Sherlock story
Deleted Memories, Chapter twelve
Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy
An anonymous lead, to the possible movement of Ayyad himself, was texted to Mycroft's secure line, with the ending, "… for Mr. Holmes."
The lead proved to be legitimate. Mycroft had to oversee the operation himself. He was not naive enough to believe Ayyad had simply given up and retired back home to have a cup of tea.
Moriarty made Ayyad third in command for a reason. This made him of great priority to Mycroft. He did not want to leave but felt compelled.
This was for the sake of not only a nation, but also Sherlock, Mycroft reminded himself. It was possible Ayyad would come after Sherlock again.
If profiles on Ayyad were correct, this time not to stop Sherlock's meddling, this time it would be personal.
This time it would be for revenge.
Mycroft knew he was too well protected to be a target, but there were a list of people for whom Sherlock cared. Mrs. Hudson and John was on the top of that list.
He had faked his own death to save them along with Lestrade.
Mycroft had put the pieces together.
Sherlock also seems to care about a one, Molly Katherine Hooper. Mycroft personally found her quite annoying despite being obviously brilliant and accomplished for one so young.
He would protect them all on Sherlock's behalf until this matter was resolved.
There was another person whose identity was unknown. Someone Sherlock cares about. This person apparently has been helping Sherlock, even at his or her own risk.
Mycroft supposed that this person was also the one responsible for the latest lead. He had a suspicion he knew who it was, but he was not certain. She was supposed to be dead after all.
Sherlock would never admit to any of this, obviously. He did not have to. It was Mycroft's job to know, to figure out, and to read people.
Mycroft found that people in general were easily read; ambassadors, political leaders even dictators.
But, his own brother had become a bit of an enigma to him of late. He would have to rectify that.
Mrs. Hudson would be home tomorrow. Yesterday, she would have found that her sister's private insurance had reversed a decision and would indeed pay for a live in nurse and an aid.
Sherlock and John had not known yet. It would be a nice surprise for them. It was the least he could do.
John studied Mycroft quietly. Suit coat was off, vest buttoned. His sleeves were still rolled up and a few places damp from when he had helped his brother to shower. Hair slightly out of place.
It was strange to see the normally impeccable dresses man in such a state, and helping his brother instead of ordering someone else to do it.
He knew he did not have the gift the Holmes Brothers did. The ability to make deductive leaps of logic. To look at a person and see into their soul. He, however, could not help but make a few deductions of his own.
Emotions danced across the face of the normally stoic Mycroft. As he looked at the elder Holmes, he saw relief mixed with regret, anger, despair, and something else.
Mycroft noticed John scrutinizing his every move. He would pretend not to notice.
He had men dealt with for far less. Nevertheless, with John he would allow it. He liked John. He was fiercely protective of his brother and stood up to anyone who threatened him.
Mycroft did not feel things like regret or remorse, at least not until now. Now he felt it in waves, like a tidal wave crashing over him. He closed his eyes against the assault.
He always felt emotions were a liability. Just this once he allowed it, welcome it for one reason. All these emotions were brought about because his brother was alive.
No one but Sherlock would be meticulous, and clever enough to fool him by faking his own death. In any other situation, he would have been proud.
He sighed and looked at the fire. He tried to identify a new emotion; was it hope? Hope that his brother would fully forgive him… one day.
Sherlock was alive after all.
That is all that mattered in the end.
John thought he saw a stray tear escape Mycroft's eye. It could not have been, could it?
As he thought about it more, he decided it was probably the fireplace light playing tricks with his eyes.
John looked to Sherlock who had fallen asleep. Good. A sad smile crossed his face. Lestrade would require a statement tomorrow. Sherlock would need all his strength. They all would.
Author's note: Next chapters are a little trickier, some are already written, but I am trying to balance information while not being too graphic. Suggestions are welcome. New author so, thanks for reading. Please take the time to review or comment :)