Chapter 1: Any moment might be our last

"One hundred and eighteen people were killed last night in the worst air disaster in Britain. They died when a BEA Trident airliner ploughed into waste ground only a few yards from the Staines bypass on the outskirts of Heathrow Airport-London.

There were no survivors when the plane crashed."

In the dim light of a spacious room, there sit a man in his middle age. He wore a nicely tailored three-piece suit, with wrinkles and stains, it seemed like he hadn't bothered to change it for days already. The phone was ringing continuously, but he showed no attempt to pick up. He knew who the callers were - no other than various angry government officers who demanded his explanation for this tragic accident. But was it merely an accident? And why did they require an explanation if it was an accident - no of course it was not just-an-accident. It was his work.

And certainly, no phone calls or messages were from his brother.

The black sedan stopped a few dozen meters from 221B. From the car, a man in gray suit, dark tie and dark gray shirt, holding a long black umbrella, walked slowly towards the apartment with wooden door he used to frequent. He stopped in front of the first-floor cafe, slowly looked up at the window with white translucent curtain and saw no one looking down. He purposely asked the driver to park a little further away than normal so he could walk there by himself, he didn't know why, but today he felt like he didn't want to bother his brother too early. Even though it would only be a few seconds when he stepped up and knocked on the door then Sherlock would still be annoyed with his presence, at least his knocking would be as a question, like "I'm here, Sherlock, will you allow me to come in?" - rather than the sound of a parked car signaling that Mycroft had arrived and Sherlock was forced to meet him.

Mycroft slowly raised his hand and took the brass doorknob, knocking twice cautiously on the black door. About half a minute later, Mrs. Hudson opened the door.

"Oh, good morning, Mycroft. You are so early, I'm not sure if Sherlock is up yet. Come in."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. I will just stop by for a bit."

Mycroft smiled at the friendly landlady, and started up the stairs. After Eurus blew up a bomb in Sherlock's flat last time, their relationship got much better. In the past, Mrs. Hudson always thought that Mycroft had put his brother in danger just to solve cases of the British royal family that Mycroft did not have the patience to investigate on his own. She looked at Mycroft as a cold-blooded person, until when John himself told her that Mycroft had asked Sherlock to shoot him instead of John on that fateful day, Mrs. Hudson was surprised to change her opinion about this cold brother.

There was total 17 stairs leading to Sherlock's room on the second floor. He had walked up here many times, even sitting on the stairs waiting for Sherlock to return, these steps were so familiar to him, but now Mycroft looked down at the stairs as if he was recording them in his head, yes, he really wanted to close his eyes and be able to picture in great detail every scene leading to his brother's room. Because he knew that after today, he wouldn't come back here again.

"What are you coming here for, Mycroft? You're not bringing a case!" Sherlock sat on his single black leather sofa and asked Mycroft in a grumpy voice. Glancing at his brother, Sherlock noticed that Mycroft had apparently lost a few pounds. So, the treadmill was finally working, but he would pretend he didn't see, he didn't want Mycroft to feel accomplished.

"Good morning to you too Sherlock! Can't I just come to visit my own darling brother?"

Mycroft smiled at his brother, and started to enter the room. He passed Sherlock, pausing for a moment then he resolutely stepped over and went to the window, with his back to Sherlock he looked out at the street through the white translucent curtains. "I see that you are fine."

Sherlock didn't reply. He knew that his brother wasn't the type to want to exchange social questions. He decided to ask Mycroft directly the question in his mind:

"What's with that plane crash? I thought you would be so busy dealing with it and wouldn't have time to come here looking for me. I looked at the data on your account, oh sorry for the hacking, it must have become a bad habit, anyway, looks like it was really a suicide attack and nothing needed investigating further. You've already found the organization responsible for this. So, tell me, what is the reason for your today visiting?" said Sherlock with a nonchalant expression. His right arm rested on the arm of the chair, resting his head on it, and with his legs stretched out all the way to John's chair, outsiders will think he didn't really care of what he was talking about.

"I closed that case." Mycroft said in a low voice, still looking out at the street. "Actually, later I'll still have to come to the office to sign some paperwork, there's a few things that need to be decided by Lady Smallwood." Pausing for a few seconds, he continued: "Let's stop talking about work today, you are right, I do not bring any cases. I was in the neighborhood, just thought of seeing you. Also, there is something I want to talk to you about Eurus."

"Eurus?" Sherlock jumped, pulled his legs back, sat up straight in the chair, and looked back at Mycroft's back. "What more about Eurus?"

Mycroft turned to look at his brother, he only smiled but did not answer immediately. He walked over to John's chair and sat down.

"Eurus is still the same, just like the last time we came to see her. She hasn't said anything yet. Maybe you will still have to play a lot." Mycroft smiled at Sherlock. "What I want to say is, I'm going to tell Lady Smallwood that with Eurus refusing to talk, she is no longer doing any good to the government and isn't really a harm either. So, it doesn't make much sense if I - in the name of the government - continue to manage her. I would like to suggest that you take over to make decisions related to Eurus in the near future, anyway, it will be more convenient for you and our parents to go back and forth to meet her, no need to go through my signature anymore. This time I'm also quite busy anyways."

Sherlock looked at Mycroft suspiciously but was in no hurry to say anything. He tried to guess what his brother was up to. Mycroft seemed to understand the questions running through his brother's head, he just smiled.

"Does this have anything to do with mother being mad at you about Eurus?" after a few seconds, Sherlock asked bluntly "I thought you and mom had made up."

"No, this doesn't. Do you think I'm that childish?" Mycroft tried to keep the smile on his face. "It's only the protocol, I'm still here, but I don't feel like using the name of the government to manage Eurus anymore. Anyway, she will still be there, all the procedures won't change, but parents will feel more comfortable knowing their daughter isn't being treated like a prisoner, no need to get a signature from the government to get permission to meet their own daughter."

Sherlock looked at Mycroft in surprise, he didn't believe there would be time when his brother could think of other people's feelings like that. Rather, Mycroft can think through many aspects of things very well, but Sherlock never thought he cared enough to actually give such... sentimental opinions.

"I will think more. Is that all? Aren't you thinking of something else?" Sherlock didn't move, his eyes fixed on Mycroft, hoping for some hints that might tell him what his brother was really up to.

"Thinking of something else? It's a family matter Sherlock, and I'm not a monster. I don't use Eurus, or you, or our parents for government reasons Sherlock. You can trust me in this."

Startled, Sherlock quickly replied:

"No, I don't mean that. I... Anyways, you're weird today. You looked... ghastly. Your car did not park in front of the door. Walking up here took 7 seconds longer than usual. Your attitude is also different. More... sentimental. You smiled too much. And it looks fake. What's going on?"

Mycroft did not reply immediately. He looked his brother straight in the eye with a meaningful look, and then slowly, he brought his hands to his face.

"Since when did you become such a caring person, I didn't realize that moment. John really changed my brother, didn't he? Oh, I'm so very happy he did." Pausing for a beat, he continued. "It's nothing, it's just work, I'm just a little tired. Thank you, Sherlock."

Then he got up from the armchair and walked over to the cupboard against the wall where Sherlock kept his old books. He stood there for a while, then suddenly, he picked up the book Greek mythology: "I never imagined that there would be a day when my brother would read stories to a child, Sherlock. Do you remember when you were a little boy, you would often ask me to read stories to you too? We've read this book, haven't we?" and as if remembering the good old days, he turned the pages of the book. The book had a brown leather cover with gilded text, wrinkled from repeated flipping and being grabbed by children. Seeing the familiar lines, he could even read the entire book correctly from memory, he quoted, "Any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we're doomed. We will never be here again. Achilles had always been your most favorite legend, how does baby Rosamund take it, Sherlock?"

Sherlock smiled and didn't answer. Mycroft imagined Sherlock holding baby Rosamund in his lap and reading her stories, a scene that must worth capturing and stuffing in a family photo album. Mycroft still had lots of pictures of Sherlock as a kid. He was still looking at the pages of the book, but his eyes seemed to see farther, he saw their memories. It was a long time ago, decades ago. When Sherlock was still a cheerful boy and always wanted to get his brother's attention.

"Sherlock, do you remember much of your childhood?"

Startled, Sherlock looked up at his brother. Mycroft did not turn his back. Sherlock felt strange, an uneasy feeling of anxiety crept into him, but he didn't know how to define this feeling. He had never been good at sensing other people's feelings, so he should better stop it.

"Not much. You know, I deleted and blocked a lot of memories. It's almost like I don't remember anything before Victor's, after that was also very vague. But why ask? You never asked me about this."

"Nothing. It's just... actually I want to apologize to you." Mycroft hesitated a moment, then he turned to look at his brother. "I've always wanted to say sorry. From Victor and Eurus, to many things happened later, I always felt like I'm a terrible brother. I should have stopped Eurus from doing that to Victor, I was already thirteen, Sherlock, but I... I..." - then Mycroft put the book down, he brought his hand up to cover his face, feeling the bridge of his nose sting and then when the first tear fell, it was as if it were just waiting for it to happen, tears streaming down his face - "I didn't really care, Sherlock, so I couldn't stop Eurus, not even Victor's demise or when she burned Musgrave. She could have, could have... she could have lived with us, so she wouldn't be isolated and grown so mad as she is now, Sherlock. And you too... maybe you wouldn't be so obsessed to choose this job, every day you wouldn't have to face criminals, face many dangers. I'm sorry, Sherlock, I'm really sorry."

Sherlock couldn't sit still anymore, he stood up stunned and gently wrapped his arms around his trembling brother:

"What are you saying? What's with you today, why are you suddenly apologizing to me, Mycroft?"

"No." Mycroft sobbed. "I really feel that way. Do you remember, when you were a kid, you always told me that you were going to be the coolest chemist or biologist in the world, that's what you said. Now you follow this dangerous line of job. Do you know how many people find you and John annoying every day, Sherlock? I'm really worried that if I'm no longer around, who would keep an eye on the two of you. It's all my fault... I'm sorry."

Sherlock hugged Mycroft nervously, momentarily at a loss for words. What made his brother like this? Feeling Mycroft's body tremble slightly, Sherlock patted his brother on his back:

"Come on, Mycroft, tell me, what's with you today? Did something bad happen? I never blamed you or anyone, it was my choice, actually everything is going so well. But even if it's not, I'll always have you to look out for me, so, I don't care."

"No... it's just... No. I'm... Never mind, I've got to go now. Sherlock, thank you for this hug... I really miss this so much."

Then, quickly, Mycroft scurried toward the door, leaving Sherlock still standing on the bookshelf, surprised and worried, and for a moment forgetting to force Mycroft to stay.

Pausing a beat, Mycroft turned around, looking at Sherlock with a sad smile:

"Sherlock, when I'm not here, remember to always be careful. I have to go now. Goodbye, brother mine."

Sherlock felt something squeeze his heart, making him forget to breathe for a moment. He froze and didn't know how to react. Mycroft said that phrase again. The last time was when they were still in Eurus' room, and now, when everything was getting better, why would Mycroft still say such worrying words. Sherlock was about to run after Mycroft, when suddenly the phone rang, interrupting Sherlock's train of thought.

The bells still rang in steady tones, Sherlock didn't intend to pick up the phone, but he was in shock and momentarily forgot he should run after him. When he regained his senses, he heard the door close downstairs. Sherlock rushed to the window, opened the curtain and saw his brother already got into the car.

Sherlock sat down in a daze in his armchair, the phone still ringing, but he didn't want to get up to pick it up. He really didn't understand what was going on just now. Looking down at his hand, he could still feel the warmth of Mycroft linger. He didn't like this feeling. Sherlock felt anxious, he reached for his cellphone and decided to text Mycroft:

"What's troubling you? I will help, I will come to your house now, ok? Our conversation isn't done yet. – Sherlock"

A few seconds later he received a reply: "I'm heading to the office, will be back at noon. I'd prefer to be alone, but if you insist, you can come after. -M"

Then another message. "Thank you for caring Sherlock, but it's not necessary. I'm fine -M"

Mycroft stared intently at the darkened phone screen in his hand. He seemed to be thinking about something. Anthea's voice rang out:

"Are we still coming to the hall, sir?"

Sighing, Mycroft reached up to massage his forehead, which was starting to ache again. It was an understandable result of long working days without sleep, he closed his eyes and rested his head on the leather seat cushion:

"Yes, my dear, please."

Anthea looked at her boss with a worried look. His work was never not busy, but this time she felt that his health was abnormally declining. She'd been reminding him a few months ago that he must agree to let her schedule a routine check-up, but then work just kept going, and after the plane crash, she saw the fatigue in him all more clearly. Anthea wanted to show more care to Mycroft, but she was afraid that he didn't want such undue attention. After all, it was just a simple business relationship between them, and he never liked rushing attention or she trying to be more closed to him than allowed. But really... it's been a long time since she'd seen him as tired as he was today, his face was all pale and it seemed like every step he took he had to rely on the umbrella in his hand.Anthea couldn't help it anymore, she heard herself asking:

"Sir, you don't look too well... Shall we go home first?"

Startled, Mycroft sat up straight, looked at Anthea with a small smile:

"No, my dear, it's just a normal migraine.". Paused for a moment, he continued. "I'm fine, don't worry!"

Anthea mentally scolded herself for being so improper and talkative. She said nothing more and turned her attention to the phone.

The car rolled to the gate of the parliament building. The carriage had already stopped, but Mycroft was still resting his forehead on his hand with his elbow on his knee.

"Sir, we've come."

Mycroft looked up. The sudden movement made him a little dizzy, took him a few seconds to regain his composure, he grabbed the umbrella that Anthea gave him:

"Thank you, Anthea."

Anthea was about to open the car door; she was holding the door handle when Mycroft said:

"My dear, can you take a trip to Brixton? There are some important papers that I will ask David to give to you, when you got them, just leave them on my desk, then rest, there shall be no more work today. I'll return with Jackson later."

Anthea was surprised, normally Mycroft would have informed her beforehand of his intentions, not as suddenlylike this. Probably these paperworks just came up. She smiles at him:

"Sure, sir! I wish you a good day sir!"

Mycroft gave her a meaningful look, but he didn't look at her too long. He was afraid this little girl would find out what he was calculating. Anthea was sensitive and dedicated; the past five years had made her know him all too well.

"Goodbye Anthea. Be safe and enjoy your time!"