angelzash: (Sherlock London)
[personal profile] angelzash
Title: Mycroft's Plan
By: [personal profile] angelzash
Genre: Romance, Drama
Pairing: Mycroft/John/Sherlock, Mycroft/John, Mycroft/Sherlock, Sherlock/John
Rating: PG
Warnings: Incest
Word Count:~1,300
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Summary: Mycroft's in love. The problem? He's in love with two men who are already together, and one of those men is his brother. But that's alright, because Mycroft also has a plan.
Notes: This is a response to this prompt on the BBC Sherlock Kink Meme. Don't think I've ever written an OT3 fic before... Or one with incest in it. Surprisingly, I'm actually okay with this one. But that might be because Mycroft totally hijacked my brain for it. ( No, really. He did!) This will be interesting!

Unbeta'd so if you see a problem, point it out and I will fix. All constructive criticism is loved!


Mycroft Holmes had only ever loved two people in his life. Three if he were to count his mother, but he doubted mothers counted in this and so he never did. So then, there were only two people in the entire world capable of making his heart pound and his breath short. When he was with them, his palms became sweaty and his carefully cultivated calm demeanor broke into so many thousands of pieces. They also had a startling ability to quite regularly make his heart stop altogether with their antics and insane chases through the streets of London.

When the two men he had fallen in love with fell for one another, Mycroft found it both ironic and…very wet. He’d called in for maintenance to check the sprinkler system that day he first saw them kissing on the CCTV, and then he’d gone home to ponder how exactly one could feel both heartbreak and happiness for the same two people.

It got better as time went on. They were happy and as safe as their life allowed for them to be. They took good care of each other and, as anyone could see, they made the other better. How could anyone begrudge their beloveds anything which soothed their pain? And it wasn’t like Mycroft could step in and try to woo one of them away anyway. Even if he didn’t love them both madly, one of them was his own baby brother! Stealing from his brother or attempting to steal Sherlock himself might even make their indulgent mummy upset with Mycroft.

So Mycroft left them be and lived for the few meetings when he could simply be in their presence and pretend they cared for him as much as he cared for them. There was nothing else for him to do, no matter how much his heart protested. At least Mycroft had his work…

Now, though, now there was hope!

True, this was not an ideal situation. It never could be, not with the intense pain both Sherlock and John were currently in and would continue to suffer for the foreseeable future. But Mycroft was nothing if not a good strategist. He could give his loves what they needed and maybe in the process he could arrange for himself to receive what he needed?

Mycroft presented Sherlock with his plan as soon as he had awoken in his private hospital room, still in Switzerland.

His brother glared at him, nothing out of the ordinary there, and then glanced past him. A bright light of momentary panic lit in Sherlock’s eyes before he narrowed them at Mycroft.

“John,” Sherlock croaked, wasting no time getting at the heart of the matter. “Where is he? Did they—“

His voice broke at this point, though from fear or weakness Mycroft didn’t know.

“John’s perfectly fine,” Mycroft told him, moving swiftly into the room and letting the door swing shut behind him. He didn’t stop until he was standing over Sherlock’s bed, his eyes free to take in all of Sherlock’s injuries in detail. “You kept him safe by sending him back. Now you must ensure he remains safe.”

It was amazing how hearing John was safe had eased the tension in Sherlock’s body and had softened his eyes. Sherlock had even sighed with relief, his head lolling back against the pillows for a brief moment as if he were breathing a prayer of thanks to a God Mycroft knew the other didn’t believe in. It was equally amazing how fast his head shot up when Mycroft mentioned the part about keeping John safe.

“What are you talking about?” Sherlock leveled a narrowed gaze on his brother, as though this could force the other to make sense. “He’ll be safe with me. I won’t let any of Moriarty’s men near him!”

“Like you didn’t at the Falls?”

Sherlock’s face froze, and then the anger drained away to leave his face white with shock.

“They were there? Back at the—“

“Yes, Sherlock. My men managed to round up five of Moriarty’s men before John arrived.” Mycroft paused, deliberately meeting Sherlock’s eyes. They were wide with stunned realization, and the fright and guilt of what could have happened chased away the usual disdain that tended to darken Sherlock’s eyes’ light beauty was non-existent just then. “John never knew they had been there, but it could have easily been worse. Much worse.”

Pale eyelids squeezed closed as Sherlock growled a vicious curse.

“I never should have sent him back! But it was me Moriarty was after! Me! Why would he—“

“To get at you, of course,” Mycroft told him softly, his heart clenching to see his beloved brother in the midst of such anguish. “His men will do the same if they also think as Moriarty did that John can be used against you.”

That intelligent stare that Mycroft so loved, had adored in so many different ways since the day Sherlock had been born, turned on Mycroft now, narrowing again even as his lips thinned.

“You’re suggesting I let everyone, that I let John, believe I’m dead.”

Mycroft found himself actually surprised at the flatness in that voice. The tone wasn’t emotionless by any means, but rather it was as if it had overloaded on emotion and was now incapable of carrying even the tiniest of inflections. This was not something he had ever expected from his baby brother. And, frankly, it made his heart twist painfully at the knowledge that his brother had never and most likely would never be so deep in love with him to suffer such a deep crisis so obviously.

“I will ensure he’s well taken care of while you finish off Moriarty’s organization. With your abilities and my help, it shouldn’t take too long now that Moriarty’s dead.” Mycroft fixed Sherlock with a stern look. “If John thinks you’re alive, it will just do him more harm than good, Sherlock. Alone, you can go anywhere you need to easily. If he knows you’re alive—“

“He’ll follow me straight into Hell,” Sherlock groaned, his eyes closing in defeat. “You will ensure he’s safe? That he can stay in 221B?”

“Of course,” Mycroft told him, struggling to keep the thrill of triumph from his voice. “He’s practically family. I will even ensure he finds a job that’s both suited to his skills and likely to keep him stimulated.”

Sherlock cracked open an eye to fix Mycroft with a hard glare. “And what do you want for helping me?”

“I’m doing this for John as well, Sherlock,” he answered sincerely, and allowed some of his hurt to leak into his tone. “And,” he paused, lifting his umbrella and inspecting its handle, “I want that organization cleaned out. I highly doubt they’ll find another criminal genius to lead them, but they may yet find someone competent. And competence with regards to crime can be just as infuriating as genius.”

Sherlock snorted and turned away to stare out the room’s small window, an aching sadness in every line of his features.

“Fine. Now go away. I’m supposed to be dead, remember?”

A tight, resigned smile pulled at a corner of Mycroft’s lips as he nodded. “As you wish. Don’t sulk too long, though. Remember, the sooner you take down their organization, the sooner you can go home to John.”

Sherlock’s only answer was to curl up petulantly on his side, just like he had as a small child. Mycroft smiled fondly at the memory and then turned away. He left the room, feeling guilty, hopeful, and energized all at once.

The plan wasn’t perfect or ideal, but if it worked, and Mycroft had no doubt it would, then he would end up with both his loves. Now that would be perfect and ideal and downright blissful.
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