Fade to black
Chapter 3
The place was warm and sunny and windy and he hated it. Still he was here for a reason. The negotiations weren't going well, and he knew it would be futile, there will be at least one attack in this town before the negotiations will be fruitful. The all knew that the attack was going to be from the opposition, the rebels. Mycroft was counting on this attack, if he dies in this attack England would be forced to get involved and neutralized the threat. The problem was they couldn't move without a casualty, and he is going to be the casualty.
The morning he woke up and took extra care with his appearance, just like back at the island when Sherlock held the gun to him, and he fixed his tie. Death was ugly and undignified, but he will do anything to look as dignified as possible. They will remember him as the man in his suit. He didn't have his umbrella with him that was at home with a sticker on. For Sherlock.
Mhmhmh
He did all he could, and he knew it was more that they all hoped for. Lady Smallwood will have this man's allegiance forever.
Still he told the man that there might be an attack today, he deduced either someone will throw a grenade at them as the leave or it will be a shooting attack and he suggested that he takes another way home, something a little inconspicuous as his usual car. He agreed however to keep up appearances his car would be empty as it was driven down the street. His entire plan, Mycroft followed in his own car to keep the façade. They would reach the junction with the attack in ten minutes. He shouldn't be but couldn't help it - he wasn't nervous yet his hands were trembling - he lifted his phone and dialled.
"Mycroft?" Lady Smallwood voice betrayed her anxiety.
"All arranged, he would follow you and listen to you, on his way home, the decoy car is in front of me, and an imminent attack is inevitable and would most likely happen in the next nine minutes."
"Mycroft..." She tried but he stopped her.
"Keep an eye on Sherlock, and tell DI Lestrade personally about the Trust and you can even play him the recording of our conversation, the same with Anthea, tell her I'm sorry that it had to end like this, and if you can give her a position under you, she knows my methods and would be best choice. She would help you much more than anyone else would."
"I will. Promise. Mycroft... there are so many things I want to say to you..."
"I know. It was a pleasure working with you Alecia."
"You too." They didn't say goodbye but took a moment of silence before they hang up the phone. Five minutes. He gave himself thirty minutes to contemplate before he dialled again.
"God, you hate texting don't you?" The deep voice nearly broke him. He could feel the walls around him breaking, this was it, the last time he would hear that voice and he wanted to tell him that he loves him, his little brother. He didn't want to go out crying but he was close. His brother's voice was the most beautiful sound he heard all day.
"Mycroft?" Mycroft didn't answer he couldn't, he knew if he was to open his mouth he would say something that would alert his brother. Still his silence will be even more of a give-away.
"Did you sign those documents?" He ended up asking. He could practically feel Sherlock's eye roll and smiled.
"You still owe me an explanation about that."
"Yes I do, but it will all become clear soon." Sherlock will know, after his death that he made sure his little brother was protected.
"What do you mean?"
"Secrets don't stay secret Sherlock. you will understand soon enough and while we are on the subject of secrets, I am sorry I kept the secrets I did from you, my only priority was keeping you safe but know that I know you are more than capable of dealing with things life hands you, I should've come clean. You need to know you were never a pressure point for my weakness, but my biggest strength and I wanted to keep you safe as long as possible."
"What is going on?" Mycroft cringed, he shouldn't have called his brother, and he is on to him. He could hear it, Sherlock was thinking. He needs to hang up; he has four minutes left and wants to have his last moment in silence.
"Nothing, Sherlock I'm about to go into a meeting in Karbala, I will talk to you soon." Without waiting for an answer he hang up the phone, he shouldn't have said the town, the attack will be on the news within the hour and Sherlock will know, he knows he will. Well too late know.
Sherlock called back but he didn't answer, instead he ignored the call and switched the phone off. Taking out the sim card he broke it in half just as they were taught and took the phone apart, throwing pieces out the window. Checking his watch he noticed that he had two minutes left, he started the countdown in his head:
120
He made the necessary arrangements for his house, the furniture everything Lady Smallwood would take of the last things, except those with stickers and the portraits, they were still bloodstained.
115
He wondered what would Sherlock do with the home videos and with his umbrella - probably destroy it in an experiment, John would love to see the gun, and he knows that.
110
Would Mrs. Hudson be glad? He would most certainly never enter her home now, the reptile who she hated.
105
He really hoped Detective Inspector Lestrade enjoys his little nest egg; he deserved it after everything the Holmes brother put him through.
100
Maybe Sherlock would find a way to stab the umbrella against the wall as well. The blade most certainly, John will keep the gun and the blade probably in the wall.
95
Lady Smallwood was in a way his only friend in his job environment, she will do well, she must just keep Anthea next to her, those two women will rule the world if given the chance. He would have loved to see that, those two powerful women.
90
It was a beautiful sunny die, as the saying goes, a good die to die.
85
If John keeps the gun on the umbrella, Sherlock will need to find him matching bullets. Sherlock will, his little brother can be resourceful if needed.
80
Anthea will do so well, he wrote a letter that Alecia will give to her, explaining everything and she will forgive him after her little nest egg.
75
He hopes his parents will be okay, strange how the buried their youngest first, then the middle one, all fake and now their eldest - for real.
70
Alecia better honour his request for no flowers.
65
Sherlock is going to be such an amazing father for Rosie, he wished he could see them together, her first day of school, the deduction he will teach her, the violin lessons.
60
One minute left.
Closing his eyes he went into his mind palace, closing the windows, locking the doors as he made his way out. Leaving it for the last time. He just stepped out the front door, locking it when the air became quiet. That millisecond before all hell breaks loose. He opened his eyes and watched as the car in front of him exploded with fire. The shock shattered the windows in his car and he could hear the rumbling of the fire, the yelling of the pedestrians. He worked on instinct opening the door to get out, the driver was slumped forward and Mycroft pulled him out. He needed to get back in the car he would rather go quickly. It happened so fast and so slow at the same time, he turned around to go back to the car when the grenade hit it, the force lifting him off his feet and threw him several meters away just the shrapnel of the car impacted on his chest. He fell on the ground the force knock the little of air left. His mouth opened in shock, his breath lacking. He could hear the noise around him but didn't care; he looked down to his chest and saw the black pinstripe with the red tie ripped shards of metal and glass and his blood covering his front. He didn't feel it, his mind and body was in shock, he looked up to the sky, bright blue skies and it reminded him of his little brother.
"I love you brot...her... m..i..ne..." He choked out before closing his eyes.
mhmhmh
The news of an attack reach London within the hour, Sherlock didn't saw it as he was rocking Rosie asleep, his mind on his brother. He needed to talk to him, something was wrong. John came home and they had dinner without turning the radio or telly on. As promised Lady Smallwood didn't call Sherlock to give him the news, she went over there herself. Mrs. Hudson was reluctant to open the door, usually it was Mycroft, but even she knew something was wrong.
Sherlock and John were unpacking some papers when she stepped in, Sherlock knew. He just knew.
"NO!" He bellowed. John tried to tell him not to yell, he'll wake Rosie but he didn't care. He marched towards her. She stared him down her eyes betraying her pain, her mouth a thin line as she watched him. He towered over her his voice cracking like ice.
"No."
Without waiting for an answer he went into his room and shut the door. The door slammed echoing in the air. John stood there confused; Mrs. Hudson was in the kitchen her hands wringing a napkin.
"What happened?" John asked the military stance back, the demanding voice. Lady Smallwood look at him, the door, Mrs. Hudson then down.
"Mycroft Holmes died today."
mhmhmh
Sherlock refused to believe it until he saw the body, so two days later at five in the morning the plane landed with his brother's body, at seven Sherlock was standing in the morgue, his posture rigid, he hasn't said a word to anyone ever since the news. His eyes were red, his face pale. John stood next to him. It was some kind of joke, it had to, there was no way that the great Mycroft Holmes was dead.
They were called in and Sherlock's step faltered as he saw the body on the table, a long white silhouette, looking fragile for some reason. A white sheet resting over him. The attendee lifted his hands to pull the sheet away but Sherlock stopped him, instead he reached out and pulled it away. His hands shook as he lifted the sheet, his eyes falling on his brothers' body, the pale, nearly translucent skin, the lips blue, the eyes closed, the auburn hair a dark contrast to his skin, he pulled the sheet further down, his chest riddled with holes and stabbed wounds from the glass and shrapnel, the red lines dark against the pale up and down of his chest, the ribs protruding, he was underweight when he died.
He didn't know for how long he stood there, but it didn't matter because his brother didn't wake up. Sherlock was the eldest know, he was the big brother now, he was the adult one now, the responsible one.
mhmhmh
The funeral was small, only their parents, John, Greg, Anthea and Lady Smallwood were there. Sherlock stood next to his parents. Greg was standing on his own.
There were no flowers.
mhmhmh
It took Sherlock a month to step into his brother's house and knew his brother planned it, he could see it in the way the house was empty, he could see it the fact that only his bed and wardrobe was left, he most certainly knew it when there were two items on the bed both with stickers on with his name, the family video and his umbrella. The handle cold to the touch, a slight layer of dust on both the objects. He ran out of the house but stumbled in the hallway his eyes caught the blood stained portrait and Sherlock yelled until his voice was hoarse.
mhmhmh
Sherlock has been missing two days, Lady Smallwood told him everything, how Mycroft was hoping to redeem himself. To his work, to his family, but most of all to his brother. John found him, sitting across the black marble stone sleeping. On the ground next to Sherlock's hand was a folded paper held down by single dark red rose. John picked it up and opened the letter. It was in Sherlock's handwriting. It was a list. John only read the first line 'How I miss my brother.' He couldn't read the rest.