"How does us being thrown into a cell in MI6 help Mycroft?" John asked as he sat opposite Sherlock in the windowless cell.
"It doesn't. I'm hoping that they'll let us speak for him." Sherlock replied, "If we're here and keep making a nuisance of ourselves, they're bound to hear us out, if only to get us out of the building."
"Do you know what you're going to say when you speak for him?" John asked.
"Absolutely no idea." Sherlock admitted.
John chuckled a little, "Well, that's reassuring."
"Frankly I'm surprised at you, Mycroft Holmes. After what happened to your other brother, I would have thought that you would be more careful not to cross us." the head of MI6 said as she looked down at the crime scene photographs on the desk in front of her.
"Other brother? There's three of you?" John said in surprise before Sherlock shushed him. They'd been allowed to sit in at the back of Mycroft's meeting with the MI6 heads of departments. It was clear that the secret service saw Mycroft as a vital asset and were reluctant to remove him from his post in response to his actions.
"I have no excuse. It was a moment of madness, a fit of peak." Mycroft replied, looking at each one of his colleagues, "I apologize for my actions and I accept any punishment that you deem as fitting."
"It will be a shame to lose you, Mycroft. No replacement will ever compare." the MI6 chief said with a sigh, "Prepare yourself for a mission. I think it's time that you returned to the field."
"Yes, Ma'am." Mycroft replied, getting to his feet as the meeting came to a close.
"You haven't even heard what I have to say about the matter!" Sherlock protested, getting to his feet.
"There is nothing that you can say to make the situation any better for your brother, Mr Holmes." said one of the heads of department as they all filed out of the room, leaving the two brothers and John alone.
"It looks as though I'm going to be heading eastwards." Mycroft said, lighting his cigarette as he stood beside Sherlock on the roof terrace of the MI6 building.
"A mission requiring your personal attention?" Sherlock murmured, glancing up at his brother as he took a drag on his own cigarette.
"Yes, I am told that the Russians need some assistance." Mycroft replied, blowing out some smoke and looking out across the London skyline.
"Assistance for how long?" Sherlock asked, flicking off some ash from the end of his cigarette.
"Approximately three months." Mycroft replied, his voice suddenly much more soft.
"Three months is longer than I expected." Sherlock admitted.
"Me too. I think that they may be exaggerating in an attempt to give me peace of mind." Mycroft agreed with a nod.
"There's an east wind coming, such a wind as never blew on England yet. It will be cold and bitter, but a cleaner, better, stronger land will lie in the sunshine when the storm has cleared." Sherlock said, his voice cold and detached.
"Feeling poetic, Sherlock?" Mycroft teased gently.
"Feeling sentimental, brother?" Sherlock retorted, watching Mycroft.
"Something like that." Mycroft replied with a nod, offering Sherlock his hand, "I know that we are not ones for sentiment, brother, but I want you to know that I have always had your best interests at heart."
"Oh god, don't get all sappy, that's the last thing that we need." Sherlock muttered, rolling his eyes, although he did take Mycroft's hand and give it a firm shake.
"Time for us to go then, Sherlock." John sighed, standing awkwardly in the doorway that led inside.
"Look after my brother, John." Mycroft said, nodding to John and not leaving his position on the roof terrace.
"I will." John replied, nodding to Mycroft before he returned inside.
"Three months." Sherlock murmured, stubbing out his cigarette.
"Three months." Mycroft replied quietly, watching Sherlock walk back into the building. He sighed and turned to lean on the barrier, finishing his cigarette as he looked over the city that he had spent his whole career protecting.