DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock.

There might be some triggers I'd rather not specify to avoid spoilers. Please, be aware.

A great thank you to sideris for betaing this fic. If you like johnlock fanfiction, I recommend reading their works :)

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Epilogue: Merlin

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It was 13:35 PM at his parent's cottage. Sherlock was alone, upstairs. And there, in front of him. On that goddamned computer screen. The names were different, of course. The girl even had a different nose - financed with taxpayer's money, no doubt. But it was undeniable.

He remembered his conversation with Mycroft. CCTV cameras. He hadn't erased the footage at the YOI himself - but he was behind it all: the prison break, the obstacles Sherlock found when investigating. The elaborate plan to make Moriarty 'come back'.

He felt extremely angry and stupid. He felt annoyed. So very annoyed. But he also understood what it all meant, and he had enough sense to shut his mouth.

He turned off his brother's computer and strode out of Mycroft's bedroom at their parent's cottage. His family was snoring on the living room table, the cake he'd brought for their mother's birthday half-eaten. He put on his coat with a flourish and went out to chain-smoke. He needed it.

His brother. His arch-enemy. His guardian angel.

His personal Merlin.

Sherlock took a drag, let the smoke burn his lungs and blew it slowly into the air.

It was sunny outside but the deserted warehouse was dark and gloomy. Mary didn't dare lose her focus on him. Silence reigned, broken only by the occasional mechanical grunt from an old fan on the wall. She was on edge.

"Why did you do it?" she said. She took a shaky breath and added, "What was the point of giving my file to Sherlock?"

She had no sensible reason to be afraid or nervous, but of course she was, her long honed animal senses screaming danger. Verflucht. Anja, keep your composure. He simply looked at the handle of his umbrella, and after a silence he answered, "My, dear. I thought it'd be interesting, that's all." He smirked.

Mary felt cold inside. Mycroft could be scary without even trying to look remotely threatening. Mary swallowed and said, trying to sound strong, "That wasn't part of what we agreed."

Mycroft made a dramatic show of looking first at the ceiling and then at the raised tips of his polished black shoes. "No," he admitted, staring at her blankly. "Nor did it hinder our plans."

She felt a spark of rage. "Do you think I'm just some rag doll to play with?"

Mycroft waited some seconds before answering; time enough for Mary to regret having shown Anja's irritation. Then Mycroft smoothly replied, "Aren't you?"

She suddenly went flat and lost her courage. She breathed with difficulty. Mycroft's lips formed a ghost of a smirk. "I beg your pardon," he silkily said. "That was rude of me. Can I offer you something to drink?"

"No, thank you," she answered, and her voice sounded weak even to her own ears.

Abandoned warehouses didn't usually have drinks readily available, but of course he had his car. He probably kept expensive liquors in his limousine.

"All in all," said Mycroft, commanding Mary's attention again, "everything went as expected. Congratulations."

Mary braced herself and fixed her eyes on the floor. "It's those kids you should congratulate."

"Not really. It was smart of you to choose teenagers. They are easier to trick." He smiled amiably, and Mary felt his lungs frost with fear. But she remained stoic.

"We had to let them out early, naturally," explained Mycroft with chilling smoothness. "They're clever, after all. They're at our service right now." He looked at his fingernails with feigned disinterest. "It's not easy, but we always manage to return favours, Anja, dear. If we want to. It goes without saying," he added. His smile was both pleasantly polite and dangerously sharp at the same time. Mary swallowed.

"As it is," Mycroft said, "you did do us... do me, a huge favour. It is not everyday that someone can boast about having outsmarted the great detective Sherlock Holmes. Twice."

Mary blinked. "He hasn't deduced it was me behind the hacking and the prison break?"

Mycroft simply looked at the tip of his umbrella, and she felt the hairs of her arms rising. She quietly added, "I wouldn't have been able to do it without your infrastructure."

Mycroft's smile was that of a magnanimous king shark. He answered, "No need to be modest, my dear. You did prevent Sherlock from dying in exile. Although I must admit I cannot fathom what you told those kids to persuade them." He gave a melodramatic sigh, not unlike his brother's. "But of course. You are good at tricking unsuspecting people, aren't you?"

Mary could feel her face turning as white as a sheet of paper. She remained silent - she didn't trust her voice not to fail her. Mycroft seemed to be enjoying himself.

"If I'm honest, Anja, I'm a bit curious. Does John know you were part of a terrorist organisation?" he continued asking in his suave, poisonous, dangerous voice.

Anja rose from the ashes, hot with anger, and she stared hard at him. Despite the danger, despite being at his mercy, fury blinded her and made her talk recklessly. "We weren't terrorists," she spat. "We were soldiers."

"Same thing, dear," dismissed Mycroft, clearly amused. He underscored his words with a carefully rehearsed hand-flourish of indifference. But his eyes were sharp and cold like needles. He smiled slowly, gracefully, and Mary felt the urge to lower her eyes. Stupid. She'd been stupid. She'd taken his bait. Pathetic.

"Oh, I understand you might feel frustrated with yourself," Mycroft attacked. "Frustrated at becoming the bourgeois Mary Watson, maybe?"

She clenched her teeth, but kept her eyes stubbornly fixed on his necktie. He was provoking her, just for the fun of it, she was certain. Don't answer.No. She wouldn't let him handle her like a five year old. She decided it was time to change the subject.

"Sherlock doesn't suspect anything, then?" she said, risking a glance at Mycroft.

Mycroft sighed and lifted an eyebrow, as if resigning himself to bear with her stupidity. "No," he said blandly. "And he has obtained an official pardon for his... unfortunate mistakes." He gave her a sharp facsimile of a benevolent, fatherly smile.

"So have you, my dear. You needn't worry about being imprisoned or extradited to Germany any more."

Above the fear and the irritation, Anja felt a huge wave of relief wash her over, to the point she had to close her eyes. When she looked back at Mycroft, his smile was genuinely warmer and kinder. "You have saved my beloved brother from himself. Twice, if we consider your arrangement with John Watson. And I always keep my end of the bargain."

Indeed, thought Mary, tears clenching her throat but her eyes stubbornly dry. She was no fool: she'd been a convenient pawn. It'd been Mycroft who'd saved his brother. Mary felt her stomach turn ice cold and she clasped her trembling hands at her back. They were safe, she realised. Safe.

Until further notice.