with others no matter how grim. Sherlock was not surprised to find the ship oozing with the most wanted of men and women but it was not his priority to butt heads with anyone. He has to get Mycroft out before their real enemy comes out. But the brothers haven't taken much step away from the center when Sherlock found himself getting tugged back to a stop. Throwing a look behind him, he was staggered this time to see that Andrew Jones had caught his older brother by the arm while his other was holding a bottle of beer.

Sherlock immediately let go of Mycroft's hand, which fell on his older brother's side limply, and raised his black cloth mask to the bridge of his nose. Jones looked like he was enjoying himself as he took a full swig on the bottle he was holding, with a gun exposed on his belt.

"I see, you've decided to join the party?" the American breathed as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, "I wasn't planning on calling on you till the auction."

Mycroft didn't say anything and Sherlock wasn't sure if it was registering to his brother that Jones was right in front of him. The American noticed it too and narrowed his eyes."

"You seem awfully distracted. You were pretty cool before I left you in the room. What's the matter? Having cold feet?"

Sherlock stood firmly behind his brother, but kept his eyes on the ground. He didn't like his brother conversing with Jones at this critical time, especially when Mycroft looked so out of it.

"I promised you the codes… I see no reason for you to sell me to the Arabians." The older Holmes said quietly.

Jones gave Mycroft a surprised look but it wasn't only him. Even Sherlock had to look up as the American shifted on his ground and smiled a little. "But you've already given me the codes."

Mycroft stared at him. "No… I haven't."

"You did, we even made a deal out of it—back in the camp." Jones smiled again with a curious look at the older Holmes, "I've seen the codes, even prepared a long speech before I reveal it to this market."

Mycroft continued looking confused. "But this afternoon, we spoke… I haven't given you the codes."

Jones stayed his eyes at the man, but it didn't take long before he barked out a laugh and took another swig from his bottle. Then pointing at Mycroft, he chuckled more and shook his head.

"We haven't spoken since lunch… ah, I get it. You didn't have enough rest? I mean the pressure, Mr. Holmes. I understand, you should take a rest. You." Jones suddenly motioned for Sherlock to come near him which the younger Holmes did but with eyes still down. Approaching the American, he stopped in front of him long enough to let Jones whisper on his ear.

"Bring him back in the suit. And make sure he stays there, got that? I'll collect him myself. I wonder what he noticed that made him think the Arabians want him. I better check on that, you don't ignore super observations like that."

With that, Jones nodded again and turned his back, while Sherlock with one last look at the American, turned on his heels towards his brother. Mycroft was staring at Jones' disappearing back too, before his eyes fell on his younger brother who had approached him quietly.

"What does that mean?" Mycroft asked incredulously, "I saw him—I spoke to him—you were there! Weren't you? Since when were you tailing me?"

"I told you since I boarded the ship."

"Blast you, why didn't you reveal yourself sooner?"

"I couldn't give myself away, could I—?"

"But you were there! You saw we've had a short exchange around sunset!"

Sherlock fixed his eyes at his older brother and shook his head with a slightly poignant look. "No. You only stood there, Mycroft. No one approached you. I should know, I was beside you the whole time."

Mycroft shook his head insistently. "But I don't remember giving him the codes…" he mumbled.

"You did." Sherlock confirmed, now giving him a heavy look. "We've discussed this the night before… I know of the deal you made, Mycroft… Look—" Mycroft's mouth open but no words came out, Sherlock watched him with some apprehension, but then shook his head again and took his brother by the arm. The poor man looked so fatigued.

"We have to get out of here first, let's figure it out once we're safe." But Mycroft refused to be budged.

"I don't understand…" he sought Sherlock's eyes with a flicker of earnestness, "Did I just forget—?"

Sherlock gently clamped both hands on either side of his brother reassuringly. "You're tired. Your bound to forget one or two things—"

"Sherlock, it's me." Mycroft said rather testily, eyebrows raising.

"I know. Now come on, we can't dwell on something inexplicable when we're all so tense."

"I just don't understand—"

"Believe me, I've waited many years for you to say that. Now, come on."

"Sherlock!" when it was apparent the younger Holmes was not going to give him an answer, Mycroft sighed, "Right, and how exactly do we proceed from here?"

"Safety boats."

"Excuse me?"

"Move."

Tugging on his older brother, Sherlock mechanically pushed his way on to the crowd, leading to the corner where the exit of the banquet was found. The whole ship was crawling with men carrying heavy set of weapons, guardsman in the shadows of their masters and then pirates who lurked about in dark corners, eyes suspicious of everyone and watching everyone's movements. Sherlock was careful not to draw attention to himself or his brother. Once he saw too many men huddled together and talking inauspiciously. His instinct as a consulting detective kicked in and his curiosity nearly got the best of him once or twice as he saw familiar faces in the international crime list— some number one most wanted in Mexico, United States even Asia—in one of those groups in striking conversations. That was enough to remind him how they were playing in dangerous waters. To have all these men here, right now at this very moment where his older brother impeccably planned their demise sound almost too farfetched.

Yet, here they all were, all gathered together because of that final enemy. Sherlock couldn't believe it was him, but with all the evidences gathered that pinpointed his man, there was no denying it. And as a general rule he had always faithfully followed, 'Once eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.'

And the truth was never simple.

Then Sherlock stopped as he glanced at those men again, his mind palace hitting him hard in the head, if that was possible. These men here were all gathered—but who was the root of everything? Who initiated an era of pirates and terrorists working together? And for Andrew Jones to be fashionably put at the center too. Sherlock was sure Mycroft would scold him for missing all connections when it was served in front of him. Then again, the facts seemed to be lost in Mycroft too and between the two of them that was never a good thing. The real question now was how to break it to his older brother?

After a moment of deep thinking and realizing there was but one answer, the younger Holmes emerged from his head with a deep sigh. Some truths are of no importance when time was of the essence—they had to get out of there before the attack—

"Mycroft, we—" Sherlock looked around him only to realize that Mycroft was nowhere in sight. Perturbed, he was sure that seconds ago there was his brother's shadow right behind him when his mind palace swallowed his attention. Shooting looks around, Sherlock took steps back to where he came from and then travelled his eyes again. Panic rose deep within him—for how could he afford to lose Mycroft now when any moment that person could appear? He looked around and only saw men with their guns, men in their black turbans, men in their suit—and then a lone man retreating into the shadows towards a stair—

As though electrified, Sherlock quickly followed the familiar back he couldn't mistake as his brother. With 30 minutes on their clock, he bolted right up the stairs that lead to the back of the ship. Reaching the top and finding himself in the stern, the cold breeze of the night hit him despite his warm garment. Then Sherlock saw that the stern was quite empty, except for the man standing in the middle of the wide space, breathing heavily and with head looking in all direction as if seeing something others could not. The consulting detective clenched his teeth.

Must he tell Mycroft that he knows who was behind this now before it's too late?

Sherlock strode towards his brother, but had to stop a few feet away as this time he knew, Mycroft had noticed.

"What are you doing—we cannot waste time here we need to go at the portside—" he called, looking around and making sure no one was on sight and removing the black cloth from his mouth. The older Holmes stood still, and there was something about how his shoulders sagged and his head lowered that the younger Holmes understood he was about to tread on the real danger of the game. "Mycroft?"

"I saw her again…" the older Holmes replied his tone lifeless, "I followed her."

Sherlock stopped dead. "She's in Sherrinford, Mycroft—she's not here—now let's go."

"You're wrong. She's here."

Sherlock stared at him, standing there in the middle with hands on both his sides like a specter. It made the younger Holmes blink as something occurred to him. "How long have you been seeing her?"

Mycroft moved his head but he didn't look back. "Couple of times. I'm afraid she's escaped."

"No, Mycroft, that's—"

"Why do you suppose I keep seeing her?" came the anxious tone. "But then she would always run away."

"She's in Sherrinford," Sherlock repeated, taking time in stepping closer to his brother, "Now, we really have to go."

"She made me think of that before. To find she was already closing in on you…" his voice trailed off, "And if she isn't here then why is she haunting me even in my conscious moment?"

Sherlock rooted his feet on the ground, not too far now, and transfixed his eyes at his older brother. What could that mean? Mycroft's words implied that Eurus had always been in his dreams, in this case his subconscious. The term had Sherlock's eyes widening as the pieces of the puzzle inside his head suddenly electrified and connected each other—and just like those Eureka moments he understood now, why it was possible for the crime to even happen under Mycroft's nose.

"Mycroft, do you remember why you're here?"

There was a short silence, before he replied. "Yes… I came to save her from herself."

"Are you sure that's the real reason?" he stepped forward.

"What else is there? She planned to destroy the world and I came to stop her, like I always do. But she still wouldn't leave me alone. She keeps haunting me, more so than before…" he gulped. "Why do you think she's doing this, Sherlock?"

The detective hesitated. "Because you've become… too vulnerable."

Mycroft slightly looked behind him. "Oh?"

"Brothermine, you're seeing a ghost," the fact that Mycroft missed it was alarming.

"A ghost?" a dead beat and his older brother's tone shook. As if he's realized and was making his body go cold. "Does that make you one too? You're also not here?"

"No… no I'm afraid I'm real. Lucky for you too, I came. To tell you that it's enough."

"What is enough?"

"This… whatever you've done."

"I don't understand." Mycroft swallowed hard. "You know what's happening, don't you? You're all calm and collected."

"Because I need to be." Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "For both our sake."

"Enlighten me."

"I uh… We don't have time."

"And I won't move another inch until I understand."

"Mycroft—"

"Sherlock." There was a warning tone there as he faced his younger brother with solemn eyes. Mycroft had never looked so nervous. "Tell me. What do you think is happening?"

Sherlock hesitated again, knowing that he was stepping on a landmine he didn't think was just before his feet. It had crossed his mind the minute Lady Smallwood gave him the evidence, but had to dismiss it—only to be proven right again. And to think it has reached the level beyond his imagination—he doesn't know if he has the right equipment to deal with his older brother's predicament.

How do you say it to someone like Mycroft Holmes?

"You see her, Mycroft, because your subconscious, your fear of her has reached its limit." Sherlock paused, sensing something much more treacherous than the upcoming airstrike, "You've noticed it too, haven't you?"

Mycroft made no attempt to engage, and so finding it was his job to burst his older brother's bubble—a job he would have paid to get, but now regretting every minute of it— Sherlock Holmes closed his fists, dared another step forward as he never felt the need for his courage more than now. Because it was one thing to realize that their sister was never involved in this conspiracy—and it was another to find the real enemy.

"Eurus had always been the core of your repressed emotion, and I don't blame you, really Mycroft—"

Mycroft inclined his head a little, now frowning. "What are you saying?"

"Eurus was never the enemy. You only made yourself believe she was—"

Mycroft stood straight, his lips parting open. "Are you suggesting—I am framing her?"

"Not exactly." Eyes glinting and knowing now that his brother needed help, Sherlock went on, "You made Eurus a pedestal of fear— an idea so upsetting and disturbing you shoved it aside in your subconscious— and that's why your subconscious had always known how destructive the thought of her is. That's why it wasn't hard to make you believe she was center of all the terrible things happening. But, she was never part of this Davy Jones scheme. You only made yourself believe she was. Because it was easy."

"Don't be absurd." Mycroft shook his head slowly and his ashen, empty face was enough to worry the consulting detective, "She sent out the Davy Jones… she called for Jones through Moriarty… I didn't give Jones any code as far as I remember—"

"That's as far as you know but I know it—Jones did too—you've given the codes." Sherlock cut him as he watched his brother carefully, "And Eurus was already unable to process any thing the moment we finished the game in Musgrave… you saw her."

"But she could have sent the Davy Jones file before Musgrave—"

"The file wasn't sent from her account!"

Mycroft stood rigidly and stared at Sherlock as if seeing him for the first time. "What?"

The younger Holmes suddenly found himself fearing what he was about to say. A rare occasion indeed. But he really was afraid not for himself, but for the man who was so broken he didn't even realize he's been in pieces for so long.

"Mycroft— I… Eurus cut off any communication from the outside of Sherrinford when she had us. She didn't want to risk any spoilers in the game in case one of us tried to communicate—there was no way she was able to send the Davy Jones file to anyone—let alone a connection from Moriarty—the man who thought he could finish everything with us killing each other! There was no beta plan for them! They wanted to end it right there and then—Eurus had no desire to get you—she only wanted context!"

For the first time, an expression enveloped Mycroft's feature: panic.

"Sherlock…" he whispered, "what are you… what exactly are you saying? That there is another person behind all of this? It's not Eurus?"

The younger Holmes' face darkened. "It's not her… but yes, there is someone very dangerous. Someone whom as I understand… you don't even know exist."

The older Holmes held his breath. "Who?"

A beat, and Sherlock never pulled his eyes away from Mycroft as he finished— "You."

Sherlock let silence fall, his own mind whirling at what he had discovered along the way after having a conversation with Lady Smallwood. She had given him all her findings and all pointed, at the very end, to the only person capable of an international scale manipulation—there could only be one.

Nevertheless, to find out the man himself was unaware was making Sherlock feel uneasy. It was better to face a criminal who boldly claims rights to crime— it was another when said criminal was helpless and in the mercy of something he cannot control. In his older brother's case, the extent of devastation was heavy. Sherlock couldn't help feeling that it was his lost too.

Mycroft stared at him in disbelief. "What the blazes—?"

"Mycroft, I am with you—I never thought it possible until I saw the pattern. You're the only one who fits the category! The only person who can do this magnitude of planning—connections and even position. All those terrorists in one ship? The CIA? The raids? What do you think were you doing when you're out with your band of pirates all over town? Who knows the passcode of the submarine missiles? Who even knows about Andrew Jones? You made yourself believe Eurus can do all of this— but the fact that she can't illuminates something in the dark—that with her out of the picture who else can do this? Who else is most capable?"

"You're out of your mind!" Mycroft bellowed and with some indignity that had Sherlock stepping forward. "Are you accusing me of this crime—I don't even—I found the Davy Jones file! I saw Eurus' message to me, it was her!"

"No." Sherlock gave him a hard stare, "And it's about time you eliminate the impossible too."

Mycroft looked thunderstruck and even stepped backward unconsciously. "No… no…"

"Mycroft, the fact that you're denying it is a real relief to me than I care to admit." The younger Holmes went on strongly, "At the same time—I fear for you. You not knowing any of this—but it still points back to you! You've noticed that there's something amiss with everything happening that you've been neglecting to pay attention. You've distracted yourself so much with the game that you didn't even notice him come out. You never thought it possible. But brothermine, eventually when the brain takes over, even you will be unaware of the action it takes."

Mycroft shook his head. "But it's not possible because then I would have noticed!"

"How could you when the very thing I speak of is your subconscious? You know I'm right!"

"Prove it!"

"Lady Smallwood retrieved the CCTV footage of you setting it all up in Sherrinford." Sherlock breathed hard, "I don't know what—but you probably snapped at that moment of your confinement while we were in Musgrave! You're the one who sent the Davy Jones file! You may not be aware of it—because you were not meant to!"

"Why would I even do that?"

"I don't know…" Sherlock's voice trailed away, "I honestly don't know… but if it's your unconscious mind working… if the motivation is so great that you planned it in your head to be here right now… I can only think you want to punish yourself."

Mycroft vigorously shook his head. Sherlock kept his hold.

"Mycroft," he began again seeing his older brother whose face had lost the remaining color left, "I beg you not to question me when you're aware some part of this don't make sense. From the very beginning, think of the only person capable of an all-our-war like this one, brother. Eurus had been incapacitated for many months. And your profile—a nonexistent profile that was sent from your own office—who else is qualified of releasing such a record? And who even began this summit in the first place, gathering all the most dangerous persons in the world. Are you following me, Mycroft?"

"Profile?" Mycroft looked at him blankly and by then he looked like he was about to faint. Sherlock was liking his deductions even less. Briefly, he explained the encounter with Garlack and his phone. A piece of information that had the British government head blinking hard. "Is that why you smashed it to pieces?"

"You miss the point."

"But I don't ever remember…"

Sherlock pressed a final sigh. Mycroft now was looking terribly alarmed.

"My god, Sherlock… you really think that I—you mean I wanted all of this to happen?"

"Your subconscious wanted it, I'm deducting base on what I know. How else do we explain your handy work here? But even if you're behind everything—if you're mentally unstable—"

"No, stop it—I do not have a maniac on the loose— I do not have any sort of— alter ego!" his voice echoed in the night.

"No, it doesn't have to be an alter ego— but some unconscious level. You know your brain is extremely powerful! Think of your brain as the combination of a hundred normal brain, Mycroft and then all together they snapped—"

"You idiot—"

"No, really? The man who's pretended to have an emotional scale of a toothpick—? Wake up, Mycroft—you're human! All the things you did in the past—everything from the very beginning—you can't repress and suppress all of that without consequences! Eventually whatever your doing will lead to self-destruction! Look where we are now!"

Mycroft began pacing the floor with a very wounded look. "Are you saying I'm insane!?"

Sherlock grabbed his brother's arm and held him firmly. Looking him in the eye and making sure his older brother understands— it was important to be clear— "I'm saying I'm here to help you. Alter ego or not—it's your body working on demand of your unconscious. We both know something's wrong, brother—you did not forget the deal with Jones, and you did not send out the Davy Jones file— it's your brain, Mycroft, it's so powerful it's even fooling you. It's like sleep walking—"

Mycroft groaned and put both palms on his face, making Sherlock smile briefly.

"So, the best thing for you to do is to trust me, Mycroft."

But Sherlock was still wary because he was certain it was there. He missed it before but he remembered seeing him—the first time he saw Mycroft in Aden with those men coming out from a tavern. That wasn't his older brother. He saw the ring leader. He remembered sensing then and admitting that yes, there standing in his older brother's body was the villain. The real pirate wearing the eyepatch behind the suit. Though it made him wonder why he hasn't met this side of his brother, but then an occurring thought came next, that may be his brother's saving grace.

"I'm sorry to say brother, but no matter how we both try to find it inexplicable—you suffered a lot." Sherlock went on, finally able to begin with the right words, "You can be resilient, but to deny it for so long—no one can do that without repercussion! And after Sherrinford—you were never the same. Something triggered."

Sherlock went back to a time of telling Greg Lestrade to look after his brother but how does one like the Detective Inspector see that this was already happening? The younger Holmes wondered if it was then that this 'subconscious' had appeared and got triggered.

"The only trigger I ever worry about is now." Mycroft suddenly put a passing hand on his forehead, "Good god, how do I know I'm still me, Sherlock?"

The earnestness that Sherlock saw behind his older brother's eyes only made the detective clutch Mycroft's arm tighter.

"Because I'm here." He replied quietly. "It's a shot in the dark, but I've never met your subconscious part… I can only assume somehow your subconscious knows I must live in your awareness. That there is no need for you to be another around me."

The Holmes brothers exchange looks, and there was something in that exchange that was both assuring and warm. Mycroft had never looked so vulnerable and Sherlock was not enjoying witnessing it for his brother was meant to be strong. It then made him wonder if this act of resiliency had something to do with Mycroft being Mycroft.

He watched the older Holmes pressed his dried lips and gave a short nod after a time to breathe air.

"That's encouraging. I only hope it's true."

"Don't give yourself a reason to change to anyone I don't know." Sherlock warned him, finally letting go and sighing again. "But if he does come out, I'd encourage a long final chat."

The older Holmes heaved a deep sigh and shook his head. "This is insane."

"No, not really." Sherlock looked towards the stair as he heard the noise from the banquet, "What you plotted unconsciously is insane. Now we have to get out of here before your subconscious gets a whiff of what's happening and get the best of me."

"You're afraid of it?"

"Terrified." Sherlock turned to his brother and pointed towards the opposite exit stairs going down, "As much as he can become a challenge to me, I can't take him on when we are so in the middle of the ocean where I can easily have the temptation to drown him. Now stay put and stop tempting me."

Sherlock crossed the stern quickly after checking his watch and finding only ten minutes left. Raising his head, he walked over to the edge of the ship and looked down onto the dark sea, to the lifeboat hanging by the edge while Mycroft stood still behind, watching him. Sherlock leaned a little forward, aware of the parts of a ship and where lifeboats would be located. From where he stood, he could only see one boat covered in a blue tent-like piece of textile. Running to the other side, he found another boat at the edge and decided this was on better angle not to be seen. Although the splash it would make would probably make a ruckus and attract attention, he was sure the next event in ten minutes time would get all of their enemy distracted.

He just needed to time it all—

"Ten minutes is not enough to save us now, brothermine." Mycroft's voice came from behind him as Sherlock turned and saw him still just on the spot where he left him with that pallid face, "I'm sorry it had to end this way."

"What did I tell you?" Sherlock said with much confidence as he took something from his hidden pockets and dialed, eyes on his brother, "I didn't come here to die, and neither are you. All we have to do is reach the portside, we have to reach the stairs, jump to the lifeboat and release it once the time comes."

"But the missiles…"

"There are no missiles." Sherlock clamped the ringing mobile on his ears and gave his brother a know-it-all look. Mycroft looked back questioningly. "What? You think I'd really follow your plan and give the codes to your men? I lied— I didn't trust your brain's plan, okay?"

"I see." The older Holmes said quietly. "So, we're safe…"

"Not quite." Sherlock raised a hand as he heard someone answer him, "There will still be an attack. The Navy's closing in and we have to get out of here before war breaks out. Hello—can you hear me? Yes, I got him. I did, I interfered with the ship's radar, you won't be seen when you close in unless someone's using a telescope in the middle of the night. Yeah, we're about to jump in, are you near?" Sherlock looked up in the east side and sure enough saw a flicker of light from some distance. They would be saved. Taking this as a cue, he turned the mobile off after estimating his calculated position of lifeboat and was just about to call to his brother when he noticed that Mycroft was no longer standing close to him.

Sherlock looked around and saw him again and this time standing at the bow of the ship.

Sherlock froze as Mycroft was standing directly at the edge, his whole body was swaying side to side from the wind's blow. It was when all plans were forgotten and all Sherlock could think was the image of his brother carelessly standing behind the safety railings with his back turned against him.

In a few strides, Sherlock tried to close the gap, only to be a few feet short as he masterfully called on to him. "Mycroft…. What are you doing?"

Only the sound of the waves met the detective's voice and for a moment he was afraid the older Holmes wouldn't reply. But then—

"You lied to me, Sherlock."

Sherlock held his breath as Mycroft's soft voice halted his further movements.

"You said she wasn't here." Continued the man in dead whisper, "Well… she's standing beside me."

Alarm went off in Sherlock's head as he grasped what was happening—that no this was not merely his brother channeling with his unconscious mind—his subconscious has been taken over by Eurus' mentality—that she had planted an image in the darkest recess of his mind—or Mycroft's subconscious did and is not acting on its own—and to what end—? Why was Mycroft so fixated like this?

"Mycroft," Sherlock dared take steps forward, knowing that if he didn't his brother would really do it— "She's not here! Don't listen to her!" He would have reached her had Mycroft not chose that moment to put his hand on the metal railing that got the younger Holmes to stop with his heart hammering on his chest— "Mycroft!"

"She's singing. Her ritual."

Sherlock felt chill run down his spine but he managed to inch a step forward and attempted conversation to buy some time. "Why is she singing that? What's that for?"

"She's always sung that before me… when we're kids… in Sherrinford. Every night in my sleep."

The consulting detective had moved forward but with his brother facing him, he could only raise his hand.

"Reach my hand, Mycroft. Come on!"

"She wanted me to tell you a little secret."

Sherlock saw Mycroft's eyes fall on him and there was not glimmer of hope there. Just dead.

"What?" if he jumped at his older brother now the man would lose his balance and he would topple backwards onto the ocean. If he didn't do it, Mycroft will fall backwards anyway. If he pulls the man down however…

Mycroft blinked slowly. "Well, I shouldn't really tell you, should I? After all, dead men tell no tales."

And to Sherlock's horror, saw his brother slip backwards and plunged down the deep ocean, unto his doom.

-Epilogue Next- Thank you for reading until this very part!

*Eyepatch in the Suit will take its last bow!*