"Of all the things that I expected you to tell me, Mycroft being an actual serial killer was not one of them." Lestrade admitted from where he sat on the sofa in the living room of 221B. He'd insisted that Sherlock justify his comments to John, but hadn't expected there to be actual proof behind them.
"What are you going to do? Can you arrest him or is he protected by his job?" John asked curiously, looking between Sherlock and Lestrade.
"He's not protected. As soon as MI6 hear about this, he'll have an unfortunate accident or will go missing." Sherlock replied, relaxing into his chair and placing his hands together beneath his chin, "He won't ever be tried publicly though."
"I may be able to bend rules for you at crime scenes, Sherlock, but this is different. An innocent woman has died and justice must be done." Lestrade sighed, "I;m going to have to report this and take him in."
Sherlock nodded, "I know, Lestrade. Will you give us a head start? Say 24 hours?" he asked.
"Sherlock..." Lestrade sighed, running a hand over his tired eyes, "Yes, 24 hours, but not a moment longer."
"Come, John. We must get to Mycroft before he does anything stupid." Sherlock said, getting to his feet and pulling on his Belstaff.
John stood up and pulled on his own coat, following Sherlock down the stairs and out the door onto Baker Street. Within minutes, they were in a cab and on the way to the Diogenes Club.
"You're about to do something stupid again, aren't you?" Sherlock snarled as he stormed into Mycroft's private room at the Diogenes Club. He was sat in his favourite armchair beside the large fireplace, sipping a whiskey from an ornate glass.
"I am merely considering my options." Mycroft replied calmly, swirling the amber liquid carefully, "This latest killing was a mistake, as you can probably tell by the amount of evidence left at the scene."
"You won't get off a murder charge with the sympathy act, Mycroft." John said, sitting down opposite the elder Holmes while Sherlock paced the room.
"I have no intention of 'getting off', as you put it." Mycroft replied, "This time I made mistakes, I didn't think it through and now both of you will suffer for it. I apologize to you both."
"What have you done?" Sherlock demanded, frustration clear on his face.
"I have informed my superiors of my actions and they will be arriving shortly to discuss the matter privately within MI6." Mycroft said, sipping his drink.
"Are you completely mad? That's a death sentence!" Sherlock shouted.
"I can't go to prison, Sherlock. Can you imagine it? The people, the noise..." Mycroft replied with a shudder, "Besides, I know too much to be allowed mere prison as a punishment."
There was a bang as the door opened and a group of agents arrived to escort Mycroft to MI6.
"Time to go." Mycroft sighed, getting to his feet and pulling on his coat. He hooked his umbrella over his arm and slowly walked out of the room.
"I demand that you take John Watson and myself, we will be speaking for Mycroft." Sherlock declared.
The agents looked at each other and then shrugged, pulling the two of them along too.