#imaginebbcsherlock

“Come on, you can’t think I’ll be manipulated like everybody else in Parliament.” You sighed, “You stood behind that bill, I didn’t. And now everybody knows that you failed.”

The brunette groaned and rolled is eyes, “You have no idea the inconvenience that you’re causing me.”

“No, I think I know exactly what I’m doing.” You hummed, taking a few steps forward until you were eye-to-eye with him. “And you better step up and play the game before you lose your foothold.” “Foothold?” He scoffed, “What exactly is that supposed to mean.”

“Holmes!” You both looked to the door, knowing the voice from the hallway. Angry, old, manipulated once by Mycroft’s words and nobody else’s. The Prime Minister.

“Look around, Holmes - you’re slipping.” You grinned, opening the door. You don’t own the Government anymore. The words danced on your tongue, but you refrained. “Get out of my office.”

“Liane, what else is on my schedule for the day?” You asked, walking out of Lady Smallwood’s office with haste.

“You have a visitor waiting in your office.” Liane said with quiet urgency,

“Name?” You questioned, “James Moriarty,” Liane answered, obviously puzzled, "Does he sound familiar at all to you?”

“Oh, indeed.” You said, stepping into your office. You were greeted by an immaculately dressed brunette. “Hello, Mr. Moriarty.” “[Name],” he greeted you casually, “I’ll skip the small talk. I have resources and a goal and I want to know if you want in.”

“Right to the point; I’ve always liked that about you.” You smiled deviously, “What’s this goal you speak of?”

“Mycroft has become ineffective in his position - that much is clear.” He stated blatantly, “But I want to know what he does, and I figured you’d be the best person to ask.” “To try and manipulate?” You hummed, “No thanks, Jimmy.”

“No, no, no, I couldn’t possibly think that lowly of you.” He groaned, “I want to work with you. I stop Mycroft’s acts from passing, make him look like an idiot, blah blah blah…” “And I do what in return?” He grinned widely, though you noticed it did not reach his eyes. “What do you know about Sherrinford?”

Mycroft had known the bill wouldn’t pass. They hadn’t been passing for god knows how long.

Anthea had tried to cheer him up about it, but no amount of scotch could help the tossing of his stomach. The twisting and flopping that felt like he had been dropped from the top of a roller coaster. Or in his case, the top of a Government.

He’d proudly stood behind three major bills in the past two weeks. All three had been lost, and on every occasion, you were to blame.

After it had been taken to the floor to die, he’d find you in his office just waiting to taunt him as his power slipped through his fingers like ice melting into water. Other times, he’d save you the trouble - he’d just walk to yours.

The Parliament was a delicate operation. Manipulated by a thousand strings. Those strings had once been wrapped around Mycroft’s fingers with precision. But now, the lines tangled between the both of you, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold on to the ties he had.

“Mycroft!” Anthea called out, her voice carrying through the halls. The man looked up, concern lacing his navy eyes. He told her she could go home eight minutes ago, “The bill . . . it’s passed.”

The older Holmes brother flew to his feet, rushing to the television to watch as the votes came rushing in from his colleagues. Your colleagues.

“This makes no sense,” He huffed. The votes had looked beyond nasty when he’d checked his data this morning, but now, they were all falling into his favour.

“Someone’s here to see you,” Anthea called from where she was standing at the doorway. When she pulled open the entrance, you were the last person Mycroft had expected to see.

“[Surname]?”

“Just [Name], please.” You said with a shaky breath, “May I come inside.”

With Anthea gone, it was the two of you and a kettle of Earl Grey. “His name was Moriarty,” You finally explained. The first words you’d spoken since you entered. And you spoke them so calmly that despite knowing better, Mycroft still wondered if you knew that the man you spoke of was the century’s greatest criminal. “He wanted to know about the East Wind.”

You both were powerful enough to know about Eurus Holmes, though truth be told, you had done more personal digging into the subject over the past two weeks since Moriarty had reached out to you.

The name would not leave the tongue of neither you nor Mycroft. Codenames only; that was the rule when it came to such a woman.

“I realized who he was and what he wanted. Sherrinford is not for politics, it is for national security. World Security. And as competitive as I am, I realize that you have a duty to protect it.”

“He asked for classified information,” Mycroft snarled, “And in turn, he promised to keep my bills from passing.”

“No, I did that by myself.” You hummed, “Moriarty and I decided to make you fail, and in turn, I just had to tell him what I knew about Sherrinford. I told him it’s location, and I told every guard there to be on the lookout for him. You’re going to have another prisoner on that island in about-“ You choked the silver and black watch on your wrist, “-Twelve minutes. He thinks he’s meeting me.”

“You protected her,” he said, almost too quietly to hear. Shock was painted over his face, “You protected all of us.”

“I admit, I had to do a lot of digging to find out what I did about your secret sister.” You said, “I see now why it’s so important that you keep the power you have. No one else can handle the responsibility of  your siblings.”

“Yes, and you wonder why the National Security council loves me.” Mycroft sighed, “I have a feeling that you won’t be giving up politics, however.”

“Hold on now, I said I wouldn’t boot you out of parliament,” You mused, “You’re still not safe.”

“Our views align, [Name],” He sighed, “Why should we not work together,”

“I think Britain could use a power couple,” You said thoughtfully, a signature smile finding its way onto your face. Though now, it was not threatening. To Mycroft, it seemed almost warm. “And I do expect some thanks for saving this bill of yours.”

“I’m free tomorrow at seven,” Mycroft said, straightening his jacket as you both set your empty teacups to the side, “How’s dinner and a thank you note?”

You shoved through the crowd, chasing after John. Everything turned to a blur around you; John wailing, the crowd in a panic. The police and the ambulance rushing to take his body away. 

You finally reached the shorter man, and with all your strength, you pulled him backward.

“There’s nothing we can do now, John.” You said, trying to keep him from falling onto the sidewalk, “Come on, I need to get you out of here.”

 That had been two years ago. You’d gone with John to his first therapist appointment a week after the Fall, and then he’d taken the tube home without you.

I’m sorry [Name]

-JW

I think I need time alone 

-JW

Thanks for trying 

-JW

Since he’d left, you’d checked in with Lestrade constantly to make sure the doctor hadn’t given into suicide, and to your relief, he had not. 

You went back to the Baker Street flat you’d taken at 221C. At first, you’d stayed in 221B with John; sleeping in Sherlock’s empty bed and wishing the other side wasn’t so vacantly cold. 

Both John and Mrs. Hudson had been wrecked. Screaming and crying any time Sherlock was mentioned. Sometimes, they did it even when he wasn’t. You wanted to do the same, but Sherlock had given you a single rule before going to the rooftop. If only you’d understood at the time that it would be the last thing you’d head from him. 

“[Name], whatever happens to me, you need to hold England together.” You’d laughed dryly at his comment. 

“Come on, Sherlock,” You’d said dismissively, “Mycroft and the Yard will clear your name. Moriarty, the key code, Donavan; it’ll get worked out.”

“I envy you, always so optimistic,”

“That makes one of us.”

“But I can’t hold it together anymore, Sherlock.” You said into your pillow, “Goddammit, Sherlock Holmes! You tell me to be strong, and what do you do? You jump off of a fucking building because Moriarty got under your skin?”

For the first time since the fall, you let yourself cry. Really, truly, cry and wail and scream like John and Mrs. Hudson had. You fell apart, and no one was there to hold you together.

Time didn’t heal wounds all that efficiently.  Even after two years, the hospital that you worked at still seemed haunted by the body that had tumbled off its roof. 

Molly: I’m not going to be at St. Bart’s today. Sick.

-MH

She used her initials. Everyone did. Everyone had picked up the habit from Sherlock. Even you.

[Name]: Yeah. No problem. Get well soon.

-xx

Usually, it wasn’t too bad. Molly being there always helped. She could hold you together, and you could do the same for her. You could walk into the building with her in mind, not your ex-boyfriend.

You didn’t know if it was right to call him that. Late-boyfriend was probably better. You weren’t quite sure if his death had necessarily been a breakup. Of course, he wasn’t just your “boyfriend” anymore. 

You shook the thoughts from your mind, stepping into the morgue and fighting off chills. You and Molly had worked hard last night, so thankfully, you didn’t have all that much to do. 

Between the exhaustion from your last late night and the heavy sadness of the lonely hospital of memories, you slid onto the floor amongst the corpses and closed your eyes, hoping sleep would do anything to help.

“Wake up, [Name],” You groaned, stirring. “Wake up,” He said again.

Your eyes shot open, and you began to flail, “I’m sorry, Lestrade, I-” You threw yourself to your feet, the world still blurry, your blood rushing. 

“I’m not Lestrade,” he laughed. Your eyes adjusted, and in front of you was someone you could barely recognize. Though you could never forget him.

“Sherlock?” His arms were around you in seconds, and in the shock, you couldn’t do a thing. “Oh my god, you-” You were caught between kissing him or punching him into next week.

“Thank you,” He whispered,

“I think you owe me an I’m sorry, you arse.” You said dryly,

“That, and a thank you,” He said. You looked up, confused. “London’s still together, isn’t it? Thank you, love, you are you are so perfect.”