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Sherlock immediately insisted on going with him and Mycroft, aware that his brother's stubbornness meant that he would not succeed in convincing him otherwise, tried anyway.
"You can't come with me to Westminster Abbey. The note was explicitly for me. And Moriarty will surely bring his snipers, possibly even Moran. He is probably bailing him out as we speak".
"All the more reasons for me to come with you" Sherlock replied, his face slowly gaining colour due to his agitation, once more walking around the living room because he couldn't sit still when he was excited.
Mycroft, still sitting on the sofa, watched his brother's progressed with his usual calm. He sighed. Sherlock couldn't come with him. It was too dangerous.
The words Mrs. Hudson had spoken to him in the Irene Adler case so long ago. Family is all we have in the end. She had admonished him for sending Sherlock into danger, and quite rightly so. A few months later, for all his efforts to protect his brother, he had let a criminal mastermind free to obsess over Sherlock. He had put his work over his family. The Mycroft in this world hadn't, and he wasn't going to change that. If this world was real – he still had his doubts, but on the other hand, there had been no indications that he was walking through a hallucination, like place and time changes – then this world's Mycroft was probably stuck in some sort of limbo, waiting for him to leave so he could finally return home. And he certainly wouldn't appreciate putting his brother in danger. He had protected him all his life, and Mycroft couldn't allow himself to put all the work he'd done at risk.
So he looked at Sherlock and simply said, "There is no reason you should be there. Aside from the danger. You don't know how to defend yourself, you don't know how to use a gun. You are a scientist Sherlock, not a crime fighter. It would be better if you stayed behind".
Sherlock's face darkened. "And?" he asked. "We both know that if Moriarty wanted to kill us we would probably already be dead – I could look out for his associates, stay outside..."
"What for?" Mycroft interrupted him. "There is nothing you could do". He hesitated for a moment, knowing what would be enough to wound his brother, before finally adding, "You would be utterly useless".
"So that's how it's going to be?" Sherlock snarled. "You didn't leave me behind, I didn't grow up to be a sociopath, therefore it's not worth the trouble of taking me with you?"
His words were supposed to hit Mycroft, and they did, harder than the older Holmes had thought they would. Had it really come to that – did he really think his younger brother useless because he was a functioning member of human society?
The answer presented itself soon enough. No. Because his Sherlock had never been a sociopath; he simply was made more for situations like this, for facing of a madman with a gun and his wits. Other than that...
Mycroft finally had to admit that he would have preferred to have his Sherlock here instead of this version, and not just because he was the more useful one of the two.
His Sherlock was more passionate; his Sherlock was more intense; his Sherlock was more –
His Sherlock was more alive, had more to lose – his position, his friends – which was why he had gladly stood up to Moriarty. He couldn't blame this Sherlock for not wanting him to go to Westminster Abbey alone, but he couldn't drag him into this mess either. He wasn't made for it. He didn't deserve it.
He was a scientist, not a crime fighter. He was made to work in a lab, not stand in front of Moriarty and play games with him.
"I didn't say that" he finally replied, "but you must admit that there's nothing you could do to help me. There's nothing anyone could do. It's highly unlikely that Moriarty just wants to kill me –"
"How can you tell?" Sherlock shot back. "Because you remember he likes to play games? What makes you think this Moriarty isn't different from the one you know? Maybe he'll just shoot you the moment you step into the Abbey. Maybe he just waits for you to do something stupid like that – "
"Maybe you are right" Mycroft answered, "but I am not putting you in danger. You are staying here were you are safe and that is final. What do you think your brother would say under the same circumstances?"
He was manipulating Sherlock. Of course he was. He had manipulated people all his life. But he had to keep him safe because he had never really kept his brother safe. Maybe, just once, he could do the right thing.
Sherlock scoffed and stormed off without saying another word. Mycroft heard him running up the stairs and a minute later his brother started to play the violin. He sat down and rubbed a hand over his face. It was better this way, it was better not to put Sherlock in danger, no matter what he thought. And yet he wished he could have got Sherlock to see things from his side of view. Apparently he didn't even manage to do that even in another reality.
The hours until nine pm – it was better to leave early, he had decided, so he wouldn't keep Moriarty waiting, God knew what the consulting criminal would do when he was kept waiting – dragged. Mycroft tried to ask Sherlock if he wanted dinner, but he didn't even interrupt his violin playing to tell Mycroft no, so he let him be.
His brother did make an appearance when he was leaving however.
Mycroft had noticed that the playing had stopped, but he had been hoping that Sherlock was either brooding or sleeping and wouldn't realize that he was about to leave.
In typical Sherlock fashion though he came down just as Mycroft was taking his umbrella out of the stand, ready to leave.
"It's not just that I don't want you to get hurt, you know" he said so quietly Mycroft almost didn't hear him. "There is also the possibility – my brother is somewhere. Maybe you have somehow taken his place, maybe he has been transported to another universe, but he is somewhere. And if you died – "
He didn't finish the sentence, but Mycroft understood. If this world was real and Moriarty killed him, maybe he would destroy some balance and this Sherlock would lose his Mycroft.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked just as quietly. "Should I let Moriarty carry on?"
"No" Sherlock answered, walking towards him. "Just wait until we have enough on him to arrest him. Prosecute him. Don't go to this meeting, or at least, don't go alone. Please".
And just like that Mycroft found himself in the same situation he had been in years ago. Sherlock was standing in front of him, begging him to take him with him, asking to be allowed to follow him. Once again, he had to make a choice, he had to do what he believed to be better for Sherlock.
And he would make the same decision he had always made. There simply could be no other. He had to leave him behind. He had to protect him. At least this time he knew that it was better to leave him behind. If he didn't return, Sherlock could still try to bring Moriarty to justice. If he did, they could attempt the same. Anyway, he would be safe for tonight.
"No, Sherlock" he told him firmly. "I will be careful" he added, already knowing that it wouldn't assure his brother he would return safely.
Sherlock didn't say anything. He just nodded and went upstairs. Mycroft turned around and left the house, once again not looking back.
He took another cab, wishing he could call Anthea and have her send a swat team. But even Mycroft Holmes had to follow some rules, and he couldn't prove that Moriarty had done all the things he suspected him of. He would probably be let go if he tried to bring Jim down with the help of the Secret Service – politicians were rather sensitive about throwing away tax payers' money as long as the idea didn't come from them.
Westminster Abbey was long closed by the time he arrived, of course. This and his tendency towards the dramatic was what had made Jim choose it as a meeting spot in the first place. He surveyed the area, but found no spots where a sniper could hide. He wasn't surprised to find no guards either. Moriarty always knew the right people.
He entered the empty church, his footsteps echoing through the building, the tombs of kings and queens long gone keeping him eerie company. Moriarty was here, he could feel it. He peered into the darkness, trying to see where the consulting criminal was hiding.
There was only really one place he could be, so Mycroft made his way cautiously towards the altar.
Moriarty was nowhere to be seen.
"I have to admit" his voice came out of the darkness just behind Mycroft and he turned around quickly, "You really act like someone not from this world. Good old My wouldn't have come alone – but he also would never have suspected me in the first place".
Jim stepped out of the shadows, wearing a Westwood suit and gazed at Mycroft, fascination clearly displayed on his face.
"Let's just pretend for a moment I believe the whole "I come from a different world where I left Sherlock behind and therefore we aren't as close"-thing" he continued. "I already know you remember me as a criminal. As what kind of criminal?"
His eyes sparkled, but Mycroft was not about to give the satisfaction of telling him what he had done to Sherlock. What they both had done to Sherlock.
"I see no reason to elaborate since you obviously don't believe me" he answered smoothly and Moriarty raised an eyebrow.
"Really, you were funnier when you didn't know what I was actually doing behind your backs. Although I was a bit disappointed that you hadn't figured it out. You and your brother are supposed to be the most intelligent men on the planet, after all. Well except me". He suddenly grinned. "It was fun, I can't deny that. It was fun pretending to be 'Lockys best friend, listening to all his little troubles with his inconsequential experiments. It was fun sneaking around your house and getting all the information I needed, that the British Government trusted me. It was fun that Sherlock owned the skull of my first murder victim and considered it a gift.
After a while, it started to get boring. What is the use of playing if the other players don't even know they are in the game? So I'm glad you got electrocuted, you see. Nothing like a few thousand volts to spark a flame, right?" Moriarty grinned, happy to have a new plaything, and Mycroft wondered what he was going to do. He couldn't really play with Mycroft the way he had played with Sherlock; and, no matter what, he certainly couldn't discredit him. Mycroft had always been too careful for that.
"So what now?" he finally asked.
Moriarty grinned again. "You continue working on the case. I'll be watching, don't worry. Let's see if you can bring me down".
"Seems like a strange idea for a game".
"But I'm bored, My. Let's leave it at that".
Moriarty smiled, turned around and left. Mycroft wished he could shoot him, but his and Sherlock's friendship with Moriarty was well-known. They would be in the centre of the investigation. Plus he couldn't leave this Sherlock to face all this with another version of him who probably wouldn't know what to do.
So he let him go and then slowly walked out of the Abbey, already wondering what he could possibly do to solve the case.
Author's note: The conversation was going to be at the beginning of the chapter and then the angst kicked in. Also this story is going to take a while, I fear.
I hope you liked it, please review.