On a different time, Sherlock would have said the attack on London was because he left the city. That Scotland Yard had lacked his support and that his absence causes an unhealthy excitement among the criminal classes.
But it didn't seem to be the case on this one. It was something bigger than he imagined. His mind palace hadn't been idle; he knew a thread of a game when he sees one, especially when one so under his nose.
Anyone paying attention would have noticed— that calculated abduction in the forest of fire; that unsolved distributions of the supposedly nonexistent profile on the internet that toppled different governments' axis; that endless emergence and chase of not only the militants but even the soldiers themselves. And now that massive attack on the capital right on cue as if overtly knowing there was no one on top to defend it—all telling of unforeseen scheme that raises signal of a formidable plot.
Sherlock had longed confirmed his suspicion of a dark, ominous presence surrounding and closing in on his older brother from the moment he found out Mycroft's alive. And no, he wasn't referring to Mycroft's natural dark character that normally irate the younger brother nor his straightforward be-damned power complex attitude that Sherlock suspected to be a way to show off his invisible enemies what he can do, not really.
But Sherlock's mind palace had built up Mycroft in a picture walking towards death's door while a dark hooded figure with scythe was also right behind him. It was Sherlock's literal interpretation of his older brother's situation unfolding. To go back to London now would mean facing one way or the other but either way the veil of death that had nearly swallowed Mycroft was threatening to open again. Sherlock cringed at the prospect.
He had lost his brother once... it kept repeating on his head unconsciously.
This played on Sherlock's mind as he watched his brother shrewdly from his corner while he sat on one of the comfortable chairs of the dark room. Mycroft had been on the phone for the last five minutes calling who he deemed to be 'helpful' assets to their current situation and making little progress which was all over the older Holmes' eyebrows as Sherlock continued observing his many elusive words.
"The threat is real." Mycroft had said before turning away with his back at them to which Sherlock narrowed his eyes. It was not before he heard the older Holmes throw words like 'camera', 'operation', 'prevent', 'tower of London' and 'uncle' minutes ago that got Sherlock smirking at how exponential their meanings could be just because Mycroft said them.
That was the thing with his brother; he was always more than meets the eye.
"I want full surveillance." Mycroft was heard again as he turned his back from the metal rod of his IV drip after a few hushed whispers while John and Sherlock sat just across the room, "No, just the report. I'll be there in the next twelve hours—make that eight. Tell nothing to the Prime Minister at the moment. Do not trust anyone—not even anyone at the MOD."
John leaned towards Sherlock's chair without warning. "Can you count the number of people he actually trusts?"
The younger Holmes shrugged off. "He'll cut you a few fingers."
John chuckled and shook his head.
"How does he work in an environment where he doesn't trust people?"
"They're government people. He's not supposed to."
"So he runs the government by...?"
"I don't know—his umbrella?"
"What—to poke people—?" John's face cracked into another grin—
"To whack the moles more like." Sherlock chuckled and both friends ended up laughing just in time for the detective to see his brother give them a glare, apparently multi tasking with his ears on the other end of his phone.
"No, no that would be a nuisance. It would not help much than it should." Mycroft's frown towards the two made John and Sherlock straighten their expressions and sit up. "I understand the situation but I'd rather they remain unaware of my whereabouts. It's too risky."
He eyed the two men again who were both hanging for his words. He raised his eyebrows after awhile and for a moment he was overwhelmed by a complete silence that even got Sherlock staring at his brother intently, as if trying to read the words from his expression.
"That will not do." The older Holmes' face turned grim as he lowered his eyes on the floor. "I wouldn't have it either way, Minister. You keep your eyes on the city and I'll keep mine on my back. No, no—do not be hasty; I'll take care of the borders, that's all. If they could infiltrate from there, there's no reason why I also couldn't. Anyway, I have my younger brother with me. That should be an assurance."
Sherlock's eyes glinted and he was in all attention when his brother hung up the phone.
"You were talking to the Defence Secretary?"
John's eyes widened and he too shot the British head a look while Mycroft took his time in letting one of his eyebrows rise up amidst a curt lines.
"Yes, of course."
"Then why does it seem like even he can't do anything about our position?" Sherlock snapped.
"Because he can't afford to lose focus at the moment, not when London's in high alert status." The British government head walked around the bed looking tired.
"Did you tell them about the double agents with the soldiers they sent?"
"I did. They are looking over the matter but it will take time given the current attack in London. We've been anticipating something like this since, well... Paris. Operation Strong Tower will be on the go right after this attack. Nobody's stopping the NCA in protecting the civilians—they were supposed to be ready for one, two, to three attacks but because of the sudden turn of the government, NCA must be furious and with casualties already tolling at the moment I don't think they need persuasion to tighten securities. Especially at the borders."
He looked up at them meaningfully, catching Sherlock frowning while the doctor looked from one Holmes to the other.
And the detective understood that look.
"The borders." He repeated with eyes slightly widening. "They're going to bolt down the borders, tighten securities, and allow no one to enter without proper order."
"Precisely that. Northern Ireland has been on the watch list of MI5 as a potential security threat to the nation." Mycroft placed a hand on his wrist holding the attached IV. "It's like a backdoor for terrorist cell who can come and go as they please since it's not securely monitored... like a blind spot... well, till this moment not anymore. The Whitehall has issued the closing of the border and no refugees shall be accepted. We have been having problems with refugees turning out not as innocent as they seem after all."
"I don't understand—" John suddenly found his voice that made the Holmes brothers to turn in his direction, "So what if they close the borders? We're British citizens, of course they'll let us in?"
"It's not a matter of getting in." Sherlock shook his head, "It's a matter of who lets us."
"What?"
"It's all a mess up there, good lord what have they been doing?" Mycroft refused to say another word as he sighed impatiently while John stared at him in confusion.
"Sherlock, what—?"
"The real question is why—why the terrorists decided to attack London now?" The detective finally gazed at the doctor to lay the facts his mind palace had identified— "And right after we hid ourselves? It's too coincidental—no—it's not abstract—it's a cause-effect. They wanted the borders closed from the beginning to trap us here—or if we try to cross borders they'd immediately have the chance to seize us if we reveal ourselves. That is of course, if our hidden enemy from the government is the one scheming for this."
"No question about that." Mycroft confirmed.
John stared at the Holmes brothers in disbelief.
"But we're British citizens!" he insisted, making the two to stare at him quietly.
"So sorry, John." Mycroft said after awhile as he wriggled his free IV wrist and Sherlock noticed the end of the IV syringe left on the bed forgotten, "It doesn't work that way. If what we think is true, and you know better than to doubt it, then the attack was a deliberate attempt to seal our only entrance to the borders. Seal it or use it to expose our identity to people who will be expecting us."
"But those lives—?"
Sherlock shook his head, making John utter a curse.
"And what about this MOD guy you were just talking to?" the doctor abruptly added disregarding the authority of his former military chief, "What about the Prime Minister? I thought you're important to them?"
"In the lights of the recent events—you've heard of the new Prime Minister, haven't you? And then the terror attack, I don't think I would want to be on the way of their duties. The Defence Secretary had already sent his troupes here with Carruthers if you remember. Adding more would be decreasing the nation's defence by half. And with the British soldiers around here unrecognizing of one of their own leaders, I don't think it necessary to divert the MOD from their real purpose. Of course, the Secretary doesn't know I'm the actual reason London is attacked. Telling him that would be... stupid of me."
"In short," Sherlock's eyes flickered magnificently to his brother, "we're on our own."
"Yes." Mycroft agreed nonchalantly with a fake smile, "It would seem so."
The doctor stared at the two with his usual expression of incredulity—like once again he was the only one to realise the magnitude of the situation.
"So we don' have an escape route— we're trapped?" he stated the obvious—
"On our own, John, not trapped. There's a difference." Mycroft's voice never faltered at the prospect of peril. "Of course there's always a way—" and he eyed his younger brother pointedly.
Sherlock knew that was coming.
"Their cause-effect scheme would be useless if we don't go back, Mycroft." It was a simple answer.
"Yes—and thereby inviting them to attack even further to make a point—no, I'm not willing to sacrifice any more civilians just to prove them wrong."
"And you care for the civilians because...?"
"Sherlock." It was John who raised his tone with a glare at his friend while Mycroft refused to answer directly.
"We need an escape route, Sherlock—I need to go back—" he began, making the detective's ears bristle —
"To 'go back' involves sneaking on the borders, but before hand sneaking out to Belfast route and sneaking pass our pursuers!"
"Fun, isn't it?" The glow on Mycroft's face was all too sardonic. Sherlock hadn't and would never forget the last time Mycroft had said 'fun' on their encounter at the forest. It didn't end well when the older Holmes defined it so.
"That's dangerous waters for you again, brother." He whispered in deep voice with eyes dark.
"But isn't that your usual play ground, brothermine? Sneaking around?"
"You make it sound so bad."
"I was aiming for dreadful. Fine, then I'll lead the way."
"What do you know about this part of land?" Sherlock asked testily while John crossed his arms.
"You'd be surprised."
"We're not playing around, Mycroft—!" the detective gritted his teeth feeling vexed yet again at the stubbornness of that idiot head. "The smartest idea is to stay while the dangers pass—"
"It won't pass."
A long pause—
And Sherlock fell silent as he believed Mycroft with the way how he had given him a mysterious look. It was not dark, his pupils were too contracted with his face covered with sudden powerful coldness— an atmosphere the older Holmes don't usually exhibit except—
"You're not telling me something." The detective breathed with a step forward.
"I don't tell you anything." Mycroft pointed quietly with eyes severe, "But I will tell you this: this danger will not pass until it has taken hold of what it aims to take down. You don't need to worry about me alone; worry about the world as we know it. Unless we take measure and face it prepared, we're going to fall. Staying here will only prolong the agony. Besides, we're not really the type to hide away from threats, are we?"
Sherlock's eyes flickered.
"No."
"Then what are we waiting for? Do we require the information board? Do I provide maps—?"
"Out of question—I know just the road. I've seen the Belfast map of Newtownbreda provided by google earth with complete road lines I've already memorized by heart while you were resting. Sneaking pass a park forest a mile here and even to the nearest meadows would be something I would call extra covert. It's a piece of cake."
Sherlock suddenly saw Mycroft's eyes twinkle with a smile that made the detective frown and narrow his eyes.
Wait a second...
Oh, he was had.
"Damn you." Sherlock glowered as he took his phone out and messaged Roylott.
"What just happened?" John blinked.
"He does always fall for that." The older Holmes smirked, "The challenge."
"Shut up." Sherlock grudgingly called Roylott and turned his back away from the two with a part of his mind still numb at how easily Mycroft could always make him change his mind. The older Holmes always had this uncanny ability to make what he wants to happen sound thrilling and unlawful and fun to chase.
At the same time curious.
But who was Mycroft wary of? The question rolled in Sherlock's mind.
"I still don't understand." The doctor broke his silence when Sherlock seemed to have fallen into one of his silent reverie. Taking the opportunity, John spoke directly to Mycroft.
"After all this time you still didn't?" Mycroft had raised a threatening eyebrow that had usually made goldfishes swim away; but John may have been a fish but not just any kind—
"Yeah, I don't get why you know everything and still hide important facts from us when you know we're your only ally."
That came out as a surprise and Mycroft's jaw tightened visibly.
"Ally is a strong word."
"Want to call us 'family', then? You mind?"
"Bravo, John."
Sherlock smirked proudly at his best friend while his older brother rolled his eyes.
"Doctor, how could you make your patient suffer such headache?" Mycroft said with a turn on the bed and a touch on his stomach, "Please just remove these dressings and patch me up again, will you? I need proper fixing for the long way."
"I can fix everything but nothing can do about your stubbornness when I keep telling you—stop moving around!"
The detective watched the doctor attend to his older brother and silently put the new bricks on his clay. John may have had a point about Mycroft always keeping secrets but he's not entirely correct. Mycroft who had always had that brow of shrouded mystery that had become him with his secrets he plans to take to the grave. To ask him directly—to open him up forcefully was like trying to tell the ground to crack with a threat of volcanoes to erupt.
'Treason' was his brother's favourite word too every time they go on collision about each other's daily jobs. That was probably why Sherlock hated having Mycroft around sometimes—his brother was the walking omniscience who oozes of information he elects not to tell; keeping all classifieds temptingly inside Pandora's Box while he, Sherlock, was the boy itching to axe it—
Oh, how he hated Mycroft.
It wasn't old scores they needed to settle, he never came close.
It was Mycroft who was always steps ahead and if ever there were times Sherlock truly believed he had overtaken his brother, there was always a hanging suspicion and later confirmation that Mycroft had seen it coming anyway but either got bored or preoccupied by his own business to continue playing—thus even if the younger brother silently applauded the ingenuity of his superior brother and even so far as acknowledged him with a title 'Of course he's my older brother' to those privileged enough to hear it, Sherlock was still reluctant to play nice.
Because this 'older brother' had secrets even he, Sherlock, would never hear even at the cost of anyone's life, not even the man himself who was said to be the British Government's intelligence. The kind of secrets the likes of Irene Adler love to have and would even make Charles Augustus Magnussen turn inside his grave.
But why must one Mycroft Holmes carry such burden if he was so lazy?
Obviously... because he created them.
He was the secret compound— the man behind all surreptitious and confidentialities, and also was one of the world's finest living contradictions—with his silly 'disadvantageous caring' and 'over busy legworks'— Mycroft Holmes.
The detective pressed his lips quietly and followed the trail of Mycroft's clothing John threw carelessly on the bed. Dark seemed to be his brother's colour these days.
"Knock him out, John; I'll go out for awhile." The younger Holmes turned his back from the doctor and his patient.
"Where are you going?" Mycroft half turned with a frown— but John cut him off—
"Can I do that?" there was a hopeful tone there.
"You do know I can hear you?" Mycroft's voice issued exasperation just as Sherlock reached the doorway and handle the knob. Turning he glanced at John in a matter of fact tone.
"Did it before, didn't end well. Had to kill a guy as compensation." He closed the door behind him but not before catching John shooting him a look of complete surprise as he too remembered that fateful Christmas adventure.
Sherlock walked into the pathway of the door into the greyish sky with a glare. The street was empty even at the middle of the day but he could just make out TV screen lights by window curtains across the street. The suburban was quiet and almost isolated. Just the spot for hiding. Unfortunately his older brother didn't seem particularly interested with the idea. But then didn't Sherlock made it clear too— they were there only to recuperate and of course— attack later.
Why was Mycroft in a hurry? Obviously something else was going on.
Sherlock took his phone out with clenched jaw when he saw the reply of his networks and started typing away. There was no helping his stupid brother when it comes to securing plans with only him alone as the player. So Sherlock got to act on his own too, like the usual.
Stupid brother.
With less the Big Ben, he sent his messages to all his networks. They were his thread to London, they know better than anyone the who's and the what's of its every corner. Knew how the bombing even occurred and now he was receiving reports. It won't take half a day for him to figure out what to do next once they were out of the sinking ship which was Northern Ireland.
And make sure none of them sinks with it again.
"Am I here to satisfy your insatiable curiosities, I wasn't told."
Sherlock heard Mycroft's sarcastic tone say the moment he returned to the flat after half an hour.
"Don't be cranky." The doctor responded undeterred when any normal human beings hearing would cower under such tone from the British Government Head. "It would do you a load good if you just stop being so damn secretive when you know your life hangs with it."
"If I wasn't like this you'd find a change in history." Mycroft offered with a meaningful smile.
It made John pause and shook his head in the end as he kept the medical supplies safely inside the blue medical box and headed for Sherlock as he carried it out.
"You better believe him." The detective muttered when they walked past each other.
"Why do you always say that—yeah I know." John muttered back and walked away.
Mycroft was already standing without his IV drip when Sherlock reached him and it was particularly noticeable how the white gauze was wrapped like vest around his body. Clearly John wasn't taking chances.
"Gained weight?"
"Your friend seemed to think it necessary to wrap me up like spring rolls. That or he was taking me personally. Even the pain killers were useless to his endless chatter."
"You sound almost cheerful."
"Is this cheerful? I'm not aware—"
"And too calm despite our situation. You have a backup plan don't you?"
"Just where do you get your ideas?"
"You talk a lot."
"And you disappear a lot. What have you been doing?"
In response, Sherlock handed him the black paper bag he had been carrying. Mycroft took it and glanced inside. With an eyebrow rising, he nodded blankly.
"Well, no complaints here." The older Holmes glanced up when Sherlock remained quiet. They silently looked at each other and words outdo them.
"Roylott called. He's on his way here from the local force." The detective went on with his older brother in full attention. "He received a word that the British soldiers with Carruthers' body were already in Belfast, debriefed and rounded up by the Police Federation with Commissioner Bradstreet. They'll be of assistance to us within the next hour."
He paused and Mycroft filled the silence with another arc of eyebrow, encouraging Sherlock not to stop.
"He had no words of your Turkish friend. Roylott sent eyes across the old Belfast road and saw none."
"We don't need to wait for them, we still need to hurry. I want to be in London in the next eight hours."
"John's already preparing, you better change." Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "What's with you and this Turkish people anyway? What do they want?"
"What they want is clear, but what they wanted to happen while chasing after me was more evident." Mycroft looked smartly down at his brother. "I have prevented the latter."
"What do you mean?"
"I've contacted the Turkish President while we were at the medical tent. Told him to be wary because a possibility of coup d'état was on his way what with his soldiers prancing about me. Serςe and his men were soldiers, didn't you notice?"
Sherlock nodded as he pictured the tattoos of the militants when the car light washed them of brightness.
"The overthrow was unsuccessful with the help of Turkish citizens. MOD told me." The British government head went on as he straightened, "Europe has just evaded another change in history."
"Then why still chase you?"
Mycroft was about to turn away when the question pulled him back. He granted Sherlock an arc of knowing eyebrow.
"Why shouldn't they?" he smiled finally and turned with the black paper bag at hand.
Sherlock's deadpan eyes narrowed as he followed his brother, thinking. Stripped of his powers and acting like a fugitive, with no backup plan whatsoever and meeting adversaries head on—his brother Mycroft was handling the situation quite steadily. Not that he thought Mycroft to be one to panic—the impressiveness of his self discipline was thoroughly commendable. And his sudden taste for risk alarming.
So it goes without saying... there really is a plot going on and Mycroft knows it from the core.
A kind of plot he, Sherlock, had always been on the lookout for; like a hunting hound up on scent and ready to track—except that there was a big obstacle on the way—keeping him from the final whiff that would put the puzzle together-dear old brother Mycroft.
Such the spoilsport.
Whatever it was, Sherlock was sure he would get there be it by hints or by wrecking havoc. Mycroft will not deal with this on his own because little brother Sherlock will never let his brother play his way while he, baby brother, stay behind.
And if ever Mycroft insists on being the scrooge, he Sherlock vows to act like the usual him—plot or whatnot he will sabotage everything.
And it goes the other way around to the perpetrator of his older brother's predicament.
Such were the thoughts on the detective's mind as he waited for his brother to come out from the washroom. He saw John come in the doorway from the corner of his eyes and then heard his phone ring exactly as Mycroft emerged from the washroom wearing a neat dark pants and coat suit with a white collared undershirt. Less with a neck tie, it was still notable how the older Holmes could carry himself.
"You look like a loose bank manager." John commented that only made Mycroft smile into a grimace.
"Charming."
"Yes? Roylott?" Sherlock answered his phone and listened attentively. Only, no voice came. Added to that was the sudden hanging up of the phone with a snap. Sherlock's eyes widened as he stared at his own phone.
"What?" Mycroft asked as he walked towards his brother and Sherlock noticed that even though he washed his face, the red marks of his bruises were still as clear as daylight. "The Assistant Commissioner?"
"Dead." Sherlock looked at his phone and exchanged looks with his brother while John's mouth hung open. "He didn't answer, he wasn't there. A man breathed on the phone and faint sounds of crying people at the background... a sound of bell tower..."
Mycroft's alarmed face glowed as he fixed his brother a look.
"Eyes on Northern Ireland." The older Holmes breathed and his face paled yet again as Sherlock's mind's eye travelled back to that lone tower near the Institution for the Blind, hence the name.
"My god..." John was quick to understand dire lives at stake, "they've taken over the place?"
"They must've have followed Roylott—" Sherlock crossed the floor in few strides and was already spying on the window curtains with a severe expression, "We can't stay—they're near."
"What about those people!" the doctor injected with a determined look in his suddenly fiery face.
"They won't be harmed—if they're lucky—they're blind, John, they won't be killed if they don't see anything—"
"You know that's not my point!"
"No, we don't have time—"
"Time!? People are dying—!"
"JOHN!" Sherlock rounded aggressively towards his friend with eyes in frenzy, "We cannot worry about them— they're after us—they want my brother with the two of us DEAD! We cannot save everybody!"
"That's exactly it!" John was hot on Sherlock as they faced each other, "We're the ones they want dead and now other people are dying because of us—!"
"Because we are in a war!" Sherlock's eyes glinted with fire, "And you know better than anyone that there are casualties—"
John's face paled as he took a step closer to the detective and spoke very quietly, "Yes... I know better than anyone the importance of lives... and you know that too."
Sherlock's face turned white too as he stared his friend in the eye. Silence fell in the room that was once again filled by Mycroft Holmes' brisk yet too quiet voice and they found him already talking on his phone.
"Priority Alpha disengaged." He said on the line while Sherlock and John breathed at each other's face whilst hearing the older Holmes. "Civilian quarter takes precedence, same location of Beechill Road, Berkley CT. Eyes on Northern Ireland is the target."
Sherlock pulled his eyes away from the doctor to look up at his brother who sighed as he hung up his phone and slid it inside his chest pocket.
"There goes our escape plan." He said with a grave look on his eyes but his businesslike manner was not unfamiliar to the two. It was obvious. The British government head has taken command. "I had made contact with Carruthers' MI5 men before this and planned to use them as our support in case we get really cornered. Their priority was to get us out of here but given the circumstances— others needed the service more than us."
John stared at Mycroft with eyes dilating while Sherlock clenched his jaw. No wonder his brother was calm. He knew there was a backup plan but then...
"Seems like my plan just got sabotaged." Mycroft went on with eyebrows rising to heaven as if reading Sherlock's mind. "Now we really are on our own."
John and Sherlock didn't say a word as the older Holmes straightened and walked towards them. His walk was steady despite the many injuries hidden under his clothes and not a trace of pain on his ever unreadable expression. But then there was a sudden cloud on his clear bright eyes just as he slipped past the two—
"All deaths are on me." He whispered with a sudden glint in his eyes, his tone ever so solemn. "Settle this."
And Mycroft Holmes walked out of the door, leaving John and Sherlock staring at the air he left behind.
Minutes later, their car was out on the road in high speed, leaving nothing but a trail of dust to the empty street with the hope that no more deaths will be added on their wake.
At least, Sherlock could think of one or two deaths he would never let happen.
And on to the borders, to battle once again.
Sabotage
~To be continued~
Awesome readers, THANK YOU FOR REACHING THIS CHAPTER! :)
