Not A Thing You Get To Choose

Mycroft didn't question where Sherlock had been that night, for he had arrived home distressed just before dawn, for now he didn't want to walk the streets when he thought that Victor might be on the prowl. When they had woke John hadn't produced a better idea, and so he could only assume that they would be settling with his. It would be heinous of course, it would be soul wrenching and hideous, and yet it was necessary, was it not? Sherlock had nothing to lose, and it would seem as Merlin's life force faded neither did John, so together they could prove to be an unstoppable force when presented with a very movable object. Sherlock knew that his plan would work, and as much as he hoped John would produce a more preferable route he knew that the chances were slim, for John had all night to think about it and he was quite sure that he had. Neither of them had slept, he felt whatever was left of John's heartbeat going all night, he felt his lungs inflating normally, and every two minutes or so John would shuffle or reposition himself, as if his limbs were numbing as they lay there together. And yet throughout the entire night neither had hatched a better plan, and Sherlock was beginning to suspect that it was now proving to be their last resort. Mycroft was still asleep when Sherlock stepped in, and yet with the soft footsteps across the floor Sherlock heard his brother wake, he heard his heavy breath, he heard him turn about in his bed so as to see who was entering at this time of night (morning). Neither of them said anything, and Sherlock replaced not sleeping in John's bed with not sleeping in his own, until finally the sun arose over the horizon and Mycroft decided that he ought to get up for the day. Sherlock dared not tell Mycroft of the occurrences of the night before, purely because they would put a lot of unnecessary stress on his back but also because Sherlock knew he would never approve of the plan they were hatching. And so they were silent, eating the vegetables that Mycroft wanted to serve for dinner for breakfast instead, and now they were much too soggy and much too unappetizing to enjoy, and yet together the brothers choked them down for it was the only food they had. It was the only healthy food as well, and Mycroft was all about that.
"Any important business at John's last night?" Mycroft wondered with a very unimpressed tone, sounding as though he was trying to accuse Sherlock of something that certainly never took place.
"Nothing much." Sherlock lied, sitting lamely at the breakfast table and trying to look as innocent as possible. The problem was that he was innocent, at least for last night, and yet nothing he would say except the direct and uncensored truth would convince Mycroft of the fact.
"Nothing much." Mycroft mimicked, pursing his lips before getting up from the table and casting his brother a rather disgusted look from across the room.
"Do you still not approve?" Sherlock wondered with a frown, staying seated next to the rotten tomatoes and trying to ignore their hideous stench.
"I can tolerate him of course, I can tolerate all of this, I just can't settle with the fact that it could get you arrested. I cannot live without you Sherlock; surely you've come to realize that?" Mycroft sighed, looking at his brother with something of pity in his eyes, as if he was pained to say such a thing.
"I won't get arrested Mycroft, I'm sure of that." Sherlock assured with something of a sly smile, for Mycroft had no idea that he was plotting the very downfall of the man who sought to bring about his. He would topple Victor from whatever throne he sat on, he would remind him that even the weak could rise, and Sherlock would be one of those who took the initiative, he would be one of those who would overcome their oppressors and make them get a taste of their own medicine. How wonderful would it be to get such a photograph, to hold it over Victor's head until he squealed and then use it against him in formal court, prosecute the inspector, and have him hanged? Of course Sherlock would also be in that picture, which might soon prove to be problematic, however they would work around that, someway. Everything had gone quite fine so far, John was alive, they were together, they were at peace. Why shouldn't this go right as well? It was only their necks that stood in the balance, after all.