Thank you so much moon-fireflies! Will reply to your review properly tomorrow, I literally have only enough time to upload this! Thank you!

Chapter Seven.

Percy was aware the moment he walked into Mr. Holmes' study that the brothers were in the midst of a dispute. He had had enough of those through his lifetime to know what that looked like. The younger Holmes was sitting like a child, feet tucked up on the seat and arms folded, his mouth curled in a frown. The elder sat at his desk as if nothing in the world was concerning him as he sifted through some paperwork.

"This subject isn't finished, Mycroft."

"Of course it is, brother."

The moment had such a feeling of familiarity that Percy had a surge of flashback.

He was in the prefect study looking through his ancient runes homework when the door swung open and Ronald came barging through.

"You!"

Percy did not look up as he turned a page, "I believe this is the prefect study area, Ronald. You are not –"

"I don't give a flying centaur's turd what room this is. You told Mum! You bloody snitched on me and told Mum!"

"Of course I did," Percy replied calmly, "You can't just go traipsing through the Forbidden Forrest whenever you see fit."

Percy stopped and straightened, folding his hands behind his back, "Sir."

Mycroft looked up, "Ah, good. Percy, do pour yourself a drink. We will be quick of course, I will just brief you on what is going to happen."

"Thank you, Sir," Percy moved over to the cabinet and surveyed the alcoholic beverages present. He stood there awkwardly for a few moments. He didn't like to drink while on duty.

"There is a butterbeer in the lower shelf. Don't fret Percy, I prepared for you."

Percy smiled at the absentminded sounding remark and took for himself the bottle, pouring it into a tumbler; then joining the Holmes'.

"So this is my new handler," Sherlock muttered, "Brilliant."

Percy took a swallow of his drink.

"You must excuse my little brother, Percy. Once he is house broken, I am told he is bearable."

Percy kept his face neutral.

Sherlock looked up at him, "Ohhh, he's a smart one. Look at him Mycroft. Not about to laugh at your jab, as that won't keep him in good stead with me who he will have to deal with in this project, but not willing to frown, as you have seniority."

"Sir, if I may?"

"By all means, Percy," Mycroft gestured, "Be at ease."

Percy turned to Sherlock, "I am an agent of her Majesty's Secret Service in MI5. I have been so for just over a decade. The fact that I still live gives me quite a bit of seniority in the ranks. I have both undertaken and led missions where agents underneath me have died. I have uncovered rogue spies in my task force from the KGB, people I thought I trusted. I have fought and I have bled. Before that I fought in a battle that if lost would have crushed your whole entire world. I lived in a totalitarian state and I stayed clear from hospital when my father was butchered by a snake, in fear that if I showed any care it would be used against my family. An elder brother was mauled by a monster. My younger died in my arms. In the aftermath of it all I hindered three separate suicide attempts by the twin of the brother who had died. It is particularly difficult to kill yourself if you have magic in your veins. The blessing is it gives you long life. The curse is it tries to protect you when you try to curse yourself. Once Georgie decided a cocktail of muggle bleach might be quick. Not a pretty sight, especially when you have the screams of your Mother as accompaniment to the discovery. So, Master Holmes, with all due respect, I care nothing for keeping in good stead with you, or whatever it is you think of me. I am here to do a job. You are the genius. I am your bodyguard, and your common sense, as I have been told sometimes that is something you lack."

There was a silence between the three, as Sherlock stood and surveyed him silently. He then replied, with a very quiet, "You forgot, you have undertaken torture."

"…What?"

"In your tirade. Of all the things you have endured, you failed to mention the torture. It is right there, see? I can tell. Right. There. Do you want to know how I know? It's that nervous twitch, right under your eye. Ah, yes," Sherlock moved forward, his finger reaching out to carefully touch under Percy's eye.

Percy envisioned slapping it away. Instead he stood there, rigidly, as Sherlock dropped his hand to his side.

"Well, Mycroft. This one has obviously passed the psychological tests. You say there is a cottage in some place called Godric's Hollow we're supposed to sit around in before we start searching?"

Percy blinked and looked to Mycroft who had closed his eyes and sighed, "…Sir?"

"Yes, thank you, Sherlock," he opened his eyes again and looked to Percy, "Percy…I ask that you wait at least three months –"

A lifetime of obeying orders flew out the window as Percy stepped forward, his voice precariously quiet, "Pardon?"

"Percy…The first part of your mission will be to keep Sherlock safe and underground for a suitable –"

"No – sir – forgive me sir, but you promised –"

Mycroft rubbed his forehead wearily – Sherlock stared at him, himself – was Mycroft feeling guilt? For what? Then he returned to looking at Percy.

"What did I promise, Percy?"

"You – you promised that I could track Audrey down!"

Mycroft shook his head slightly, "Those weren't my words, Percy."

"Those –" his words were becoming shaky – perhaps he hadn't passed the psychological tests the Secret Service sets so well – "Those weren't your words? You – you promised Sir. I said I would protect Sherlock. That I would aid him in the search! That I would do everything in my power!"

"Yes," Mycroft said softly, "And I swore I would facilitate this with every resource and connection I had. That everything I had was yours, in this task."

"To find Audrey! My wife! The mother of my daughter!"

Mycroft's voice was barely more than a whisper, "No. No, my boy, Audrey was never explicitly in the bargain."

Sherlock turned and looked at both of them confused. Mycroft was looking straight ahead, refusing to look at the boy, and the boy seemed to be racing through his thoughts, every single word that was made in this supposed promise or pact made between them, as if it were the most desperate thing in the world.

"I don't understand," he finally said.

Neither looked at him. He stepped forward suddenly when Percy started to sway, and lowered himself to the carpet, "You promised."

"I didn't, Percy. You thought I did, but I didn't."

"But I have…I have to…She is my wife…"

Mycroft stood, "Of course you may put your efforts into finding Audrey, Percy. But…"

Percy slowly looked up as understanding dawned on him, "But it's not my priority. You made it so it wasn't my priority. You worded it…You worded it perfectly, so…"

Mycroft nodded, "So it wasn't your priority."

"Can somebody please tell me what is going on here?"

Mycroft slowly turned to look at him, as Percy began to weep. Christ! Why was the boy weeping?

"He has promised to aid you and protect you in the search and destruction of Moriarty's web, little brother."

Sherlock nodded impatiently, with a touch of sarcasm. "That much I have gathered. But I do not understand – Audrey – his wife? – so, he isn't a widow then. She's a victim. Percy is to look for and find –"

"No. That was not part of the promise."

Sherlock still did not understand, "But of course he is able to do that."

"Of course," Mycroft said, "Of course he may. But not at the cost of you. And it is not his priority. If it is a choice between you or his wife…He must choose you."

"Because…He made a promise…" Sherlock said bluntly, still not comprehending what was so upsetting to the Weasley lad.

Mycroft smiled. But it was not a friendly smile. Nor did it have a hint of kindness. "He made an Unbreakable Vow, Sherlock. It can never be broken. It is a blood oath…Of sorts. If he fails in this endeavour, if he fails you, the cost is his life."

…The most dangerous man you've ever met and not my problem right now…

The statement that he had told John, the night he had first moved in…Sherlock knew that John had never quite understood the exact truth of that. The terrible depth to it. Sherlock knew what it meant. He had always known, even as a boy, that Mycroft was frightening.

"Why did you choose him?" Sherlock asked softly, "Out of all the field agents you could have loaned me…"

Mycroft tilted his head, "Isn't it obvious, Sherlock? The man's wife has been taken. Who else would fight to the death to bring the Spider's web down? Love is at stake for him. Love drives all emotions on, like no slave trader in history has ever been able to do. As long as she is in peril, he will give you everything."

"You're vicious…"

Mycroft smiled sadly, "You made a man you love watch you end your life. For the greater good," he chewed his lip thoughtfully, "Father was a kind, kind man. Gentle. Full of heart. I think we inherit the cruelty from our Mother, don't you?"