"Why are you giving me this?"
He looked up from the will in his hand, and his brother shifted in his chair at the other side of the table.
"I told you that months ago."
A faint frown flickered across his face. "You told me that Moriarty was dangerous," he replied, "and that I needed to remain far from your investigation, not that you expected him to kill you."
A flick of the thin hand brushed the correction away. "This is merely a precaution. If the Yard succeeds, we will return in a week."
Sherlock let the sentence drop, and a long pause filled the space between them as he studied his brother, picking up every nuance, every twitch, every clue in the way only a Holmes could. There was another plan in motion that Sherlock did not want to announce.
"And if the Yard fails?"
His brother hesitated a moment longer before answering with a sigh. "If the Yard fails, Moriarty will be on our trail. I plan to lead him to Reichenbach Falls."
He understood Sherlock's meaning in an instant, leaning back in his chair with a true frown. "And the doctor?"
"Drawn away with a faked note describing a patient back at the inn. He will see through the hoax eventually, but by then, he will be safe, able to return to Mary."
Mycroft did not answer for a moment, waiting to speak until he could continue past the idea that his little brother was planning his death. "There is another way that confrontation can go, Sherlock. What do you do if the local officials charge you both with murder?"
The detective shook his head somewhat sadly, fidgeting with the tablecloth to avoid eye contact. "I do not expect that outcome, but…" he paused, choosing his words carefully, "Watson will safely know nothing about it, and if Moriarty escapes the Yard, I will likely be unable to return no matter the results at the falls. Moriarty has a lieutenant of whom the Yard has no knowledge, and Moran knows about Watson. I must take care of him before returning to London."
"You would fake your death?"
"It is better than the alternative."
"Only if the alternative is your actual death, Sherlock. You know he would rather accompany you."
"That is the problem. He cannot accompany me. They cannot accompany me. It is too dangerous."
He scanned his fidgeting brother again, looking for what Sherlock would not say.
"You want me to help you fake your death."
Sherlock nodded, gaze finally lifting from the tablecloth. "I will need funds. You will be able to access my accounts and forward what I need, and your position will allow you to help me track Moran."
"And if I refuse?"
Hurt flashed in that familiar gaze. "Then I will do my best alone. You are the most protected, Mycroft. Moran will not target you, and even if he did, I did not fail to notice that your guards have increased. If I survive the confrontation with Moriarty, to return to London is a death sentence for all three of us until Moran is eliminated. I will not put them in danger. I also told you that months ago."
He felt his gaze grow distant as he thought, assimilating Sherlock's words and trying to find a different plan, one that would not risk so much.
"Do you really believe I have not thought this through?" his brother broke into his thoughts. "I do not want to leave. There is no other option. I cannot keep them safe if I stay in London, three is too many to hide, and if I ask Watson to leave Mary behind, Moriarty would only capture her to lure Watson and capture Watson to reach me. If I survive, he cannot know. I would not blame him for hating me when and if I return, but I would rather have their safety than their friendship."
"You know what this will do to him."
"Of course, I know! I have not forgotten how angry he was after the Culverton Smith case, but he will be fine. He will have Mary, I will return as soon as I may, and you will be able to contact me should I need to return sooner. Will you help me or not?"
He sighed, resisting the urge to rub his temples against the growing headache. "I do not think you will enjoy the results of this, Sherlock, but yes, I will help you."
Sherlock nodded his thanks as he leaned his elbows on the table, his exhaustion briefly visible.
"Tell me about the case."
His brother shook his head and pushed himself to his feet, gesturing to the pile of papers now resting on the table. "It is all in there. I intend to stop by Watson's consulting room on my way to one of my bolt holes. Would you be amenable to driving him to the station tomorrow?"
"Of course."
"Excellent. Meet him on the other side of the Lowther Arcade at a quarter past nine, and wear your red-tipped cloak so he recognizes you."
The door clicked shut before Mycroft could respond, and he shook his head, staring at the papers in front of him with a frown. There was no way this would end well.