Listen Closer

Thoughts

Sherlock's phone vibrated in his pocket, directing his concentration away from his current experiment. He had a feeling he knew who it was, but it did not do well to assume. He called John over and asked him to check his phone for him. John huffed in exasperation while Sherlock pretended to be so absorbed that he didn't notice the little smile and shake of the head John sent his way. The phone was pulled out more roughly than he would have liked, but John seemed indifferent when he voiced his complaints.

"It's your brother," John stated with mild curiosity.

Sherlock gave a little smile, of course, it was.

"Hmm, don't care then."

John protested his apathy, trying to spike his interest with something or another about 'importance and respect'. Sherlock was perfectly ready to turn and retort, but John shoved the screen in his face before he had the chance to open his mouth, and there was something definitely off about that text. He grabbed the phone from John and stared intently at the screen, pacing across the room in a way that John would probably describe as 'violently'.

John's fervent questions pestered him absently like flies as he pushed all his concentration into decoding the message. The answer hit him with such intensity that he jumped back a little bit accompanied by an incredulous 'oh' and then a slightly more comprehending 'ohhh'. He turned and looked at John, stating that he 'had a thing' and might be a while.

He could hear John shouting questions at his back as he dashed out of the flat, shouting that he would explain later over his shoulder. The door slammed as John fell dazed back into his chair, wondering just what all those numbers could possibly mean.

There was a sleek black car waiting for Sherlock outside. He ducked inside to find a worn looking Mycroft Holmes, divested of coat and vest, sleeves rolled up to the elbow. Most interesting however was the fact that the elder brother was in the midst of daintily wiping the amount of blood off his hands and forearms that could fit in a decently sized human, and looking absurdly unfazed by that fact.

"I can't wait to hear about this one," Sherlock sighed.

Mycroft smiled and let the blood-soaked handkerchief fall to the floor. "It's so very dull, I'm afraid you're going to be rather disappointed with this one."

"I doubt you would have asked me here if it wasn't interesting in the least," Sherlock mused.

"Maybe I just enjoy your company," Mycroft smirked and clasped his hands, hovering them over his lap like the situation had any semblance of normality to it.

"I can always tell when you lie, and it seems like this is hardly the time for games. Now," Sherlock gave a wave at the blood that was currently dripping onto the floor from the tips of his brother's fingers, "Do tell."

Mycroft's cheeks gave a little-embarrassed flush as he opened his mouth to begin.

"But I swear Sherlock, please keep your composure."

Mycroft told Sherlock about the terrorist cells from Karachi that had targeted Ms. Adler and how the surviving members had sent plans around to target Sherlock. His teams had picked up the chatter early that morning and Intel had quickly picked up the locations of five hitmen stationed around Baker Street. Mycroft had been on his way to visit when one of the teams sent out to apprehend the hitmen fell through and with a backup team more than five minutes away and only 72 seconds before the signal to fire would go off, Mycroft had intervened. Rather violently. With a weaponized umbrella. The man had given quite the struggle, hence the blood on the hands.

When Mycroft finished talking he turned to his brother whom he found was barely containing his glee. However, surprisingly, Sherlock didn't laugh. Instead, he gave a small smirk.