The American Fire that Melted the Ice Man (Mycroft Holmes x OC - BBC Sherlock)

Chapter 16: Work?

 "Work?" Sophia asked as she slid into the car beside him just as he hung up from his call with his brother.

"No, Sherlock."

"Hmm, you don't seem in too bad a mood. He must not have been too difficult."

Mycroft smiled. "No, rather helpful, in fact."

"Helpful? To you? Oh, perhaps I should go round and check on him tomorrow. He must be feeling ill," Sophia said with a smirk.

"That won't be necessary, love. I assure you my brother is in perfect health. So, had you any thoughts about what movie to watch?" Mycroft questioned, hoping to shift her thoughts away from Sherlock in order to allow his brother time to investigate.

"I did," she said as she slid closer to him and he put his arm around her shoulder. She said no more, just let the small smile she'd had rest on her lips.

His eyebrow raised. "Do I get any clues or am I to attempt mind reading?"

"As fun as that would be, I don't think you're quite that good. Let's see... a clue..." She thought a few seconds before humming out a chuckle. "Ah, here we are..." She shifted to turn and look at him, leaning into him further, hand on his chest as she moved closer into his face and whispered, "Of all the computer labs in all the towns in all the world, you walked into mine." She had a twinkle in her eye that he couldn't help but be thrilled by—it was such a relief to have his Sophia back in normal form.

His own eyes lit up and he smiled. "You do know how I love a good classic. Casablanca?"

*-*-*-*

Much later that evening, close to midnight, Mycroft was slipping as quietly as possible out of bed. He put on his dressing gown over his pajamas and was almost out their bedroom door when he heard her mumble. "Everything okay?"

"Couldn't sleep. Going to do a bit of work."

She mumbled out an acceptance, "Don't stay up too late." She'd already grown used to his middle-of-the-night work habits and it didn't occur to her that this one might be something a bit more personal in nature.

Mycroft sat down behind his desk and took a deep breath before opening his computer and pulling out his phone. He dialed a number and soon there was an answer.

"Mycroft," was all he received as a hello.

"Anything?" he asked, his own curt response to his brother.

"I've reviewed the case. No connection to Sherrinford that I can find. I'm going tomorrow to check on Euros and speak to a few people in person."

"And how do you intend to handle things with our sister?"

"Are you asking me to question her directly about Sophia, brother? Because doing so could create bigger problems."

Mycroft sighed. "Alright, then don't ask her directly. But pay careful attention to—"

"I know what I'm doing, Mycroft."

They were both quiet a long moment before Mycroft finally spoke his concerns. "Am I reading too much into this, Sherlock? Was it just a random criminal who was too smart for his own good and decided to play a game with the police, and my wife just happened to be involved?"

"You're asking me if your heart is controlling your mind, instead of the other way around?"

"I suppose so, yes."

Another long pause, which made Mycroft worry even more. Finally, Sherlock spoke—but it wasn't the answer Mycroft had hoped for. "I don't believe you are overthinking it. I think there are threads leading back to somewhere. I know that's not the answer you were hoping for, brother, but we will find out where it leads, Mycroft."

"If it isn't Euros, then... Sherlock, I don't have to tell you that I have quite a significant number of potential enemies out in the world. I like to think that they are all safely behind bars or out of reach, but—"

"I never thought I'd be asking this question of you, Mycroft—but do you have a list, Mycroft?"

The elder brother swallowed. "A list?"

"Of your enemies. If it's the drugs that could kill me—it's your enemies that could kill you. I never anticipated I'd be asking you that question—but you need a list, Mycroft. And if I'm to help you—you'll have to share it with me."

"I don't suppose I exactly have a list, per se."

"Then I suggest you start making one and start checking in on their status."

"Most of them are dead."

"Yes, well, we have personal experience with how effectively that stops someone from causing trouble."

Both brothers knew very well that one could fake one's death—after all, Sherlock had done so. And, they'd seen the effects Moriarty had well after his own death. Mycroft frowned further than he already was. "Yes," he drawled out, "we do."

"Try to get some sleep, brother. We both know how grumpy you are when you don't sleep. And Sophia doesn't need to see you stressed about this."

"No—she doesn't." Silence fell between them for another few moments. "Thank you, Sherlock."

"Good night, Mycroft."

"Good night."

Mycroft rubbed his temple as he pulled up a new text document on his laptop then stared at it as he took a deep breath. This was going to be tedious and painful. But if it meant protecting his wife, he'd face the demons—and mistakes—of his past.

He'd almost started to type the list, but now, thirty minutes later, he was sitting with pencil in hand scribbling away at a notepad. Better not to have a digital copy of said list. It had been as painful as he'd expected, even worse, in fact. He found it rather excruciating to recount the old memories of past failings when faced with the joy that had been brought in his life. But out of terror that said joy might be taken away from him, he'd pushed through it. He sighed as he flipped to yet another page of the small notebook just before his phone buzzed beside him. He picked it up and found a text, not from Sherlock, but from his wife.

How long do you think you'll be working? -Soph

He frowned. Either she hadn't been able to sleep after he'd accidentally awaken her when he got up himself, or she'd woken up again later on her own. Either way, he wouldn't have his wife going without sleep after the exhausting day she'd had.

Be right there. -M

He flipped the notepad closed and slipped it into the drawer before locking the desk and making his way back to their bedroom. When he entered, he saw her laying in the dark, face lit up by her phone as her finger scrolled along the side of the screen while she read something.

"I'm sorry that I woke you earlier. You weren't able to get back to sleep?"

She shrugged and locked her phone, placing it on the bedside table as he lay his gown across his chair and slid back into the bed beside her. "I tried but tossed and turned a bit before deciding to read a dreadfully boring article about the latest microchip design upgrades."

"Has it done the trick?" he asked as he slid behind her and wrapped his arm around her waist.

She hummed and snuggled further into him. "Perhaps, but this certainly will. I've grown quite accustomed to sharing a bed with you, Mr. Holmes."

"Oh? Is that so, Mrs. Holmes."

"Mmhmm." They were quiet a moment and she took another deep breath. "Thank you again for taking such good care of me today, Mycroft. What would I do without you?"

He blinked, staring off into the darkness of their room as he placed a kiss on her head. "I'm sure you'd manage," he said softly. In his mind, he considered—the correction question was, what would he do without her?