"But I think you should really tell us how you've got yourself into it."

"Yes, and promise you won't do such a thing again."

"That's like trying to force a pig to fly," John muttered, mildly amused. They were all gathered around Sherlock's bed. Molly with her slightly nervous look, Mary with baby Sophia in her arms and Mrs Hudson with her lips pressed with disapproval. Sherlock's parents had visited an hour ago, both had not been told the true story, of course, but rather a made up one with Sherlock going for a bit of a walk and falling accidently into a cave. John considered it stupid but on the other hand, funny and he had to appreciate Mycroft's skills of feeding the nonsense into his parents.

"You would do the same thing," Sherlock said defiantly, sitting on the bed and leaning against a pile of pillows. His companions clicked their tongue.

"I don't think there's anyone here who would," Molly said. "None of us is so foolish."

"Thank you, Molly," Sherlock said, giving her a smile.

"She's right," Marry added to the accusation. "You should have at least let someone know where you were going."

"I thought it would be just a little trip," Sherlock said innocently, Mrs Hudson shaking her head hopelessly. John smirked. He knew Sherlock was making it a laughing matter but he knew better as they had discussed between four eyes previously. Angel had set a trap for Sherlock, murdering a few people from his spy net and arranging the murders in his typical fashion. Subtle enough to keep the police ignorant but to engage Sherlock. And then the easiest thing was to have every other member of the spy web followed and simply wait for Sherlock to show up.

"Fine, fine," Sherlock said. "I apologize. I will try to be more reasonable next time."

"Such lies," Mary said but she was smiling. "Here, could you hold her for a while for me?"

She put Sophia into Sherlock's arms, which cast a bewildered expression on his face.

"Well, hello there," he said and Sophia answered with a gurgling sound and a very strained face. She was still red and wrinkled with hardly any hair and Sherlock examined her with interest, looking up at John.

"She certainly has your looks, John," he said and John smirked. He stayed a little longer after everybody else had left.

"Still no sign of Mycroft?" John asked and Sherlock shook his head.

"I think he lurks in the dark sometimes, though."

John frowned slightly. It was so unlike for Mycroft he still could not understand.

"Well, you should be out in a couple of days," he said. "You can look him up and ask yourself."

"Yes, possibly..." Sherlock said and sighed, letting his head fall on the pillow, staring at the ceiling. Worries came back into his eyes once they were alone and judging by the dark glitter of them John was positive he knew what he was thinking about.

"Give it time," he said. Sherlock's eyes shifted to him and a smirk appeared on his lips.

"You always give the best advice," he said only half-mockingly. "Very simple."

"Oh, shut up," John said and threw a pillow at him.

It was raining the whole night and rain drops were hitting the roof and aprons, splashing against the windows.

Mycroft was standing in Sherlock's room, watching him. He was sleeping with his mouth slightly open and his eyes and fingers were twitching. He was frowning and his face was reflecting anguish. Mycroft felt his stomach twisting painfully with guilt when he saw Sherlock's hands clutched into fists.

All my fault...

When he closed his eyes, the image of a dark room floated in front of him, light steps circling around, his brother lying helpless on the floor...

Sherlock half-opened his eyes.

"What the hell?!"

He snapped awake and he jumped up, noticing Mycroft above him.

"What the hell, Mycroft!" he repeated, breathing heavily, cold sweat on his forehead.

"Sorry."

"Don't do that again! Are you mental, standing there in the dark, like some crazy death messenger or something?"

Sherlock fell back onto the bed.

"Damn..." he muttered, running a hand over his face.

"It was about time you pop up, though," he said when Mycroft remained silent. Slowly he walked over to the bed.

"I am sorry but I've been very busy," he said. "I couldn't visit you earlier."

"Nice nonsense," Sherlock said, reaching and switching on the bedside lamp. Mycroft sat down on a chair nearby.

"I talked to mother and father today, "They are dealing with it fine."

"Good," Mycroft said. He shifted his eyes away when Sherlock tried to look at him, he just could not get himself to look at him.

"What is it, Mycroft?" he asked. "You've found me in time. It wasn't your fault. Don't tell me you're so troubled because of my black eye."

Mycroft was looking somewhere at the wall and then he heard himself say very quietly: "It was."

"What?" Sherlock said with surprise.

"It was," Mycroft repeated. "It was my fault."

Sherlock watched him for a moment.

"How?"

Mycroft coughed. It was much easier to talk with watching the wall than looking directly at him.

"He targeted you because of me."

"And that's the news?" Sherlock asked. "You think I don't know that?"

Without thinking Mycroft finally turned and met his brother's look.

"I know you believe I'm stupid but not that much. And he hinted enough, you see, we had quite a chat, me and him. I still don't see how it is your fault, though. I know you'd never put me in danger. You must probably think I'm as defenceless and fragile as a three-year baby."

Mycroft was listening to him in silence and could not take his eyes off him. Somewhere deep in his heart he was aware Sherlock was saying exactly what he had longed to hear for his whole life.

"You don't have the ring anymore," Sherlock said then. "What happened?"

Mycroft shook his head.

"I... I killed him myself."

Sherlock stared at him with shock.

"I couldn't bear I would let him go," Mycroft continued, "and he knew that, he was waiting for me."

Mycroft paused and took a deep breath, looking him straight in the eyes.

"I am sorry, Sherlock."

Sherlock was watching him, clearly unsure of what to say.

"Don't be," he said at last. "I don't blame you for anything. If it was someone's fault – after Angel's, of course –, it was probably mine, I shouldn't have gone to get him all by myself."

Mycroft allowed himself a small smirk, feeling the relief washing over him.

"Yes," he said. "You shouldn't have."

Sherlock smirked as well.

"You weren't expecting something else, though."

"No," Mycroft said. "I guess I wasn't."

He took a deep breath, relaxing slowly in his chair.

"And how are you dealing with it?" he asked then and Sherlock waved his hand.

"Wonderfully, my dear brother."

Mycroft narrowed his eyes.

"I told you the truth, now you tell me."

Sherlock hesitated for a moment and a haunted expression crossed his face.

"Can't sleep very well. I wish I was stoned."

Mycroft curled his lips.

"Sounds to me you're getting better."

He moved his chair to the wall then and took his laptop out.

"I need to finish some work," he said as he began typing. "Imagine it's just like the raining outside."

Sherlock shot him a side look but Mycroft did not return it.

"Hope you're not doing it to baby-sit me."

"Of course not," Mycroft said, "I've noticed you've quite grown."

Sherlock snorted with mild amusement but switched the lamp off and closed his eyes and the only sound filling the room now was the raining the typing sound of the keyboard.