There were no Holmes brothers inside the room.

Flabbergasted, Anthea took a moment to collect herself from the idea that the room was empty. She then checked her phone in case she missed his call or his text. It has got to be Sherlock Holmes, she thought automatically as she dialled for the security service code. Either the younger Holmes did another one of his antics or Mycroft himself had something to do with it. It was common for things to change course away from Mycroft Holmes' plans when Sherlock was involved— she had been working under Mr. Holmes and had engaged with the detective's many quirks for a long time to know that. Still, it created suspicion as she saw no message whatsoever. When such emergencies happen she would always be doing something on behalf of her boss in utmost secrecy. Leaving her unattended and unsupervised was dangerous and often considered a real cause of concern—and there was no reason for Mr. Holmes to go MIA especially now they were about to corner their treacherous target. So what happened?

Anthea didn't waste another breath as she quickly turned to the door to inquire with the security personnel guarding outside— the two secret service men must've seen something or perhaps secret instructions were left on them which she had to know—

Only to find the corridor also empty.

Bewildered, the secretary held her phone tight as she confirmed it.

Something awful just happened.


"All of you don't move!"

Greg Lestrade raised a hand to his people as his eyes scanned the graveyard filled with what first appeared to him to be Christmas lights. Only to be proven wrong with Sherlock's sudden shout as they charged in and the repeating ringing alarm somewhere made him realise an awful mistake just happened—everybody did. Red lights put together with recurring beeping sounds could only mean so much and the Detective Inspector had to freeze his own body as he saw the same red lights just near his toe. The red lights now didn't seem as harmless as the warm white and blues.

"Sherlock..." Lestrade began with a glance down to his feet. "What the hell...?"

"Don't speak..." Sherlock replied darkly as his eyes reflected the red blinking lights of the explosives while looking straight at his psychotic eldest brother who continued smiling at him. "If anyone of you had stepped on the trigger we all would have been blown to pieces by now. You're still alive to complain. So don't move."

"It's not like in the movies." John agreed with a nasty look at Sherlock's other brother, "Once you stepped on the trigger it goes off...not a second is wasted."

"Alright... that's really helpful." Greg turned his eyes to his men, exchange looks with the guy on his right and nodded before looking back at the lone nemesis who was the sole receiver of Sherlock's intense eyes standing meters away from him and his men. The Detective Inspector couldn't see him clearly but his tall figure was enough to make him assume he was the mastermind behind London's distress. Anyone could figure that out if they were surrounded with bombs.

Sherlock now blinked his eyes with his lips compressed tightly. Sherrinford was very cool about everything.

"Look at you all." the eldest suddenly began with eyes surveying the number around him. "You're all like flies caught in a spider's web... waiting to be eaten at the right time. The first army Mycroft sent to be sacrificed. How I adore that brother of mine."

"Let's not assume the worst of that brother of mine." Sherlock said in whisper. "And these men are the police; of course they're ready to die."

Greg blinked several times at that and licked his lips. "Sure, we'll stand guard here waiting for that."

"Who says anything about dying just yet?" his eldest said smoothly, "when this lot could just lose an arm, a leg, or a chunk of their faces...? Suffer." He added in relish.

"You're really sick." John muttered with an aggravated look in his eyes. "When we're done with you I'm gonna make sure you get thrown in the deepest darkest part of a mental institution where you can rot as hell."

"Oh, burn." Sherrinford grinned at John, "I didn't think you could be so imaginative when you say it like it will really happen."

"I'll make sure of that." The doctor grinded his teeth.

"John." Sherlock's eyes glinted daggers as he surveyed his brother. "He won't respond to simple threats like that. I believe he'd even be more delighted but he's not one to take chances on this bomb scheme. Which makes me doubt if it's a ground trigger we have to worry about?"

Sherrinford eyed his younger brother and conceded as he slipped his free hand inside his pocket and took out a pen like device with a transmitter—making everybody with guns intently reply with aggressive raise of firearms to shoulder length once more. The night air was too dry with no rustling of leaves to break the silence or to cool down the intensity boiling up at the moment.

And the detective eyed his brother's toy then back to his gloating brother.

"Don't look so relaxed." Sherrinford told him flatly, "This isn't the only trigger. Of course there's one on the ground too—where's all the excitement if all of your meaningless lives only rest in my hand?"

"Then you're coming with us." John said that made his friend's eyes to turn sideways at him, "You die by your design."

"Would you really, doctor? Involve these many people? I doubt you could stomach it. But I'm pretty sure Sherlock can." He turned to the detective again who was still quietly watching him. "You wouldn't care about anyone now, am I right, little brother? You had always been the wild card with no self control—always involving other people."

"It's different when they're the one asking for it." The younger Holmes replied, "If they stand on my way I might as well pluck them out. I don't do well with bad chemistry."

"You and I both with Mycroft will explode well, don't you think?"

Sherlock chuckled as Sherrinford looked down the pen device smiling.

"But you're still that silly old boy who thinks gold can be found in graveyards, Sherlock. Say, doctor, how does it feel to follow people far superior than yourself?"

"Makes me feel safe to know they're on the good side." The doctor responded with a grip on his gun. "I follow them so I get to see them destroy people like you."

Sherlock smirked dauntingly while Sherrinford's face clouded.

"Well, I suppose you haven't seen them get crushed? I saw that too coming that's why I returned." he went on with a twirl of the transmitter on his hand that made all eyes follow the object without breathing. "You're in for a surprise if you think they were untouchable. That's only Mycroft's plain view while he's blinded with his power... not knowing there is greater power beyond his reach."

"I hope you're not talking about yourself?" Sherlock spat, "You've been trying to kill Mycroft all this time but never succeeded. You're not as 'great' as you think yourself to be."

"I've been trying to kill him for a long time, actually, since he became a bother." Sherrinford shook his head in disgust. "That's why I can't be nice, not even to my own blood. I knew not getting rid of him leaves loose ends. I never liked loose ends."

"That's what happens when you deal with Mycroft. You don't get to win."

"Oh, but I did win once." Sherrinford raised the pen and pointed at Sherlock who frowned. "With you."

"What's that mean?" John quickly muttered.

"Mycroft's grown so used to death threats on regular basis that it doesn't faze him anymore. He kept chasing me. So how else do you think I retaliated? Of course the single opening to his ever icy heart. You."

Sherlock continued looking confuse that made the eldest Holmes sigh.

"Think with me, little brother. Why else do you think I even bothered with you during your college days and gave you a gift you were unable to resist? Mycroft had become so fixated with me that he forgot about you— you were an easy target back then. Mycroft was always very fond of you despite the unconventional way he showed it. So I broke you and Mycroft learnt his lesson. Drugs, little brother. Drugs." He added that made Sherlock's eye go round.

"That wasn't Mycroft's fault— I was the one—"

"It was I assure you. Seeing you break apart when he expected you to rise above others like him... it was truly a shock for him. He was so shock he sent me to the CIA." He chuckled in amusement. "All the same, it was too late and I was satisfied with what I've done. Now every time he looks at you I imagine he sees me."

Sherlock stared blankly till Sherrinford smiled.

"I made you."

"You bastard!" John blinked several times with face contorting very angrily as the held his gun with both hands, seemingly unable to contain himself, "How could you... they're your brothers!"

The eldest Holmes smirked and turned to Sherlock finally with a smile still plastered on his face. The brothers stared at one another for a moment, before Sherrinford raised his hand and offered it towards the detective.

"Give me the notebook, brother."

The detective gave a short pause as he watched his brother leer at him. Sherrinford was smiling as ever as he inclined his head on one side and put a hand on the side of his coat. The next thing, the detective had thrown the notebook over the plots towards his brother who caught it easily.

"What are you doing?" the doctor hissed at his partner but Sherlock ignored him, eyes fixated on the man he now chose to loathe and by all means make pay.

"He's right." The detective whispered as he watched Sherrinford check the content of the notebook. "We lost."

The doctor felt chills run up his spine. "What?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "We can't play here anymore. Or dead bodies will rise."

John glanced sideways to the Scotland Yard men and nodded at Sherlock who looked calm.

"I could just jump him now and get this over with." He muttered.

"Don't." John suddenly said in alarm as he saw the detective step forward, apparently aiming to do another one of his feats. Calm? Maybe not. "It's too risky!"

"Beautiful." Sherrinford suddenly clapped the notebook close and put it securely inside his chest pocket with another turn towards the youngest Holmes. "Why Mycroft enjoys ciphers, only the three of us would understand. Him and his line of protocols had saved England many times... only..." he kissed the red notebook to Sherlock's chagrin.

That was when his body screamed of everything being over as he turned his eyes to the shadows surrounding the area. Then with one last chuckle, he began turning his back at them—resulting in another wave of clinking metal guns in the air—and the police stood on guard, eyes on their target.

Neither John nor Sherlock stopped them; they too were preparing to pull the trigger.

The eldest Holmes paused without looking back. A beat came next—

"Of course, you're all free to shoot my back." He said ominously. "Any sacrifices count if it's for the queen and country, right?"

The threat was too bold. Even Sherlock and John knew enough to believe him.

When nobody made another movement, Sherrinford began walking away with a shake of his head towards his car with its blinding headlights aimed at them. His feet left the soil ground after a few strides but his mind was no longer on the petty creatures he left behind; Mycroft somehow disappeared and whether or not he resurfaced on time or not, or whether it was all part of a grand plan his brothers worked together, Sherrinford's own scheme had just began.

Especially with the lethal notebook in his hand.

He reached his car seat and took a moment to look at the red notebook with his right hand and while doing so, pressed the detonator with the other—and the quiet graveyard exploded with a thunderous loud bang that hurtled dark smoke, ashes and fiery fire up the night sky, filling it with red and orange background. Three, four, five other explosions were heard that were music to his ears.

Sherrinford's eyes reflected the flames silently, and then he nodded at his driver to move along, all the while taking out his phone and dialling a number.

"I lost Mycroft. Be very wary, he could be plotting against..." silence came next as Sherrinford sharply looked at a distance then, "I'll be there."

He hung up without another word, eyes flickering darkly.

The final stage of his plan was coming. The crown will surely be pleased of his company tomorrow.


Mycroft opened his eyes and saw white ceiling ahead with the fluorescent light blinding him. There was a cloudy vapour above too that instantly told him he was in the hospital and that half his face was covered with oxygen mask. Gritting his teeth, the twenty three year old Mycroft Holmes grabbed the mask and removed it—taking in a lungful of air after that which was too painful to take. But then it only confirmed his first speculation—he was still alive.

"You shouldn't do that."

The bedridden young man glanced weakly by the wall and saw a dark, curly sixteen year old teenager with a long face watching him with his sharp eyes, arms crossed to on his chest.

"Sherlock." Mycroft whispered as he reached a hand to his neck and felt his buttons open. Wherever did he put his tie?

Silence fell in the room and for a moment, Mycroft thought his younger brother was a figment of his mind palace. Only that, when he opened his eyes next, he found his younger brother still watching him fixedly with deep set eyes and angry frown. Mycroft had always found it amusing how delinquent his little brother had been looking these days... but then they do always go through that phase. 'Adolescents'.

"It was the chamber maid who found you lying on the floor of your room." Sherlock suddenly found his voice, his back attached to the wall as Mycroft decided to stare at the ceiling, the memory of what occurred flooding his vision, "She thought you were dead."

"Feels like it." The older Holmes muttered as he closed his eyes with another reach towards his neck for his tie but it wasn't there. Damn tie.

"Mum and dad are outside," his younger brother went on, "the doctor says it was only fatigue. They didn't find anything in your system."

"Didn't they?" Mycroft opened his eyes slowly. "What do you think?"

"I think you've been poisoned."

Mycroft fell silent with his face turning grim. Sherlock finally left the wall and walked towards the bedside, eyes full on his brother's pale features. There was that glint in his eyes that Mycroft always liked to see— sharp and knowing, not gullible and never weak. As usual the energy of his little brother always affects him. Those traits would surely make him survive in the changing times, this little brother of his.

"Poisoned?" Mycroft suddenly smiled despite his disposition.

"Weak pulse, discolouration of eyes, rigid limbs and shortness of breath added with the fact that your neck is irritable... you keep on reaching for it. You drank water before collapsing; I saw the empty bottle and glass."

"You've been in my flat."

"I'm the only one who got a spare key to it."

"Well..." Mycroft found strength to finally push himself from the bed to stare at his younger brother in the eye. "Then I'm lucky I survived—it's always the fall a collapsing person has to look out for."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"You're not planning to report this, big brother?"

"I don't see the reason why."

"You know who's behind it?"

Mycroft looked blankly about and didn't speak which only made his younger brother look suspiciously at him.

"You're an idiot if you don't report this, brother—"

"Are you going to tell mum?" Mycroft wanted to know and the look he gave the teenager was enough to receive a glare back. "You didn't tell them earlier, I don't see the point why you should mention it now."

Sherlock clenched his jaw with his lips compressing in disapproval.

"I might just tell them to spoil your fun." The teenager shrugged convincingly.

Mycroft looked down at the IV drip on his wrist and shook his head.

"Don't do it. I have it under control."

"Collapsing on the floor is under your control. You're not still after that government position, are you? I read those papers on your desk. Are you building up an army of enemies? Like your undergrad university isn't enough?"

"Obviously."

Silence greeted Mycroft next. Upon looking up he saw his brother still watching him with his dark eyes.

"I'll give you six years, half a month and three days you won't last that long." Sherlock noted darkly that only made the older Holmes look at him for awhile, before finally chuckling and accepting the challenge.

"You only say so because I look weak now. Observe well, Sherlock—I think it's nine years, four months, two days and fifteen hours. It'll be by heart attack if I don't watch my weight by then."

Sherlock's eyes glinted.

"You're on." He muttered and the two brothers stared at one another for awhile before the younger one spoke again. "Is your job that dangerous? Do people actually poison young, 'ambitious' secretaries like you in the government?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Why?"

"Because it's not your concern."

"But it's much more intriguing than Billy Adam's missing rattler."

"Is that how you spend your summer these days?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow in alarm much more on the fact that the activity was tedious than dangerous. Sherlock ignored the question and nod at his older brother.

"I saw clips on your desk about 'him' too. You know who. What's going on between the two of you? Why aren't you telling me anything?"

Mycroft's face turned dismal. "From here onwards, Sherlock, you're not to ask me of my business, is that clear?"

"Why?"

"It's not for stupid people..."

The memory was as clear as daylight to Mycroft Holmes as he was pulled away from his memory palace into the present as he stirred from where he was seated. The British government head blinked his eyes and adjusted it to the light of the room he was in. His mind easily jolted him back to his last memory and this room was not part of it, unless Sherlock brought him somewhere else.

But the silhouette of people around him didn't seem anything like his brothers nor do they look friendly. As a matter of fact, Mycroft suddenly became aware of the fact that he was in that place— the target place of his hiding enemy.

How in the blazes he ended up there when he only remembered getting a shot from his brother on the neck inside the hospital, Mycroft could only make speculations. The last thing he needed however was awakening in the middle of another group of captive that never seemed to leave him alone for the love of all surprises. Unwittingly, this time.

"Stupid Sherlock." He muttered to himself with eyes tightly closing that ended up with him looking half irritable and half exasperated. He was still getting a little dizzy... The things he goes through because of his little brother...


A minute before the explosion.

Sherlock' eyes flickered as he watched his brother walking away confidently with both hands inside his pocket, crossing the darkness of the graveyard towards the blinding light which had been behind him all along. It turned out to be a dark car with its headlights on that lurked around, waiting for its master.

The detective then wasted no time as he glanced at the soil for the trigger—any moment then and his psychotic brother might blow everything up. Everyone else felt the same as Lestrade began shouting orders to the men on his right—

"Quick! Where the hell's that detonator?"

"Don't move! Let Sherlock find it!" John turned to the Detective Inspector who raised a hand as five of his men began moving, nearly making John's heart skip a beat. That was when the doctor noticed all of them were wearing armed, thick, bullet proof vest. That would never save them there.

"It's alright—they're part of the bomb squad." Lestrade informed them that made Sherlock's eyes glinted as he knelt just by the two plot holes. "Your brother had ordered us here all along expecting this but what the hell were you playing at, Sherlock? You were never part of this."

"I don't need permission." He muttered and then without warning—Sherlock suddenly disappeared—as he jumped on to the plot without a warning— making his best friend's heart skipped another beat.

"Jesus..." John breathed as he shook his head while the detective busily looked over the dirt high and above. "You—you sure that's safe, Sherlock?"

The detective ignored them with eyes darkening at every side of the earth. It was dark with only the blinking lights to support but he was able to finally trace and unearthed a cord. John watched the detective with his breath held.

"Call the bomb squad, John." Sherlock muttered as he followed the cords going upward and found a tiny screen device at the end of it. He looked around the hole and saw no other trace while the doctor called the men. "You really take no chance do you, brother?" he whispered to himself.

Two men in the armed vest suddenly jumped behind Sherlock with their flash lights on guns and shoulder pads. One of them quickly worked on the cords and the device while someone passed over a box with tools. The detective moved aside knowing the time was of the essence.

"Where's that lunatic brother of mine?" he turned up to John.

"Inside his car." John muttered with eyes on the road.

"It's about time he blows us up. No pressure." He turned to the bomb squad men who were all pulling a string from the earth after another with swift fingers Sherlock would have commended them at except seconds were counting in his mind. Then the first snap of the cutter came and all the red glowing lights disappeared—

"What—?" John muttered from above as Sherlock looked at the bomb expert.

"That's the trigger on the land bombs," the man said without looking back as his hand traced the other line of cords in red and blue. "But the remote can still set it off."

"Tell them to clear the area!" Sherlock shouted agitatedly but John didn't have to repeat it as Greg bellowed the words to his men—exactly as three beeping sound was heard on the device—and Sherlock knew it was too late and looked at John who was then pushed together by the three armed bomb squad men down the plot hole who covered the detective and the doctor—

And a deafening explosion blasted away the air with hot fumes and heat wave that destroyed everything.

Minutes passed and only silence greeted the flaming air.

Sounds of siren could be heard from afar.

Then came coughs and shouts, then scurrying feet. More shout amidst the dark.

The next thing, Sherlock had pushed himself away from the dirt and shook his head with his sensitive ears still ringing with the explosion. He looked around him once he steadied himself and found the bomb squad already on their feet and clambering above grounds while John shook his head as he sat on the soil completely nonplussed.

They were saved by the plot holes.

"You alright, Sherlock?" the doctor blinked with right hand covering his right ear. "I can't... I can't hear myself..."

Sherlock stood up and hoisted himself up to the level ground calling Lestrade's name. The doctor shook his head again, before standing up and following his friend out of the grave— to find half the ground almost gone with the fire being extinguished by men after men. John stared at the crate he had just been standing on a minute ago before he was pushed down the plot hole that saved their lives.

"Jesus, Sherlock..." the doctor breathed as he suddenly stood beside the detective who was watching the Scotland Yard police attend to the injured men, counting casualties if there were any. Detective Inspector Lestrade emerged out of the group of police surrounding him with blood trickling down his left side of head as he walked towards the two.

John strode towards him without a word.

"Greg!" the doctor called loudly, meeting the detective inspector half way. "You're wounded!"

"It's fine. Got blown to a rock on the ground. You both alright?" the inspector asked, almost shouting as he glanced at his men. "Found five of my guys unconscious but there were pulses; one broke a leg and the others just minor injuries since we're all wearing protective gears. The guys ran away like it's their last, I never saw them dash like that during training." He was still shouting loudly even though they were an arm apart, "How are you guys standing?"

"The plot." John shouted back and shook his head, "I still can't quite hear you—my ears are hurting."

"Lend me a car." Sherlock suddenly said without another pause as he eyed the detective inspector.

Lestrade took one look at Sherlock's resolute face while John stared at his friend. It was apparent that no time was to be wasted given the circumstances.

"Alright, fine." He said with a sigh. "But I want that man alive, you got that, Sherlock?" he added when the detective had turned around without a word and was already crossing the half open earth.

"Don't count on it."

"Sherlock!"

"You guys will be alright?" John asked with half his body about to follow his friend.

"Sure." Greg licked his lips again with eyes on the detective. "Will you guys be?"

"Just do something about your head."John replied, already on the trail of the detective who was moving quickly with hands jammed on his pocket. "Sherlock wait—dammit!" he called as he felt his phone vibrate on his pocket and rummaged for it. Looking at the screen, John blinked and went after his friend quickly. "It's—it's Mycroft's secretary—why—why is she calling me?"

"I lost my phone."

"Yeah, but she cannot pin me over the assault of her boss, right? Yes hello?" John answered as he exchanged looks with the detective, "Yeah, I'm with him... we? We're in a safe place. No, of course not, we don't know where Mycroft is—absolutely no clue." He shook his head with too-honest expression as he listened more. "Uh, no... He didn't tell us anything... no, Sherlock left the hospital because he's feeling fine, you know him—he's rechargeable... we don't have—no idea..." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Wait, what do you mean the room's empty? Where did you say you were again?"

Sherlock halted his steps with frown forming on his forehead.


"Who is she?" came a disinterested voice from the dark the moment she stepped inside the room after being dragged roughly by the elbow. She snatched her arm away with a nasty look at her captor and looked around a high ceilinged room with bright chandelier in the middle and six high pillars standing at the corners lit up by two more bright lights by the end wall. The velvet carpet covered the entire room with matching red curtains hanging by the windows and in the middle of it all was a long, rectangular handsome table with five chairs at each side. Then her eyes fell on the man inquiring for her who was seated at the head of a rectangular table with the tallest chair, face unconcealed that told her this was no ordinary person trying to intimidate her—this man meant business.

She decided to give him her full attention, eyes raw on his every movement.

"She tried to stop us from taking Mr. Holmes, sir. We found him sound asleep by his brother's bed."

"Asleep at times like this? That's something new." The unknown man smirked with eyes lingering on Mary. "Why bring her?"

"She said she was a nurse, she had an identification card on her. Mr. Holmes apparently had collapsed because of health issues so we took her for good measure."

"We're going to kill him anyways. And the real guards outside the room?"

"Disposed of."

"The cameras?"

"Confiscated and burned."

"And? What of Mycroft Holmes?"

"He just woke up from the other room. We brought her in to make you decide what to make of her now that he's awake?"

The unknown man raised his hands covered in whitegloves to his lip and Mary's eyes narrowed at him.

"We don't need her." He said quietly as he leaned back on his chair, "Kill her."

Mary's eyes slowly turned daggers towards the man and she was about to defend herself so naturally by planning to pull the gun from the man beside her when the door opened and there, standing as solid as rock was Mycroft Holmes in the same dark suit and dark eyes who took one good look at the room, raised an eyebrow at her direction as if knowing exactly what she was planning, before his eyes fell on the man in the middle of the table.

"There you are." Murmured the guy with glowering eyes as it transfixed itself to the British Government Head. "Always the spoiler of nights, Mycroft Holmes."

Mycroft inhaled a breath and with one final shut of his eyes, he walked inside the room and stopped at the right edge of the table, standing a few steps from Mary who was watching him.

"I'm so sorry, Mycroft." She began with a shake of her head

"It's... quite understandable." Mycroft replied drily as he let his eyes feast on the man he scrutinized.

Mary nodded once that made the older Holmes pressed a small sigh that clearly said— Sherlock will most definitely not hear the end of this! The way he looked made Mary realise he was serious in making his brother's ears hurt—that or all his silent emitted anger was overflowing towards the man across him.

"I suppose I missed the invitation." Mycroft began addressing the unknown man, "Finding myself suddenly drugged at the most critical moments do certainly raise red lights of mayhem. I wonder if my brother really understands the true meaning of... plans blowing up. He's truly a slayer, my brother..."

"You don't seem surprise to find yourself here though, Mr. Holmes?"

Mycroft's eyebrows rose in a familiar fashion. "Having to act 'surprise' has always been the hardest part for me. It's you lot who can't seem to conceal your surprise at my surprise."

The man chuckles for a second, but then it disappeared as he looks up dark eyes boring on the British Government Head.

"Just as expected of Mr. Holmes. It seems you really are the man behind our failure."

"What failure?" Mary found her voice as she frowned at the men. She was able to follow the few exchange between the two but the hints were no longer enough to make any heads or tails. Mycroft, who had been standing with both hands on his sides as he tried to flex them away from the numbing result of the recent drug, turned an eye at her and then shift back to the unknown man.

"I would have apologised for this, Mrs. Watson," he went on, "but that's not really my area of expertise. However, to make amends to you who seemed to have been dragged into this because of your insistence to come along on Sherlock's behalf of me, allow me to enlighten you of some of the facts of what I have been calling... The Line Protocol."


"Line Protocol?" John Watson said with a distracted look as he heard their car's tire screeched as it manoeuvred to the left with his entire body swinging along the car seat—"Sherlock—Sherlock—!" John's right hand grabbed the side of the car window on the passenger corner while his other took hold of the back of the driver's seat. They were inside a police car racing with time as it went pass other vehicles in speed of light; flashes of other headlights came by in a blink, angry horning blasts at their ears and all John could think of was how glad he was the seatbelt was working fine or he would have hurtled in the air at how fast his detective friend was going. "Christ—you're going to get Greg in trouble!"

"We just saved him the trouble of dying, he should feel appreciative." Sherlock answered as he distractedly focused on the road. "No, John. Let's not waste a minute when Mycroft needs backup." He turned another corner—making the doctor grit his teeth.

"What's with this Line Protocol? How are you bringing it up now?" the doctor said as he remembered the words from a previous encounter back at Belfast when he was held captive by a group of terrorist who incidentally mentioned the code. He clearly remembered Mycroft turning the shade of white when he heard it and now that it was mentioned, he couldn't help thinking that the British Government head had failed to mention something so important again. And now he was gone. "How the hell did he disappear? And why is my wife also missing!?"

"You were there, you just weren't listening, John—didn't you hear Sherrinford mention it just now? He said Line Protocol. You can't have missed it, what were you listening at?"

"Well, in case you didn't remember—we were just standing in the field of mines!"

"A lot of stuff is happening at the same time. We were careless." the detective muttered to himself scathingly as he turned on a corner seconds before the red light appeared that nearly cost a bump scratch on a cab heading on their left but Sherlock ignored it. "Too many enemies working together against my brother. Sherrinford knew that and he's taking advantage of it"

"You were careless." John was unsympathetic as he grudgingly looked ahead. "Who the hell tranquilizes their own brother?"

"Ah, now it's my fault?" Sherlock threw his friend a look, "Mycroft was the one hiding—"

"I don't care how many secrets he was hiding but the fact that you knew people were still after him and you left him with my wife—that I take very seriously, Sherlock."

"Have some faith, John. You know she's not a pushover—"

"Same as I know she isn't suppose to get hurt or be in danger!"

"Then the jokes on you!" Sherlock retorted, eyes suddenly flashing daggers at his partner. "We are in danger—everyone around us is in danger! But you know she can handle herself—"

"For Christ sake, look at the goddamn road!"

Sherlock pulled the brakes over with the tires screeching loudly and the car nearly toppled to the side in the middle of the highway with its two passengers colliding back at their seats. And the two breathed heavily as Sherlock made an annoyed clicking of his tongue and began the engine once more.

"She'll be fine." He whispered after with eyes on the road. "And Mycroft won't let anything happen to her."

John looked at the window with eyes glinting, but after a few seconds he sighed and turned to the detective.

"You said 'many enemies'. Who is it this time? If it's not your lunatic eldest brother—"

"I think it's a thread," Sherlock answered with a narrowed look in his eyes, "with Mycroft also tugging the other end of the string."

"What?"

"Sherrinford didn't seem to be connected with their disappearance—not if what he said was true that all his men had been rounded up... but from what Mycroft's secretary had said even security personnel were involved, camera footages disappearedit's down to the last card of people who could pull mightier power than my brother."

John's face turned incredibly expressive with wide eyes of complete surprise. A mightier power than Mycroft Holmes?

"You don't say—"

"Yes." Sherlock confirmed it as he glance at his friend meaningfully. "If there's an order in hierarchy, Mycroft will only be as under as the Prime Minister. Who else is above them?"

"What's that mean!? So where are we heading?"

Sherlock sped up the car with eyes once again glinting in menace.

"Buckingham Palace."


"Take a seat, Mr. Holmes. You look like you're about to collapse."

Mycroft took a moment to close his eyes as he felt his weak limbs but he did not sit down. Instead he opened his eyes with newly revive glints that made the unknown man chuckle. The bloody tranquilizer, Mycroft thought as he sighed impatiently and clenched his jaw before responding in a severe manner.

"Ask the lady to sit down."

"I'm not sitting down." Mary crossed her arms as she eyed the unknown man with the most annoyed look. Without warning, she suddenly threw Mycroft a glance. "Who the heck is he?"

"He is a butler." The British Government Head began that startled the man and made him sit straight in the process.

"How—?"

"The precise manner you carry yourself around the head—shoulder and chest— the position of your arms always hung by your ribs on your left side. You are wearing a dark blazer which I expect to see too neat sparkling black shoes that indicate indoor activities and being thorough. And you're still wearing your whitegloves—it's almost a dead giveaway. Butlers these days do not need to wear their uniforms to show discretion, which would mean you are on-duty and is taking order from someone with a high status in society. To be specific—somebody in the royal family." He added as he craned his neck on the left and still felt the numbing feeling around the area. "Of course, no one else but members of the family knows who I am. As who you really are—you are Carmichael Fischer from Switzerland serving the current Earl—I should know, I have a complete list of everyone in the royal family and their servers in my mind... and that's the only connection I needed... You didn't think I wouldn't notice?"

He raised the question so testily that made those around him shift in their feet in shock, like children with their misdoings exposed right before it even began—and Mycroft always enjoyed those moments as he carried on speaking— "If you truly know who I am then you know what I do with my power? I am the central exchange of this government—I command everything. The Protocols I make are specific and particular to group of people. The Queen's family is not excused. If I give a code for one of their security it always comes in many names depending on who will be involved in it so that when it gets exposed to others I know exactly who to hunt. When the royal family speaks of their security, especially the security of the grandchildren—they mention it as Line Protocol. No other people should use it."

He closed his eyes awhile and there—like the whole universe opening in his mind palaceinformation floated like stars in the galaxy but in order of orbits—vast and infinite. When he opened them his eyes twinkled of knowledge.

"So the moment the Line Protocol broke free from the mouth of outsiders I knew that one of the Queen's family members is behind the treason... No, for the Secret Service men they call this the 'Air Operation' down to the specific letter. The Prime Minister and his cabinet members call it 'Heir Prevention.' It all goes down to the code that I can identify where threats would come from and expose them. Do you know where we are, Mrs. Watson?" he suddenly turned to John's wife who blinked a moment before nodding her head.

"Kensington Palace."

"Indeed." Mycroft suddenly took a step forward, an action that made the two men behind him took each side of his arm but the British Government Head was undaunted as he continued, "This is our Kings' and Queens' royal residence and subsequently became the 'home' to their children with its many wings of apartments allotted for the heir to the throne. This specific room we are in is the Red Saloon where Queen Victoria first held her privy council... The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge and their family all reside here... The moment I realised the Line Protocol has been compromised, the removal of the family had been my top priority ever since my return. Kensington Palace had been empty of the last twelve hours and that's probably why we find ourselves here, comfortably 'chatting' about what I consider treason. The Earl must have realised too that I know he was behind this. So he wants me out of the picture."

"So we were all playing in your palms?" Fischer looked so unhinged that even with his well-trained manner of intimidation he still stared blankly at the British government head for a long time, before glancing to his men and nodding.

Mycroft, now in full faculty of his fists, glared at the men and his dark eyes were nowhere near kind.

"Playing... falling in the trap... it's all the same."

There was no response for awhile as the uncomfortable butler looked at him through the mirror.

"Is that the only thing you—?"

"No." Mycroft assured them with eyes narrowing. They were the provocative sort, especially at trying times where time was of utmost importance. "The question you all should be wondering about now is how to answer the wrath of the Queen. We have been preparing for this."

"Then the more reason we cannot let you live." The other man beside him suddenly said in a matter of fact tone and Mycroft heard the unlocking of the trigger. It was easy enough to identify him: a security person. Hired underground. Assassin.

Mycroft gave him an affronted look but kept silent as his eyes turned to Mary who gave him a meaningful look.

"I'm afraid it's too late." Mycroft turned to the now standing butler. "The Duke of Cambridge is very displeased."

"That is why I took the liberty of really getting my hands on this notebook."

Mary nearly snapped her neck as she turned a look towards the doorway while Mycroft Holmes was seen closing his eyes tightly and giving a long sigh before slowly turning behind him and locking gaze with none other than his least favourite brother.

"Sherrinford."


"It's Buckingham," John was heard saying as he kept his hands at the back of Sherlock's car seat to avoid getting thrown around in his seatbelt at how fast they were going with his eyes looking at the road way. Ahead of them was the Buckingham palace gate, lit up by corner lights and guards standing at its corners. "We're here."

Sherlock kept silent as he scanned the area.

"This is not the place where we are supposed to be now that I think of it."

"What's that mean?"

"Line Protocol, John."

To which the doctor bristled angrily—"You've been telling me that damn word and not explain it! Tell me what that is or god help me—"

"The line of heirs to the throne, John!" Sherlock replied equally, "Buckingham Palace maybe the centre stage of the royals but the Duke and Duchess lives elsewhere!"

"You mean Kensington?" the doctor blinked as he understood, "Then what are we waiting for? Let's turn this car around!"

A few seconds later, the doctor realised the car wasn't slowing down—

"Sherlock?"

"Do you know what makes our police car so valuable, John?"

"No," the doctor suddenly turned an apprehensive look towards the detective's way, knowing full well Sherlock's voice when it was near in saying, 'Vatican Cameos' in subtext— "Sherlock—?"

And the detective took hold of the gear lever and shifted gears in another jolting speed— the car went on full hustle and before the doctor knew it he was thrown backwards so hard he had to shut his eyes and mouth so as not to bite his tongue— and the police car went crashing headfirst into the Buckingham Palace gate that threw the two giant metals down the ground with dusts wafting in the air, creating dents on their otherwise still intact vehicle.

A second to take their breathes and then John was hollering—

"HAVE YOU GONE MAD!?"

Loud warning bells came next that flooded their eyes with red lights from the palace security and without a word, Sherlock geared the car backwards, made a sharp turn and was on the road again with sirens blasting in the air after their wake.

"WHY THE HELL DID YOU DO THAT?"

Sherlock looked at the side mirror and saw the force behind them. He smiled.

"A payback." He muttered to himself as he sped up another kilometre. "For always putting my brother in danger."

John gave an exasperated sigh.


Red


~The unexpected to be continued~

I honestly tried to 'squeeze' all here but I failed miserably!

It just won't do!^^

SO OFF TO A FINAL PUSH! Bear with me xD

And the delay is all thanks to my sudden addiction to the Hillywood Show Parody of SHERLOCK!

God, them sisters are BLOODY AWESOME!

Thank you for the support! :D

Thanks for reading!