A/N: I'm sorry for the delay; college got in the way and then there was a trip to A&E and this just kept getting put off. Hope this chapter makes up for it. This is set just after Sherlock and John break into Milverton's offices
There was a knock at the door and John walked across the living room of 221B to answer it. Mycroft stood in front of him, searching John's face to try and determine why he'd been summoned there. John silently stepped aside and Mycroft walked in, the two of them making sure they were quiet.
"How is he?" Mycroft asked gently.
"Asleep now. He took some painkillers a while ago. I'll wake him up in a couple of hours."
"The injuries weren't too bad?"
John shook his head. "A few bruised ribs and a sore head is the worst of the lot. That and a bruised ego."
Mycroft smirked and perched on the sofa. "You wished to see me? What is so important that it cannot wait until the morning?"
"You'll wish you hadn't asked that in a moment." John murmured without providing an explanation. He walked over to where his and Sherlock's coats were, and after rummaging in his coat pocket he pulled out a folded piece of paper. Wordlessly, he stepped back to Mycroft and held out the paper. The government official took it and did not miss John slipping into the kitchen and switching on the kettle.
Mycroft glanced down at the paper and immediately his mind told him he was reading plans for a bomb. He couldn't help but look back up at John, wondering where he'd found this. The doctor had his back to him, though, so he could not formulate any theories.
There was a large sketch of the bomb in the centre of the page, hand-drawn with intricate details and many labels. The writing was very small, and Mycroft had to squint to read some of it. Whilst glancing over the page, he spied Charlie Milverton's name, and suddenly everything made a lot more sense. Well, as much sense as it could in the circumstances. But now he understood where John had gotten this plan.
"You picked this up when visiting Milverton's offices earlier tonight?" he asked, just to clarify.
John smiled at the use of verb, thinking that he and Sherlock hadn't really visited, more like broken in.
"Yeah." he answered, coming into the sitting room with two cups of tea. He handed one to Mycroft and then sat down. "Sherlock doesn't know I found it though." he added. "He doesn't even know there's a bomb."
Mycroft frowned as his eyes continued to review the paper. "What reason do you have for not ā ah." he said.
John grimaced. Mycroft must have spied his name. It was going to happen sooner or later, and John hadn't known how he would tell him without letting him see the evidence for himself, so he'd decided not to say anything and let the government official find out for himself.
It seemed cruel now that it had happened.
"Yes, 'ah'." John muttered. "Sorry."
"I'm going to kill him."
Despite the situation being dire, the comment was so un-Mycroft that John couldn't help but bark out a short laugh. Mycroft's eyes rose to look at him with an expression that clearly read oh-dear-god-he's-gone-mad.
"Sorry." John repeated, sobering up. Mycroft gave him one last wary glance before returning to the bomb drawing.
"You said you haven't told him?" Mycroft asked after a few minutes of silence. John nodded.
"Good. He mustn't know."
"What?" John asked sharply, his brows furrowing. "What do you mean?"
"Sherlock can't know that Milverton plans to strap me to this bomb." Mycroft waved the paper in front of him as he spoke, looking at John with determined eyes.
"Mycroft, this man wants to kill you." John leant forward in his chair. "If he succeeds, how am I supposed to tell Sherlock that I'd known what was going to happen all along?"
"Do you really have such little faith, John?" Mycroft asked with a bitter smile. "Milverton will not succeed. I will fake my death."
John stared at Mycroft for a good while, trying not to let his mouth open in shock. "You can't be serious." he said.
"Do I look like I'm joking?"
"I don't know; have you ever told a joke?" John asked, though there was no humour there. "You're not really going to fake your death, are you?"
"Do you have a better plan?"
"We haven't had a chance to think!"
"Perhaps you haven't, but I have, John."
"You've been here five minutes. You're tea's still hot, for Christ's sake."
"Ample time, I assure you."
"No." John deadpanned.
"No?" Mycroft repeated, lifting one eyebrow.
"You can't."
"I can."
"How?"
"With your help." Mycroft said, looking at John expectantly.
"Definitely not."
"Is there a particular reason you're so averse to this idea?"
"Yes, I'm worried we'll miss our lunch date next Tuesday." John said sardonically, getting up and placing his mug in the kitchen, trying his utmost not to slam it in case it woke Sherlock. He was already aware his voice was rising and he told himself not to lose his temper.
"It's the only choice we have, John."
"Not we, Mycroft. You. You want to fake your death, you can do it alone." he ground out, standing in the centre of the room.
Mycroft looked up at him, a faint frown on his face. "Why won't you help? This is for Sherlock's own good. If Milverton believes he has killed me, he will more than likely leave Sherlock alone, thinking he is victorious. What is it about that idea that makes you inclined not to help?"
"I am not inclined because I don't want to see Sherlock go through what Iā" He stopped suddenly and clamped his mouth shut, cursing himself for his tendency to speak without realising what he was saying. He didn't need to look at Mycroft to know that the government official knew what he was going to say.
"What you went through when he faked his death." Mycroft finished quietly. John did not reply.
"John, we do not know when Milverton is going to act." he continued in a soft tone. "It could be next week, it could be tomorrow. We don't know. But we have to be prepared for his attack. Milverton has an inclination to act rashly, so he will more than likely act sooner rather than later. In that case, we must be assured we can meet his move." John still was not replying, and Mycroft sighed.
"It is rare that one can predict what their opponent will do." Mycroft said. "But in this instance, we know what he is planning." He gestured to the piece of paper sitting on the sofa next to him. "You've examined it, I'm sure. Is there a way to disable the bomb?"
"I don't think so." John admitted. "But I haven't had a chance to properly study it."
"I have though, and I can tell you that there is no way."
"But who has been trained in dealing with bombs?"
Mycroft pressed his lips together, knowing he could not win that one. John sighed and leant against the arm of his chair.
"I know you have good intentions, Mycroft." he said. "But if you do this, it's going to destroy him." Mycroft made to argue, but John shook his head. "Don't even bother with telling me it won't matter." he said sternly, pointing a finger at the elder Holmes. "Your brother cares for you whether he wants to or not, and if he is under the impression you've died, he'll go to pieces. And I'm sure you know more than anyone how destructive he can be."
Mycroft bowed his head and ran a hand through his hair. "This has to be done, John." he said.
"I disagree."
"What if it were you? If you were to be kidnapped and tied to a bomb. Would you not do anything to protect Sherlock?"
"You don't have to ask me that to know my answer." John said quietly.
"I know I don't. And I hope you would not ask that of me either." he said. "This is something I must do. If we can elude Sherlock, we can elude Milverton, and then we've won."
"And how long do you plan on staying dead?" John asked, really not liking this conversation. It was bringing back too many painful memories.
"Until I am sure Sherlock will not be harmed." Mycroft assured.
"That could take years." John muttered. "It took Sherlock three years when he set out after Moriarty's web. We don't know how many work for Milverton, and if it took you as long as it took Sherlock I don't think he would be able to cope."
"I told him that I did not think you would cope with that long a separation and yet you remained strong. What makes you think Sherlock would not survive?"
"Because he would have more regrets." John said softly. "Yes, I regretted what I last said to him the day he jumped, but I can be certain he has more regrets regarding you than I did regarding him."
"What do you suggest, then?" Mycroft asked, his voice raised but not yet shouting. It was loud enough to make John jump, though, and it also made the doctor realise something.
He closed his eyes. "I'm sorry." he said, changing the subject abruptly.
"What?" Mycroft asked, caught off guard.
"I said I'm sorry." John repeated, looking at the government official with tired eyes. "I forgot about you."
"Forgot about me? What do you mean?" Mycroft asked warily, though he was beginning to think he knew. He hoped he was wrong.
"I forgot what effect this could have on you, too." John said. "It must be difficult."
Mycroft released a huff of breath, berating himself for apparently being so obvious. "It does not matter what I feel." he said harshly, defences coming up. "This is about Sherlock."
"That doesn't make a difference." John countered. Mycroft looked like he was about to argue, and John held up his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm not trying to rile you up, Mycroft, I was just apologising for being inconsiderate." he said, gently.
Mycroft still looked like a cornered animal, unsure whether John had an ulterior motive and debating whether to leave the flat and just take his chances with Milverton. Common sense set in, though, and he calmed slightly.
"No need to apologise." he said stiffly, after a while. "But perhaps we might focus on how I am to fake my death?"
"Of course." John said reluctantly, knowing that despite feeling the way he did, this was going to happen if he liked it or not. And it was not as if he was about to deny the chance to help protect Sherlock.
The two sat there for a couple of hours, debating on how to carry out the stunt. Numerous cups of tea were made, and when John noticed Mycroft looking tired, he decided he could work out practicalities alone and tell Mycroft later.
"Go home, Mycroft. You need rest." he said when the two had lapsed into silence.
"Nonsense, we have not finished yet." Mycroft argued.
"I'll do it myself and relay the information back to you later. You have to be prepared, though, and to do that you need your energy. So go home and get some sleep."
Mycroft rose to his feet and headed towards the door. He paused, however, and turned back to the doctor, who was still sat in his chair.
"Do you really feel that Sherlock will struggle with my absence?" he asked, not meeting the doctor's eyes.
"Most definitely. Three years was only just bearable for me, I don't think Sherlock would make it that long." he said grimly.
Mycroft nodded. "Then I will ensure three weeks is the maximum." he said. John raised his eyebrows at such a short period to get so much done, but he did not argue. He simply nodded and watched as Mycroft left.
It was only a few minutes later that John heard the soft tread of feet, and he turned to see Sherlock stood in the kitchen, rubbing his eyes blearily.
"John?" he asked sleepily. "Who're you talkin' to?" he slurred.
John rose to his feet and grasped Sherlock's elbow, gently steering him back to bed. "Muttering to myself, Sherlock, that's all. Go back to sleep."
The detective clambered back into bed and pulled the duvet around him. "S'weird." he muttered.
"What is?" John asked, picking up Sherlock's blazer off of the floor.
"Thought I heard Mycroft."
John paused for a moment before straightening and turning back to his friend. "No one was here, mate, just us. How's your head?"
"Hurts." Sherlock mumbled, his eyes drifting shut.
"Alright, just go back to sleep and it'll be better in the morning." John said gently, rubbing the detective's arm.
"Than's."
"What for?" John asked.
"Not lettin' Mycroft in." he grumbled. "He'd laugh at m'head."
It was astonishing how childlike Sherlock became when he was tired, and John couldn't help but smile sadly.
"He'd never laugh at you, Sherlock." he said, crouching next to his head and gazing into the drowsy grey eyes that were trying to focus on him. "And anyway, I thought it was your job as younger sibling to laugh at him."
Sherlock smiled and yawned. "I do." he said. "But he's borin'. No crea... tivity."
"You'd be surprised," John muttered as Sherlock dropped off, and with a parting pat to his shoulder, he walked into the kitchen to make another tea, prepared for a night of studying.
