This one-shot isn't going to be too deep, but ease enjoy it as it is! Please please please bear with me on some of the specifics and the timeline!
For the past few months, rumors have been spreading through the lower security levels of MI6. Hushed whispers in empty hallways between low priority security guards and clerks could only mean one thing: Whatever the elite of the world are hiding is becoming too large to be contained .
Those whispers between the nobodies at MI6 couldn't be contained either. Soon the press was requesting comment over this national threat. The requests slowly made their way up the ranks before landing on Mycroft's desk. With a scowl, he tossed them out. He knew this was coming.
The growing problem has not been in his specific division, but it was his job to make sure nothing unauthorized slipped through the ranks, though Mycroft was not to blame for the breach. The details of the outbreak and the symptoms have been perplexing at best, and there was no way this could be kept a secret forever.
China's MSS was even cooperating fully. While not desiring to say the origination of the virus is on the hands of their countrymen, they have been more than willing to offer up samples and specimen to the eager scientists of Baskerville. If the virus cannot be stopped, it must be tamed.
As time passes, the situation worsens. Reports come in from Brazil, the United States, and France. Few steps have been made to halt travel, or raise severity of health warnings No progress has been made in creating a vaccine, antidote, cure, whatever. The only possible contender is a proposed 'Phalanx' , which can be identified as a capitalistic venture more than a mile away. Too few have access to the live virus to sell it off to some private pharmaceutical company. The public buys in, and sure enough, fear sells. This threat cannot be ignored any longer.
The leaders of the world are once again facing the mounting evidence of a rising threat, a threat no one sees coming when the Warmbrunn-Knight report lands on the desk of one Mycroft Holmes.
He hears not a word from Baskerville, and doesn't give it a second thought. While he does have the highest of security access at the base, it is a pet project he has never bothered with, unlike some of his colleagues.
After reading the report, he is floored, and not so much that the dead were reanimating, or that a formulated plan has been created, but that his international correspondents mentioned in the report are people whom he knows and trusts. He feels a bit betrayed, really. These intelligent people, the best in their fields, same as him, have identified this as a true threat, no matter outrageous how it sounds. The images of 'rabies' attacks flickered on the nightly news, that much is true, and the public knew very little, also true, but here it is, all spread out saying that the dead are coming back and are going to infect others. This exponential problem is only going to worsen, unless actions are taken. He doesn't want to believe it, but right now, his subconscious is telling him he must.
He spends the night pacing his office after sending Anthea home. He has no idea when the report was initially submitted, or how long it took for it to be passed into his hands. He doesn't know how much time there is left before Phase One, or if his Government will choose to heed the warning. It has no reason to. This is just one report that, yes, is a collaboration from some of the best minds in the world, but still is hard to fathom, no matter how thorough the research is.
The truth of the matter cannot be seen in such reports, however. If the public is scared enough, no matter the severity of the threat, the last place anyone should want to be is the in the most populous city in the United Kingdom, disconnected from the mainland of Europe. If full quarantine was once possible, it is no longer.
But he has a decision to make: Trust his confidants and succumb to the itching paranoia the world faces, or wait it out and be trapped within London when the sickness hits?
He picks up his phone and dials Anthea.
The relationship between the Holmes' brothers has always been a strange one, and will always be strange at best. When he makes up his mind to make the call to abandon ship, he knows exactly what must occur.
First, he dials Anthea. His assistant will take care of the collection of his parents, and from there she will deposit them at the private airstrip Mycroft regulars.
Next, he must clear out the swiss bunker located in a clearing in the Alps and prevent anyone else from attempting to occupy it. Easy. He pressed the command into his computer and in an instant, there wouldn't be a soul who could fill the vacancy. For all intents and purposes, the bunker no longer exists.
This bunker was under title to Mycroft for his own use, which ranged from the questioning of political prisoners, to the harboring of fugitives and friends alike. Even so, he granted MI6 the rights to use it, and others know of its existence. Despite them having no right, Mycroft couldn't trust someone to get smart and think they could inhabit it, just as he is doing.
It is of marvelous construction. Blending perfectly into the mountain side, it is built directly into the mountain itself, with anything exposed being reinforced with steel and concrete. The helipad is so slight that only the most experienced pilots could safely land, and only during perfect conditions. During nasty weather, this bunker redefines inaccessible.
On the inside, fully equipped is an understatement. One half of it is modern living space, with entertainment, generators, solar panels, its own water well, hydroponics, sealed for gas attacks, bomb proof, and list after list of specifications. The other half is well, less luxurious. Built for interrogation, 'dungeon' might be a better name for it.
It's perfect, and Mycroft loves it, though it is not used as much as he would like. Now he has a place to go, he must fill it. Himself and Anthea, his parents, anyone they care about, so Sherlock (not now, Mycroft) and he will want to bring John, and John will want to bring their gaggle. It is just best to let them to sort that out.
To: Sherlock H.
A car will be at your flat in one hour. Gather anyone and anything of value. Prepare for an extended stay. -MH
Upon sending the text, he chose to hurriedly dial Lestrade to fill in what details he could, considering Sherlock will likely opt to ignore the text.
Lestrade was less than accepting to abandon his job to hide away over a 'nonexistent' threat, but did trust Mycroft. Greg promised he would see to it that Sherlock took the text seriously and everyone was gathered and ready.
What Mycroft was asking was a lot. Encouraging these select few to abandon everything they have for his hunch
With a sharp smirk, he noted they are lucky to have his information, but when time permitted, he would work to lessen the burden of cutting ties with their employers.
There would be time for that later. He organized for a pilot and hoped this would not be in vain.
A car will be at your flat in one hour. Gather anyone and anything of value. Prepare for an extended stay. -MH
He knew who sent the text the moment his phone chimed. With a hurry, Sherlock unlocked the screen and processed the words Mycroft no doubt hesitated telling him.
So it was true. The world is on its way out. Sherlock never watches TV, but the reports have been all over the internet, and the conversations on the street cannot be ignored. Of course his brother would know. No one would know better than him, and if Mycroft believes bailing is the best option, it must be.
Oh how Sherlock hates admitting his brother is right! But it all makes sense. The attacks, the scares, the strange new virus. Something highly classified and highly dangerous.
"Are you alright, Sherlock? You've been staring at your phone for at least five minutes now," John steps into the living room of 221b and slides into his chair. With a snap, Sherlock's head snaps up and his eyes meet with John's.
"We have little time. Mycroft is sending a car, gather anything you may need for an indefinite stay. Call anyone whose life you value. Tell everyone to bring their possessions to the flat." For a moment John thought he was joking. With a small laugh that earned a questioning look from Sherlock, John sobered and understood the severity of the text.
"This virus that's been spreading worldwide is going to be much more of a problem than anticipated. I theorize it is worse than reported, and Mycroft just confirmed it." Speaking in rapid tones, Sherlock hurriedly texts of similar requests to Molly and Lestrade.
"Fetch Mrs. Hudson, would you John?" With a nod, John lifts himself out of his chair by pressing both arms down on the rests and hustles downstairs. Sherlock's phone rings and the ID says it is Lestrade.
"I'm glad you're trusting your brother on this one, Sherlock. He just got off the line with me to tell you to check your texts."
"What's your status? Are you contacting anyone?" Using his head to hold his phone to his shoulder, Sherlock begins to gather books and materials from the living room. He can hear John arguing with Mrs. Hudson in downstairs.
"Yeah, the wife. She's packing right now. I'll let you get to it then." Sherlock rolls his eyes.
"Are you sure that is wise, Lestrade?" His tone is slightly annoyed, and Greg huffs.
"Yes, Sherlock, just go." Sherlock hangs up and sees the text from Molly.
From: Molly Hooper
You are running out of time, Molly. -SH
From: Molly Hooper
You better not be joking.
A sigh leaves Sherlock and is not motivated to respond. He goes on packing and John and Mrs. Hudson return upstairs. John is helping her carry her bags. He must have helped her pack.
"Dear, you are certain of this, aren't you? John says that Mycroft tipped you off," John gestures her to sit on the couch and she does. Sherlock offers a curt nod. "Well I am pleased you are taking your brother's word!"
The exalted smile on her face is too broad to wreck and he and John carry on. Both men are pleased she came along with such ease.
The packing continues in the homes of all parties involved. About 45 minutes after Mycroft sent the text alerting Sherlock, the doorbell rings and Mrs. Hudson scurries to allow Molly inside.
After her bags are set next to Mrs. Hudson, she launches into a tirade about how they had better have a good reason for this. She is completely ignored as John and Sherlock continue securing their flat.
Five minutes later the Lestrades arrive, and moments after, Anthea and her driver. The driver collects the bags and announces another car is on the way. Anthea thanks the group for their promptness cooperation, and admits she knows just as much as they do.
Within moments, the second car arrives and the group is off to the airstrip.
The ride is quiet and tense. Everyone is considering which question to ask Mycroft first, but no one can say they are not relieved. Pulling in to the private helipads, two helicopters wait, blades whirring. Mycroft is standing by speaking to his parents.
The mass of people gather in front of him and the drivers go ahead and load the choppers with with baggage.
"Your sense of shared urgency is appreciated. You will all be heading to a bunker deep within the Alps to wait out this mess. Upon your arrival, you will be fully debriefed on the situation, and Anthea will get you comfortable in your new home." Immediately and simultaneously, the group breaks out in a clamor, and Mycroft raises his hands to silence them. "We are on a tight schedule. Select a helicopter and your pilots will see to your safe arrival."
Greg gestures his wife into the nearer chopper, and Mrs. Hudson and Molly follow. With a signal to the pilot, they leave immediately. John begins walking to the other, as does Sherlock after a quick word with his parents. Anthea receives her instructions from Mycroft, who then says his last goodbyes to his parents before boarding. Anthea begins to step up into the body.
"Aren't you coming as well, sir?" Anthea hesitates before entering the helicopter, holding her hair back as the blades blow it about.
"No, no. I'll will be around. I have work to do. When I am certain England will not fall, I will follow. The less time I must be surrounded by my parents and brother, the better." Spoken with a true sense of firmness, Anthea knows nothing she can say will change her boss's mind. With a tight nod and pursed smile, she enters the helicopter.
Mycroft watches them go. He will be safe, of course. He would never risk his life for so many people unless he had an alternate plan. With a clear mind, he returns to his office to prepare for his government's next steps.
Whatever is coming cannot be stopped. Whatever will follow cannot be executed without him.
I have no doubts this is how he would handle the situation. It is also his idea to allow the Commonwealth to occupy the castles.
He is fine, by the way. He goes off and stays in a separate bunker with less annoying people, much to Anthea's chagrin.
Let me know what you think!