Just Within Your Reach

Mycroft Holmes - Thirteen

I give you a Mycroft chapter. Enjoy and give me some comments about what you think.

Mycroft sat in his office waiting for John Watson. The man was nothing short of a business man, going through files and filing things in his mind.

Mycroft Holmes

Mycroft Holmes was the older brother of Sherlock Holmes and Eurus Holmes. He was part of the British government; or, how Sherlock Holmes would say, he was the British government.

He was also the only one John Watson would come to if he was worried about Sherlock. And he had every right to be worried about him, but Mycroft wouldn't tell John that until he showed.

So here Mycroft was, sitting in his office, his head in his hands because he had just let Sherlock leave London. He....had written him a pass to go wherever he wanted.

All because Sherlock couldn't hide that he was actually in love. And after all this time...after years of Sherlock thinking himself unable to feel....

Mycroft sighed heavily and stood. It was no use in dwelling over spilled milk. Except.....except with Sherlock it was.

Because he needed John for this case, and Mycroft would be damned if he didn't let John help Sherlock.

And Mycroft hasn't said anything about not telling John about how Sherlock left London, and where he went.

Mycroft stood in front of the mirror on his office and fixed his tie; he'd been nervously messing with it for the last three hours , waiting for John to get his attention and now waiting for him to arrive.

His head snapped up to look at the door when it swung open and Mycroft fois himself looking at an angry John Watson.

"Hello John," he said gently; and he wasn't particularly sure why he was going for gently with these two idiots.

"Don't bloody hello me Mycroft," John snapped. Mycroft only raises a brow at him through the mirror. "Where's Sherlock," John asks.

Ah, so getting right to the problem, Mycroft thinks to himself.

"Out of London," Mycroft answers. There was no use hiding it from John. He saw

John's face fall, and of course he saw the pain John was trying to hide - and failing at it. Mycroft sighs and turns to look at John fully.


"He left London at approximately 4:36 a.m. this morning and arrived somewhere is France about an hour ago," He says and moves to lean against his desk.

John lets out a sharp breath and after a moment takes a step towards Mycroft, "You just let him leave?"

"I couldn't stop him," Mycroft answers.

"Of course you could've! You're his brother."

"I made him a deal, John, and he did his part in it."

"A deal? What kind of fucking deal would he make with you to go all the way to France?"

"I asked him a simple question and he answered me correctly."

"What? What question!?"

Mycroft stayed silent.

"No. No Mycroft I deserve to know."

And he did: "I asked him if he was in love with you, and if he answered me truthfully, I'd give him a pass to anywhere."

John froze.

"You...asked him...if he....if he..." John trailed off and Mycroft suddenly felt sorry for the man. "What did he answer?" John asks suddenly.

Mycroft shakes his head. "All I can tell you is he didn't answer with his mouth." John curled his hands into fists again and Mycroft had half a mind to offer him some brandy, but seeing as his shirt was inside out, he figured John didn't exactly need it right now.

"With his mouth? What in the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means he didn't verbally answer."

John ran a hand over his face. "Bring him back," he said quietly.

"....On one condition," Mycroft answered.

John looked up at him, "What?"

Mycroft tilted his head as if he was thinking, "Answer me...are you're in love with Sherlock? The same question I gave him."

He watched as John shifted. His brows furrowing. His hand twitching at his side. His eyes changing emotions. His body leaning away from Mycroft.

Mycroft nodded and turned around, pressing a button on his phone, "Bring Sherlock Holmes back to London, please." He turned back to John and nodded.

"You got your wish, Sherlock Holmes is coming back to London."

John shook his head, "But I never answered."

"But you did."

"No I did no-" he was cut off by Mycroft raising a hand. "You can go back to your flat, John. He'll be there in about an hour. Maybe two."

John stood for a moment and Mycroft waved an impatient hand at him and he turned and left. Mycroft dropped his shoulders then and let himself sag into the desk, running a tired hand over his face.

Those two idiots would be the death of him.