Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Something was off, but Mycroft had triple checked,all the details were in order.His meeting with the Serbians should go off without a hitch.Next to him his assistant typed away, her eyes focused on her phone, but he knew she was taking everything in as they made their way to the warehouse.

Ahead of them, the foreign representatives waited.Mycroft did not like having his guests arrive before him, but it was a show of good faith-to have them scope out the area before he did(it also helped that Mycroft’s people had come earlier than the Serbs and done their  own search and planted their own bugs).

Everything was in order-but Mycroft was still feeling out of sorts.He flipped the cards in his mind,shuffling the deck and reordering it-nothing was amiss-the outcomes accounted for,but he still couldn’t settle.

The exchange went as expected,the meeting ending quickly,but Mycroft still could not bring himself to relax.

He and Anthea(she’d been using the name for over a month now,judging by her nail polish-she’d be changing it soon),saw their guests off, and their car pulled in soon after.

The driver opened the door and Mycroft was just about to get in when there was a loud noise from behind them,followed swiftly by unbearable heat.Mycroft detested leg work, but that did not mean he was bad at it-quite the opposite actually.

Less than a millisecond after his mind registered the explosion, he had his umbrella open, the gun that served as the handle in hand.A storm of bullets followed soon after, none of them able to penetrate his shield.

At his side Anthea was typing furiously, holding one of her heels in her hand, the hidden blades there gleaming.Using the car’s reflective surface he spotted their assailant- a drone, of course,easy to hide amongst the clouds and lie in wait.

He angled his gun, keeping his fingers beneath the umbrella.The shot met its mark, but all that got him was a few sparks flying off the machine’s exterior.

His bullets had diamond tips-whoever it was had come prepared,that coupled with the fact that his backup was nowhere in sight  could only mean one thing-Mycroft had a mole.

“Sir, I’m just past the last firewall, the drone should be under my control in…now,”The lead hail stopped and Mycroft held the umbrella up as they carefully made their way to the front of the car, still crouched.

Anthea opened the passenger’s side and got in,she’d almost shut the reinforced door when something whistled past Mycroft’s ear.

Time slowed, and for the first time since he was seven and Sherlock’s first word was ‘Mycof’ instead of Mama or Dada-Mycroft’s brain stilled.He stared at the hole in his umbrella,right where his head had been seconds earlier.The metallic smell of blood registered soon after, but Mycroft struggled to comprehend.

He hadn’t been hit,why would there be blood, and why was there so much red on his suit.His focus zeroed in on a particularly large droplet, watching as it slowly by surely embedded itself into shirt,ruining the pristine white-his tailor would not be pleased.

Another hole made itself at home on his umbrella and Mycroft watched the dent it made on the car, his mind calculating the speed it had to be travelling at to cause such damage to a virtually indestructible car, and deducing the type of gun that could be used to house such a bullet.

A claw like grip settled on his wrist and Mycroft forced his eyes to look up.Anthea’s lips were moving, but no sound was coming out, most of it swallowed by the stream of blood that was ruining her lipstick.

“Sir…”She finally rasped and the sound broke into Mycroft’s cocoon allowing him to process.

Move, his mind commanded and his body obeyed.Climbing over Anthea posed too much of a risk, so he shut her door, and took a calculated risk.Leaving the open umbrella where it was as he crawled beneath the car-he hadn’t been overweight in decades,something he was eternally grateful for when he moved with ease.The driver’s side was still open and Mycroft made it in before the sniper realized he was no longer under the umbrella.

***

Fifteen kilometers after the gunshots had stopped, and two minutes until rescue arrived, Mycroft pulled over to the side of the road.His assistant had been unnervingly quiet throughout their escape, and he’d kept his eyes on the road, not willing to look over at her-his mind would not have spared him by lying to him and saying she was going to be fine.

“Anthea?”Her head lolled to the side, and he watched the mess that ran down her chest, bits of bone littering her once blue blouse.The bullet had literally shattered her ribs-and the blood seeping though her fingers was the colour of tar.

One minute and forty-five seconds left, his mind chimed,starting the countdown on his assistant’s final moments.

Caring is not an advantage.

Those were the words Mycroft lived by, but listening to the woman beside him’s rattling breath quieted them.

As gently as he could, he pulled her over to him, her head resting on his shoulder, her drowsy eyes looking at him with quiet acceptance.

She knew.

And just as she’d done with everything in life,she took it in stride, but her body still struggled,…waiting for something.

“It’s alright,I’ve got you.Rest now, Dorothea,”Her eyes widened at his use of her real name,sparking before dimming as her body finally relaxed.Seconds later she let out one final exhale, and went quiet- a small smile on her face.

By the time the team arrived,she was back on the passenger side,the seat reclined-her upper body covered with Mycroft’s coat.He watched her body get loaded up, and the moment the body bag was out of sight,he got into the new car, with a new driver-Edward.

Gaze fixed on the window,Mycroft retreated into himself,going into the amusement park that served as his control center(for as long as he lived, he’d make sure Sherlock always thought his equivalent of  the mind palace was a library).He passed the carousel, making his way to a tent in the back.In the tent was a lone table, containing tarot cards.

He ran his hands over them and picked the card at the top-it was blank.With a touch of his finger Dorothea’s picture appeared on it,his memories of her coiling into the delicate drawings on the back of it,his sorrow being tucked away in the corners of the paper, and happier memories of her being used to brighten the image and bring it to focus.

It was a laborious process, and once he was done, he placed the card in the ornate wooden box that resided beneath the table.She fit in perfectly next to grandmere’s portrait,Mycroft was certain they’d have been fond of one another.

Mycroft stepped outside,and took a walk in the park.Everything was bright and welcoming, but devoid of joy.Designed to lure in and swindle.

The merry go round started moving on its own, a sign that someone was speaking to him in the surface world and with one final look at the fortune teller’s tent he made his way out.

“We’re here sir,”Edward said and Mycroft stepped out,Baker Street looming in front of him.

***

After being forced to be in Anderson’s presence for hours,Sherlock was not in the mood for company.But Mycroft, the git, always showed up at the most inopportune times.

“What do you want?”He snarled,slamming the door for good measure, and switching on the lights.If his brother had touched the toes in the fridge he’d-

His thoughts of vengeance died in their tracks when he finally laid eyes on his older brother.He took in the blood on his shirt, the long strands of hair on his shoulder and the way Mycroft’s face was carefully blank.And most of all,it was in his brother’s lack of an umbrella-a clear red flag.

“How long ago ?”He asked, and when Mycroft answered,it was as though his voice were made of paper.

“Two hours,”He said ,his hand opening and closing around something that wasn’t there.Unable to bear seeing such vulnerability from Mycroft, Sherlock switched off the lights and picked up his violin.

He played until the wee hours of the morning, with Mycroft as his only audience.When Mycroft left, he did so with only a nod in his direction, and Sherlock pretended not to see the single lone tear track on his older brother’s face.

…Sentiment.

Chapter Text

The soft tap-tap of an umbrella was out of place in the blood covered room,but the owner of said umbrella did not notice.He inclined his head, and the third occupant of the room gathered his tools and excused himself.

“Give me a name Nikolai,”The man was the last mole in Mycroft’s operation, and had been worked -thoroughly.

“A name, and all this will be over,”The bound man let out a pained hiss, the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut blinking blearily.

“Moriarty,”He whispered, and just as quickly.he slumped forward, a bullet hole right between his eyes.

Mycroft put the gun back in his umbrella.In his mind’s eye a single booth lit up, the beady eyes of countless plush toys greeting him.He reached for one in the corner, completely consumed by darkness, it shifted constantly, web thin and wispy,but Mycroft finally had something to pin to it.

Moriarty, he thought, and the name appeared, a delicate golden embroidery against the darkness.

***

Days after getting finally getting a name, Mycroft sat in the back of the car,as it  made its way through London.The next morning Mycroft would go through a short list of possible assistants,a job he’d been putting off despite the fact that the list had been available,within hours of Dorothea breathing her last.

Moriarty.

The name didn’t show up anywhere,but there were whispers,trails gone cold from other intelligence operations.Agents who’d been onto something, only to disappear without a trace, and yet no one had thought to connect the dots until Mycroft had noticed the patterns.

It was like a spider’s web,difficult to see even in broad daylight unless you were at the right angle.But as complex and elegant as the web was, it still didn’t answer the key question.

Where was the spider?

Mycroft leaned against his chair,in his mind the shapeless Moriarty plushie took the form of a tarantula, still pitch black and shifting in places,the embroided name hidden in its underbelly.A siren blared before he had a chance to truly study the latest addition,and he rushed back to consciousness, arriving right in time to watch his new driver slump forward, his blood coating the windscreen.

***

John Watson was a ghost.

Since coming back from the war,it seemed as though he’d died and no had one noticed.Not his sister, not his therapist,and definitely not the strangers in the street.The man who’d gone to Afghanistan had been scared but hopeful,he’d had his training, his medical degree  and his faith.The man who returned had no faith,no hope, and both his training as a soldier and his degree were now virtually useless,thanks to well aimed bullet.

To feel less like an outsider,and to get himself out of  his tiny bedsit where his gun was so close.He’d gotten into the habit of taking long walks around the city.His cane a constant companion-even the thieves  didn’t notice him,probably taking one look and knowing he had nothing of value to take.

One night after a walk, he’d just let himself into his bedsit when the door was wrenched open before he could lock it.

A tall man in a three piece suit shouldered his way in and turned the key himself.

“Pardon me sir, I know this is…unusual, but I’ll be out of your hair in a bit, I just need a place to regroup,”The  collapsed right after that, a pool of blood-originating from what was most definitely a bullet hole on his side,staining the cheap carpet.

***

Mycroft awoke feeling…off.

Given that he  hadn’t  expected to wake up at all, he found he rather liked that outcome.Or maybe  that was the  morphine  talking.He blinked  lazily  up at the light,his mind slowly  coming  back  online as he  went over  his last sentence.

Morphine?The effects were  correct,but  somehow it didn’t  fit-Ahh, he  wasn’t in a  hospital, a bedsit by the looks of  it.

He watched as a short blonde man let himself in,depositing  a bag on the table before  turning  to Mycroft.

“You’re  awake, good, I was beginning to think I should take you to a hospital,”The man,doctor,discharged soldier, has  an alcoholic  sibling, psychosomatic limp.Mycroft made the deductions  as easy as breathing and kept  them  to himself,unpacked his bag, and Mycroft noted some over the counter antibiotics, as well as some soup.

“Thank you for your help,Doctor,and thank you for not involving hospitals-I’m in a bit of a situation at  the moment,and it wouldn’t  do for  me to be out in the open in my current state,”The man  simply nodded,moving to heat the soup,he  didn’t even question Mycroft’s motives, and the longer he moved around,the less pronounced his limp became.

Danger addict-no wonder he’d gone  to war.

“Aren’t  you going to  ask my name?Or how I knew you were a doctor?”The man shrugged as he pulled out a spoon and made his way to Mycroft with the heated soup.

“I figured you’d tell me if you wanted to, as for you knowing I’m a doctor,I think me pulling  a bullet out of you might have been a good indicator,”He handed over the soup and Mycroft took it with  shaky hands.

“I’m John by the way,John Watson,”Lying would be his best option,but Mycroft found he didn’t really want to.

“Mycroft Holmes,” He  said, and for once the truth didn’t make him feel like he  was eating live worms(Sherlock would never believe him).

***

Life under Dr Watson’s care was surprisingly not too uncomfortable.The man was  unobtrusive, and apart from checking  on Mycroft’s wound every now and then, he was content to watch awful television shows and do crosswords with the speed of an arthritic ninety year old.His ability to keep himself occupied,allowed Mycroft time to visit his amusement park.

He spent hours at a time on the ferris wheel, going faster and faster as he put together the jagged pieces of everything he knew about Moriarty.When he finally stepped of,he knew exactly what he  was looking at.A psychopath, and not just any psychopath-an obsessed one.

At first Mycroft had thought the criminal wanted him for his  position(minor as it were) in the government, but after thinking it through without any distractions, he’d realized how wrong he’d been.

Had Moriarty been gunning for more power,he’d have taken out the other officials beneath Mycroft first,before coming for him.A way to destabilize power,and cause mass panic.But he hadn’t he’d come straight for Mycroft, and judging by how he’d almost been successful(twice),the man was giving it everything he had.

And aside from his position,there was only one other thing that a person could only get to by disposing of Mycroft…Sherlock.

Moriarty for whatever reason wanted Sherlock,and he’d realized he had to go through Mycroft to get to him-and he’d nearly succeded.Mummy would never have forgiven him.

***

Mycroft Holmes was a quiet man, and for the most part, John found he didn’t mind having him around.The part he didn’t like of course,came three days after their meeting.

There was a knock on the door-someone claiming to be building security-given that they had no such thing John had instantly been on high alert.Several minutes later-after a brief fight,there was a  dead man in the bedsit-snapping a bloke’s neck tended to do that.And Mycroft had looked at John like he was the answer to all his  problems.

“I believe a reintroduction is in order,”He’d said carefully leaning on his umbrella(looking ridiculous, and yet somehow imposing  in John’s borrowed shirt).

“My name is Mycroft Holmes,I occupy a minor position in the government, and I’m currently looking for a personal assistant-a position I believe you are more than qualified to do,”

“Will there be  more of this?”He’d gestured at the very dead man on the floor

“Unfortunately, yes,”And that  had been that,”John had packed up his belongings(he wasn’t  even ashamed  that everything fit into a single bag), taken his gun and followed Mycroft out the door.

***

“Oh dear, this jumper is ruined,I rather liked it,”John Watson complained, looking mildly put off ,like he was talking about a tea stain  instead  of  blood spatter from the bullet hole  he’d  put into yet another would be assailant’s head.Mycroft was rather impressed.

“Are you sure we can trust your contact,”Dr Watson asked, and Mycroft nodded.His side was on fire,but he held firm,pushing the pain back by twirling it into candy floss in his amusement park.They slunk  through dark alleyways, taking  a  route Mycroft  had calculated to have the lowest chance  of getting  them caught.

Their contact was the last  person anyone,let  alone  Moriarty would  think he’d  go  to help for-and that made them perfect.

***

John had half  expected Mycroft’s contact to  be holed up in seedy pub.Instead  they ended up in Baker Street, and  they arrived just in time to see a tall gangly man be manhandled down  the  stairs with  his  hands tied and a bag over his head.

Taking Mycroft’s quiet,but obviously outraged gasp as a que, John’d taken action.A few minutes and some unconscious goons later(it would be  terribly rude to kill in someone else’s  house)the three men,plus their extra baggage(the human kind)  made their way to 221B.

***

“What do you want Mycroft, I thought you were dead, did hades kick you  out?”The question was followed by a violin being butchered-the sound  did not wake their captives.

“Seriously Sherlock, behave yourself, if Mummy could see you now...”

“Save it for  your goldfish Mycroft, speaking of which,your new one’s  fashion sense is appalling,”

Siblings.

John  should  have known-both of them had a way of looking at everything like it was beneath them.

Leaving the pair to argue,he made his way to the kitchen-he  recognized decades old arguments on sight, he and Harry had an on going one regarding what exactly had happened to Mr Tibby-John’s beloved teddy.

Harry claimed innocence,but John knew a teddy bear killer when he saw one.

A foray into the fridge revealed a human head, opening and closing the door three times revealed the same thing.Assured his sanity was still intact,John abandoned the fridge for the cupboards, and let out a pleased  hum when he found some Earl Grey and bread.

A few minutes later,he exited the kitchen, carrying a tray with tea and toast on the only plate that did not have a suspicious purple substance on  it.He noticed one of the captured men stirring and gave him a kick  that sent him right  back to sleep.

Looking up he noticed that both Holmes brothers were watching him.

“It’s rude to wake up and bother people when they’re about to eat,”He said as he put the tray down and poured the Holmes’ each a cup.

Settling back with his own cup, he looked at the two.

“So, who are we going  to kill to make sure I can have my tea uninterrupted,”He took a sip,instantly feeling all his worries disappear.

***

Finding out Mycroft was alive had been a relief, but only because there wouldn’t have been a casket large enough to fit the man and his ego.Plus there was Mummy to consider,for some reason she liked the git.

Meeting Mycroft’s latest goldfish however had been a pleasant surprise.

Sherlock much as he hated to admit it had grown attached to the old one.Whatever name she’d picked she always found a personality for it, and Sherlock had always enjoyed deducing them.And sometimes when he was really bored, he’d deduce what name she was currently going by, based on her makeup and posture alone.

The latest goldfish,army medic(either Afghanistan or Iraq), crack shot,nerves of steels, an unhealthy love for tea and hideous jumpers was something else all together.

He was an idiot(that was a given,everyone besides him and Mycroft often was), but he was a smart idiot, he knew when to open his mouth and say things like “Amazing” and “Brilliant”.He could take down men twice his size with a few well aimed punches, and only after the job was done would he pause to mourn the death of yet another hideous jumper.

But most of all the thing about John Watson that Sherlock found he liked(something he’d only ever admitted in the confines of his mind palace), was John’s ability to focus Sherlock’s energy.

He and Mycroft had set up a war room in the sitting room,going over and over all the information they had on Moriarty.

“He’s like a spider-you only ever see him when  he has you tangled in his web,”Sherlock had grouched, and John Watson had looked up from his third meal of the day(seriously how many times did the man need to eat), and had made a thoughtful noise.

“Why not shake the web then,…call out the spider,”Simple but absolutely brilliant.

***

Mycroft had announced the fact that he was still alive by walking right into very super secret meeting that was meant to choose his successor given his ‘demise’, not only retaining his seat, but focusing Moriarty’s beady gaze on him.

His arrival,sans John had meant that Moriarty’d had no idea that there was a new player on the board.

Then Sherlock(accompanied by John for protection), had rattled the web by actively pursuing Sebastian Moran, Moriarty’s right hand man.

John’d killed the ex mercenary with his bare hands,all his punches and kicks meeting nothing but soft tissue,until a well aimed jab had broken a rib, puncturing a lung  and drowning the other ex soldier in his own blood.

***

And just like magic the spider descended upon them.His careful dance maneuvers and tactical evasions obliterated by his rage at someone touching his things.

“Jim Moritarty, Hi!”His smile was as wide as it was cold, teeth showing in a manner more suited for a rabid dog than a human being.

Moriarty had walked right into Mycroft’s trap with the air of a man who knew he was walking into a trap and didn’t care.For once they weren’t in an abandoned warehouse,they were in a pool,the scene of Moriarty’s first crime and lizard eyes took Mycroft in,too wide and unblinking.

“Hello Big,Bad,Brother!”The emphasis on the Bs had spit raining over the man’s suit.And then just as quickly as the mania had come it was gone.Moriarty, his eyes now cold and calculating turned his attention on all three of them.

“Oh, and baby brother and the latest pet-the three blind mice!Am I the farmer’s wife?”He burst into seemingly uncontrollable giggles, and right at the end of it, all the laser dots on his person blinked out, like someone had pulled a curtain over all of Mycroft’s assasins.And then just as quickly they reappeared again, this time focused on the three of them, and Mycroft couldn’t take his eyes of the one that was right between Sherlock’s eyes.

“You didn’t think it was going to be that easy, did you?”The quite calm of a snake about to strike was back again, and for the first time Mycroft felt a sliver of fear.