You Get Sent to Moriarty The Patriot

Chapter 2

1882, London

          The mahogany doors of the estate are pushed open by none other than Sherlock himself. Grown-out hair that flows to his shoulder blades and a three-piece suit adorns his body. The M16 members are speechless at the discovery, not saying a word as they are surprised that even after 3 years have passed, Sherlock Holmes is alive.

           Looks like he also brought news as well.

           Everyone in the room didn't utter a word until the man himself spotted his older brother, Mycroft Holmes. He similarly stood there, silent. Sherlock can only half-heartedly bump his fist into his brother's shoulder. With a forlorn look, he said-

          "I'm sorry for being silent all this time..."

          The others merely watch on as Mycroft pours himself a cup of tea. Sherlock's sharp gaze observed his brother's movements, taking notice of how his hand quivered when setting down the teacup on the platter. Some of the liquid spilled over the surface of the serving cart nearby. His stomach dropped at the sight.

           "-I'm really sorry, brother..."

           A moment of silence passed between them, Mycroft still refusing to look at his younger brother. After all this time, when he thought that his younger brother was dead, he spent his lonely nights helping the M16 to ignore his absence. He helped arrange his funeral, a funeral without a body in the coffin. One thing is for sure. He began to talk.

          "...Sherly, the fact that you've survived-" Mycroft finally looks at Sherlock, using the nickname to him ever since they were kids. "-Just being able to know that fact, it really made me happy." The two men shared a look of understanding. No matter how much time has passed, they're still brothers after all. "What matters is that you came back to me, alive."

           "More importantly," Mycroft changed the subject. The detective looks back at the centerpiece of the room where the members of the M16 who've been previously discussing the current mission. The reveal of Sherlock's presence suddenly brought the meeting to a pause. One question came to mind, 'What happened to William? Is he...'

           Louis James Moriarty, the youngest son of the Moriarty household, and the current leader of the M16, hardened his gaze as if doing that would get his precious answer. "...That day, you fell down the Thames River with brother William..."

           "...And now, you're the only one standing in front of us like this. Can you... please explain?" Another pregnant pause. Sherlock can see Louis looking expectantly at him, waiting for an explanation. The detective didn't let him wait as he opened his mouth and began speaking.

           "That time when me and Liam fell off the tower bridge, considering the height of the water surface, the chances of survival were 50-50... I held Liam in my arms as I got into the water in a Baritsu Defensive Posture..."

           "Before I knew it, I was on a bed..."

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵ ‿︵‿︵

1879, Ship to America

           I sat down on the wooden floor with a gauze on my hand. My back slouched against the wall as I tiredly looked at Billy in the corner of my eye. I already finished replacing their bandages while he carves some fruit again.

          "Aren't the fruits for these two?" I gestured to the men in bed.

          "It looks like they're not waking up any time soon, might as well eat them." He shrugged with a smile, not at all saddened by the predicament. I chuckled as I reached for my pen and clipboard.