Chapter 6

I most humbly bow down into the sawdust and beg you to accept my apologies for my verrry late update. The thing is, I only write when my heart is so in it that I almost see the characters as real people, and sometimes I have other things on my mind(palace).

I am also a workaholic and can compete with Mycroft any ol' day, so I only write when I can squeeze it in.

But happy news: I have already written the ending, so I will be adding the last chapter shortly.

Like always, please review and I apologize for any spelling mistakes. English is my third language and all that stuff.

Disclaimer: Get off your ass and produce more Sherlock Holmes episodes, Mr. Moffat. I am not you, and even though I can write about it, I want to see the "real deal" (I have a bet with my husband about Johns reaction when he discovers the not-dead Sherlock).

The clock on the mantelpiece was happily ticking away towards evening, not caring at all that the steady rhythm that it's owner had previously found so soothing, was now making him want to pick the damn thing up and hurl it out the window. There was only one small lamp lit, one of those green desk lamps that one always saw on desktops belonging to important people in movies.

Not that the man owning the item ever took time for such trivial past time activities, so the cliché of him owning such a lamp was lost on him. The light from the desk lamp was occasional followed by the light from passing cars outside the window, illuminating the back of the man sitting at the desk.

Mycroft stole one small glance at the clock and went back to shuffling through the stack of papers he had been busy with most of the day. Most people he interacted with had the impression that he was so important that he could organize the day as he saw fit, which was not the case. This resulting in having to work with government related issues during the day and Sherlock related issues during the evening and night. Almost as usual, with the exception that the Sherlock related issue had a more grim reason now than the ordinary " bail him out of jail for refusing to remove himself from a police investigation"-routine. Not that he had to do a lot of that lately, with Scotland Yard finally acknowledging his brother's talent and Lestrade actually putting up with his personality.

Glancing again at the clock on the mantle piece, he took a small paper clip from the top desk drawer, put it between the two papers he was reading, folded the whole stack together and put it neatly back in his drawer, to be dealt further with tomorrow. Pulling out his personal computer from the bottom desk drawer, he quickly entered his password and opened the file titled "Birthday list, distant relatives".

Mycroft had early on seen the need to distance his work to his private (most often Sherlock related) life, thus organizing a personal "government within the government". Anthea was one of those employed in that service, including his own surveillance personnel. He was even more careful with his private computer than his work-computer, which was famous for its security.

Of course Mycroft did not have a listing of the birthdays of distant relatives; all of his files had different "ordinary" names, as an extra security measurement. Double clicking on the file, he entered a second password and scrolled down to page number 4. Mycroft leaned back when Moriarty's file filled the screen, and rubbed his eyes.

The sick irrational feeling he had experienced when first confronting Sherlock had receded to a dull resignation. No matter how confident he had been in the beginning, Mycroft had gotten nowhere with Sherlock abduction.

The surveillance cameras had been tampered with; it did not even show his brother leaving the flat. Since it was not a danger night or a case, Mycroft had not stationed any of his personnel around Baker Street, there was only the normal security guard monitoring the cameras from afar. Since Sherlock had been drugged he did not know how long they had been driving to get to the warehouse (if that's what it was) and he was unconscious on the way back. Mycroft even had people examining the coffee cup Sherlock lost in that alleyway. It resulted in nothing but coffee, meaning Sherlock had gotten the drug in him from another source.

Whirling the chair around so he sat facing the window, Mycroft took in his own reflection. Old. He looked old. Old and tired, having used the last few days working non-stop, or more non-stop than usual. And despite popular beliefs (some of them encouraged by himself), he did care about his brother. He had not always done so, resulting in what John called the "sibling rivalry", but he had tried to make up for it the only way he could, by trying to keep Sherlock safe. Which had failed.

Rubbing his eyes again, an idea resurfaced in his mind. He had tried to suppress it early on, determined that it should be the last thing to try when everything else failed. Well, everything else had failed, the investigation had been fruitless.

To catch his brother's assaulter, he would have to bait out John Watson. And hopefully not breaking his brother's heart in the aid of healing it.

"Absolutely not."

"Come now, Sherlock, be reasonable".

"I am the one being reasonable. Now get out of my flat".

" I am not moving until you see the sense in it. I have tried, Sherlock, but Moriarty has so far proved himself too careful. There is nothing on the surveillance, no trace in the coffee, one might even think that the incident never happened! The only proof we have is the picture and your memory, which frankly does us no good if you cannot give me anything more than " I think we were in a warehouse". Maybe if you had taken some samples of yourself afterwards instead of rushing to the shower -"

Sherlock stood up abruptly, a mix of shock and fury on his face. Mycroft was sure his brother saw the logic in his argument but instantly regretted his tactless way of voicing it, and took a step back.

"Is that what you would do, brother? Walking home, cool as anything, taking all the various DNA samples required and sit down with a nice cup of tea? What the hell do you know of the situation? Does it help if I agree that I should have taken samples, but couldn't do it, didn't think about it?"

Mycroft did not meet his brother's eye, but took Sherlock's loss of control as an opportunity. "I am sorry, brother, I should not have said it like that. But back to the issue, John is the only way of catching Moriarty. No, listen to me. He will have people following him wherever he goes, tracing devices on his person, both clothes and skin, he will be as safe as can be. And then we will finally catch Moriarty. Is that not what you have wanted these past months since the incident with his games and the pool? And now, with you being...well, you know..."

Sherlock dropped his eyes towards the floorboards and put his slender arms around his torso. After a while, he spoke.

"This is...difficult for me. I admit that London will be a far safer place without Moriarty, but I said from the beginning that I don't want to make my ...abduction official. And I refuse to put John in the same situation".

Mycroft smiled begrudgingly and put a hesitant hand on his brother's shoulder. "Though I am cross with you for not seeing sense, I am proud of you as well. Who would have thought you would ever care about someone so much that you would rather leave a case open than put them in harms way? But as I said, John won't be in any real danger. And as for the rest...what if I promise that Moriarty will not go on public trial?"

Sherlock looked up from his chair, which he had returned to. "What do you mean, not go on trial? If he get caught he has to be given over to the police and-"

Mycroft gave a meaningful look to his brother. " I mean, what if he don't go through the legal justice system and is sentenced to prison? What if he is just...taken care of ..?"

There was a very silent pause.

Sherlock shook his head. "Either way, I cannot ask John to do that for me. It was always a risk that those I am social with would be in danger, just because they are acquainted with me, but to deliberately put John, my best, my only friend out as bait for that psychopath...No. I will not allow it to happen."

"And what if I say yes"?

Both brothers whirled around to face the door. John stood in the doorway, his briefcase in one hand and a grocery bag in the other.

"John-"

The man stepped forward. "No, you will listen to me. I thought we had already agreed on this. I told you to continue to take on cases, knowing full well Moriarty's threat. Why not be one step ahead on him for once and take advantage of his threat, instead of me being abducted some other time, unprotected?"

Mycroft looked from one man to the other. One had a determined, almost military look about him, the other; hesitant, lips starting forming words and then regretting them.

Turning towards his brother's flatmate, Mycroft spoke carefully." John, I will do everything in my power to rescue you quickly, but I cannot guarantee you will not be hurt at all before we get there. Just stay calm and don't give them any reason to hit you. Do I have your fullest consent to go through with this?"

Taking a deep breath and straightening his back, John looked into his flatmate's eyes as he replied.

"Yes".

Woho, we are near the ending! Surveillance undercover-team Extraordinaire ftw!

Please keep reviewing!