Chapter 22: The Hour of Penance~

Sally Donovan never made it as far as the airport.

Of course! She cursed at herself. Of course Sherlock was right. Magnusson wanted the physical hard drive found. Was probably meaning to use it as some sort of bargaining chip.

A sort of trade of equal interests. SIS secrets, and reasonable toxin specialist services, in exchange for his miserable life should his plans fall through.

There were two sides to this story though. Sally was kicking herself for not being more clever. Of course they should have alerted the other agents of Clearfield and Smith's betrayal.

Because the other agents had automatically acted as they felt their boss would warrant, and had made videos,and taken photographs for evidence of the confidential information they had physically found in Magnusson's house. And then they had taken it into his backyard, and in a miniature controlled explosion they had destroyed it.

As far as the games go,this had been a suicide move. Magnusson's current P.A. and hired sneak, the investigative reporter Kitty Reilly, had swarmed in with select few members of Magnusson's network, to round up Anderson and these agents for immediate disposal. Clearfield and Smith had allowed this sabotage of the information to happen, because they had been working for Magnusson long enough to know he was a maniac, and they thought that this could actually stop him. So they had betrayed Anderson and been willfully trying to help him in his mission, all at once.

Anderson had been on Cloud 9 when they had found the hologram diaries. Had felt like one of the knights of the Round Table when he helped Mycroft's men to destroy them.

It was the pinnacle of his career. He could not wait to brag to Sherlock! Could actually not wait to be collaborating with Sherlock in the future, thinking maybe now that he was forgiven that they could actually become friends...Maybe...They had both changed, and for the better, and so just maybe he ,and Sally, and Greg, and Sherlock..could all be a team now. He rather liked the idea. And John would be there too, he realized. He rather liked that too...

Things weren't looking so bright now. Clearfield and Smith had been immediately terminated at Appledore, when Kitty got there with the hired guns. He had watched them die. They had been his friends, and he knew that they had tricked him. Now...he understood what it must have been like for Sherlock when he had been on St. Bart's rooftop. He (and he could tell by the look on Sally's face as he saw her stop dead in her tracks, on the sidewalk , that she also) was truly sorry.

The black Lotus came shrieking to a stop right in the middle of Fifth Avenue. The police had closed off this section of the street, and the whole of New York City, and soon the World, witnessed the firefighters rushing to prepare for the worst, as well as see the shootout the police were engaged in with Magnusson's men that had closed in.

Chief Honors and Greg were fighting back to back, leaning over the side of his patrol car. They had handcuffed Meredith ,and were making her sit in the back seat, and she was shrieking protests at all the bullets flying around her.

"Now you know what it feels like, being almost shot!" Greg shouted, hitting the window, and then ignoring her, as he had more important stuff to worry about right now.

Mycroft himself had joined the fight, being given a silver Springfield by one of his people, and positioning himself in a place closest to the outside of the fire. Not because he was a coward, but because he needed to be in a place where he could pause, and shout threats and terms of surrender over a police megaphone at the enemy, explaining who he was, and how he had the ultimate authority in their situation.

He was interrupted by the shrieking of the wheels of the black Lotus, and by the voice of Kitty Reilly, as she stepped out of the passenger's seat, opening a door for Anderson,and leading him out of the car at gunpoint. Some of her other people, in similar rides, lead Sally and the team of Secret Service agents Mycroft hand-picked to take her back to England, into the circle, also at gunpoint.

"So...this will make a really GOOD story...eh? You dredged that piece of inhuman rot you call a brother up from his grave...And now you've got him busting up the entire American gang? Too many spoons in too many pots, wouldn't you say, Mycroft ,dear? Your whole family...what is it Sherlock would say?...repels me."

"Oh, Reilly. Go back to hell. And get a number and a place in the line at my desk if you want to quiz me; I have more important matters of Universal security to deal with at the moment!" Mycroft cried, rolling his eyes, turning back to the fight, shooting the tires out of a motorcycle that was getting too close to the outer ring of the fight.

"Mmmm...Mr. Holmes. You never have given me the credit where credit is due, have you?Allow me to introduce myself as the personal assistant of Charles Magnusson. I was formerly the personal informant of James Moriarty,and I am by rights the grand architect in those series of events that lead to Sherlock's Fall."

"Yes, I know who you are. And you will pay for what you have done...But right now, whatever you have come to negotiate has moved out of your hands. Your master has gone to new heights which you cannot follow."

Mycroft pointed up. The cameras hadn't diverted their attention that way yet, and it was probably just as well. Sherlock stood, in position to fall again, fighting his final battle with Akhlys. Whilst John and Magnusson spun rings around the rosey in the air, wrestling like Titans against Kronos, and it was pretty clear that one of them was going to lose the fight,resulting in a tremendous fall.

Reilly had looked up at just the right moment . John, trying to escape Magnusson, did a horrifically painful hand stand , that pierced into his palm, making it slick with blood, in an acrobatic move on the very peak of the pinnacle of the Empire State building. By doing so, he evaded Magnusson, who had made one last desperate grab at him, meaning to use his weight against him, to cast him off the roof, even if that meant they both went down. But seeing as he grabbed at nothing but empty air, he reeled , he teetered, and he fell. The screaming could be heard all the way on the ground. John did a cart-wheel, and for a moment, he gave a sharp yell,as it seemed he would come crashing down from the heights too.

But ,as if by Divine Providence, he was positioned directly above where Sherlock, who was superhuman strengthened by the poison he was strung out on, stood. When he fell, he was unexpectedly caught from under the arms, by Sherlock's out-stretched hands .

Kitty shouted, knowing that no matter what she had come to carry out or to threaten it didn't matter now. Their plan had failed so utterly it was comical.

While she was distracted, Sally and Anderson exchanged a look. They knew what they had to do. For Sherlock, as a sort of penance...

Anderson swung around with his elbow, and it was just enough to smash Kitty's sun-glasses on her face, where she had to close her eyes for all the broken plastic and blood. Which was just enough time for Sally to pounce on her back, and slip handcuffs on her wrists. She hung on for the ride as Kitty thrashed about, trying to buck her off. Sally grabbed her red pig tails like one would a horse's mane and reigned her in.

"You are under arrest for the murder of Sherlock Holmes!" she shouted, and her voice quivered with victory in the smoking air.

Mycroft turned around and smiled, a truly pleased smile.

"This is shaping up to be a very good day after all. Now perhaps Anthea will save a raspberry tart for me when I make preparations for going home. That would be truly splendid."

No sooner did he say that, than did the Major and Molly lead the bookkeeper and Irene straight up to him.

The Game was over now.