Face the Odds

Chapter 6: Thatcher

"I met her once." Mycroft commented as he sat at his office desk.

"Thatcher?" Sherlock queried as he paced before his brother, who added: "Rather arrogant, I thought."

"You thought that?" Sherlock repeated, raising his brow, and Mycroft chuckled: "Ha, I know."

His smile dropped as quickly as it came, and he asked with a frown: "Why am I looking at this?"

Mycroft lifted the phone in his hand, depicting a picture of a baby girl, and Sherlock paused.

"That's her, John and Mary's baby." He said as though it were obvious. "I know Marie's already sent you several of Scott and Sheryl, so I thought you should see their child, too."

"Oh, I see, yes." Mycroft said in understanding, looking back at the phone with a fake smile. "Looks very..." he struggled for a word that wasn't insulting, "fully functioning."

He looked back up at his younger brother, who frowned and asked flatly: "Is that really the best you can do?"

"Sorry, I've never been very good with them." Mycroft stated monotonously, and Sherlock frowned as he asked: "Babies?"

"Humans." Mycroft replied with a mirthless smile, and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Explains why you had a slightly better reaction to the picture of your niece and nephew." He muttered as he took his phone back from his brother, and Mycroft replied: "Well, even they just looked..."

He trailed off with a shrug, before adding: "Still too young to tell."

"They are my children that you're referring to." Sherlock pointed out flatly, and Mycroft returned: "Which is why I am waiting to give them a chance – between yourself and Marie, I can only hope you've managed to create somewhat intelligent beings."

"Cheery as ever." Sherlock scoffed, before he pocketed his phone and said, back to business: "Moriarty - did he have any connection with Thatcher? Any interest in her?"

"Why on earth would he?" Mycroft scoffed, and Sherlock paused in his pacing to reply scathingly: "I don't know. You tell me."

Mycroft simply looked at his brother for a moment, before he leant forward, stating as he opened an old file on his desk: "In the last year of his life, James Moriarty was involved with four political assassinations, over 70 assorted robberies and terrorist attacks, including a chemical weapons factory in North Korea."

Sherlock frowned in thought, while Mycroft continued: "And had latterly shown some interest in tracking down the Black Pearl of the Borgias, which is still missing, by the way," he leveled a look at his younger brother, "in case you feel like applying yourself to something practical."

"It's a pearl." Sherlock retorted. "Get another one."

Mycroft rolled his eyes, while Sherlock stared off into space, murmuring: "There's something important about this. I'm sure."

Mycroft frowned, lifting his head slightly to get a better look at his younger brother as Sherlock continued: "Maybe it's Moriarty. Maybe it's not. But something's coming."

"Are you having a premonition, brother mine?" Mycroft asked pointedly, and Sherlock blinked before he looked back at his brother.

"The world is woven from billions of lives," Sherlock answered thoughtfully, "every strand crossing every other."

"Since when were you so interested in premonitions?" Mycroft asked flatly, before he raised a brow. "Worried about your wife?" After all, her name is rather symbolic, isn't it? 'Marie'."