Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock

Rating:T (to be safe)

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock, he is owned by BBC one and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Moreover I used the Ariane DeVere's transcripts for the part that was directly in the series.

Pairing: Sherlock/Mycroft brothership, Johnlock and Mystrade if you look very closely

Author's Note: I would like to apologize for the amount of typpos that you'll find and my bad grammar, as English isn't my first language and it is the first time that I attempt to write anything in English... So if you saw anything, please don't hesitate to tell me... I'll make sure to correct it as soon as possible.

IMPORTANT FACT:This story takes place after A Scandal in Belgravia but before The Hounds of Baskerville.

Hope that you'll enjoy reading this Oneshot!

Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock…

Sherlock sucked his breath, his eyes never faltering from the man slowly walking towards him.

How many times did he have heard those words, again? Way too many... And why did those events suddenly come to his mind, now? He thought he had deleted them, but apparently he hadn't really. Sentiment, maybe? Were those crap about remembering your entire life before dying true?

Sherlock closed his eyes... And remembered...

~ Twenty six years ago~

A five year old boy with dark curled hair and deep greyish eyes hold his breath, trying desperately to keep tears from falling from his eyes, staring at the darkness in front of him. He mustn't cry! Mother hated snivelling boys, he didn't want mother to hate him.

He blinked when suddenly the door of the cupboard in which he was hiding was opened. He groaned, his eyes being hit by the sudden light of the room.

He managed to catch the blurred sight of an older child, standing in front of the cupboard, before he buried his head in his knees, thinking quite naively that if he stayed like that his brother would leave him alone.

Well it didn't work.

"Go away." Sherlock said, his voice mumbled by the fact that his head was still between his knees.

"What happened?" Mycroft asked, ignoring his brother's plea.

Sherlock flinched, but stayed silent for a long time, before he finally mumbled. "She doesn't want to see me again."

Mycroft didn't need to be a genius (which was what he was) to figure out, who his little brother was talking about. He sighed, and lowered himself to be at the same eyed level as Sherlock.

"Sherlock." Mycroft called softly, well as softly as he could, "Come here."

Sherlock hesitated during a few seconds, before he jumped out of the cupboard and crashed into his brother's arms, who somehow managed to keep his balance.

"What happened?" Mycroft asked once again, he felt his brother stiffening against him and ruffled patiently Sherlock's hair.

"Mother..." Sherlock sobbed, "She wants to send me away."

"Why?"

«Mother's friends." The kid answered. "I wanted to know why they were smiling to Mother, when they don't like her. But Mother got mad at me. She said that I was mean and that it was wrong to lie. But I didn't lie, My'!"

"I know, Sherlock." Mycroft sighed. "Mother doesn't understand. She can't observe like you or me. She doesn't understand how special you are."

"Why?" Sherlock asked, his lips trembling, as if he was trying hard not to cry. "Why doesn't she like me? Is it because I was bad?"

«No... Of course not. You didn't do anything wrong, Sherlock."

"Then why doesn't she care about me?" Sherlock replied.

"Humans are ungrateful creatures. They don't know the value of what is around them. And they don't understand what is truly important." Mycroft answered, his mouth thinning into a line. "Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock."

~ Present time~

The man stopped at a short distance in front of Sherlock. His cold eyes studied him, as if to make sure that Sherlock wasn't hurt. Which was ridiculous why would he care?

"Mycroft Holmes, in the flesh..." greeted a voice just behind him, "We finally met. Coming to rescue your little brother from the big bad guy?"

Sherlock gritted his teeth, he didn't need to be rescued, and certainly not by Mycroft! But if one of them noticed the indignation of the consultant detective - which Sherlock was sure they did - the both of them chose to ignore it.

"Jim Moriarty, I presume."

Sherlock breathed in deeply. He hated the ability of his brother to make him feel like a child all over again.

~ Twenty-three years ago~

An eight years old Sherlock was gasping, trying desperately to correctly breathe. It was quite difficult when you was curled on the floor, your arms around your head trying to lessen the damage caused by five other bigger boys kicking and punching you.

Tears were threatening to fell from his eyes, but he hold them back. He wasn't going to cry, even if it hurt a lot!

"Can I help you?" an ominous voice asked behind the boys.

Sherlock immediately recognised whom this voice belonged to and he made a relieved sound. Mycroft was here! Mycroft was here, and he was going to make those bullies pay!

After noticing the presence of a quite older teenager who also happened to be the kid's big brother, the bullies immediately escaped, running away from Mycroft Holmes as fast as they could.

Sherlock heard Mycroft sighed and then he felt two arms helping him to stand up. His legs wobbled but his brother helped him to keep his balance.

"What happened?" The teenager asked, his eyes attentively studying the kid in front of him.

Sherlock squirmed under the scrutiny of those eyes, "Nothing."

"Sherlock."

"It isn't my fault if they are too stupid to notice that I wanted to be alone!" Sherlock protested.

Mycroft stared at him for a short time, having certainly managed to exactly deduce what had happened to Sherlock. Then he sighed and slowly walked towards the road that would lead them to their home.

"Come along." He ordered his brother.

"That's it?!" Sherlock exclaimed indignantly, "You'll just let them run away like that!? Why didn't you beat them up?"

Mycroft stopped but didn't turn around to face Sherlock. "Why would I?"

"I- I thought you care about me." The betrayal in his brother voice was obvious and Mycroft was pretty sure that if he turned he would see the hurt expression on the kid face.

Sherlock thought that he saw his brother tensing, but as it lasted even less than one second, he blamed it on his imagination and the fact that he had knocked his head quite hard on the floor when he had fallen earlier.

"You need to learn to pick your own battle. You can't always expect that I will be there to protect you. You need to learn to protect yourself. Don't be dependent to other." Mycroft replied, "Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock."

~present time~

"Nice to meet you." Moriarty grinned, "I would gladly shake your hand, but as you can see, my hands are a little full right now." He added by showing quite proudly the gun in his hand.

"Dear me." Mycroft sarcastically replied, though keeping his calm demeanour. "And here I thought that you didn't want to dirty your hands."

Moriarty smirked, "I would for dear Sherlock here... But, if you insist I can add a few more players."

A second later, several red dots appeared on different part of Mycroft's body. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Yeah let's call the sniper..." He muttered, "Did you forget your brain at the office, Mycroft or was the effort to come here so intense that you lost your mind?"

"I would advise you to stay silent, dear brother." Mycroft replied with a fake sweet voice, "Last time I checked, I wasn't the one who managed to get myself kidnap by a criminal consultant with a gun pointed at me."

"No of course." Sherlock snorted, "But you have five snipers targeting you, which is so much better."

But Mycroft seemed to ignore his remark and said in a thoughtful voice. "I wonder is it an attempt to get my attention by getting yourself kidnap, again? I thought you had already pass this phase..."

Sherlock glared at his brother, "Had I wanted your attention, Mycroft, I would have send you a cake."

~ Twenty-one years ago ~

A seventeen year old teenager was walking slowly into an unused warehouse. As he stepped inside, he managed to hear the high-pitched voice of someone he knew very well.

"This place is very poor chosen for a kidnapping's place. Look around you. There's only one exit, so it means that if someone managed to block it you would be in very big troubles! Moreover using only one person to watch it, is quite stupid. This person would be so far away that he won't even be able to warn you in time. And from the way you're acting right now... You don't have a back-up plan, do you? You should consider the fact that the-"

He interrupted himself when he heard someone clearing his throat warningly.

"I would appreciate dear brother..." Mycroft said sweetly, "... If you could stop giving kidnapping's advice to your kidnapper. We wouldn't them to be more efficient than what they truly are, would we?"

"Only if they are smart enough to follow the advice... But you don't need to worry, this one is an idiot."

«What did you say?" yelled the kidnapper, angrily.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Do not make this face, nearly everyone is stupid."

Mycroft sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, before checking the time on his watch.

"You have exactly eight minutes to go back to school... "He stated nonchalantly and when he saw his brother opening his mouth, certainly to protest, Mycroft quickly added, "... And no being kidnapped is not a valid reason to miss school."

Sherlock pout, "I'm pretty much sure it is."

"Not in your case, now hurry up and come here."

"But, Mycroft!" the kid whined, "School is so boring and useless!"

"Even if school is boring you are not allowed to miss it."

"But it's not fair! You are missing school right now!" Sherlock argued.

"Whose fault is that?" Mycroft muttered, before sighing, "I was in the middle of a test, Sherlock."

"So?" his brother asked flatly, "You probably finished it already."

"Yes I had, but it's not the problem." the teenager stated, "I shouldn't have to leave school in the middle of the day and come to search you. At least choose a day when I'm not busy."

Mycroft had said it in the same tone as a mother who would have scold his son for having put dirt in a freshly clean house.

"You are always busy." replied Sherlock, matter-of-factly "You should just leave me alone ..."

"What the hell are you doing here?" the kidnapper suddenly burst.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows and stared at him blankly as if to say 'are you really that stupid and what's wrong with your reaction's time'.

"You kidnap my brother." He stated slowly.

"One usually wait for the ransom call or the 'I have kidnap your brother' notice, before coming for a rescue mission." Sherlock supplied in an irritated tone.

"Well we wouldn't want to waste our precious time, would we? Speaking of time, Sherlock, yours is running up."

Sherlock frowned but didn't move or say anything, causing Mycroft to sigh exasperatedly.

"Fine... If you come now, I will tell you how I knew that the new housekeeper had three children instead of one, as you thought."

Sherlock scoffed. "It's not because I didn't managed to observe it at the first glance that I wouldn't figure it out eventually"

"I'll teach you how to build your Mind Palace."

"Really?" the younger one beamed excitingly, before remembering that he shouldn't show so much eagerness. "I mean... I don't need your help, I already managed to build one on my own."

Mycroft smirked, "You didn't do it correctly otherwise you would have been able to deduce facts in less than ten seconds. And in exchange of my teaching you'll have to go to school without trying to escape for as long as it takes you to make a functional Mind Palace."

Sherlock scowled, and acted as if he was taking time to consider the offer... Even if both brothers already knew what the answer would be.

"You'll teach me every day?" Sherlock asked, "Even if you are supposed to be busy? You won't stop in the middle to go and solve a crisis in town?"

"Everyday." His brother confirmed, "Even if I'm busy, yes. And no, I won't."

Sherlock nodded then, with a big grin on his face, and walked towards him. The stupid kidnapper was so shocked by their behaviour that he only came back to reality when Sherlock reached his brother's side.

"Don't move!" He yelled, taking out a gun from his pocket and pointing it at them in trembling hands. "Or I'll shot."

Both brothers stared at him, not being even a little bit bothered by the gun.

"Please do." They said at the same time.

"Let's go." Mycroft said, turning around and starting to walk toward the exit, Sherlock right beside him.

"Don't fucking kidding me!" exploded the idiot furiously, his eyes narrowing and his hands trembling even more, "I won't let you go like that!"

He then shot at a random spot above his head warningly. "Either you give me the money I asked for, or I'll kill you both."

"Idiot." Sherlock mocked, "You didn't even have time to ask for money. And even if you managed to miraculously kill both of us...that's a very stupid idea as you wouldn't have any leverage anymore..."

"Then I just had to kill one of you... Right?" the idiot smirked, glancing at Mycroft, "You must really love your brother if we take into account the fact that you managed to come here in less than twenty minutes..."

Sherlock snorted, "Not really... He just has some control issues and certainly a power play complex too."

"You shut up!" the man snarled without even looking at him, and then he said to Mycroft in a sweet creepy voice, "So... How about it, Big Brother, how would you react if I decided to shot your little brother right now? We wouldn't him to be hurt, right?"

The teenager seemed silent for a short moment, his expression completely unreadable.

The kidnapper smirked, quite proud of himself. But then Mycroft softly chuckled, "Do as you wish."

The man seemed to be taken aback at first, but he managed to regain his composure, "Do not try to fool me! You are lying! I know that you are not as calm as what you want me to believe, because you must care very much for him."

At those words, Sherlock sighed exasperatedly, wondering why this stupid excuse of a kidnapper had to say THE word, whereas Mycroft just smirked.

"If you are showed to be close to someone, maybe one day this person will find himself in this situation, that's why one should be able to emotionally distance himself to consider the best course of option... you should be prepared to abandone them and always value your own life first." He then glanced at his little brother, "Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock."

~ Present time~

Moriarty chuckled, "I knew it was a good idea to gather the both of you...you are really entertaining. Even if I expected you to come a little bit later... "

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "His control issues didn't improved with time...quite the contrary." He muttered. "Even years later, he didn't quite catch the concept of waiting for the kidnapper to actually contact him before coming."

"I wonder why..." Mycroft mused, sarcastically, "Maybe because my little brother at 31 still did not understand the basic concept of not getting in stranger's car..." He paused, looking briefly at Moriarty, and added, "Or consulting criminals'."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "I was merely accepting an invitation for tea. That I still didn't get by the way..."The consulting detective added glancing meaningfully towards his archenemy.

"Oops!" Moriarty exclaimed in a false sheepishly voice, "What a horrible host I must... I'll make it up to you next time."

"No you won't." Mycroft said sharply.

"Oooh come on, big Bro, don't be such a killjoy! Please, let me play with Sherlock. He'll come back before diner, promise!" The consulting criminal teased.

"Mycroft is born to be a killjoy." Sherlock huffed mockingly, "He can't help but stick his fat nose in someone else's business."

"Indeed..." Mycroft replied smoothly, "Particularly when this includes kidnapping... Or drugs for the matter."

Sherlock glared venomously at him.

~Eleven years ago~

Sherlock groaned when he heard the knocking sound from his door.

"Go away!" He yelled angrily, his voice a little blurred.

Not surprisingly, the sound of the door opening was heard, quickly followed with the regulated tap of his brother's steps.

Sherlock didn't even try to acknowledge the presence of his brother, trying instead to stop the overwhelming nauseating feeling and the fact that the wall wouldn't stop moving around!

Mycroft sighed, looking disgustedly at the state of the room his brother actually dared to call a flat. His eyes stopped at the syringe barely visible under the sofa his brother was lying on, and he gritted his teeth.

"Was I too presumptuous when I though that you were smarter than most people?" He taunted.

"Shut up." Sherlock slurred, irritably, "Go away!"

"As tempting as it is to just leave you in your miserable and pitiful state, I do have some sense of responsibility" Mycroft replied dryly, walking quickly towards the sofa. "What would Mummy think of me, if I let her 'Dear Sherly' die in front of me?"

"She would ground you to keep appearance..." Sherlock muttered sleepily, while his heart was beating anomaly fast against his chest, "Then she would tap your shoulder, give you a big cake and say 'Good job, you kill the Freak.'"

Mycroft frowned, his lips tightening into a line.

"How much did you take?" He asked.

But he already knew the answer, after all Sherlock only got into this state when he was way too high.

"Enough."

"Enough for what? Sherlock! Do not sleep, open your eyes now!" Mycroft ordered, shaking lightly his brother's shoulder.

Sherlock reluctantly obeyed, opening his extremely dilated eyes and gazing blankly at him.

"Enough for what?" Mycroft insisted, while taking the younger's pulse.

"I can't delete it..." Sherlock whined his eyes unfocused for a moment, "Why can't I delete Him? I want to forget."

Mycroft sucked his breath, his eyes hardening visibly. "What did he do?"

Sherlock averted his eyes. "Nothing."

"Do not lie to me Sherlock Holmes!" Mycroft scolded.

"I thought he understood ..." Sherlock said, his voice barely louder than a murmur "I thought he was my friend."

Mycroft frowned even more, "That's why I told you to keep your distance, you do not need friends, Sherlock."

That seemed to snap back Sherlock to normal, well as normal as someone high could be. He glared at Mycroft and snapped "For God's sake just leave me alone! Why are you always behind my back? Why don't you mind your own business?! Why do you even care?!"

Mycroft narrowed his eyes, "I do not." he stated icily, "And if you don't want to be hurt anymore, do not let them gain so much importance in your eyes. Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock."

~present time~

A tense silence was starting to take place, when suddenly an annoying and familiar ringtone was heard.

Stay alive... Oh oh oh

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Just so you know..." He muttered, "It didn't have quite the same effect the second time."

Moriarty just grinned and answered carelessly his phone, even though his eyes were still fixed on Mycroft.

"I hope for you that it is important." he threatened, "Otherwise ..."

Then the person at the other side of the phone seemed to say something particularly pleasant because it caused Moriarty to grin widely, "Is that so? How interesting..."

He then ended his call and focused on Mycroft."You are such a bad boy..." He taunted, "Gathering so much people around this place... Were you attempting to trap me? It's too bad... Because they are now all useless... Would you like me to send you their heads afterwards?" Moriarty asked, and dangerous glint in his eyes.

Sherlock noticed the tensed expression on his brother's face, which was only visible if you knew him and knew where to look.

"It would be quite unpleasant... No need to stain my carpet with their blood..." Mycroft answered with gritted teeth.

"I'll keep them then ..." The consulting criminal mused, then his face hardened, "But you make daddy so angry now... Daddy will have to punish you. How about turning you into shoes?"

Sherlock's eyes widened slightly, remembering the last time he heard this threat, and particularly who was targeted by it... the Woman.

~ About seven months ago~

A thirty years old man was staring absently at a couple of people crying, sobbing, wailing and so devastated by the death of one of their relative.

"Look at them..." He said in an emotionless voice, "They all care so much... Do you ever wonder if there's something wrong with us?"

"All lives end... All hearts are broken... Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock."

~ Present time~

"I wouldn't do that." Sherlock advised as if he was talking about what variety of fruits he should buy instead of the life of his brother, "His Laziness would certainly infect you and sentence you to procrastinate for the rest of your life."

Moriarty chuckled at that, "Shoes are not a good idea then..."

He then beamed dangerously, a good idea having obviously crossed his insane mind.

Sherlock tensed but try to prevent his criminal counterpart to notice it. If Moriarty had, he didn't say anything.

"Right that should do..." Moriarty muttered thoughtfully to himself, "Okay... Sherlock dear, please move about four or five step on your right."

"Why would I do that?" Sherlock protested indignantly.

Moriarty indicated the gun, with a joyful smile on his face.

"How dull." Sherlock muttered, rolling his eyes and try not to tense when he felt something sharp piercing the side of his leg.

"It's not a lighter this time." The consulting criminal added.

"I already deduced that, thank you." Sherlock replied drily, before moving to the place Moriarty had wanted him to. He gritted his teeth when he felt the muscles of his lower body freezing.

"Perfect." Moriarty beamed, then turned towards Mycroft, "Now Big Bro, let's play..." he taunted, "You must be aware that Sherlock is far enough that if you decided to, you could be able to step directly between us."

"Let me guess..." Mycroft answered in a false polite and diplomatic tone, "Either I chose to move and take the bullet for him, with the risk to be shoot first by your sniper. Or I could simply stay where I am and watch you killed him, which of course won't guarantee my survival as your sniper could also shoot me afterwards."

"I always knew you were smart." Moriarty complimented, "But if it would make you feel better, I can promise you that as long as you don't step forward, my snipers won't pull the trigger."

"How reassuring." Mycroft replied sarcastically.

Then Sherlock snorted. "That's your plan? And here I thought you managed to come with a mastermind plan or something... I must say that I expected you to be smarter than that."

"Really?" Moriarty asked innocently, "But I can assure you that my plan is brilliant..."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and then slowly shook his head in consternation. "He only came because he wanted to taunt me about it afterward... His power play complex must be behind it...And if you think that he will even lift a finger to save my life, just because we happened to share the same DNA, you are clearly mistaken."

He looked briefly in Mycroft's direction and gritted his teeth when he noticed the slightest hesitation in his brother eyes. Meaning that he was either considering or calculating something.

"What make you think that Sherlock will kindly let himself be shot?" Mycroft asked.

Moriarty smirked, "I'm sure that Sherlock already know why."

The consulting detective gritted his teeth and glared venomously at his kidnapper before answering in a sullen tone, "Some kind of paralysis on my legs… I can't move."

"Good." Moriarty joyfully complimented, "Very Good. Actually the few step that you already took was the last ones you could manage for a duration of three minutes. I'm actually surprised that you manage to go so far."

Sherlock inhaled deeply and finally stated in a clipped tone. "It wouldn't work. Because he does't care about me."

Sherlock mentally smiled. Here it goes... The magical words. And sure enough his brother's expression hardened.

"As I said... You should always value your life first... Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock." He stated.

Sherlock smiled and resignedly closed his eyes. He supposed that it wasn't so bad to die hearing those last words. Mycroft had always used those to teach him "life's lesson", and now it was his last one.

Suddenly he felt something stir in him, a room in his Mind Palace, that he had carefully ignored until now, opened widely. And the action following seemed to be set in slow motion as he remembered in successive flashes.

Moriarty smirked evilly and slowly held up his arm.

FLASH!

Twenty-six years ago, a five year old Sherlock was sitting on the floor, his back against the thick door of the dining room, listening to the argument inside.

"You wanted to send him away." Mycroft stated with a touch of anger in his voice.

"Of course!" Mother replied angrily, "I can't take it anymore, Mycroft. You don't know what it is to have to look after him, listening to his blatant lie! Why couldn't he be like you? The perfect son..."

Sherlock flinched. He didn't lie, and it wasn't his fault if he couldn't be like Mycroft.

"He didn't lie." Mycroft said icily, "And he is probably a better son than I am. I also saw what he saw, and came to the same conclusion. But Sherlock was worried about you that's why he had said it, while I chose to remain silent, letting you sink in your supposedly friend's machination."

"Stop trying to defend him!" Mother snarled, "I don't want him in this house anymore, I'll send him in a place that'll make him normal."

Sherlock buried his head between his knees, his body shivering.

"You will not do that." Mycroft commanded imperiously, "Otherwise, you'll be the one to have to leave this house."

"How dare you speak to me like that?! I'm your mother, you have to respect me!"

"Respect is something that you must deserve... Not something that you have from the start." Mycroft replied, "And must I remind you, Mummy, that Father decided to bequeath the house and his money to me? I am officially the Head of this family... I had decided to let you do as you wish... but I won't let you send my baby brother away."

"Do not call me Mummy!" She screeched.

"Mother is a title that should be given to someone that you respect and had taken care of you. Be grateful that you was even called Mummy because you deserve even less than that.

You don't want to look after Sherlock? It's fine, I'll do it. I'll even let you stay in this house as long as you leave him alone. And I swear that if you try to send him away once again, you'll painfully regret it."

Mother chuckled ironically, "Do you really think that you could raise him? When you're only a child yourself? You'll soon see how hard it is and you'll come to beg me to send him away."

"Try me." Mycroft answered confidently, before the door was opened and Mycroft stepped outside the room.

Sherlock tensed, it was impossible that his brother didn't see him. And Mycroft had ordered him to go to bed a while ago... And Mother always scolded him when he disobeyed her. Moreover he was caught eavesdropping.

However the kid relaxed when he felt someone ruffling his hair affectionately.

"Come along, Sherlock." Mycroft said.

And Sherlock smiled. This day, Mother became Mummy and Mycroft became "Mother", sort of...

###

Moriarty pointed the gun at him, his smile widening with each seconds. From the corner of his eyes, he thought he had seen Mycroft leaning forward a little.

FLASH!

Twenty-three years ago, an eight years old Sherlock was looking at his throat in the mirror, wincing when he saw the dark bruises on it.

As soon as they had been home, Mycroft had asked one of the maid to take care of Sherlock's injuries and had gone to his office, doing whatever Mycroft does.

Sherlock frowned, wondering how he would be able to hide those bruises, he didn't want anyone to see it and be abled to deduce what happened!

When he entered his room, he immediately noticed the amount of papers and a piece of clothes on his desk. Coming closer, Sherlock's eyes widened as he managed to identify what it was.

A ridiculous amount of flyers for martial arts' and self-defence's lessons and on top of that a blue scarf, that with its size would largely be able to hide his bruises.

Sherlock smiled, picked one of the flyers and started reading.

He would later be informed that all of his bullies had mysteriously moved out and when the year after Mycroft finally went to college (a few years sooner than the usual student, but two years late if one considered his intellectual capacity... the reason why Mycroft decided to wait two years was a complete mystery for Sherlock), Sherlock managed to defend himself without someone else help.

###

Moriarty disabled the safety catches. And Sherlock tried unsuccessfully to move his legs.

FLASH!

Twenty-one years ago, a ten years old Sherlock and a seventeen Mycroft looked boringly at the kidnapper as he shot and missed widely his target.

"You know you should probably change your glasses..." Sherlock advised wisely, "It would be easier to aim."

"And stop to take those drugs it only makes your hand tremble." Mycroft added.

Both of them then left the warehouse, the kidnapper way too shock to be able to stop them.

"Of course you had to choose the drug addict with a gun." Mycroft sighed exasperatedly, "What was wrong with the desperate father that had recently be fired and need money to feed his two children?"

"Boring." his brother shrugged, "Be grateful, I could have pick the recently discharged criminal... He would have known how to correctly shot someone."

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose, "I suppose that even you have some sense of auto preservation..."

Sherlock then noticed the black car waiting for them at the entrance of the warehouse and rolled his eyes.

"You could have walk." Sherlock muttered, "It's not that far away."

Mycroft raised his eyebrow, muttering something about 'legworks' and then said aloud "We would have been late." he said, before entering in the car, "Let's go."

Sherlock got in and looked boringly outside of the window as his brother gave instruction to the driver.

"What about the idiot inside?" He drawled nonchalantly.

"Just let him be..." Mycroft answered nonchalantly, "After all he didn't manage to hurt us."

Sherlock hummed, but he didn't miss the fact that several men in suit discreetly entered the warehouse. He smirked, his brother was such a liar sometimes.

He absently stared at outside the window, as the car drove quickly towards Sherlock's school.

"Sherlock..."

"What?"

"If you manage to get a full mark on your next test, I'll let you miss school for the next three days."

Sherlock's eyes widened unbelievably, but then he sulked. "My next test is in three minutes and I already deleted what the teacher said about that."

"Well it's too bad then." Mycroft smirked knowingly, "Next time you'll learn not to delete your school's lesson."

The kid huffed, "Why would I keep useless things like the fact that the earth is turning around the sun." he paused, "I'll give you an umbrella instead."

"What would I do with an umbrella?" Mycroft deadpanned raising an eyebrow, his mouth twitching upward slightly.

"You could hide weapons in it... Bullet proof it, so next time I could choose a not-so-stupid kidnapper..." Sherlock enumerated. "You could use it as a stiff when you have done too much legworks..." he made a thoughtful pause, and added in a shrug, "I guess you might also use to protect yourself against the rain..."

"Well I suppose that owning such an umbrella wouldn't be so bad..." Mycroft mused pensively, "But nevertheless you still need to get a full mark on your next test... "

Sherlock glared at him and was about to say something but he was interrupted by the driver.

"We arrived, sir." The driver informed them, as the car stopped.

Sherlock left the car sulkily, wondering how he would be able to get the full mark when he didn't know anything about the subject, but stopped when his brother called him.

"Sherlock, do not try to cheat, I would know if you do."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "As if."

"Oh..." Mycroft added matter-of-factly, "And the sun doesn't turn around the earth, it's the other way around..."

Sherlock glared at him and walked angrily towards his school entrance.

Mycroft smiled and waited that Sherlock had disappear in the building before ordering his driver to go to his school.

"Speed up, would you." Mycroft ordered nonchalantly, "It would be unfortunate to be late now..."

"Yes, sir."

His expression hardened and he suddenly looked much more murderous.

"And make sure that this idiot kidnapper disappear definitively along with the one that had provided him this gun."

"Yes, sir..."

###

Moriarty's finger began to come closer to the trigger. Sherlock hold his breath and Mycroft narrowed his eyes, his body visibly tensing.

FLASH!

Eleven years ago, a twenty-seven man was smiling evilly as he picked up his phone and composed a specific number.

Bip... Bip... "What?!" A slurring voice groaned, "D'you know what fucking time it is?"

"Good evening Mr Trevor..." Mycroft politely greeted.

A tensed pause, then a clearly afraid voice was heard, "You're his brother..."

"Indeed."

"Ok listen..." Trevor tried to allay, "What happened this day was an accident, ok? I didn't mean to-"

The fool stopped in the middle of his sentence, obviously wondering how much about the situation Mycroft actually knew.

"You didn't mean to sell my brother to an underworld syndicate to repay your debt?" Mycroft supplied in a creepy sweet voice, "Isn't that why you invite him to a poker game with said syndicate, in order for them to see the length of Sherlock's abilities? Isn't that why you drugged him to prevent him from escaping?"

Trevor audibly swallowed and Mycroft didn't need to see him to know that he must be sweating profusely.

"Why are doing such a fuse now?" Trevor asked in a last attempt to be brave, "We have done a lot of things more dangerous before."

"Fair enough." Mycroft conceded, then he added in a grim voice, "But your mistake wasn't to have led him in dangerous situation... Truth to be told, I'm quite sure that had you told Sherlock about your plan, he would have found it exhilarating and would have gladly helped you... No your mistake was to have betrayed him, Mr Trevor."

"That's ridiculous!" the idiot scoffed nervously, "How could it be worse than selling him or drugging him? He's such an emotional freak that he certainly won't be hurt by it."

Mycroft gritted his teeth and breath in profoundly to keep his temper.

"Why do you people always assume that he wouldn't be hurt by that?" He asked in a dangerous voice, an image of his mother appearing in front of his mind but he hurriedly bury it deep inside his mind palace, "You do not know how precious his trust is, you do not know how to value it because you are all to stupid to know that gaining his trust is the best thing that could have happened in your miserable little life. Betraying him is the worse thing that you could have done to him."

This time Trevor made a scared and pitiful little noise and didn't say anything. He was probably afraid of worsening the situation. It was probably the wisest thing this idiot had done since the beginning of this call.

"Now Mr Trevor, I'll advice you to bid a farewell to your family and your friends. Since you were genuinely his friend for a short time, I would be merciful and let you until tomorrow at midday to be ready. And please do not attempt to run away, it'll only be more painful for you afterwards..."

"Wait, I -" Trevor desperately pleaded.

"Have a good night, Mr Trevor." Mycroft cut in and then hang up.

When Sherlock wake up, he groaned in discomfort and tried unsuccessfully to ignore the enormous headache he now had. When he finally managed to open his eyes without being attack by the light of the room, he proceed to examine his flat.

On the coffee table was a tea-cup that had been refill four - no five - time, along with a small plate that could only had contained cakes.

He glared at the cup, the fat-meddling brother of his had obviously stayed all night to look after him. Even though Sherlock had specifically tell him to piss off.

Then his gaze stopped at his dining table full of experiment as usual but also with a new addition. He stood up and managed to stumble precariously toward the table, and when he finally reached it, his eyes widened slightly.

There… in the chaos of his experiment was... a skull with a short note on it.

'I thought that you'll need a new friend... Well, when I say new...'

Sherlock picked it up and attentively studied it, he didn't know if it was because the skull was a very accurate reproduction or because it was a real one, but Sherlock managed to recognised the bone's structure... It was quite familiar...

Sherlock smirked and gently placed it on his mantelpiece and admired it for a short moment before saying, "Well welcome back Victor, I suppose... I hope that you'll be more disposed to listen to me this time... Even though it's quite a shame that you won't be able to answer..."

Sherlock paused and added, "Well you weren't that eloquent in the first place."

###

Moriarty was going to pull the trigger. Mycroft took a step back, as if ... Sherlock's eyes widened... as if he was preparing himself to leap forward.

FLASH!

"Well you barely knew her..." A thirty-seven old Mycroft said in an awkward way to comfort his brother.

Sherlock snorted and slowly walked down the corridor towards the exit, "Merry Christmas, Mycroft."

"And a happy new year." Mycroft answered back watching him leave.

He waited until his brother was gone to grab his phone and dealt John's number.

"He is on his way." Mycroft dully informed. "Have you found anything?"

"No... Did he take the cigarette?"

"Yes."

"Shit." John swore, and then muttered at Mrs Hudson, "He's coming. Ten minutes."

Mycroft didn't manage to hear what the landlady was saying, but then John spoke again, "Looks like he's clean… We've tried all the usual place… Are you sure tonight's a 'danger night'?"

"No, but I never am. You have to stay with him… John." Mycroft ordered, he was quite sure that the doctor didn't notice his short hesitation, or the fact that it was the first time that Mycroft had called him by his first name…

"I've got plans -"

"No." And he hang up, not letting a chance to the doctor to protest.

Leaning against the door, Sherlock scoffed to himself, "You can be such an idiot sometimes, Mycroft, and do not involve John in your scheme... It's so dull."

He then leave quickly before Mycroft could notice him and accuse him of eavesdropping, but then he stopped short when he remembered a detail. Mycroft had called John by his first name! He had never done that with any of Sherlock's other flatmate or acquaintance, which could only mean that he trusted John. Sherlock sighed, he really didn't know if it was a good thing or not.

###

Mycroft jumped forward. A bullet was shot but missed him only grazing his cheek.

I worry about him. Constantly…

Sherlock absently noticed that it was strange that only one of the six sniper had shot, when the other part of him was yelling mentally at Mycroft, asking why the idiot didn't just stay still!

But I would prefer for various reasons…

Mycroft was now standing between Sherlock and Moriarty. Sherlock wanted to tell his brother to piss off and moved away from this spot, but his mouth just wouldn't obey him anymore.

…that my concern remained unknow and unmention to him…

Moriarty's eyes darkened and he pulled the trigger. The bullet flew directly into Mycroft chest.

We have what you might call a… difficult relationship…

Mycroft grabbed his chest painfully and the impact made him take a few step back and he fall on the ground.

Did it never occur to you that you and I belong to the same side?

Sherlock's heart was bumping furiously against his chest, his eyes firmly fixed on the form of his brother. For God's sake, why couldn't he just move?! Why couldn't he think correctly?! He needed to do something, right now! Of all the time why did his emotion fail him now?!

And then... Two successive gun shot was heard, awaking Sherlock from his semi-shock state.

The first bullet hit precisely the gun in Moriarty's hand, projecting it far away from the consulting criminal.

Sherlock didn't manage to see the second one but it probably hit Moriarty because one second later he fall down.

Sherlock exhaled soundly, forcing his frenzy mind to analyse the situation. The accuracy of the shot was excellent and had been clearly meant to take Moriarty down... And -

Sherlock's eyes widened in realisation as a small smirked crossed his face. John.

And soon enough sounds of frantic steps and irregular breathe were heard.

John arrived from behind him and run quickly towards Mycroft. He knelt down in front of him and examined him attentively. From where he is, Sherlock hold his breath and waited dreadfully for the inevitable diagnosis.

But then he heard John sighed irritatingly, a scowl on his face. In fact he had the same expression as when he wanted to scold Sherlock for leaving human's bits on the table... Which could only mean one thing...

Sherlock sighed in relief, though he did it discreetly so no one could have heard him.

"Why are you, Holmes's always so careless?!" John scolded exasperatedly, helping Mycroft to sit up "Couldn't have you waited one more second? I didn't even have taken down the last sniper yet!"

Well it did explain now, why only one sniper had shot when Mycroft had moved.

"I knew that you'll manage it..." Mycroft answered cheekily.

John rolled his eyes, "No you didn't..."

Mycroft winced slightly in pain, his hand still grabbing his chest, when he tried to stand up. John tutted him sternly and forced him to stay down.

"And I had told you to be cautious! What were you thinking when you jumped forward like that?" The doctor scolded, "You would have been in a deep shit if he had aimed your head instead of your bullet-proof vest protected chest!"

"He wouldn't." Mycroft stated matter-of-factly, as John was examining his chest. "Aiming the heart was a symbolical gesture to emphasise the fact that I had chosen to consider my feeling instead of my head... "

John rolled his eyes and muttered something about 'geniuses and their dramatic effect'.

"Which was foolish of him because I always listen to my head." The British government added.

John smiled knowingly, "Of course..." then he nodded, "Nothing is broken, but you won't be able to move freely for a while." he then turned toward Sherlock, "Are you okay?"

Sherlock scoffed, "I didn't take a bullet in the chest recently so I should be fine. I think the effect of the drug will soon disappear."

"Right..." John answered, before taking out his phone, "Lestrade... Yes... don't yell I hear you just fine... Yes sorry for leaving without telling you... Yes the six snipers are down, though the one that managed to beat Mycroft's men is still on the run... No didn't see his face... Yes they're both fine ...Though Sherlock is temporarily paralysed because of some drugs and Mycroft took a bullet on his chest... So they are fine in Holmes's standard... Hm yeah an ambulance would be great...we are..."

John paused and look at Mycroft, obviously about to ask him where they were but Sherlock was faster, supplying him the address in a nonchalant voice.

John looked blankly at him for a second before sighing, "Of course you would know the address..." and gave it to Lestrade.

He then gave the phone to Mycroft with a smirk, "He is on his way, and he wants to speak with you... from what I heard he is very mad at you..."

Mycroft tensed and took reluctantly the phone. Sherlock couldn't but be amused by the fact that Mycroft seemed to be scolded by Lestrade at the moment.

"Don't look so smug, Sherlock Holmes." John said, standing next to him, he had probably moved away from Mycroft to give them some privacy. "You are in deep shit too. What were you thinking?"

Sherlock frowned, "You need to be more specific, John... I'm always thinking."

John gave him a 'don't shit with me look' look and the consulting detective sighed.

"I was thirsty and he invited me for tea."

John face palmed, "Next time do not get into criminal's car and just came back home, I would have given you a cup of tea."

Sherlock just smirked and then look thoughtfully at Moriarty, "You didn't kill him..."

"Nah..." John answered and from the way his teeth gritted, he surely wanted to do it, "Mycroft wanted him alive, so I just knocked him out."

The consulting detective internally smiled. 'A place with three geniuses and at the end it was John that made the difference and had win…'

"I didn't need to be rescue..." Sherlock stated matter-of-factly.

"I can't believe you!" John muttered exasperatedly, "You ungrateful and stubborn git."

"I'm not lying… Had the both of you not decided to come, he wouldn't have kill me." He explained calmly, "Because then my death would have been meaningless… If Moriarty decides to kill me it'll happened in a way that would either completely destroy me beforehand or struck painfully at the people closed to me…"

John groaned, "No really what is wrong with you geniuses and your dramatic effect!?"

Sherlock opened his mouth, clearly about to say something but at the same time Lestrade and his incompetent team barged in.

"That was quick..." John commented in a surprised voice.

"Yeah..." Lestrade said, "We were not that far away... We knew approximately where you would be but not the precise address." He paused and glared at Mycroft, "Which wouldn't have happened if someone had deigned to warn me beforehand."

"I'll make sure to warn you next time..." Mycroft said with a tense smile.

"What do you mean next time?!" Lestrade scolded angrily, "You'll never do that again!"

Sherlock chose to tune them out because a much as he liked to hear his brother being scold as if he was a little child, he preferred to keep his ears intact.

##

Later, Sherlock and Mycroft were sitting at the back of the ambulance, the younger irritatingly refusing the orange blanket that the medic was trying to give him.

"For the last time I don't need it." He snapped, shooing the medic away in a dismissive movement of his hand.

He then noticed that some of Mycroft's men were taking Moriarty's unconscious body away.

"You won't be able to extract any answer from him." He stated in a casual tone.

"I know..." Mycroft answered in a resigned tone.

"But..." Sherlock mused "Maybe you would be able to trade some answer."

Mycroft narrowed his eyes, "In exchange of what?"

From his expression, it was clear that Mycroft already knew the answer.

"Me..." Sherlock said with a little smirk, "Give him some information about my childhood, he would be ecstatic."

Mycroft hummed pensively, his brain quickly calculating all the possibilities, advantages and disadvantages of such action. From the expression on the face of his brother and the glint in his eyes, Mycroft knew that Sherlock had already planned his counterattack.

"And you won't care that those information fell on the hand of your enemy?" Mycroft checked without really meaning it because he already knew the answer.

Sherlock smirked, "I think you are smart enough to know what to tell him...and caring is not an advantage, Mycroft..."

##

At the same time, John was standing next to Lestrade and watched with some amusement as the detective inspector was shouting instruction at his men.

"Must be hard to be you, sometimes, Lestrade…" John pointed out with sympathy.

"You have no idea…" Lestrade muttered in a sigh, massaging his temples, "That's it, when all of this is over, I'm definitely taking some holidays..."

"With your wife?" The doctor asked, with a meaningful glance towards something behind Lestrade.

Lestrade turned around, saw that John's glance was directed at one of the Holmes' brother sitting at the back of the ambulance. He blushed and stuttered, "Yeah… That's right… I'm going with my… wife…"

John snickered but then sighed enviously, "Holidays sounds great… I would have taken one too, if I wasn't afraid that Sherlock would accidentally blow up the house or manage to get kidnap again… You are so lucky sometimes, Lestrade…"

Lestrade smiled knowingly and patted John's shoulder, "Just call me Greg, I have the feeling that we will be in this kind of situation more often that I'm comfortable with… So we should as well be more familiar with each other… God knows that we'll need as much support as possible when dealing with those two."

John couldn't help but agree and then he felt as if someone was looking at him, so he rose his eyes and saw Sherlock staring at him with a weird expression of realization on his face… As if he only noticed now that John was here… That or he was plotting something… John really hoped that it wasn't the latter, because Jesus it was something like just twenty minutes ago that the army doctor had to knock down six professional snipers as quickly as possible and without anyone noticing it and all the while fearing for Sherlock's and Mycroft's lives, so Sherlock should really cut him some slack!

But then Sherlock's eyes slightly softened and conveyed his thought as clearly as if he had said it, 'You are really here' and John smiled at him, before answering at the Detective Inspector, "Yeah you are right… How about meeting occasionally for a drink and bitch at them?"

Greg smirked, "Sounds great for me."

##

"Come along, John..." Sherlock said, already moving away from the ambulance.

John, who was chatting with Lestrade, rolled his eyes, but stopped his discussion and followed him nevertheless. "I'm now part of the 'We have to deal with Holmes' genius stupidity everyday' club… Greg… the perfect drinking buddy to complain with…Yeah, sounds great."

Sherlock gave him a blank look as if to say 'What the hell went wrong with your brain process' and then furrowed his brows in confusing. "Greg?" he mouthed, but quickly deemed it unimportant and continued to walk quickly away... The main road wasn't that far away and they would be able to catch a cab there...

He put a hand the pocket of his coat and smirked. Beside him, John glanced at him and sighed.

"You should really stop doing that, you know."

Sherlock turned towards him, "Doing what?" he asked innocently.

"Pickpocketing people." John deadpanned, "And don't try to deny it, you always have this condescending expression of yours when you successfully steal something..." he narrowed his eyes. "...though you look even more satisfied than usual so it must be someone that you usually wouldn't be able to pickpocket..." He paused, his brain working as fast as it could, and then he sighed in consternation, "It's Mycroft, isn't it?"

Sherlock blinked and then smiled, "Good... It seems that you have improved at deducing people... "

John groaned, "Not people... Just you... Which - I must add - I am still in the process of deliberating whether this is a good or a very bad thing."

Sherlock's mouth twitched upward in clear amusement and he took something from his pocket and bounced it on his hand.

"What is it?" John asked exasperatedly.

Sherlock smirked and showed it to John, "A pass card... It would enabled the user to go pretty much anywhere..."

John's expression showed a pure look of disbelief, "You've got to be kidding me..."

The consulting detective shook his head, "Mycroft's name literally opened all the door..."

"Right..." The doctor said, not unfazed by this information anymore. After all, the ability of not being overly affected by this kind of situation (like finding a head in the fridge or toes besides his jam) was a survival instinct that John needed to develop in order to be able to deal with Sherlock on a daily basis and to keep some of his sanity. And then he sighed before asking, "So what did he do to deserve such treatment... Apart from saving your life, I mean..."

Sherlock stopped for a short time a scowl on his face.

##

"Caring is not an advantage, Mycroft."

Mycroft blinked, certainly not used to hear those words from someone else. But then he managed to regain his composure and smiled slightly.

"It's true... But... Sometimes there's people who are worth caring for..." He looked straight at Sherlock's eyes.

"…people that trust you and more importantly, people that you trust…"

Mycroft then casted a meaningful glaze at something behind Sherlock and the consulting detective turned around following his brother's eyes. There... Not so far away behind Sherlock were John and Lestrade chatting together.

"...and when you'll find them, you won't be able to stop caring even if you want to, because there's nothing you can do about it."

John seemed to be able to feel that someone was staring at him because he looked up and his eyes caught Sherlock's. And then realization struck him… John was here! 'You are really here'.

And John he smiled at him, as if hearing his thoughts, 'Of course I'm here', before answering at whatever Lestrade had said.

"You are seven years too young to use by words against me Sherlock..." Mycroft then taunted, with a condescending smirk, making Sherlock glare at him, "Caring is not an advantage but only if you don't know how to live with it and how to make an advantage out of it, Sherlock..."

##

"He was just being his condescendingly annoying fat meddling self." Sherlock muttered before starting to walk again. And John, as always, was here, by his side.

THE END!

So what did you think of it? I hope it wasn't too confusing with all those flashbacks and I hope it was understandable even with my really bad grammar!