Author's note: More reviews? You give me even more reviews, even though the last chapter was shorter than I would have liked? And new followers? You are wonderful. By all means, continue.

I don't own anything.

By the time Mycroft had followed him, Sherlock was already looking at the bloodstain the Captain had left behind.

"Any suspects?" he asked. Mycroft nodded. "A man he had convinced to invest in his scheme committed suicide; his son had contact with Carey shortly before he was murdered".

"What sort of contact?" Sherlock's eyes looked at the room, dissecting it.

"He punched him in the street and called him a murderer" Mycroft replied, looking around himself.

"But you don't think he was the one to hire Moriarty?" Sherlock asked, kneeling down to look at the blood stain.

"No. He wouldn't have attacked Carey before the murder was about to happen. He would have known better, or at least Moriarty would have warned him".

"If he didn't think it would be hilarious to have his client arrested" Sherlock mumbled, looking at the bloodstains.

Mycroft shook his head. "The nephew, based on all reports, is devastated that he has been arrested. He would have told the police about Moriarty by now".

"Do you think they have any evidence against him?"

The unexpected question confused Mycroft for a moment, until he realized that he had been stupid – of course this Sherlock would care (or show it, he was sure his real brother cared just as much as this Sherlock did but wouldn't admit it) about a man wrongfully imprisoned.

"No, I don't think so" he answered honestly. No one could be sent to jail because he had punched someone. The judge and jury would need more proof than that.

Sherlock nodded, relieved, and Mycroft decided that, the next time someone was threatened while being involved in a case, he would watch his brother more closely, and, if he seemed even the least bit upset, talk to him. Even though Sherlock would probably think he had gone mad; after all, caring was a serious disadvantage –

A lesson he would never get this Sherlock to believe.

"There was no struggle" Sherlock announced, standing up. "Whoever was here with Black Peter, the captain obviously didn't think he would harm him. The harpoon was grabbed from the wall" – he pointed out the spot – "And yet..."

"And yet what?" Mycroft prompted when Sherlock didn't add anything.

"And yet" Sherlock finished the sentence softly, "Why would someone grab a harpoon from a wall? Look at all these expensive and heavy statuettes in the living room – it would have been easier to just hit him on the head with one. Moriarty must have told whoever he sent to specifically use the harpoon."

"It would certainly satisfy his flair for the dramatic - and his client certainly didn't specify how he wanted him to get rid of his problem".

Now, the question is, why would Black Peter trust someone he didn't know? It must have been a hit man, and yet – "

"He could have posed as an attorney" Mycroft suggested. "He could have thought he could prevent him from suing him..."

"My, that's brilliant!" Sherlock exclaimed, and Mycroft was reminded that, no matter how normal it was for him that Sherlock was at a crime scene, this was a different world, where his brother was complementing him instead of John Watson complementing his brother. It felt wrong. He didn't say anything, though, and instead started looking around himself, hoping that he would find something to help identify the hit man. Moriarty would never use an amateur, and Mycroft knew most professional hit men operating in London (or, at least, willing to operate in London and being in possession of a passport that would allow them to go to England).

Sherlock was looking at everything at once, his eyes almost rolling out of his head, clearly enjoying what he was doing, but at the same time looking confused about why he enjoyed it. Again, the thought of Sherlock being destined to become the foremost champion of law of his generation came to his mind unbidden. But it made him question if he had done the right thing in telling Sherlock about Moriarty at the same time. Moriarty would never have hurt his brother; he needed him as his human alibi. If Sherlock was in danger now, it was because of him. And Moriarty.

Once again. Once again he had done what he considered to be right without even contemplating how dangerous the truth could be for his brother. And now Sherlock was breaking into a crime scene, trying to solve said crime, after having sworn to bring down the most dangerous criminal London had ever seen.

Yes, he had been innocent before, maybe a little bit too innocent, a little too careless. But he had been safe. And now he wasn't.

Somehow, Mycroft felt that his alter ego in this world would never have brought his brother in danger. He had taken him with him, he had raised him. He would have looked after him better than Mycroft ever had.

But they were here now, and it was no use to think about the past. It never was. So Mycroft shook himself out of his stupor and continued looking for clues.

"My!" Sherlock almost shouted – just almost because he had obviously reminded himself they weren't supposed to be there in the first place – "The Police are idiots!"

The sentence was too familiar not to smile, and Mycroft walked over to him. "What is it?"

"He kept a diary – a diary, Mycroft, a handwritten diary!"

Sherlock apparently expected him to leap with joy, but Mycroft only asked, "So – is there anything about his "clients"?"

"Yes, there is. He frequently refers to a list – but a list that he "hid". To a man like Black Peter, this can only mean he wrote the names down and hid them somewhere – look at this living room, it's old-fashioned. The tv-set was bought at least ten years ago, as well as the radio. I am sure he only had a laptop because he needed it for his schemes – he was probably suspicious of technology... He wouldn't use the term "hiding" if he had saved it in his laptop".

"He hid a handwritten note somewhere" Mycroft replied, scanning the room.

Sherlock nodded. "According to the file, his laptop is missing. Whoever killed him took it with him. And yet the police manage to overlook a diary – a diary with a vital clue in it! No wonder they needed me in your reality..." Sherlock continued to rant and Mycroft interrupted him with, "Well, we have it now, don't we? So, where do you think the list could be hidden?"

Sherlock started pacing up and down. "It must be somewhere he could always reach it if the need arose, and yet not in the house – he couldn't have trusted every intruder to be as stupid as his murderer or the police. Some place he knew, some place he felt comfortable – " He stopped talking and turned to Mycroft.

"Did the captain have any other properties under his name?"

"Not that I know of – but the police doesn't know where the money he embezzled from his "clients" went. He might have invested in property".

Sherlock's eyes glittered. "Under a different name, most likely. But where in London would an ex-sailor prefer to live?"

The answer was easy. Near the river, of course.

After Sherlock had gone through the rest of the house – no clues, but that was to be suspected, after all, it was Moriarty they were dealing with, and he certainly only used the best hit men – they left through a window at the back, careful to close it behind them.

"How are you?" Sherlock hissed as they made their way through several back alleys to a main road where they could catch a cab back to the mansion.

"What do you mean?" Mycroft whispered back.

Sherlock grinned. "I just wondered whether you were alright, not being used to legwork."

"Sherlock, why don't you go look for a cab?" Mycroft suggested, secretly enjoying the spark of good-natured mischief in his brother's eyes. It had been a long time since he had seen something similar in his Sherlock's face.

His brother did what he was told and they returned to the mansion and Mycroft's laptop to search for any properties Carey might have hidden from the police and his clients.

"It wouldn't be under his real name..." Sherlock muttered, leaning back in his chair in the living room, holding his hands in prayer position.

Mycroft was tempted to answer "Really?" but decided against it while he was busy searching for any property near the Thames that had been bought during the last two years – since Black Peter had started his investment scam.

"Do you have any idea how to narrow this down?"

Sherlock didn't seem to have heard, but Mycroft knew better. His brother was thinking and occasionally mumbling to himself.

He suddenly looked at Mycroft, his eyes sparkling.

"Try "Melville". He wouldn't change his first name, I think. So Peter Melville it is".

"Why?" Mycroft asked, stupidly, against his will (he never spoke before he had thought about what he was going to say); in the next moment he realized that he was starting to sound like John Watson. Not only that, but, in a way, he had acted like John Watson too in the last few hours. Somehow he and Sherlock must be so connected in Mycroft's mind that he was subconsciously trying to fill the gap as best as he could.

When he left, Sherlock would never be able to get in touch with John Watson, though, and the enormity of the doctor's death presented itself anew to Mycroft's mind. Until he had arrived here, he had never known how thankful he was to John Watson.

"My?" Sherlock sounded concerned and Mycroft shook his head. "Sorry? What did you just say?"

Sherlock sensed that he didn't want to talk about it and repeated, "He obviously adored Melville – he had his complete works in his bookstand, and "Moby Dick" must have been one of his favourites, judging by the worn look of the pages and the prominent position".

Mycroft nodded and checked. It didn't take him long to find it.

"South bank of the Thames, bought one and a half years ago, under the name of Peter Melville, paid for from an account under the same name..." after a few more clicks, he added, "with money Peter Carey transferred there".

Sherlock smiled and sprung up. "Let's go".

"Sherlock, wait" Mycroft said when his brother was already halfway through the door. Sherlock came back.

"Moriarty could have found the house too. And so far, there has been no report of a break-in in the house, so if he does know, he hasn't done anything about it. Yet". Sherlock clearly hadn't thought of this in the adrenaline rush, maybe the first of his adult life, and he blinked.

"You think it might be dangerous" he stated.

"Of course. Sherlock, we are dealing with a dangerous man".

He could see Sherlock, despite knowing better, had still trouble believing Moriarty would hurt him. Mycroft sighed.

"Sherlock..."

"I know" Sherlock huffed and sat back down.

"So are you suggesting we don't continue this investigation?" he asked.

"Of course not" Mycroft replied. "I just wanted to make sure – "

"That I know the risk it entails?" Sherlock suggested and he nodded.

"Thanks, My". He smiled. "You are a good brother, no matter what you might think of yourself".

Before Mycroft could answer – he wouldn't have known what to answer, anyway – he sprang up and said, "Now, come on. We have some breaking and entering to do".

This time Mycroft followed him out of the room and the house.

Author's note: So I realized Mycroft was acting a little bit like John and decided to turn it into a plot point because – it's nice. And writing Mycroft helping Sherlock investigating is fun.

And I managed to make this chapter long enough. Me happy.

I hope you liked it, please review.