Disclaimer: I own neither Highlander nor Sherlock BBC.

A/N: This is set after the main events of the fourth episode (A Scandal in Belgravia), but prior to the epilogue.

An Equal, or Something Like, part 3

"Matthew," Mycroft smiled a greeting, attempting to project his usual calm control rather than the simmering rage that he couldn't seem to get rid of. If anyone would notice he was off his game, it would be Methos. "It's always a pleasure to see you, but wasn't expecting it."

Methos nodded and smiled back. "I was in the area and thought I'd stop by."

It was hard to tell, with Methos, whether or not it was a true coincidence or not. Last Mycroft had heard, Methos, or rather Matthew Wilkinson, had been in South Africa, but he could easily have something that brought him back to the United Kingdom or even to Europe and have considered that to be 'in the area.' Mycroft hoped it was a coincidence, just as he hoped that he had imagined the sharp look in Methos' eye. He poured the tea.

"It happens to us all, eventually." Methos spoke casually, as if they were continuing a conversation, rather than having their first conversation in nearly four months.

Mycroft was not going to ask, but coincidence seemed increasingly unlikely. "You do realize I'm not immortal."

Adam ignored the interjection. "We aim too high and we fail, and it feels like betrayal. After all of my previous successes, it must be someone else's fault that I failed now."

"Sherlock did…" Mycroft started, but he trailed off before he could complete the accusation. Sherlock had been just one of a thousand or more pawns at play in a rather complex game of espionage and counter-espionage. That Mycroft had failed to move that pawn correctly, that his opponent had managed to win, was not the fault of the pawn. "I didn't prepare him properly. Miss Adler knew how to manipulate him better than I did."

"Or maybe was simply more willing to do so. To treat a brother as a pawn is not an easy thing." The paradox of that statement caught Mycroft's attention. Immortals didn't have brothers, and yet what should have been a platitude coming from Adam had real knowledge—and real pain—in it.

"You speak from your vast experience with brothers?" Mycroft couldn't help the vicious edge of anger from peaking out there. He knew his relationship with Sherlock was troubled, but despite what he had heard, he knew that if there was one thing an immortal could not have experience with, it was with family, blood relationships.

Methos simply sipped his tea and watched Mycroft. Mycroft took a few deep breaths. This was worse than when he had snapped at Mrs. Hudson.

Mycroft wondered how much Methos actually knew about the events that had taken place. The appearance of omniscient could often allow one to acquire information, or at least enough references upon which to base educated guesses.

"I apologize, I'm afraid I'm not very good company at the moment."

Another sip of tea and then Methos' eyes went introspective. "Brothers are difficult. And yes, I do know it from personal experience." He hesitated for only a moment before continuing. "I had three brothers that I lived with for approximately a thousand years. This was some years ago, you understand."

Mycroft nodded his understanding of the fact. He didn't think it was possible to understand the fact that Methos was telling him something personal about his past. That wasn't how their conversations went. They spoke of the present and of the future; never of the past, and certainly never of Methos' past.

"They are all dead, now. One of them by my hand."

It was also a bit unnerving to consider that this man, this friend of his, was a killer as well as a manipulator.

"My condolences."

"Thank you. Everybody dies eventually, but I loved them and they gave me purpose during a dark period of my life."

Mycroft tried not to consider too closely what Methos might consider a 'dark period.' Instead he thought of what he had told Sherlock; how all lives end, all hearts are broken, caring is not an advantage. All lives do end, and all hearts are broken eventually, if they live long enough. But perhaps, perhaps, caring could occasionally be an advantage.

As angry as Mycroft had been at the unraveling of his plans, it was at least partly due to his inability to keep Moriarty's attention's focused on himself and away from his little brother. How much of his own power and position had come from that drive to protect Sherlock?

And why was he suddenly thinking of his rage in the past tense?

"Feeling better?" Methos asked.

Mycroft considered the question. "Yes, actually."

"Good."

They both sipped their tea. Mycroft did feel relaxed. This was similar to the Diogenes Club's comfortable silence; better even since it was natural rather than enforced.

Sometimes he just needed company, calm, and silence, to allow his thoughts to slow and his mind to consider.

He considered his companion.

Methos was here for a reason. This was not one of their regular meetings. Mycroft would not have intentionally met with Methos in the state in which he had been. Methos saw too much and Mycroft did not like displaying a weakness to anyone. And yet, Mycroft wasn't sorry to have seen his friend. There was a level of intimacy here that Mycroft generally avoided, and yet it was disconcertingly comfortable with Methos. Such comfort gave him a freedom to ask questions that normally he would have stifled.

"You are here for a particular reason, are you not?"

"Yes. Mostly to see how you are, though."

"And the rest of it?"

"Beheading is less common as a means of punishment these days than it has been in the past."

Mycroft contemplated his tea. Methos' statement was not as random as it appeared. He was talking about Irene Adler. Mycroft had heard of her demise only recently and had not yet decided on what or how to tell his brother. He wondered now if perhaps she had been immortal and if that made her death more or less disappointing. He stalled for a bit of time. "I imagine immortals are rather pleased with that trend away from beheading."

"Mmm." Methos shrugged contemplatively. "It used to keep a lot of the wilder immortals in check. Or at least got rid of them when they were being too stupid. These days most immortals live until they are killed in a challenge. Previously, most immortals died by mortal hands. It's changed the nature of the Game."

Methos was giving him the opportunity to follow a tangent that would, no doubt, be a highly interesting and useful look at the social interactions of immortals and the progress of the Game, potentially useful in figuring out a potential time line for the Gathering. Mycroft felt sure that Methos had already made many calculations of his own on the subject.

It would be extremely useful information to have, especially given some of the high ranked individuals in the British government who happened to be immortal.

It was a tempting tangent for more than one reason. But he wasn't going to follow it.

"With beheadings being much rarer, I imagine you are able to keep a much closer eye on them when they do occur."

"Oh yes."

"And I would imagine that, if being beheaded by mortals have long been a threat, escaping from being beheaded by mortals as long been a valued skill."

Methos looked at him. "Do you want to know what I know?"

Mycroft had to seriously consider that. His relationship with his little brother was so very fragile right now. He didn't want to disturb it more than it already was. But, knowledge was power, and "I do not plan to act on whatever you tell me, but I would like to know."

Methos nodded, understanding.

"A pale-skinned, light-eyed man helped a young woman escape being beheaded in Karachi, Pakistan, the other day. One of the local government officials is Buran, an immortal who uses the law to protect himself. He covered up the escape to prevent any other immortals from thinking they might be able to avoid official punishment and force him into a one-on-one challenge."

"None of my men know about this."

"Buran is very smart and very careful. And your," Adam paused, and then continued again, "the unknown man was surprisingly subtle."

"My brother is one of the few people I have trouble predicting. So smart and yet, so very stupid."

"Such is the way of younger brothers."

Mycroft wondered what, if anything, he would be able to discover about Methos' brothers. The Watchers knew so little about Methos. What little they did know had been compiled by Methos himself for their consumption.

All the information is true, Mycroft is certain. It is simply not complete.

Methos had once told Mycroft that he was what Methos might have been had he been mortal. Mycroft wonders, looking at Methos, if Methos is what he could have been had he been immortal.

"I believe I will tell Dr. Watson what I have learned."

Methos looked enquiringly, but not doubtful.

"That my network has informed me that she was beheaded. And that it would take Sherlock himself to fool me in this. What the good doctor makes of that or chooses to pass on will be entirely up to him."