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He sits across the table, just staring me down, neither of us saying a word. I've seen that look before. I've seen it more times than I can even count, and it never ceases to anger me. It's that pitiful stare of disappointment when, yet again, he believes I've let him down. But what else is new? The shackles around my wrists that chain me to the table give little leeway as I find myself involuntarily squirming in the unsettling silence encompassing this holding cell. A silence that I find myself compelled to break.
"I had no choice," I manage to force from my lips.
He makes no reply, but continues to bore a hole through me with his unrelenting glare.
"There was nothing else I could do. I had to."
Then I see the first words from him since they took me into custody about to breach his lips, but I can't bring myself to hear them. I know what they are, and I know where they'll lead. And I can't handle that right now.
"There were no vaults, Mycroft." I snap as I cut him off swiftly, hoping, praying that this time, he'll actually listen and understand, rather than assuming he already knows every word I'm going to say. "There were no vaults under Appledore, and you know what he would've done to me... and to John and Mary... so I had to."
His face remains steely, his expression unchanging, but after a few more painful seconds, he finally abates and lowers his gaze. "Oh, Sherlock. I tried to warn you. I instructed you explicitly to stay away from Magnussen, but you..."
"Really, Mycroft?" I cut him off again, "Is this really the proper time or place for 'I told you so's?' My life is about to end, and all you can think of is making sure that I know you were right and I was wrong?"
Seemingly unaffected by my retort, he simply continues, "But you didn't heed my warning, and you've put yourself into a position from which I have no certainty that I can rescue you."
He tried to warn me? Threatened me is more like it, pointless as it was. I still don't understand why he was so afraid of Magnussen. Clearly, he was under Magnussen's thumb, but what could Magnussen possibly have had on him? Owning Mycroft Holmes would be the ultimate prize for any psychopathic, narcissistic, sub-human creature of avarice like Magnussen, but why would Mycroft just sit back and allow it? We were all convinced that there were vaults of evidence under Appledore. If Mycroft could mysteriously cause incriminating files to appear on Anderson's computer hard drive and arrest him for it just to keep him quiet, then why would he not use that very same method to storm Appledore? There was no reason why he couldn't, he can do anything... unless...
It's like I can actually feel my heart sinking to the floor as I realize what had been going on all along. And then I feel that frigid, hollow feeling of disbelief slowly morphing into a blazing, all-consuming anger with him as it begins to physically distort my vision. Two words are all I can muster in my anger, "You knew."
Once again, he makes no reply.
"You knew there were no vaults," I say as I can feel my throat tightening my voice into a leonine growl, "you knew and you didn't tell me!!"
"Sherlock, I..."
I don't want to hear him speak right now. I can't even imagine anything that he could say which would be sufficient to quell the rage that's building up in my head and in my chest, that's slowly taking me over.
So I cut him off yet again, "I would've done things differently if you'd have told me!! I would've taken a different path, I would've worked something out..." but the anger is blurring my thoughts, muddling my brain, "...I wouldn't have ended up putting John and Mary's lives on the line, I wouldn't have had to sacrifice my own by killing him if you'd have told me!! If you knew my plan, why didn't you tell me!?" I demand, "Why!?"
"Because..." his voice trails off as he looks down, as if through the table. I can see the reply hanging on his lips, but he refuses to let it go. Whatever this answer is, I can see it causing him such shame that he can no longer look me in the eye. This only serves to further my anger, and I realize that my arms are reaching towards him with all their might, the shackles cutting into my wrists as they stop me.
I slam my hands down onto the table as I bellow with all the force of my lungs, "TELL ME WHY!!"
"Because I love you!!" he blurts out at me.
The entire universe suddenly comes to a grinding halt.
I can't speak. I can't even move. I'm not even sure I'm breathing. I can only feel all the heat disappear from my body and I can see the entire cell, everything around me, all fading away into a strange, pale shade of gray. All except for Mycroft, and the expression of anguish that's suddenly come over his normally unexpressive, icy face.
His voice suddenly becomes softer than I've ever heard it, "Because I love you, Sherlock. Everything I've ever done is all because I love you." I can see his normally imperturbable eyes becoming pink, then red, and they begin to glisten slightly as he continues, "When I said that your loss would break my heart, I meant it with every fiber of my being, and I wanted you to just trust me. I wanted to stop you because I knew that if you stormed the gates of Appledore like some knight in shining armor, there would be no return... and I would rather die myself than to see any harm come to you."
I confess that I am not, nor have I ever been a stranger to emotions, but I don't know what I'm feeling right now. I can't help thinking about how much I looked up to him when we were children. I never confessed it to anyone, hardly not even to myself, but I idolized him. I looked up to him. I admired his genius, his strength, his equanimity, and I wanted to be just like him. I strove to impress him, to make him proud of me, to be his equal. I just wanted him to love me. But he never did. At least he never let me know he did, even though that's all I ever wanted from him... to know that he loved me... and now, here at the end of my life, he finally tells me. I know I'm feeling something, and it's completely overwhelming, but I don't know what it is. I just know that it's causing my eyes to be just as red and teary as his.
He stands slowly from the table. I still can't move, and I still can't do a thing about the tears that have just escaped me. He takes a step back, trying to regain his composure before leaving this cell, leaving me alone with the millions of thoughts racing through my brain right now. "I will do everything in my power to save you, Sherlock," he says, "I know you like to think of me as 'The British Government,' but I am not 'The British Justice System.' I will plead for your life, I will do whatever is necessary to see it spared, but beyond that, I can promise nothing else. As for John and Mary, they will not be charged." I can see him trying to clear his eyes and regain his composure as he slowly turns and leaves the holding cell, but his lack of experience with expressing such emotion leaves him somewhat unsuccessful.
'Plead.' He said 'plead.' Mycroft is never one to use words idly, he always chooses them very carefully, and he wouldn't have said this particular word without reason. Anyone in power can exert authority and give an order or a command with no emotion involved in the decision, however the word 'plead' is emotionally charged. One must be feeling something, caring sincerely, about that for which they plead. And he said he would plead for me. That means he's feeling something, caring sincerely, about me. I am completely unable to stop the next tear from rolling down my face as I realize he was still telling me that he loves me. I'm trying, but I guess there's just no more hiding it now. My complete silence and the tears on my face are giving me away as the brother I love just as dearly leaves this holding cell, marching off to save my life.
Althought I've never admitted it, I love my brother. I love my brother and I trust him completely. I always have. I trusted him with my life in my two-year absence, and I know I can trust him now. If anyone can move heaven and earth, it's Mycroft Holmes. But I suppose that if I have to die, at the very least, I can die knowing that John and Mary are safe, and that my life wasn't given for nothing. And even though I know we'll probably never speak of this moment again, I can die knowing the one thing I've always wanted to know from the very beginning, all throughout my life, and even up to now. Now I can know.
My brother loves me.
