How to safe Sherlock Holmes

Summary: SPOILER alert: HIS LAST VOW! The aftermath of the shooting and Sherlock's arrest leaves everyone devastated and without a clue what to do. Everyone but Mary. Can be read as a sequel to "Brothers".

Xxxx

It was the day after the shooting and everything had fallen quiet. Too quiet for Mary's liking, it was the quietness of a grave she had far too often encountered in her life. Every time she had shot a man, a woman, once even a child – a mistake she still did regret – the quiet afterwards for her had been the worst part. When the adrenaline rush stopped and the deed was done all that was left was the darkness that slowly consumes the soul of a killer – if he or she still possesses one. Mary had never been completely able to deny her heart, to shut out every feeling. Not like Mycroft. Not like so many of her colleagues at the CIA. That is why she had left. All of a sudden one day it had simply become too much. As every good agent she had prepared for the case she had to go undercover, to hide from snipers, killers, her own people. Like every good agent she had made a run without telling anyone. Officially she was dead and even the name she now wore like an honorary medal was that of a dead girl.

It was the day after the shooting and the quiet was getting under her skin. Even John's soft kiss in the morning, the first signs of forgiveness, did nothing to take away the pain. Even the movements of her child could not stop the guilt slowly creeping deeper and deeper into her heart. Her fault. Everything had been her fault. First she had shot Sherlock instead of trusting him. And now she had made him take these extreme measures. It was as if she had held the gun herself again. She had made Sherlock shoot a man. She was responsible for whatever would happen to him now. John had told her. John had told everyone. Everyone but Mycroft. The man who knew. The man who had seen too much.

Mycroft was gone now. After hours standing outside in the cold, not even tempted to come in after his mother had first begged than shouted at him, he had finally taken a helicopter into town. But the emptiness had never left his eyes. Something had been destroyed in a man that had always seemed too strong to be broken by anything at all.

He had promised to do anything he could. "Myc please don't let him go to prison. Please..." That was something he could not have promised: Too many witnesses, too prominent a figure.

The Holmes brothers both had become hollow creatures over night. It was something John had told her the evening before. John had not even been able to hold back tears, something absolutely untypical for him. He had not cried at Sherlock's funeral Mary was told, he had not cried when he found out his wife had shot his best friend, he had not cried when is best friend turned into a murderer to protect this treacherous wife. But he did that evening. "Something is destroyed in him," he said. "He told me to stand back. I think he expected them to shoot him and he accepted it. It was the price he was willing to pay to keep his vow... Mary... I think they would have killed him had it not been for his brother stopping them in track." Mary had kissed John's hand. So cold. "When they finally arrested him – and me, but don't mind that – I could finally look into his eyes. I expected rage, maybe regret or pain, even insanity. But there was nothing. Nothing at all. I think he has given up, Mary. He is dying, and this time properly."

They had not slept much that night. Sherlock's parents had argued, later cried and whispered comforting words to each other downstairs. Where Mycroft was, no one knew. John had tossed in his sleep as soon as he started to slumber only to wake up minutes later staring into the night. Even the child in her had been restless.

In the morning everything had become quiet. No sound. John and Sherlock's parents had gone for a walk and with Mycroft not back from London Mary had been left on her own. Too quiet. Too dark. And all her fault.

Suddenly a pale brown folder fell into her lap.

"Is this the thing he was trying to hide from me, from everyone?"

"Mycroft?"

She did not hear him enter the house. And now he was standing there in his immaculate suit, stiff like always but with unhidden rage in his eyes.

"Is this why my brother destroyed his own life, Mrs. Watson, or shall I better call you..."

"Don't. Please don't." She should have been frightened, but after all these ups and downs in only a few days there was no energy left in her to fight back or give in. She simply did no longer care. Her child would be safe with John. John had forgiven her. The rest was history. "I never asked him to..."

"No, why would you? You never needed to ask." Mycroft spit out the last part. "You and John Watson, you don't ask, you simply get. No matter what the cost for my brother. Did John know? Of course he did... oh..."

Mary was sure Mycroft would have killed her that instant would it not have been for the child inside her belly. He was no monster after all.

"You shot him. You! And I never even suspected... you three are far too good in hiding things. But no more... no more..."

Mycroft started pacing through the living room. He did not even look at her. And again there was this hollow look in his eyes, not the one he and his brother took when wandering through their minds, no, it was one of complete loss. He looked like a man no longer sure who he was.

"I can't protect him. Prison or death, there is one other alternative left for him: A mission to the East that will surely kill him or lifelong prison. But that will kill him in the long term as well. Using drugs or being killed while attempting to flee. God..." Mycroft suddenly stopped and buried his head in his hands. His head clearly did hurt from all that thinking, the lack of sleep and the mountain of despair growing with every passing hour. Outside they could hear people approaching.

"Then send him to the East, Mycroft. Send him and don't tell John why."

"What? Lying again, Mary Watson?" Like a predator he moved towards her but stopped in his track. "What," he whispered. "What don't I see?"

Mary moved forward in her chair so that her face was nearly brushing his. "Get him out of prison and I'll get him back to England – before it is too late."

"You can't do that."

She took hold of the folder and tossed it into the fire. "I am sure you read all the information about me you could dig out on such a short notice. I should have hidden things better. But now you know things and you also know that I can. I can get him back. And no one will ever know you and I have been involved." A smile spread over her face. For others it might have seemed sincere but it was not meant that way and Mycroft knew. He was only fooled once and he would not underestimate her a second time.

The door to the cottage was opening and Mary could hear John talking. "I will do anything for John," she said. "And for Sherlock, if it comes to that. They cannot exist without each other. You should know that. And if I say I can bring your brother back, I will. Promised."

"I can't and won't trust you." They were whispering now, so the approaching party would not hear them.

Mary laughed. "You are right: You can't trust me, but your brother can."

Mary could feel Mycroft measuring her before he took three steps back and set down on the sofa opposite her, playing the normality one would expect to encounter in a house like this would it not be in the ownership of a family named Holmes. "So," he said. "What now?"

"Now?" Mary smiled and a wicked gleam was in her eyes. Oh, she had a plan. And what a plan. Sherlock would like this so much. John wouldn't but his opinion did not count at the moment. He would never approve but John would thank them none the less as soon as he had his Sherlock back. "Now," she said, "it is time to bring back an old enemy."