John remembered the first time he had met the youngest Holmes. He walked right into their apartment, without stopping from Sherlock's protests, and introduced himself. He was young, maybe nineteen, and extremely disarming. Nothing like his two older brother's, he getting a degree in useless (in Sherlock's worlds) history. Bright, but in no way genius, John felt bad for the young man. He couldn't image what it was like for him to grow up in the Holmes family when he was so normal.

John was pacing back and forth, extremely worried from the news, images of the young man flashing in his eyes. The dark hair, Sherlock like features, and the bright blue eyes that sparkled with mischief.

He had been kidnapped.

"He's going to kill him," Sherlock whined.

"I have no doubt," Mycroft agreed.

John was stunned. The Holmes brothers had just been informed that their younger brother had been kidnapped and instead of rushing out to save him, like John would have expected, there were holed up in Sherlock's apartment whining.

"Why did it have to be Moriarty?" Sherlock complained like a petulant child. John didn't agree with the tone of Sherlock's voice, but he did agree with the sediment. Why couldn't it have been another person that would be easier to track down?

"I'm sorry that he had to die like this. I know you two were just starting to get to know each other."

John felt scandalized. Sherlock and his brother had just started making it up to each other in the last few months. For most of their life they hadn't been very close and for Mycroft to say such an insensitive comment make John feel sick to his stomach.

"I know. I wish we could have had more time," Sherlock groaned.

"He may not kill him. There is a good chance that he would leave him because he knows what he means to you."

"A good chance," Sherlock voice was full of sarcasm, "That's not enough."

"No. It's not."

"He's mine."

John was starting to get confused. His what? Little brother? Because that was a very possessive thing to say about the young man that the two Holmes were just making process with letting back into their lives.

"I'm sure Merlin will at least take pictures, Sherlock. You could frame them."

Sherlock pushed his bottom lip out, "But I wanted to be the one to take him down."

All Mycroft did to that was lay a confronting hand on his brother's shoulder.