AN:

HELLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOOOOO EVERYBODY! *rolls in and hugs everybody* DID YOU MISS US? DID YOU MISS US? DID YOU MISS US? DID YOU MISS US? DID YOU MISS US? First of all, we're so sorry for the delay! I know how it sucks to wait till the authors update! We're so sorry! *throws in big cookies and large milk glasses* I hope that compensates for everything! I've been busy with college lately, I'm taking Digital Filmmaking *party poppers* Second- Happy Holidays everyone! I hope you guys enjoy this episode and have a joyous day ahead! *hugs* You are all awesome and cool! Thank you for sticking to our story! It's one of my favorite episodes, so far. and I hope you enjoy reading it! *hugs everybody* -Gloria the Sheepish Sheep heyitsgmats|tumblr (I changed my Tumblr url, in case you're wondering)

I CAN'T BELIEVE HOW LONG IT'S BEEN SINCE THE LAST UPDATE. We are so sorry about the delay. Really. We apologize. Sheep and I have been caught up with so many things in the real world that it's caused us to be inactive in the fandom for a while. But the important thing is that we're back and we will begin updating as often as possible! Yay! This episode is the longest we've written so far and we hope you enjoy it as much as we enjoyed writing it. Again, thank you so much for all of your continued support! You guys are so awesome T_T Happy holidays! AGAIN THANK YOU SO MUCH, EVERYBODY! WE MISSED YOU SO MUCH. LOTS OF LOVE TO YOU, AND YOU, AND YOU... - Celina The Orca celinalzr | tumblr

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The Bear Trap Trigger

It wasn't a long journey back to Mycroft's hide away. Throughout the flight he paid close to attention to Molly even though the pathologist kept on insisting she was fine. There was a place in Sherlock's own humanity that triggered the paranoia. He wanted to keep an eye on Molly as much as he could.

John was convinced that his best bloke was in too deep, as he observed the consulting detective. In all honesty, he was proud as a friend to see such an unsociable man show feelings with just a simple stare. The same goes for Janine who noticed how much Sherlock cares for the pathologist. It made her smile, knowing that he had a heart after all.

The location was highly confidential to the point that they had to stop in an air field and take a black SUV all the way to the destination. As they arrived, Sherlock spotted Mycroft from the window, taking a peak at the four. As they entered the luxurious place, Molly and even Janine looked around. The mansion had marble floors, antique furniture that looked rare and valuable, and curtains that complimented each fixture. It was quite breathtaking.

Anthea lead the way as they took the stairs. It was wide and spacious as you could imagine. John wondered how Mycroft's assistant could walk up and be on her phone at the same time.

As the group emerged inside a large receiving area, the first person for them to see was the older Holmes brother sitting on an armchair by the fire, with his legs and arms crossed. A condescending look was plastered on his face, and it took every ounce of Sherlock's strength to not pounce on him right then and there. "So, dear brother, didn't I tell you that you would need my help sooner or later?"

Sherlock bit back a scathing remark. He would love to banter with his older brother, but there were more pressing matters at hand. He glanced at the pathologist next to him and suddenly all of his anger simmered down, "Mycroft, Molly has been attacked. We need-"

The detective did not get to finish his sentence for two men dressed like paramedics went to the group and gently aided Molly to one of the sofas in Mycroft's office. Sherlock watched as the small woman with her wavy brown hair scrunched her eyes shut while one of the men slowly removed the cloth that was keeping her wound intact. John was standing nearby in case he needed to help with something. Janine made herself comfortable on one of the lofty arm chairs and was handed a cup of tea by Anthea, which she was grateful for.

Sherlock was too busy watching what was going on that he didn't realize Mycroft was now standing right next to him, "Are you alright, brother?" the older Holmes spoke in a very uncharacteristic manner. It was almost as if he...cared.

"If you want to show off, Mycroft, now is not the time." Sherlock spat back, ignoring the scandalized look his brother gave him.

"Don't be foolish!" Mycroft hissed, "I'm not entirely heartless. I thought your encounter with Magnussen would teach you at least something about me."

A quizzical expression formed on the detective's face. He did not understand. His brother shook his head.

"You will never admit it, but I know." Mycroft breathed out, "You care deeply for Miss Hooper. It is not something I will take against you..."

"Are you sure that's your reason? That you have a heart?" Sherlock asked coldly, "Or is it because you've fallen to caring as well?" His gaze shifted to Mycroft's assistant who was now casually chatting with Janine.

The older Holmes followed his brother's line of vision, and he shook his head immediately, "What are you implying?"

Sherlock scoffed at the sudden defensive behavior of Mycroft and simply walked away, leaving their discussion the way it was.

Meanwhile, the consulting criminal remained silent and unmoving as the SUV he was seated in came to a halt in front of a magnificent and regal manor. Judging on the tall concrete wall surrounding the entire estate, Jim already knew this place was under top security. The man on the passenger seat of the vehicle got down and opened the door for him to climb out, and as soon as the he had planted his feet on the ground, two more henchmen in black sleek suits escorted him into the house.

They passed many corridors and turned many corners until finally, he was admitted inside a room. Jim heard the lock of the door click behind him as he turned around. His sight was greeted by a comfortable living space, which was almost too comfortable to house a prisoner in his opinion.

There was an electric fireplace at the far end of the room, and on the right side was a bed for a single person, an armchair next to a round table, on the left end of the room was a study desk with all kinds of books ranging from classical literature resting on the shelf hovering on top of it. A wardrobe stood by his side, and a coats hanger on his other. There were no windows as expected.

On the top right corner of the room, pointing right at him, was a surveillance camera.

Jim looked directly at the lens and he waved.

Back in Mycroft's office, Molly had finally been patched up and was now moved to the adjacent bedroom for a more comfortable recovery position. Sherlock sat on the sofa next to Janine and buried his face in his hands. For the first time the entire case, he was beginning to feel a bit wearisome. John stood by the window as he typed in a quick text message to Mary.

Anthea pulled out her phone that beeped in her pocket. After reading the message that came in, she stood up and made her way back to her boss who was standing by the door, thinking to himself. His attention immediately shifted to her as soon as he saw her approaching. She whispered something into his ear and glanced at her cellphone, causing a tense expression forming on Mycroft's face. "Very well." he replied in a dangerous tone.

Anthea made her way back to her seat by the bookshelf and began to fiddle with her phone once more. Only Janine saw what was happening since the two boys were too occupied to bother. It made her very suspicious.

"Excuse me." Mycroft spoke particularly to no one before he swept out of the room. Sherlock lifted his head just in time to see the end of his brother's suit swishing out into the hall, and then turned back to sulk once again.

Jim turned around as soon as he heard a few shuffling feet behind him. He tucked both his hands in his pockets and his smirk found its home on his hallowed face. "Hello, Iceman." he crooned.

"James Moriarty." replied Mycroft, putting emphasis on every syllable as he entered the room. The door behind him was shut and there was nobody left but him, the consulting criminal, and two tall men in black suits standing guard on the opposite ends.

"I can't say I'm surprised. Nah, not at all. I knew it was just a matter of time until you poked your rather large nose in this business." Jim said, beginning to pace forward. Mycroft raised his hand to hold his men back and then unconsciously brushed the bridge of his nose. "You never appreciated being left out of things. Well, Mr Holmes, as much as I would love to see you risk your neck in meddling with things that are not to be meddled with, I must warn you. Stay out of this."

Jim was now standing so close to Mycroft, it would have been easy for him to reach up and strangle him. The older Holmes, however, maintained his tall stature and did not faze. "You really think I would let you go running off to the countryside? To my parents' house? You might have hoodwinked my naive little brother and his best friend to trusting you, but I am no fool, Moriarty. Were you actually convinced I would have permitted you to go about solving this-this case-all by yourselves? I've been keeping an eye on you from the very beginning-"

"Again, I am not surprised." Jim droned as if he was beginning to get bored. "Please, do yourself a favor and stop wasting your time. Get to the point. What's your play?"

There was a tense pause. Mycroft took a deep breath before speaking once more, "You are to stay here until this case is solved. You will be under my protection until the main culprit of all of this has been captured. I will be taking matters into my own hands as you have evidently displayed your incompetence in solving this situation. In no circumstances are you to speak or to interact in any way with my brother, Dr Watson, or Miss Molly Hooper-"

Mycroft was cut off by a hair-raising laugh from the consulting criminal. He looked despicably horrifying and the older Holmes would not admit it but he felt a bit nervous. Still, he gestured for his men to stay back.

"So that's it? That's your play?" Jim's deep Irish accent resonated in the room as he settled down on one of the room's armchairs. He still sniggered every so often which made the older Holmes' blood pressure rise by the second.

"More or less." Mycroft took a seat opposite him.

"You'd think he'd be smarter because he's older. What a bloody misconception." Jim whispered to himself before saying, "It won't work, you know."

"Oh really? Tell me why. A consulting criminal such as you should know a thing or two about this mess." Mycroft replied sternly.

"Finally, you're thinking." Jim replied mockingly which Mycroft didn't appreciate.

"Your complete intellect over the situation is all wrong. That psychopath won't take it well if you made a home in an occupied chessboard." Jim's fingers twirled elegantly. There was an unnerving tone of slight admiration in his voice, "He's very smart. Cunning. He has ways of finding out if one of his players are missing-"

"Players?"

"Your detective brother and I, of course!" Jim whined, as if he found it such a ridiculous question. "If he finds out I'm not participating in the game and that you're getting involved, heaven knows what will happen..."

The look that crossed Mycroft's face confirmed Jim's greatest suspicion. It seems as though he was ready to take the risk. Anger was now beginning to bubble up in Jim's chest, "It's not going to work." he insisted but was blatantly ignored.

"I have every right to become a player in this game!" Mycroft bellowed. His patience had finally run out. "Have you forgotten that one of my indispensable men has been murdered?"

"NOTHING GOOD WILL COME OUT OF IT." Jim's voice drowned Mycroft. He hand banged both his fists on the coffee table before him that the vase it held shook violently. "People will pay. People will die-"

"And since when have you cared?" Mycroft said in a calmer tone, raising both of his eyebrows as if daring Jim to answer that question.

"Since-" the consulting criminal winced and looked abruptly looked away. He wouldn't go so far as to admitting his only weakness to his nemesis. "It doesn't matter." he decided on that response. Still, he refused to look back at Mycroft and continued to shoot a searing glare at the carpet next to him.

"I am perfectly capable of handling the situation." Mycroft insisted.

"You don't know what this person is capable of." Jim pressed on in a shaking voice.

"You talk...as if you know what's going to happen." Mycroft said in a low voice, "Am I mistaken, or perhaps you have an idea of who this maniac is?" he leaned forward towards Moriarty who had balled his hands into fists.

"I don't." spat Jim.

"Oh, but why would you tell me?" said Mycroft, clearly not convinced. "I should say your cooperation will be the only help you can offer from this point onwards. If you know something, better spit it out."

"I don't know anything." Jim barked through his clenched teeth.

"Very well, then!" Mycroft sighed, standing up from his seat and making his way to the door, "Enjoy your stay." he gave Jim a sarcastic smile before turning the knob.

"Where are they now?" Jim asked, right before the door creaked open. This question made Mycroft tense up and pause for a moment. He shut the door once more and slowly turned around to see the expectant man before him.

"They're still on the road." Mycroft lied through his teeth and gave a wry smile, "Surely, I don't see how that is relevant to you anymore."

And with that, the older Holmes left the room, not entirely confident he had convinced Jim of his brother's true whereabouts.

A couple of hours passed and in the other room, Sherlock barely squeaked. He deliberately refused every meal offered to him by Mycroft's men and insisted to be left alone to sit beside Molly the entire time. He pressed his fingertips together and leaned on the sofa. His eyes fixed on the red blot seeping through the white bandage Molly was wearing. Just by looking at it, he could tell how painful it was. He couldn't shake off the idea of how chivalrous her action was. Their relationship as detective and pathologist have been through drastic situations, the stunt that she did made it clearer to him how deep their relationship progressed.

John stayed in the extended area of the room, praying and hoping that this madness will soon be over. He looked up at the night sky, stars twinkling and the moon beautifully beamed a blue hue of light. It was odd, but he was sure that it looked so peaceful, despite the situation they were in.

"That lump of cold machinery, dragging me out here, while my pregnant wife is all alone." John groaned, turning his head over his shoulder and soon followed his body. Hands behind his back, he took careful steps on the way back to the receiving area, when he heard his best friend's voice.

"It seems that I have failed to give you solace in this situation, Molly." His deep voice resonated a sincere tone.

John kept quiet. He stayed just behind the arch that connected the two rooms. His eyes could even scope out Janine's sleeping figure on the other couch that faced away from the two that were conversing.

"Failed? Sherlock, you, John, and even Jim have done so much to keep all of us alive. I think that's more important than solace right now." Molly lifted her head up to meet the detective's gaze, intertwining her fingers as her pupils dilate.

Sherlock took his time, scanning her brown eyes with his. He felt a peculiar jump inside of him, regaining his thoughts before replying, "You're horrible at small talks."

The atmosphere turned awkward, John could sense Molly's sheepish smile growing as he silently placed his hand on his forehead, mouthing "Stupid" and waved his other hand up in the air.

"But I do believe this conversation weighs more to be called...small." Sherlock added. Molly felt her heart flutter and the pain dissolving away for a moment.

"I said it before and I will say it again. Do not hesitate to talk to me, Molly."

"I'm appreciative of your offer, Sherlock." Her head slightly tilted downwards and her chocolate hazel eyes shifted its gaze to her lap.

"I'd like to hear what you have to say." He said it simply and clearly, the younger Holmes could feel his hands clam up, but he remained calm as possible.

The pathologist raised her head, his unexpectedness caused her to blush and stutter, "Sherlock-"

"However menial or great it is. Your problems, your burdens, your elation, your confusion. All of it. I want to hear all of it, Molly Hooper." It wasn't even a well thought out response as Sherlock caught her off in an instant. The dark haired detective barely stopped his mouth from replying, he internally scolded himself for the lack of control.

Just beside the arch, John made his incoming presence known as he made his footsteps loud and clear. He made a mental note that he should give Sherlock a well earned praise after all their problems were over. John was proud of his friend for not being an asshole for once.

"I just called in Agent Dawson and his crew, Sir." Anthea swayed her hips as she walked into Mycroft's office. The older Holmes was massaging the bridge of his nose before opening his eyes to look at the lady across his desk. It was obvious that his conversation with Moriarty had gotten into him, although he would never admit.

"Is my nose really large?"

"I'm sorry?" The woman furrowed her brows in confusion.

"Nevermind. Any information about this anonymous criminal?" he asked in his punctual tone of voice.

"We have little to none, but there are strange happenings in a mansion 60 miles from here. We suspect it could be related to our problem." Anthea replied formally.

"Run thorough resear-"

"I've already scanned the situation, Sir. Here are the papers." Anthea had a small smile on her face, taking a few steps forward to hand the papers to the elder Holmes.

"...Thank you." Mycroft took his time looking at his assistant before saying thanks as she deserved it. His eyes shifted from her to the papers.

"You're welcome, Sir." She replied with a small smile.

Mycroft scanned the search results, only to find classified information about the four involved in them. The two others were anonymous, but the amount of secrecy and skills that showed up made them Grade S dangerous. He quickly glanced at Anthea, who seemed to anticipate his reaction and the woman quickly reached for the phone to call the troops in the meeting room to send them to the address.

The amount of adrenaline pumping into Mycroft Holmes' veins was abnormally high. He never felt so anxious in his entire life. Cold beads of sweat rolled onto his face and even his hands went clammy as he threw the papers on the desk. No matter how powerful the enemy is, they still had to go on. Mycroft calmed himself down, rotating his chair to face the wall. He took a slow gulp and composed himself before he muttered, "Classified X."

It was the code used when an enemy overruns the transcripts running about him. The entire sheet of paper regarding the unknown culprit was filled with Xs, sending Mycroft detailed information about everything that further went down about the four before he got involved. It was time to wait and see, who the mastermind is.

Disturbed as he may be, Mycroft believed he still had an advantage in this game. He was confident that Agent Dawson would be able to deliver more than what is expected of him.

Known as a remarkable man and an asset to the British government, Agent Dawson is talented in many areas. It is an understatement to say that he does his job well. Leading the troops of about twenty men to infiltrate Classified X's mansion, he is driven by both his loyalty to Mycroft and his determination to avenge his fallen field partner, Agent Wade.

As the troops move out, Mycroft begins to pace back and forth from his desk to the mantelpiece—a habit he's accustomed to when something is deeply bothering him. No one else besides Sherlock and Anthea is familiar with this behavior from the older Holmes.

"It will be alright." Anthea said, although she wasn't convinced herself. Her voice, however, caught Mycroft's attention enough to stop him from taking another step. He lifted his head and nodded, "The sooner this is over, the better."

Regaining a bit of control over his senses, Mycroft returned to his businesslike stature. It would be logical to educate himself more about the situation, even better with a person with firsthand experience against the anonymous entity, "Tell the guards to bring Mr Moriarty to my office at once. I need to have another word with him."

John and Sherlock were conversing about their next plan. It was only logical to leave Janine in Mycroft's protection while they will continue on their game.

"We have to move now." Sherlock's voice was definite and strict.

"Are you daft?! Molly is injured, we barely had a decent hour of sleep and we have Mycroft to help us." John was surely opposed to the idea. He wasn't keen about sailing back into unchartered waters without a boat. "I am pretty sure that the British government is perfectly capable to handle this case."

"Then aren't you the lesser?" Sherlock replied with his usual monotonous way of speaking, "Do you honestly think that person will be pleased if he finds out we 'cheated'?"

John was about to react violently when he caught himself before he could shout at his friend. He was breathing deeply, trying to keep himself calm as he considered Sherlock's statement.

"He is a man molded like Moriarty. I know how harsh the consequences will be if he found out about Mycroft." Sherlock added, clasping his hands together.

John nodded in understanding. He was about to say something when something caught his eye. Molly Hooper was up and about, barely standing up as she struggled her way to the door.

"Woah, woah, WOAH." John hastily let out as he made his way to her, placing her arm around his shoulders to level her.

"I was going-"

"You're bleeding— Sherlock! She's bleeding! Get the first aid kit from Mycroft!" John ordered the consulting detective. He expected a smudge of blood on the bandage but there was a hefty amount enough to soak the entire cloth.

Sherlock wasted no time. He looked at Molly before leaving the room and assured her that he will come back as soon as possible. The ruckus woke Janine up. As she dragged herself to sit straight at the long couch, her eyes suddenly widened at the situation. She quickly came into her senses, got up, and helped John with Molly.

"Oh my gosh, are you okay?" Janine asked with genuine worry, crouching down as she placed the strand of brown hair behind Molly's ear.

"Yes, I am." Molly bit back a yelp as her wound stung beneath the bandage.

"No, you're not." The blogger corrected, immediately unwrapping her wound to hasten the process as soon as Sherlock gets back with the kit.

"Really, John. It's- I'm fine." She could barely lift her head up. Her wound hurt more now that the bandage was loose.

Sherlock swiftly made his way to the other room, focusing on one thing and one thing only, getting the medical box. Different hues of feelings overwhelmed him and he was sure that he never felt so affected in his entire lifetime.

"Mycroft!" He dashed into the office, "The medical box, now!" Sherlock demanded, his eyes shifting to Anthea who was up and ready to grab the white first aid kit.

"Calm yourself, brother. This is unbecoming of you." Mycroft glanced at his younger sibling with complete distaste in his expression.

"Has it ever crossed your mind that I don't have the slightest time to worry if I'm unbecoming or not?" Sherlock spat out a reasonable come back as Anthea handed the first aid kit to the detective.

"Well, yes, but I would have hoped that you would gain maturity in the slightest bit throughout your time hiding." Mycroft spat back.

Sherlock bit back a scowl and focused on the matter at hand, "After John treats Molly's wounds, we shall take our leave." He turned away.

"You can't." Mycroft replied with a definite tone.

"I don't need your permission, Mycroft. We have to move now."

The elder Holmes quickly stood up and strode to catch up to his brother who was nearing the door.

"I sent out my best men to retrieve information and possibly end this farce!" The Iceman was having none of it. For him, the best way to finish this game was through his method and his method alone.

"We will all be in utmost danger if we don't act accordingly to his whims!" Sherlock argued, "Janine is in your care." He added, opening the door to find Jim Moriarty staring blankly at the door with two guards on both of his sides.

Moriarty processed everything in, Sherlock's haste, Mycroft's temper and the box the detective was holding. He looked at Sherlock in the eyes, trying to put a word on what he was feeling.

The detective didn't care to even bother Moriarty's presence. If Molly continued to lose a lot of blood, she won't be able to regain strength in a short amount of time. He simply stepped to the side and broke into a run, leaving Mycroft to the door.

"Take me to her." The consulting criminal's voice was low and grim, his anger fluctuating to come out as he deduced what had happened to the group since they went their separate ways. It was not a request, but a command, and Mycroft understood that angering Jim would do no good, not when he needs to extract a certain amount of information from him.

"Boss?" Anthea asked with baited breath for Mycroft's instructions.

"Take him to Miss Hooper." The older Holmes nodded towards the two guards. The two men immediately began to assist Jim to the direction where Sherlock sped off to, but right before they turned a corner, Mycroft called out, "This does not change anything, Moriarty."

Jim was too enraged to speak. He merely stopped for a few seconds with his shoulders tensed and hands balled into fists, before finally stepping out of sight.

Soaring through the deep dark sky was a specially made stealth helicopter. The whirling blades of the aerial vehicle were silent as the night could be. Agent Dawson and his men readied themselves as the approached their destination. They have been in the air for nearly an hour. As he briefed his men with final instructions, Mycroft's final hope had no idea that those below them were preparing for something as well…

The clicking of high heels on to the marble flooring suddenly was muffled when the owner of the stilettos stepped inside the distinct and dark room.

"Sir," She spoke with the same formal tone in spite of the dangers approaching their destination.

"I know." He looked at her with an intense gaze. The glint in his eyes was nothing less than pure bloodlust. Still trying to preserve a calm composure, he unwrapped his dinner and took a bite off a fresh burrito.

"Then why are you so relaxed?"

"Seriously? Are you seriously asking me that?" The head of the mansion's voice went deeper than usual, his hands behind his back, he stepped into the dim lighting.

No response was given. Over the years of working with him, the assistant knew when it was time to stop talking.

The master quickly panted, his adrenaline overflowing his veins, his lust for this madness crawling beneath his skin. He was annoyed, irritated and most of all, offended by the fact that an uninvited player forced his way into the fun game he was having.

Who dared? Who would even think of such thing? Alas, it was also a very expected move from that nosy brother of Sherlock Holmes. He knew he would, and so he was ready for him, but he preferred to be optimistic and hoped Mycroft wouldn't interfere. He angrily bit off more than he can chew, but he made it work. He was fuming with rage that he (with all his will) swallowed all of it.

"Come here." His voice was husky yet inviting. Placing the half gone wrap down, his look intensified. His soft sleeved suit eased up his long slender but fairly muscled arms as he opened them.

Without a second thought, she dropped her clipboard and cozily embraced him. Her head nestled on his chest, his stature enveloping her own as his long fingers ran through her golden long hair while the other hand rested just on the small of her back.

He smelled her scent, he squeezed her in. Bringing his lips to her ears, he whispered, "Ariel…" The sound of her name escaping his lips was truly a delight for the said woman, her plump red lips parted and an audible sigh can be heard.

"If only I can hold her like this...My Molly Hooper…" The tall man added.

Ariel knew it was coming. That painful feeling as he thought of her rather than she.

"You will. Soon." She replied, running her fingers between his silken hair.

He chuckled menacingly in response, "It better be. Don't fail me."

The beautiful blonde pulled away slightly and looked up to the man she was working for and smiled, "Never."

"Good." He said, "Commence MGS Beta. Now."

"Will do…Sir." She said with much emphasis on the last word. Her familiarity with The Master had a sense of danger and so the employees were right to fear her as well. When they broke apart, she retrieved her clipboard from the carpeted floor and left. A small smile crept to her face as she did what she was told.

"Let them think they have the advantage. Let them revel as much as they can. Let them think, let them think, let them think…" The mysterious game master talked to himself while he opened the wrapper of his cheese quesadilla.

At the other side of the mansion, Dawson and his troops were easing their way inside. Their plan was simple, clean and fast, but none of them knew what great dangers are ahead of them.

At Mycroft's headquarters, the overwhelming amount of anger seeping and breaking Moriarty's mask was unbelievable. As soon as they got back to the designated room, Jim immediately walked towards the pathologist who was sitting on the couch. John got the first aid kit from Sherlock and was able to treat the wound immediately. John was startled at Jim's return, but was more concerned for Molly's well-being.

"And where the bloody hell did you come from?" the doctor asked the consulting criminal as soon as the pathologist was patched up but was completely ignored.

Jim gazed at Molly's brown chocolate eyes and cupped her cheeks, "It was him, wasn't it?" He said through an unbearable amount of anger.

"Probably. Most likely." Sherlock muttered from where he was standing with his back against the wall.

Jim looked at her thigh with frustration and knelt before her. "It's a mistake." He muttered. His expression grew worse with every second he stared at the white cloth. "If it was by his orders, then you getting hurt must have been a mistake."

"The culprit was aiming for me." Sherlock admitted anyone could retell the story. He felt a lump in his throat form as the words escaped him. The mere fact that Molly got hurt because of him made his stomach churn with guilt.

"You?" Jim turned his head sharply towards the detective. He was absolutely livid. "What did I tell you to do when we went our separate ways?"

"I tried my very best—"

"Sherlock, what did I tell you?" Jim yelled so hard, it threw him off balance. John had to hold him down to prevent him from attacking the detective. Mycroft's guards were standing at the ready on either sides of the room.

"You…" Sherlock turned to Molly. Her eyes reflected nothing but concern, "You told me to take care of her."

"Exactly," Jim said in a dangerous tone.

"Jim," Molly reached and placed a hand on his arm. She looked at him with worried filled eyes. "It wasn't Sherlock's fault—"

"Molly-dear—"

"No, listen." She said in a gentle tone that made Jim stop and crouch down next to her once more. "I pushed him out of the way. This was my decision." As she spoke, her hand slowly raised up, beyond her consciousness and she started to feel his raven hair between her fingers. The gesture made Jim freeze for a minute. He was startled and yet calmed by the soft touch of one Molly Hooper.

Sherlock kept a distance from that point on. Janine was watching the entire time and couldn't help but gape in awe. She could tell just how much Molly influenced the Napoleon of Crime and how their relationship was more than what meets the eye. Sherlock knew that as well, despite how he contradicts every reason there is about the two.

"When did he even get here?" Janine finally broke the tense atmosphere, when suddenly Sherlock neared the huddled pair.

"Can you walk?" He asked with his normal tone of voice, completely disregarding Janine's questions.

"Yes, I can." Molly lifted her head to meet his glass eyes.

"We have to leave before he contacts us." Sherlock said, reaching out his hand for her to hold on to.

"Wait- wait!" Janine intervened, completely confused about everything. "I need someone to explain things for me! You can't just leave without giving me any closure. I want answers! I deserve answers."

Jim and Sherlock rolled their eyes at the same time and both looked at John who sighed in defeat, "Fine, fine. I'll do it…" the doctor grumbled as he made his way to the armchair opposite Janine.

Just two rooms from where they were occupying, something odd was happening.

"Sir," Anthea mumbled anxiously. The older Holmes was in his prayer position thinking up a storm. Upon receiving no response from her boss, she raised her voice and spoke again firmly, "Mycroft."

"What? What is it?" Mycroft shook his head and turned around to look what has gotten his assistant worried

"I…It's the satellite. It's all been hacked, Sir." She responded, not particularly sure how to explain it. She turned the monitor away from her to face her boss. An endless mass of text filled the screen in block red letters, and they were all saying the same thing: DON'T BE NOSY

Mycroft's eyes grew wide. No one. No one could infiltrate the place they were staying at. He made sure of it. The way the text flashed and swam from left to right made his head ache. They were dealing with an intellectual individual, who knows how to use his brain with his brawn.

The amount of nervousness that coursed through Mycroft was unbelievable. His face was calm and collected, but inside his heart was thumping loudly. The criminal they were facing was someone they have never imagined to be real.

It wasn't as easy as the Agent Dawson thought it would be as he hid behind the rubble of broken walls to keep safe from the enemy's bullets. His heavy artillery weighing on him, his eyes half lidded, but can still function well. Dawson looked at a few of his men, still fighting through, as they looked fine and well despite the obvious fact that they were bruised.

As the silence oddly continued from the opposing side, they were about to continue their offense, but as soon as they step foot in, they were bombarded with gas bombs that flew from a higher place. They were startled as the bombs detonated and released a strong, sharp scent . Their eyes were hazy, head numbing and body getting heavy. The last thing they saw were troops, marching up to their bodies.

Only Dawson was able to slip out as soon as the bombs detonated. He watched from afar as his entire squad was tied, gagged, and taken captive. The Agent never doubted Mycroft because he held high regards towards him, but this was the moment that made him realize the foolishness of the entire operation. They greatly underestimated their adversary, and his men were going to go through fire because of him. In his frustration, unarmed and helpless, he did the only thing he could to; to hide himself in the parking lot and send a distress signals to Mycroft's headquarters.

Still trying to comprehend the realness of the hack, Mycroft was personally looking over the damage control with a team of Agents. They were busy locking away any classified government information, and trying to finally stop the red text from appearing on every single screen. Much to his relief, the hacker didn't seem to want any of their information since none of their files were touched or tampered with. The objective was to merely scare them, and although it worked for a fleeting moment, the older Holmes was still stubborn. He didn't want to give up.

As soon as one of the Agents recovered a screen, Anthea burst into the room and informed Mycroft of Agent Dawson's SOS. This information made him scared once again and caused him to break a sweat, because this was the first distress call he has ever received from the Agent.

"Shall I call for back-up?" Anthea asked, seeing that her boss was obviously nervous, she tried her best to stay strong for the both of them.

"No." Mycroft gulped, "Just get our men out of there. Immediately."

"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!" An enraged voice echoed through the halls of the mansion as another wooden chair met its demise against one of the pillars of the master's room. The legs shattered to pieces and splinters of wood scattered on the floor.

Ariel was watching her boss ransack his entire office at the corner of the room. She didn't seem scared or at the very least, bothered by his behavior. Examining her nails as if to show boredom, she crooned, "You have to calm down."

"DON'T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN." The master bellowed at his assistant and then tugged at his hair furiously. His eyes bulged out of his head and his shirt was torn to shreds. "You don't know how long it took for me to plan this game and he, HE had to join in and ruin everything—" he began to laugh manically , "—HE THINKS I'M A FOOL!"

"But you're not…" Ariel said, making her way to him. She placed both of her hands on his shoulders and squeezed them and felt him relax against her touch for a fleeting moment "And I know how hard you've worked. I was with you the entire time…"

"Nobody crosses me." He hissed, sliding her hands off his shoulders. He began to pace around the ruined study, "Do you know what I'd like to do to that Mycroft Holmes?" he whispered and then smiled menacingly.

Ariel rolled her eyes and asked, "What?"

"I'd like to make him watch as I murder his little brother, slowly, painfully...of course, he would be following him soon." A chilling laugh resonated from him.

"Bring those pathetic maggots to me. Every one of them." He directed his henchmen who were guarding the door, and they immediately left to fetch the intruders that were captured.

A few moments later, the silence was broken when the double doors burst open and Dawson's entire squad was shoved to the center of the room. Most of them were awake, although their heads were still hazy because of the gas bombs. The sinister smile returned to the face of the Master of the house when he saw the helpless captives. "You really thought it would be this easy? Taking me down..." he chuckled, "PATHETIC. The whole lot of you! Don't you understand you've been sent to your destruction by your own chief?"

Ariel knew something horrible was about to happen, but she willed herself to stay.

All hell broke loose when one of Mycroft's men made the mistake of talking back. The man, sporting a bruised eye and a bleeding brow spoke with conviction, "You will never win."

"What did you just say?" The master began walking towards the group of men, emitting a dangerous aura.

"I said," the Agent gritted his teeth and met the villain eye to eye, "You will never win."

"Rubbish." And in one swift motion, the master took out a gun from his desk's drawer and shot the man who spoke against him. Though the captives and even some of his men were startled by his actions, he was not even a bit fazed. Ariel just sighed as if she was anticipating this to happen all along. He simply cocked an eyebrow and murmured, "How can I lose when I invented the game?"

"Does anyone else have anything to say?" he asked the rest of the men, but none of them replied.

Soon, one of his henchmen entered the room and said, "Sir, we just received information that an emergency signal from here was sent to their headquarters. We believe it was from Agent A.B. Dawson."

"WHAT?" The master was evidently annoyed. He turned to his own men and pointed his gun towards them, "I told you to bring me EVERYONE."

"We did—"

"THEN HOW THE FUCK DID MYCROFT HOLMES RECEIVE A FLARE?"

"Sir, I—"

"USELESS." In his rage, the master had finally lost control over his senses. He immediately snapped, like an animal triggering a bear trap. He shot one of his own henchman and watched him fall lifeless to the floor, but he didn't stop there. He began to shoot the other men as well.

"Why can't my own men follow the simplest orders?" He yelled, shooting every person in the room, including the ones who tried to escape, "Must I do everything myself?"

A series of gunshots were fired and it was difficult to predict the receiver of the next bullet. He was on a rampage. He murdered his men, Mycroft's men, even the messenger who gave him the news about the flare, and when he fired at almost every single living being in the room, he swiftly turned around and pointed the gun at his assistant. "Tell me, Ariel…Must I do everything myself?"

There was no mistake saying this man was insane. He was drenched in sweat, his eyes were very dark, and he was unquestionably bloodthirsty.

But Ariel was not even the slightest bit shaken. She simply met her boss eye to eye and crossed her arms as if daring him to continue.

"You're not scared." He smirked in admiration towards her.

"You're not going to shoot me. You don't have it in you." She said with much conviction.

"You think I have sympathy for you?" He scoffed, raising the gun to the level of her head, "In case you haven't noticed, I have as much humanity as that corpse on the floor."

"That's not what I meant." Ariel replied, still unfazed. "You're not going to shoot me because you need me. You cannot, and will not function without me, but if I'm wrong, by all means, end my life now."

It took a moment for the game master to respond to her. The remaining henchmen in the room were in awe at how this petite woman was able to talk to their boss in such a manner, in spite of being held at gunpoint.

"You've always been different, Ariel." The boss finally replied. Much to his men's surprise, he lowered the gun to his side. She curled her lips to hide the triumphant smile that made its home on her face. "It would be such a waste to kill you now." He rolled his eyes and shot another one of his unsuspecting men instead. He then turned to the last of Mycroft's men and pulled the trigger.

But he had finally run out of bullets.

"Lucky bastard," he smirked and tossed the now useless gun to the floor. "Now that I think of it, I'm quite glad Mycroft sent you." The master of the house murmured, examining the last of Mycroft's men who was still breathing. The agent was gasping as he nursed his injured leg with one hand and put pressure on his bleeding head wound with the other.

He stepped over the bodies of the others and grabbed the agent by the neck and lifted his head until their faces were only a little apart. He crinkled his nose as if to show his utter disgust. The monster within him had returned and his eyes flashed an ominous glint as he spat out his words, putting emphasis on every syllable, "Tell your boss that if he refuses to quit meddling in my affairs, more blood will be spilt."

Tightening his grip, the agent clasped his hands on his wrist in vain to release himself, but he could no longer fight back. "Make it known to Mycroft that I am the Spider. He is merely the pesky. Annoying. Little. Fly." With that, he shoved his victim back to the floor right before he passed out.

"That Agent Dawson…" he spoke to his unfazed assistant, "He's still in our premises, am I right?"

"Yes. Shall I have our men hunt him down?"

"No. We'll let him live...for now, so he can bring this pathetic waste back to their boss when we're gone."

"Why spare them?"

The Spider turned his head abruptly to her but did not say a word. He just smiled excitedly, and then looked away.

"Oh, dear." he said, taking in the bodies of both of his enemies and own men around the room, and the white walls stained with blood. He looked down at his torn shirt and clicked his tongue in disapproval. "I didn't want to do this…but they forced me. They deserved it." He then turned to his assistant and slowly walked to her and offered her his hand.

Ariel was pulled into a tight embrace. His hand slowly stroked her blonde hair and the other hooked around her waist, and his chin rested on top of her head. "She will be here with me soon. My Molly Hooper…"

"She will…" Ariel her shut her eyes to relieve herself from the stinging words. The fact that he could never be hers was much more painful than having him point a gun at her head.

"Are…you okay?" The boss spoke in an uncharacteristically caring manner.

His assistant lifted her head and nodded, "I'm alright."

"Good. I'm going to need another burrito later; my dinner was interrupted." The iciness in his voice had returned as he abruptly released her from his arms and turned to leave. Not a trace of remorse nor any sign of affection remained, "Pack up the necessities. We're leaving. This mansion is no longer safe for us, and…" He turned around and gestured at the bodies around him before snapping his fingers, "Do have this mess cleaned up."

He casually tucked his hands inside his pockets and strode out of the room as if he hadn't murdered an entire squad all by himself.

Mycroft Holmes was no longer expecting anything to go right anymore. The situation has gone from bad to worst and right now, he was bracing himself for the incoming storm. Never in his life has he been so terrified of an enemy.

His desk phone rang as he was massaging his temples, and he answered it in dread of what news was about to come. "What is it?"

"We've recovered our men, Sir." The leader of the second squadron he sent to the Spider's mansion replied over the line.

Mycroft drew in a sharp breath for he knew this was not all the information his Agent had to provide.

"Only…only two agents made it out alive. One is heavily injured."

The older Holmes felt a pang in his chest. An entire team of perfectly good agents have been murdered all because of him, and the weight of the guilt was enough to break down his barriers for a while.

"Sir?"

"Bring them back. Good work." Mycroft ordered before he showed any more evidence of his weakness. He hung up and laced his fingers together and assumed a prayer position to calm his nerves, but it was not working. For once, maybe…just maybe…he could be wrong this time, and Sherlock and Moriarty could be right…

In the other room, Jim had not left Molly's side since he arrived. He dodged all of the questions being thrown in his direction and refused to respond to Sherlock and John's inquiries as to how he arrived at the mansion. He knew that if he began to speak of Mycroft, he would most likely snap and cause havoc. Now was clearly not the time. Not when Molly was still recovering.

"I thought I'd never see you again." The consulting criminal spoke in a gentle tone he would only use around the pathologist.

Molly was speechless. She did not know how to respond to his emotion filled statement, she bit her bottom lip and reached out to cup his cheek. He responded by leaning into her warm and gentle touch and smiled sincerely for the first time in a while. Molly felt like a cage of butterflies was released in her chest. She loved that smile. That sweet, genuine smile he wore when he was feeling blissful in comparison to the arrogant and malicious smirk he was known for. "I'm glad you're safe, Jim."

"I'm not going anywhere." Jim was quick to reply and his heart soared at the look his response earned him. Nothing compared to the warmth of the brunette's smile, or the light of her eyes, or the way her breath hitched upon hearing him say those words. He decided in that moment that he could look at her forever this way…sadly, reality shattered that small silver lining.

The night dragged on and it was now half an hour past midnight. It seemed as though this nightmare refused to cease just as the sun refused to rise. Mycroft, Anthea, Janine, John, Sherlock, Molly, and Jim were now in the same room. The consulting criminal and the older Holmes have not interacted so much as looked at each other since the latter entered, and no one dared to question why. No one was feeling sleepy as well. The news of only two agents surviving the ambush was information Mycroft knew he could not withhold from the occupants of the room.

John and Molly tensed upon hearing this, but Sherlock and Jim remained unfazed, as if they were expecting this to happen all along.

"We believe that the other agent that was rescued from one of the high rooms of the mansion saw Classified X." All attention was drawn to Mycroft as soon as he uttered these words. Sherlock and Jim both stalked towards him, eager to hear more.

"Did he recognize him? Do we finally have a lead?" Jim demanded. It was the first time he spoke to Mycroft formally since their conversation earlier.

The older Holmes could not respond. The situation was beginning to cave in him as well. His assistant was able to step up and speak the words he could not. "Unfortunately, the agent died before he could identify the suspect—"

Crash. Everyone turned to Jim as a side table and everything on it met its demise. Sherlock was about to approach him, but John held him back. Molly scrunched her eyes shut.

The consulting criminal was once again fuming with rage. He directed his steps towards Mycroft, but two of his henchmen held him back before he could grab the older Holmes. "Your stubbornness has cost you this much." He spat out with fury etched across his face. Jim was absolutely murderous. Mycroft met his challenging gaze with one of his own, but he shook when the consulting criminal let out a blood-curdling laugh, "You think this is it for you? No. It does not end here, Mycroft Holmes. You have meddled in spite of being warned countless times. You have successfully dug your own grave. This is just the beginning. The worst is yet to come—"

Jim was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone on the desk at the far end of the room. Mycroft and Anthea exchanged anxious looks before looking back at the device. "Didn't I tell you to have that line disconnected?" Mycroft asked his confused assistant.

"I did. I don't…I don't understand—" The phone began to ring once more and this time, Mycroft slowly approached it. He was certain the call was for him. He pressed the speaker button and an altered voice of a man began to bounce around the four corners of the room.

"Ah, I was beginning to think nobody was home." The unknown voice crooned.

"Who is this?" Mycroft spoke firmly. In the other side of the room, his agents were now trying to trace the location of their mystery caller. John, Sherlock, and Jim stood in silence. "Is this—"

"Yes, Mycroft Holmes. This is Classified X," said the man on the other line accompanied by a short chuckle. "Although, as long as we're being honest, I prefer to be called The Spider. It has a better ring to it. Don't you think…Mr Moriarty?"

Jim couldn't help but let an amused smile form on his face upon being addressed. The Spider used to be his signature, and to know that someone out there was assuming his former mark irked and yet impressed him at the same time. "Yes, it sounds good." He humored the caller, "I am flattered, but you will never compare to me—"

"But of course!" Exclaimed the unknown voice. "That's because I am better than you." The attempts of the agents to trace the call were all useless. It was only now that they discovered the security of their entire system has been breached hours ago, during the hack, and they have been receiving a loop of positive security status since.

"Without any further ado, the reason why I am personally reaching out to you is to just deliver a simple message to one Mycroft Holmes." There was a short pause, and then the voice returned with a much more ominous tone, "What happened to your men was only a glimpse of what I can do. I can level mountains if I wish to, and I can make the sea rise and swallow you up if it is to my liking, but I'm not going to do that, no. All I have is one request…

"Let them resume the game the way it was designed to be played, and you will be spared."

"I will not be threatened by some coward who refuses to reveal himself." Mycroft banged his fist on the table and his voice shook in anger as he spat his response back to the unknown entity "We will find you."

"Very well. You should have listened to Jim, you know. What he said was right. Your stubbornness will cost you dearly." said the Spider before the line went dead. The computers of the agents from the other room began to beep signifying that the trace failed.

They were all left in silence in dreadful anticipation for The Spider's next move. Mycroft felt the walls caving in on him for he was certain of one thing. They were no longer safe where they were. "We need to—"

In a flash of light and a deafening roar of sound, the walls began to crumble and the ceiling began to sag as a number of explosives detonated around the mansion. In a matter of seconds, there was nothing but flickers of light and rubble that filled their vision. Dust and smoke filled the air, suffocating every person in the room.

Both of Mycroft's ears were ringing as the explosions finally stopped. It took him a moment to compose himself and to process what just happened. His prestigious mansion was now a wreck and chunks of the ceiling, floor, and the walls were covering every surface he laid his stinging eyes on. As soon as his left ear regained its hearing, he immediately heard the voices of the other occupants.

He looked to his side and saw that Molly was on the floor, nursing a wound on Janine's head, and a few of his men were either sprawled out on the floor unconscious or helping each other get on their feet.

"Mycroft!" His attention immediately turned to the others. It was John who called him. He was standing next to Sherlock, Jim and a few of his men that weren't injured, appearing to work at a joint effort lift a chandelier among a large pile of debris. "Mycroft, we need your help."

He tried to get up but a sharp pain shot down his left forearm down to his wrist. He was injured and was finding difficulty in getting up. He was suddenly reminded of all the reasons why he preferred to act behind the scenes instead of being out in the field like Sherlock. "I can't move, I'm—"

"BROTHER, YOU MUST GET UP." Sherlock commanded him this time, but it was not him that caught his older brother's attention. It was the cry of help from another woman that made Mycroft snap out of it.

"Mycroft!" the voice called again, and suddenly the older Holmes was on his feet, ignoring his shaking knees and his fractured arm, he began to navigate his way through the rubble. There was only one objective in his mind and that was to reach the source of the voice, "I'm coming!" He attempted to yell, but was interrupted by a coughing fit. Still, he trudged on, "Anthea—I'm coming—"

He was about to fall forward when John Watson held him in place and steadied him. He meant to thank the Doctor, but different words came out of his mouth before he could stop himself, "Where is she?"

"I'm here." The assistant answered with a strained voice. She was on the other side of the floor. Her right foot had been caught beneath a pile of rubble. There was no way to go around to her and the only solution was to lift the debris.

At the knowledge of his colleague in danger, Mycroft immediately took his place by the others and used his good arm to help free her. He couldn't help but look up every time she winced or let out a cry. Sherlock or John had to nudge him to redirect his attention. "The faster we get this out of the way, the faster we'll get to her!"

They lifted the debris fast enough for Anthea to slide her injured leg out. As soon as the dust settled, Mycroft was the first to climb over the chunks of cement, ignoring the searing pain of his own injury. Sherlock and the others tried to hold him back, but he brushed them off. He only stopped when he finally had a clear view of his assistant. Anthea was curled up on the floor with her injured leg extended. There was no blood, much to Mycroft's relief, but her limb appeared to be broken. He knelt down in front of her to make his presence known. "Anthea—"

"Mycroft—" she said, turning to her side to see his face. She winced and clutched her ribs doing so. "Are you alright?"

"Don't worry about me." Mycroft shook his head. He felt a pain in his stomach that had nothing to do with the explosion or the injuries he was sporting. It was guilt knowing that the only woman besides his Mother he ever cared for was in pain because of his doing, and yet she was still concerned about his well-being. "I am alright, Anthea. Please try not to move so much—"

"But your arm—"

"My arm is fine." The older Holmes insisted. "The important thing is that you're safe." He brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face and looked at her eyes that were filled with worry. They both managed to smile faintly in spite of the circumstances.

It was around that time when the others, with some paramedics had arrived to aid the both of them

Sherlock stood in awe at his brother's change in attitude. He watched as the older Holmes continued to stay by Anthea's side as the medics applied first aid to her injury. Mycroft refused to let them bind his arm and insisted that all their medical attention went to the assistant first and foremost. This was not the older brother Sherlock was accustomed to at all. John was amazed as well, mostly because of the different sides he has seen from both the Holmes brothers in one day. Contrary to popular belief, they were not heartless machines after all.

"Sir, everyone in the building has survived." One of Mycroft's men reported.

"That's because the explosion was not meant to kill." Sherlock said, "It was only meant to strike fear…" he then looked at his brother, expecting a response.

"I'm sorry." The words came out of Mycroft's mouth before he could stop them. This caught everyone off guard for he was not the type to apologize. "I am truly, very sorry."

His words were greeted with silence. "We…we hear you, Mycroft." John finally said, wrapping a bandage around a cut on his hand.

Although the mansion was crumbling in places, Molly, Sherlock, and Jim remained fairly uninjured. Each were sporting a few small cuts and scratches here and there, but there was no serious injury. Janine's wound had been treated and she was now unconscious on one of the sofas.

"I see his point now." The older Holmes continued. "The Spider is not one to be reckoned with. The number…the number of casualties are enough…" With that, he looked at Anthea who was now resting on an armchair. "I will let you go."

"Well, Iceman," Jim cleared his throat, "That is the smartest thing you have said all day."

"It won't be long until the authorities arrive to investigate what has happened here. I suggest you leave as soon as possible." Mycroft said, resting against the cool cement, "I will try to cover up as much information as I can. And brother—" Sherlock spun around, "Try not to kill yourself, or any of your…friends."

Mycroft and Jim exchanged quick glances before looking away.

"Forgive me for interrupting," Molly spoke up, "But how are we going to know what…what The Spider wants us to do next?"

John snickered, "I'm pretty sure that psychopath will find a way to reach us." And almost as if on cue, the phone in one of the paramedics' pockets beeped in a message.

The unsuspecting man handed Sherlock his device. The detective smirked as he flashed the text that was on the screen to the others. "He already has."

Now that everything's settled, let's play.