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By Marylouleach

Mystery / Drama



"Sir." Mycroft didn't look up at his PA, he only motioned for her to come in, he was finishing a call with another Prime Minister seeking advice on a certain media storm in the making. His PA continued to answer and sort incoming text messages by priority, forwarding what was needed and approving requests on others. She didn't have to look up to know her boss had just concluded his phone call, remaining expressionless she quickly handed the boss a large manila envelope marked confidential in large red letters across the middle.

Her impassive face gave nothing away as to why she had interrupted him, well at least to an ordinary observer it wouldn't, but Mycroft Holmes was far from ordinary. He'd already run a quick eye over her, deducing her meal, her mood, whether or not she had plans for the night and he knew she wasn't happy to deliver this envelope.

"Sir, I apologize for the delay in obtaining this communication. It seems Brant didn't consider it top priority. He's been sitting on this for two weeks." Mycroft held the report now but it was the picture that seized his attention, a service picture of a familiar blond haired man, several other pictures of bodies under a tarp, dead bodies, more photographs taken showing several medical teams running to aid those injured, fires burning all around, rolled over Humvees and military vehicles.

Mycroft Holmes, known for his usually cool and unfeeling demeanor had seen many photos far more gruesome, it was a surprise to even himself that a quick glance at these caused his stomach to knot. He inspected the photos of destructive bomb blasts and mortar fire, knowing that one of those dead bodies was an acquaintance. Could he say acquaintance? How impersonal no John was more than that, he was a friend to the younger Holmes brother, he was more than an acquaintance but Mycroft didn't have a word for it.

Scanning the unrecognizable corpses he wished he could pin point, which was the shorter man, how long had it been since they'd last seen him? He knew that Sherlock had refused all contact with the man, and Mycroft had been preoccupied with this Woman causing scandals among some powerful European politicians. As well as the very illusive Moriarty, a psychopathic Irishman that was vying for Mycroft's attention like a spoiled child would a parent, these things kept him from thinking about the younger man. Guilt was a sour emotion, one that bubbled and churned like heartburn after a spicy late night snack.

Mycroft had reports on the military doctor sent to his office, nothing too interesting over the years. Although he didn't care for the Doctor's obsession with being at the front lines, and the several close calls had the Government official almost ready to put in a request and have the Doctor moved to an army hospital further from the conflict. Now, it seemed it was too late, the report had been written hastily, and all details still unknown.

What they did know was, Captain John Hamish Watson was shot and injured in a firefight, one of his men a Private Josh Henry Wilson rushed out to pull him clear only to be hit with a high powered military sniper riffle. The bullet tore through Private Wilson's shoulder and into the Doctors heart. Field Medic William Murry ran out and pulled Wilson clear but it was to late for the Captain. The medical transports were unable to get to the injured men due to heavy enemy fire, and that was all Mycroft needed to know at this point.

"This report is incomplete, I want an update."

"Yes sir, right away."

"Where is my brother?"

"He is currently in the Morgue at St. Barts sir."

"Have the car ready. And about Brant-"

"Already handled sir, he's been reassigned to a security detail, her Majesty was very much excited that such an avid dog lover was to take care of her precious Corgis."

"Very good."

Mycroft reread the report sitting in silence of the black government car his assistant continued to fire off texts, if she noticed the pinched expression on her bosses face she didn't show any hint.

"Answer your phone. You do know how I loathe texting."-MH

"I am busy."-SH

Mycroft had tried calling again this time it went strait to voice mail. He needed to handle this; he'd rather meet his brother at the tiny flat on Baker street. Mycroft was still astonished that Sherlock had managed to find someone to rent to him while he practiced as a private detective. A little Hobby the government man had hopped his brother would already work out of his system, but no such luck. Still Sherlock Holmes managed to attract interesting clientele, and his land lady had been one of his first. Mycroft always wondered about the sudden attachment the older women formed with the sociopathic detective.

How his brother put up with the motherly Mrs. Hudson was beyond him, but she had rented a small basement room to his brother, so maybe it was just one of his manipulation tactics that so many fell for. Mycroft was in the process of releasing the freeze on his little brothers trust fund, seeing how he'd managed to be clean now for almost five years. But this news could changed that, it could bring Sherlock's sobriety crashing down, for this he debated on keeping it from his brother. Knowing if and when Sherlock found out that there would be no mending of their already near demolished relationship.

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