Chapter Text
Glassy. Too glassy.
Mycroft stared across the table at his younger brother, searching for a way to understand. Sherlock’s eyes weren’t this glassy when he was high at the beginning of this whole disaster. When had he last seen his brother in shock? It wasn’t that he killed a man. Mycroft found out about the escapade to rescue Irene Adler. He had to hand it to Sherlock that he managed to pull one over on him for that long but nothing stayed hidden from Mycroft for long. Especially not with that kind of body count. No, Sherlock held no regret for killing Magnusson. The man currently sitting vacantly across from him with his hands cuffed behind his back was awash in memories and silently mourning.
“What in God’s name were you thinking?”
Sherlock didn’t acknowledge him at all. Were this a normal spat he’d be certain that he was being ignored. Now he couldn’t be sure. Sherlock had just given up everything he’d fought for in one single, impulsive move. Worse, Sherlock knew there was no protection to be had. Too many witnesses and the victim far too high profile. There was no way for Mycroft to sweep this under a rug.
“Sherlock, answer me. Why did you do this? I don’t want to hear about all the poor little different goldfish either. I want you to tell me why I have to tell our mother that her son will likely never step foot inside our family home again.”
Sherlock’s eyes focused upon the table before slowly flicking upward to Mycroft. “Because you didn’t. You’d rather go against your own brother than eliminate a man that dangerous, that detestable. It’s Moriarty all over again, isn’t it Mikey? Me cleaning up a mess that you were unwilling to… again.”
“Damn you, Sherlock, this isn’t like Moriarty at all! Magnusson was an annoyance, but nothing more! You’ve thrown your life completely away for what…? A common assassin. All because she’s married to a man you-
”Mycroft-“
”-are always wanting so desperately to-“
”Shut up-“
”-gain approval and praise from! I told you not to get attached! I told you this was the losing side!”
Sherlock’s eyes blazed as he stared back at Mycroft. “Dragon slayer, remember?”
“Damn it I warned you!” Sherlock gave no reaction as Mycroft slammed his hand down on the table. “I warned you this was coming… and you did it anyway… All for the love of one goldfish.”
“John’s no goldfish,” Sherlock muttered. “Just stop talking. Get it over with. Where are they sending me.”
“The MI6 assignment.” Mycroft rubbed his eyes wearily, his shoulders drooping in resignation. “We both know prison would turn you into a vegetable. Solitary confinement would be the only option and you’d never survive it with your mind intact. I’d rather at least let you go out on your own terms, brother mine.”
“How magnanimous,” Sherlock smirked though his eyes fell away to the floor.
“Those were the only two options, Sherlock. You can’t disappear off to other adventures-”
“You think that’s what this was?!” Sherlock leaned over the table, his lips curling into a snarl. “You think it was a game to me? I watched that man taunt John and threaten him. He threatened John’s wife and child-”
“An assassin, Sherlock!”
“It doesn’t matter,” Sherlock hissed back at him. “She is who John chose and he loves her. He loves that child. I swore to protect them and I did! You could have stepped in sooner but you didn’t. This is the end result. There was no other option. As long as he lived, they would be in jeopardy.”
Mycroft leaned in as well then, his voice dropping to a dangerous tone. “For once, will you stop thinking about John Watson and think about yourself! You are in love with something you can never have!”
The anger drained out of Sherlock. He leaned back in the chair despite his arms being behind him. “Do you think you only just enlightened me to that fact?”
Mycroft leaned back as well, again rubbing his hand over his face. “Oh Sherlock… I fear I’ll never really understand you.”
“Best not to try,” Sherlock warned. They sat in silence for a long moment before Sherlock spoke up again. “Will I get a chance… to see him?”
“I will do my best,” Mycroft sighed. “I can make no guarantees. The conditions surrounding your confinement and release to your assignment are rather stringent. I believe they are expecting me to break you free somehow.”
“They don’t know you at all, do they,” Sherlock huffed wryly. “Should’ve invited them to Christmas. They would have released me out of pure pity for being your brother.”
Continuing to massage his brow, Mycroft frowned without looking up. “This isn’t remotely funny.”
“No, it’s fucking hilarious,” Sherlock corrected sourly. “All your important little friends that Magnusson held under his thumb… They were the ones eager to offer me this death sentence before I shot him and now that they’re free of him, they’re still just cowards.”
“There were too many witnesses, Sherlock! The man was too well known in the media!”
“Kitty Riley with a really good memory and no conscience. Her conscience was skewed and warped but at least she had one. Either way…not exactly head of state.”
“No, people might have actually applauded that.”
Mycroft shook his head as Sherlock just blinked back at him with those almond eyes that were so much their mother’s. He looked exhausted and Mycroft had things he needed to do before Sherlock was sent away. “I need to attend to getting your necessary belongings from Baker Street.”
Again, Sherlock had fallen mute, failing to even nod. Mycroft gazed at him and was about to say more to his little brother when he decided better of it. He turned slowly and left the room.
"What did he mean by death sentence? You said he was being sent on assignment!"
Mycroft stared down at the doorknob still clutched in his palm. "It is classified and none of your concern now."
“Like hell!" John's voice quieted as quickly as it barked out as he changed his approach. "I need to see him, Mycroft. Please… just let me in there for five minutes.”
Mycroft turned on the voice behind him, barely able to contain his anger. “I cannot permit you inside. I’m breaking too many rules as it is allowing you to even stand here to listen to that.”
"Mycroft-"
"No, Dr. Watson."
John squared his shoulders and clenched his fists as he looked from the two way mirror to Myrcroft. “They why did you bother at all if I can’t even speak to him?”
Mycroft’s features darkened as he loomed over John. “Because I wanted you to know. I want there to be no doubt whatsoever as to why Sherlock did what he did.”
“I know why he did it,” John countered angrily, though he was clearly unsettled by what he’d overheard.
“No, you didn’t,” Mycroft scowled, “but you do now.” His eyes shifted to John’s right where Mary stood with tears in her eyes. He stepped closer to her and leaned in, his voice menacing. Sherlock could give her absolution if he wanted. Mycroft had no such inclination.
“You had better earn it, Mrs. Watson. You had better bloody well earn it... every single day of your life.”