The meeting with a need-to-know government officialial went wonderful. Mycroft Holmes sat in his car tiredly. He barely had eight hours of sleep this week, how can they expect him to have six more meetings with barely enough time to eat? He felt sleepy, which he found odd. Despite having only eight hours of sleep for the previous five days, he was usually able to go through his meetings before succumbing to sleep. His nose twitched as his eyes widened. He quickly grabbed his phone to call Anthea however,before he could speak the car stopped and the door was opened.
"Romanian Seeker!" he practically yelled at the phone before a gun was shoved in his face. He could here Anthea shouting at the end of the line before his phone was grabbed from him and was stomped on by a size twelve boot. He turned to glare at the brute but before he knew it, a syringe was injected on his neck, the drowsiness increased and he fell limp on the car.
When he opened his eyes, he knew that he was tied to a chair. His ankles were tied to the legs of the chair, his arms were tied behind the chair. He can't break free immidiately without alerting the guards.
"Good morming sunshine!"
He winced. He knew that voice anywhere.
"It's not polite to ignore your host." he was punched in the face by an american man. There were two of them. The criminal mastermind and his soldier. Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran. "What do you want from me?"
"It's more fun if you guess. Why don't you tell me what you've deduced so far?"
"I am not my brother. I do not need to show off." he scoffed. He just noticed that his jacket was missing, and his waistcoat too. It was his favorite.
What was he thinking? 'The drug is still in my system. It's making me confused.' he thought as he gazed around the small grey room. It had no windows, one metal door, and the only thing providing light was a fluorescent lamp above them.
"Of course you're not. You're the smart one, aren't you?" he said in an annoying smile while doing a falsetto.
"My people will find me."
"I know. Let's have fun before they arrive, shall we?" Jim snapped his finger and two more men entered the cell. One was russian while the other was iranian. "I'm just paying you back for your hospitality while I was your guest."
"Is that it? Revenge? Payback?" he scoffed as he gave a fake smile. Moriarty isn't that obvious.
"Of course not. Don't be boring!" Jim leaned down and he could feel the psychopath's breath. "You are getting in tge way. You never let Sherlock and me play. So very protective." he leaned towards Mycroft's face, humor gone.
"I will shatter you. I may burn the heart out of your brother, but you? I will shatter you until there is nothing left to fix. I said you were the Iceman, let's test it out!" he breathed in Mycroft's face. "Seb, I have a job for you. Let's step outside, shall we?"
They were gone. He heard the door slam shut and he resisted the urge to gulp. One man cracked his knuckles as the other smirked.
This will not end well.
"What do you want from me?" he rasped out as he tried to recover from a puch in the gut. He could feel his ribs crack. It was the first hour of his torture.
"Don't try to buy us with your lies. We know how you start your manipulations." was said to him in a cold voice by the Russian. He could hardly think with all the pain.
His head was grabbed and he hit the table harshly. He saw stars for a few seconds and before he could recover he was kicked on his right leg.
He tried not to scream, he tried to choke back the tears but some escaped, there was only so much he could take. He cursed himself, Mycroft Holmes does not show weakness.
He stared as he saw one of the men hold a shining knife in their hands.
"I will make you bleed."
The man grinned darkly as he put the knife near Mycroft's jugular. The government official couldn't help but gulp as it moved teasingly around his neck. He tried to look at it as it made gliding motions, barely touching his neck, it's cool tip making goosebumps appear on his arms. He gave a startled yelp as the knife graze his chest rather than his throat. His white shirt was torn and was stained red by his blood. It was not that deep but it stung. "Nice trick don't you think?" the Iranian grinned at him. His heart was beating loudly in his chest making him vaguely remember the drummer boy who led an army on his books as a child.
The torture continued, this time with sharp instruments. Jim re-entered the room and he jump in shock. "How're you doing, big brother?"
"Go to hell!" he yelled. "You wound me, Mycroft. I say let's move him to the other room. This one's getting stuffy." he said and he was blinfolded harshly. He was untied and he winced as several of his wounds were grazed and jostled. The walk seemed like an eternity, they must have been trying to disorient him; it was working.
He heard a metal door shut and he grunted as his arms were raised. They were chaining him to the middle of the room. His ankles were also chained in place. How barbaric.
"I'll be watching you!" Jim said in a highly annoying falsetto as he raised Mycroft's chin and pointed to a camera in the corner of the room. "Why not do the dirty work yourself?" he challeneged the madman.
"Jus you wait, honey."
Mycroft Holmes is anything but a fool. He knew-suspected really- why Moriarty is doing this. He ruled out some things during his abduction. He knew that they don't want information. If they did, they would take his phone, risking it getting tracked. None of them asked him any questions while he was being...persuaded? Second, he knew that both men was formerly part of a gang back then but for some reason, they joined Moriarty instead. Third, this is not for blackmail material. There is nothing they can do that will damage his reputation.
He was just a toy for Jim to play with until he got bored again, in this case, until his brother get's Moriarty's attention again. He had to get away.
The knife grazed his skin once again and he gasped as thr Iranian weaved patterns on his chest and stomach. They were painful but non-lethal, atleast before infection begins.
"Having fun? The boss gave us a new toy."
Before he could react, a whip was brought down to his back and he cried out in pain. He closed his eyes as the pain multiplied. He took a deep breath and he retrested to his mind-palace.
He needed to find a good memory. Something that could block out the pain. He opened door after door, all empty, except for one. It contained a grand piano. He appriached it slowly, he touched the keys gently, reaquainting them to his fingers. It was like greeting an old friend, in more ways than one it was. He sat down and played. A moment later a violin joined him, he didn't need to look to know that a nine year old Sherlock was playing their father's violin next to him. He remembered the smell of autumn as they played in the sitting room of their manor with the fire blazing in thr fireplace. It was peaceful, warm, and happy. Music soothed him back then, it still did now but with it's joyous memories came painful moments filled with anger and resentment. What used to be their pool of peace became a warzone.
He stopped playing as everything seemed to pause around him. It became colder and his body was filled with pain."Wake up, Mycroft!" a nine year old voice filled his head. He snapped up as a bucket of ice-cold water was brought down onto him. He gasped at the chill and the shock. "I didn't think that you really do zone out like that." the man remarked as he smirked to their prisoner. They left him there, cold and alone. The cold helped to numb the pain but if he wasn't careful, he might catch his death in here.
"You are still alive, I see!" Jim's face was the first thing he saw when he came to, talk about a horrible morning.
"I have one more surprise for you, Mycroft." he said as he teased Mycroft. The government official glared daggers at him.
"Shall we boys?"
The chains fell of and he cried out as his arms suddenly dropped and pins and needles begun to set in. His wounds cried out in protest of the jostling but he tried to minimize any noise he might make.
"Where are we going?"
"You are going to absolutely going to love this. After all, you have experience where your brother-"
"No." he muttered. "Yes." Moriarty grinned at him. "I figured that I'll reward some of my men here for being such good help. Your people are on theur way but it's too late. They won't reach you in time."
He was strapped to a table. His wrists above his head. Three men approached him. 'I will not show weakness. This is nothing, caring is not an advantage.' his trousers were ripped off violently and he yelled at the pain and shock.
Mycroft Holmes is one of the most influential persons in the world. Before he reached his current status, he did his fair dhare of legwork. He killed people before, seduced them, manipulated him but he never this. Somethings may have happenedd during missions but not without his cooperativeness.
'Where are you Anthea?'
He thought as a man spread his legs as the others unbuckled their belts. He cried out as the man forced his cock into him. His hands fisted and he tried to fight back. He was back-handed and he whimpered in pain. During his screams a cock was shoved down his mouth and he gagged. Everything was a flurry of pain and confusion. The men took turns assaulting him and everytime he fought back, he received a puch and a more painful penetration. He tried to kick them away but he earned himself several burns and cuts from a red-hot knife. With alk the pain, he couldn't catalogue any of his injuries properly anymore. They were very prepared.
The pain was too much and all he wanted to do was succumb to the darkness. He wanted to escape. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to be safe.
During his pain-filled confusion, it barely registered to him wad a shot was fired and the man currently above him collapsed.
The others thrashed and began firing. Despite the chaos he felt being lifted by a man gently. He vaguely wondered if he was an angel but dismissed it as soon as he heard the word 'sir' being adressed to him.
He cried out in pain as his shoulder was filled with a raging fire as a bullet forced itself on his flesh and as his saviour collapsed, he fell down with him.
He was dragged to safety by someone else.
"Everything is going to alright sir. You're safe now." He heard Anthea's soothing voice amidst all the chaos. He felt her hands put pressure on his shoulder as a medic gave him first aid. "We have retried MH prepare the helicopter." the medic yelled on his sleeve.
"Stay awake, Mycroft." She ordered as he nearly lost consciousness. "We're almost there."
He tried to say her name. To thank her for rescuing him but his screams of pain cut him off. "Hush, it's alright now." she said as she glanced at the medic before looking back at him.
"Do you remember our trio to Denmark? You insisted on-"
The pain was too much. Before he retreated to his mind-palace, he heard a faint yell of a woman and a man shouting at someone while there were muffled sounds as background
"Why didn't you let me say goodbye?" a nine year old Sherlock asked him with his famous pout. "I'm sorry."
There was no use trying to explain to a memory. He would just delude himself further.
"You are such an idiot. Wake up, now!" Sherlock screamed as the room spun and he was thrown out of the room and what it seemed like baker street.
"Mycroft, listen to me, you are going to die if you son't bloody wake up."
It was John Watson. The ex-soldier staring at hin like the army doctor he was.
"But, it hurts so much."
"Stop being a drama queen and just do it." Sherlock replaced John as pain engulfed him once again.
He scrambled out the room and wound up in his office in the diogenes. Anthea stood across him with her hand across her chest.
"Sir, you can't go yet. Moriarty is still on the loose and your brother still needs you."
Sherlock? That's right, he needs to protect Sherlock from Moriarty. He screamed as pain engulfed him in his own mind-palace. He ran out and searched the corridors for the door that could lead him to- There! He needs something to dull the pain. He opened the door and was greeted by the sight of his seven year old brother playing with redbeard.
Both took off towards him and tears streamed from his eyes as he inhaled his brother's scent. He looked into his blue eyes and saw noresentment nor malice. More tears streamed down as he saw the brother that once idolized him. Redbeard licked his cheek and he choked up as he petted the irish setter. It had been so long since he visited this particular memory.
He doubted his brother remembered the moments where he used to greet Mycroft as he got home from school, begging his brother to play pirates with him. The days when Mycroft still said yes to his childish games.
"I'm so sorry. I'll try to give you a proper goodbye this time, yeah?" he said as he fell down. Hands slipping from his memory.
If he can't survive, might as well try to give his brother what he denied him years ago
Anthea sat next to her employer. She nearly broke down when the doctors said that they nearly lost him during surgery but she managed to maintain her cool mask until the door closed.
Tears streamed down her face as she stared at her pale and weak boss. He was so vulnerable. She will never be able to erase the panic she felt as she watch him loose consciousmess in the helicopter.
She was about to grab her blackberry to make arrangements for Sherlock when she noticed him look at her.
"Sir! Are you alright? Are you in any pain?"
"I could be better." he rasoed out. She gave him a glass of water and helped him to sit up so he could drink it properly. He coughed once but managed to drink half of it.
"I'm about to make arrangements for your brother. He'll be here in a few minutes."
"Anthea." he stopped her.
"What is it?"
"Call him first." he said. She gave him a confused look and did what he said.
She very nearly cursed the youngest of the Holmes after the thirteenth call. She had her back turned to him so she never saw the looke of disappointment and pain that flashed in the elder's face. After the fifteenth call she did curse and announced she would get the driver there soon.
"Anthea, wait." He said weakly and she stopped in her tracks.
"Thank you. For rescuing me I mean."
She forced the tears back.
"But we were too late. They already- they-" a teat slipped and Mycroft gestured for her to sit down.
"It's not your fault, my dear." he rasped out.
"But if I could have gotten there sooner then-"
"It isn't your fault."
He kept repeating it until tears flowed down her cheeks freely. "Thank you sir." after this, they were going to have a long discussion about how it WAS her fault and she would again and again apologize and he will again and again say the otherwise until they grow bored. She smiled fondly at the idea.
"My phone, Anthea?" she gave him a curious gaze but handed it to him anyway.
She watched him try to text but she could see how painful and exhausting it was. She tried offering her help but he was stubborn. When he was done, he sighed and told her to tell John Watson before Sherlock. She nodded and before she left she said.
"Get well soon, sir."
"Goodbye, my dear." he sighed as the door closed.
A dark figure aporoached his bed and Mycroft gasped at the sight. "Did you miss me?"
Mycroft stared in fear as the figure motioned another man to drag a body near the bed. Mycroft nearly fainted at the sight.
"You have no idea how hard it was to find this. And how hard it was to decorate it!" Moriarty grinned.
"With everyone thinking you dead, We are going to have so much fun."
The other man put a handkerchief on his nose and mouth and before he lost consciousness, managed a last glamce at the body at the floor.
It looked exactly like him.