What Lies Beneath

“ Sebastian Moran wants to send his regards, and let you know he’s looking forward to killing you personally.”

Mycroft hit the pause button on the recording, his tired eyes flicking back to his brother. How many times had they reviewed the message now? Sherlock sat across from Mycroft, his legs pulled up onto the chair, his fingers pressed together in front of his mouth. Oliver’s voice slid through his mind, leaving a bad taste in his mouth. He’d never wanted to hear that boy’s voice again, and now it was spewing out threats to the most important person in his life.

“Moran hasn’t moved,” Mycroft reminded the pensive man across from him; Sherlock made a dismissive face.

“He doesn’t need to move,” he murmured. “He has his pawns, just as Moriarty did. He’s sending Oliver to do his bidding. How many men could he have that we aren’t aware of? It’s getting too dangerous for them-“

“Sherlock, it’s still not safe to reveal yourself to them. Not yet. Not while Moran is still on the loose.”

Sherlock slumped down in his seat, running his hands through his hair and giving his curls a fluff. He glanced out the window; the sun was just rising. They’d been over the evidence all night, only breaking for Mycroft’s bathroom break. Things were beginning to get out of hand, Sherlock realized. Laicee, John, and Hamish were in danger. At lest Mrs. Hudson had left for vacation; she was one less factor to worry about. But the others, they were still in his care. Always would be.

“We’ll have to step up our security,” Sherlock decided, and Mycroft gave his brother an exasperated frown.

“We’ve got half of Scotland Yard monitoring Moran as we speak-“

“What about the other half?”

“The other half are busy attending to the rest of the crime in London, Sherlock, which I should point out has risen significantly-“

“Not worth my time,” Sherlock snapped, ignoring his brother’s veiled plea to take on more cases. “I’ve got to focus on one thing at a time-“

As Mycroft began to argue, the door to the office was thrown aside. Both Holmes boys glanced up to take in the frenzied figure of Lestrade standing disheveled in the middle of the room. His phone hung in one hand, a stack of papers in the other.

“John just called, said Laicee was threatened by that Oliver kid,” he panted, his eyes wild and his chest heaving as he caught his breath. “Said Moran’s giving out death threats now, apparently Laicee-“

As Lestrade’s eyes swept the room, they initially passed over Sherlock, but immediately returned to his face once he recognized the man in the chair. Lestrade’s words cut off immediately; twice he opened his mouth to speak, but could only manage a startled mutter.

“S-Sherlock,” he breathed, staring in complete awe. Sherlock let out a slow sigh, giving his brother a look.

“You told me your secretary would give us privacy,” Sherlock sighed, getting to his feet and straightening his suit jacket. He turned to his old friend, a small but sincere smile coming onto his face. The first of his friends –save Molly- that he’d seen face-to-face in three years.

“Sherlock, my god,” he almost cried, taking a step forward. “I-I thought, I mean, you are dead, well you were- jesus, you’re alive-“

“Yes, astute observation Greg. As always,” Sherlock greeted, allowing his shell-shocked friend to pull him into a hug. Sherlock uncertainly gave his friend a pat on the back.

“You’re alive,” Lestrade laughed, pulling back to stare up at Sherlock. “Blimey, think of what John and Laicee will say-“

“Nothing, yet,” Sherlock informed him immediately; at Lestrade’s puzzled glance, Mycroft got to his feet and came round to his fiance.

“Greg, I’ll explain everything over breakfast,” Mycroft promised, resting a gentle hand on Greg’s elbow. “Sherlock and I have a discussion to wrap up. Head home and I’ll meet you there shortly. Speak to no one about this.”

Greg simply nodded, giving Sherlock one last pat on the arm as he stumbled out of the office, stunned from the realization of the morning. As the office doors shut, Sherlock let out a heavy sigh.

“I apoligize,” Mycroft said simply. Sherlock merely shrugged it off, passing his brother to move towards the window.

“Think of what John and Laicee will say,” Sherlock murmured, his voice taking on a tone Mycroft was unfamiliar with. He studied his brother’s back, frowning as the realization came to him at once.

“You’ve been observing them,” Mycroft stated; Sherlock said nothing, simply clasping his hands behind his back. “Sherlock, we agreed you were to stay away from Baker Street.”

Sherlock still said nothing, his gaze fixed on the trees below the window. Mycroft came closer to Sherlock, saying softly,

“You know, then.”

Sherlock’s back stiffened slightly; he creased his brow, trying to eliminate the image in his mind. John’s hand on Laicee’s waist, Laicee’s lips to his, her hand running down his chest-

“It’s no surprise,” Sherlock said coolly, masking the pain that burned his heart. “They’re alone, they’re scared. They seek solace in each other in the way they need it most.”

Mycroft came to Sherlock’s side, pausing at his brother’s shoulder. The pair said nothing for a long while, both knowing how deep the act last night had hurt the younger Holmes.

“She still loves you,” Mycroft said very quietly; Sherlock’s eyes fell to his shoes for a moment before he turned to face his brother. Sherlock’s face was void of all emotion, but the gleam of pain in his teal eyes confirmed Mycroft’s suspicions.

“Be that as it may,” Sherlock said quietly. “The heart changes. She’s adapting to life without me, and I cannot expect anything less.”

“Sherlock-“

“I’ll be by tomorrow morning. Remind Greg to keep silent about me.”

With that, Sherlock brushed past his brother, leaving the office as silently as he’d come. It wasn’t until later that night that Sherlock left Molly’s house again, and his feet brought him to the familiar stoop of 221 Baker Street. In moments, he’d scaled the balcony and was stepping into the living room. And, as he had the night before, he found Laicee entangled in John’s arms.

He wasn’t angry at his friend. If anything, releif surpassed the pain of having Laicee move past him. She would be taken care of; John had enough love to compensate for her grief. He would take care of her, he knew. Keep her safe, live out his life with her… it was better this way. He had the compassion and intuition to care for her and love her like Sherlock never did before.

It was good she’d found someone to love her, Sherlock acknowledged as he climbed back out of the window, brushing the stray tears off his cheeks. It was good her heart had moved on.

Maybe, one day, his would too.