A/N: This one's set after Don't Lose Faith, maybe two weeks or so after John and Mary's wedding. Please leave a review, they always cheer me up x


"Sherlock... Milverton wants to arrange a meeting."

Everybody in 221B froze. John and Mary looked across at Greg from their position on the sofa, and in the kitchen the sound of Mrs Hudson gasping could be heard. Greg fidgeted in the doorway of the flat, obviously reluctant to give the news, and slowly every head turned towards the figure stood by the window and holding his violin.

Still with his back to the room, Sherlock slowly placed his violin on his armchair, his hand remaining on the wooden neck.

"And why would he want to do that?" he asked quietly, his icy eyes rising to meet the DI's worried ones.

"I don't know, Sherlock, but I'm obliged to at least tell you." Greg said, shaking his head. "I know you don't want to but you should know–"

"I'll go." the detective interrupted.

"What?" Greg and John said at the same time, both men looking at him with shocked expressions.

"You heard me." Sherlock responded, moving from the window to pull on his coat and scarf.

John got up from the couch and moved to stand next to Greg in front of the doorway. "Sherlock, you don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"I would have thought it was obvious I do want to." Sherlock answered with an exasperated sigh.

"Why?" John asked incredulously.

"I'd like to have a chat with him."

Greg shifted. "Sherlock, you know that you're not allowed to actually cause any bodily harm to him–"

"Of course I know that, Inspector, don't be obtuse." Sherlock said timidly.

There was a brief silence as everybody took time to absorb what was happening.

Mrs Hudson emerged from the kitchen and placed a hand on Sherlock's arm. "Are you sure, dear?" she asked quietly. "That man did something awful to you and your brother, it might upset you seeing him again."

Sherlock turned to her and smiled softly. "I'll be fine, Mrs Hudson." He turned back to the door and raised his eyebrows at John, who was still barricading the way with his arms crossed.

"Do you want me to come with you?" John asked hesitantly.

Sherlock released a breath. "No, I think I can cope on my own for a few hours." he said shortly.

John closed his eyes. "That wasn't what I was saying, Sherlock." he said.

The detective's tone softened. "I know. I'll be fine, I told you."

Even though it was clear John didn't have the same view, the doctor stepped away from the door, his arms falling to his side.

"You can start dinner without me." Sherlock said and then started down the stairs.

"Sorry for interrupting." Greg said apologetically. John waved him off and with a weak smile the DI followed Sherlock out.


"Sure you want to do this, Sherlock?" Greg asked for the fourth time since walking into the prison.

"Positive." Sherlock replied with a sigh as he was led into a large hall filled with tables, obviously the area where families or friends met with those in jail. The hall was empty and Sherlock sat down at one of the tables in the middle of the room without waiting for Greg to direct him.

Lestrade looked at his watch. "They should be bringing him here shortly." he said. "Want me to wait with you?"

"No." Sherlock answered.

"Alright, I'll just be outside–"

"You can go, Inspector. I can get home by myself." he said.

Greg sighed. "Fine. See you later." He patted Sherlock on the shoulder before turning and walking out the way he came.

Left to his own thoughts, Sherlock tapped his finger against his thigh impatiently. Yes, he had agreed to come, here, but that didn't mean he didn't want to leave as soon as possible. After all, this man was under the impression he'd killed Mycroft. A man whom Sherlock had been close to in his younger years and had trusted wholeheartedly had tried to destroy him in more than one way.

So yes, he wasn't particularly keen on staying.

Ten minutes passed before Sherlock heard the clang of a distant prison door. He remained in his chair and watched as moments later Charlie Milverton was led out, stationed between two guards. They marched him forward and shoved him down into a chair opposite Sherlock, handcuffing one of his wrists to the table. Throughout the whole time, Milverton had been staring at Sherlock with a slight smile on his face.

The blackmailer had lost weight, Sherlock noticed, and the grey uniform he was wearing served only to accentuate his weight loss and also highlight the pasty pallor of his skin. Not coping well, then. Good.

When the guard finished handcuffing him, they stepped back and walked past Sherlock to leave. On their way past, one of the guards told Sherlock to knock on the door when he wanted to go. The detective nodded and soon they were left alone.

The two spent the first few minutes simply studying each other. Sherlock was able to pick up on more and more things that proved Milverton was struggling, and with each thing a little sense of contentment blossomed inside. He could only begin to guess what Milverton was seeing in him, and he wondered if the blackmailer knew Mycroft had survived the explosion.

"You wanted to see me?" Sherlock broke the silence, his voice echoing around the empty room.

"Yes." Milverton answered, nodding. Sherlock leant back in his seat and crossed his arms.

"Well?" he asked shortly.

Milverton smiled smugly. "How's life?" he asked curiously, tilting his head.

"Dandy." Sherlock replied, not giving anything more and waiting for Milverton to continue.

"Good, good." the blackmailer murmured. "Well, it's nice to see you're coping." he said, lifting his eyebrows and smiling again.

"Coping?" Sherlock repeated, fighting to keep the bored tone out of his voice. He could already see where this was going.

"Yes, you're doing remarkably well. I was expecting to see someone a little more... broken."

"Is that so?" Sherlock muttered.

"Mmm. Emotions always were something that baffled you. I'm surprised to see you're handling things so well. After all, you were oh so close to your brother, his death was bound to hurt." he taunted, and Sherlock only barely managed not to roll his eyes.

"Still jealous?" he asked. "Jealous of something that happened over ten years ago?"

"It would make no difference as to whether or not I was jealous. I've gotten what I've wanted, anyhow."

Sherlock hummed to show he was listening, deciding now to just sit back and let Milverton say what it was he had planned.

"Oh yes, everything went splendidly, don't you think? I'd been planning on getting back at you for a while now, and when dear Mary Morstan contacted me it was the perfect opportunity. I of course was able to connect her to Dr. Watson, and he to you, so it took me almost no time at all to change my plans and focus my efforts onto you and your brother. The bomb was, you see, initially intended for Mary."

"What?" Sherlock snapped, forgetting his decision to remain silent. His eyes roamed over Milverton to see whether he was telling the truth, and when he detected no signs of lying, he felt anger begin to bubble within him.

"I think you heard me, Sherlock." Milverton said with a sly smile now that he'd coaxed a reaction out of the detective. "I was planning on blowing her up, it's true. But when I connected the dots and found you, I knew it would be much more fun to play with your charming older brother. Did he beg for you to get him out in time? Or was he demanding that you leave him to die? Yes, that sounds much more like him I think."

Sherlock gritted his teeth, trying not to let the memories of Mycroft commanding John to get them out of the car park before it was too late flood him. The pure fear he'd felt at the realisation he was going to lose his brother was a feeling he hoped never to feel again. And the thought that it could have been John in his position, with Mary tied to the chair and he himself trying to drag the doctor away only served to fuel his anger. He realised now that this was why Milverton had wanted to see him. To gloat. He wanted to brag and boast about how he had bested the world's only consulting detective, to reveal how much worse he'd been planning to make it for his friends, knowing the sort of reaction it would provoke.

He leaned forwards, his eyes blazing. "You're lucky John was there to stop me from killing you." he growled. "Because believe me, there is nothing I would like more than to rip you apart."

Milverton grinned at him, slightly manic. "You're weak, Sherlock Holmes." he said. "Weak. And I don't know how you plan on dealing with the big wide world now that big brother isn't here to coddle and protect you."

A door opened and closed behind Sherlock, the sound resounding around the room. He watched as Milverton froze at something behind the detective's shoulder. Sherlock didn't need to turn around to know who was stood there. Slowly, he got to his feet.

"Maybe I'm weak." he rumbled. "But at least I don't have to worry about how long I've got left to live." he said, and what he was implying did not pass Milverton, for he noted with some smugness how the blackmailer lost all colour to his face, and his eyes sought out the newcomer's.

"I-I'm sorry." he stuttered, close to begging. "Don't kill me, please don't kill me."

Sherlock smirked. "It'd be intriguing to see if you manage to persuade him, but I'm afraid I've got to dash. Lovely chatting with you." He turned and marched back to the door, his eyes connecting with Mycroft's stony ones.

The two brothers exchanged a knowing glance before Sherlock left, leaving his big brother to deal with Milverton however he pleased.