Mycroft Holmes was so reliable you could generally set your watch to him.
He never a deviated from the track which led from his house, to his office, to the Diogenes club and back again; ever.
For him to leave this path, which he had tirelessly forged ever day with the high hopes that in time it would be a path of comfort and familiarity, would be akin to a planet suddenly deorbiting.
But, as most modern astronomers will happily inform you, these things do happen.
Which is precisely what his lovely assistant petulantly reminded him from behind the wheel of the pitch black jeep they had rented, which bucked and heaved over the gravel path which cut through the moor overlooking the Baskerville research and testing facility.
"It can't be helped," She said, already annoyed at being scolded for attempting to text and drive. "These things do happen."
"Yes," Mycroft snapped "Very, very infrequently. I feel a bit entitled to some sulking every now and again."
His assistant silently accepted that her boss was going to be griping until it was time to work, at which time he will alter his mood dramatically to fit the situation, finish the job and then settle back into a gentle sulk until he was home. It never failed.
Even when thrown into an unpredictable situation, Mycroft Holmes was still, predictable.
"I forgot, what was your name this evening?" he asked staring out into the blackened wilderness.
"Um…" His assistant mulled over her ever-expanding list of names in her head, finally settling on the one she felt suited her mood. "Jessica."
"Well Jessica, I hope you don't have any objections to working overtime this evening, your assistance will be invaluable to me. And I've been told that a… Major Barrymore is going to be difficult to negotiate with." Mycroft turned the pages of his designer notepad disinterestedly hunting down names and positions that could be useful in the future.
"No problem sir, it came with the Job description." She nodded.
Mycroft squinted out of the dark window, his eagle eyes picking up a flickering light flashing over the plunging hills.
"What do you suppose that is?" he asked himself, quite forgetting about 'Jessica'.
"Ignore it sir, intelligence has already solved that mystery."
"Fine." He said as he lapsed into silence.
Jessica squinted at the black road that was thrown into dim illumination by the dingy yellow light cast by the old Jeep's headlamps. It was impossible to see the dirt road until it was directly in front of the car, at which point it would be impossible to avoid hitting anything. She was faintly afraid of hitting an escaped Baskerville mutant of some kind, like the giant hound John Watson had blogged about just a few weeks earlier.
After a few tedious hours on the open road, and countless close calls between the Vehicle and native wildlife, the black iron gates careened into view and the ghostly white edifice that was the Baskerville research facility rose from the moor with alarming clarity.
In the darkness, Jessica could see the creeping spindly figures of black pipes winding all the way around the unassuming building and shadowy figures marched past the lights, dancing into her vision one second and then blending into the night in a flash. At night the guards at Baskerville dropped the common camouflage and adopted black sweaters to fight the chill of the biting Dartmoor wind. As a result they became shaded figures; rarely seen, but easy to fear.
Mycroft rolled down his window and lazily handed his ID over to a waiting gatekeeper. The gatekeeper took it to his small computer and scanned the barcode under a dim red light. When the computer blinked its "Authorized" sign the man hurriedly thrust the card back to its owner, and saluted him as he drove off for good measure.
"Something on your mind…Jessica?" Mycroft asked his assistant languidly while letting his head roll over his hand where it had been perched against the window.
"I don't like it here." She stated as unaffectedly as she could.
Mycroft chuckled dryly. "I thought you were more professional than that Anthea."
"It's Jessica today sir."
"I prefer Anthea. It's easier to remember."
"Fine." She said. It was not in her nature to argue with her boss, especially over something as trivial and changeable as her name.
"There's nothing to fear." Mycroft said leaning back in his car seat. He was uncomfortable no matter how he sat. He longed for the worn, soft cushions at the Diogenes club.
"My training is warning me otherwise." She stated in the same uncaring tone while craning her neck around on all sides. As the car drove forward, deeper into Baskerville she began to become a bit paranoid about someone or something jumping out in front of the car.
"Be brave." Mycroft rolled his eyes and scoffed.
Anthea smiled and swallowed a quick laugh. "Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity." She quoted. Mycroft turned to her, his face a mask of indifference, but a slight flaring of the nostrils showed her that she had hit a vital region.
"And stupidity gets people killed." She finished, letting her meaning sink in with the silence that ensued.
Mycroft mused on the abnormally good instincts of his assistant for a few seconds as the final obstacle loomed in front of the Jeep, one last chain-link fence. Anthea had always been especially keen and sharp-witted, but lately her talent for foresight had bordered on supernatural. She had quipped twice of the 'natural instinct of women' but had never been wrong about her hunches before. If he didn't know any better he would have said she had picked up his deductive skill, but her instincts did not come from any observation.
"Nonsense." He said as the fence was laboriously pulled out of their way. "Who would attack a high security base like Baskerville? Who could? A foreign government perhaps, but otherwise we need not worry about assault. My influence should give us a considerable weight here, regardless." He finished by glowering at a young, apple-faced soldier who hit the side of the Jeep with his open palm as a cue for them to continue advancing.
Anthea, for she decided that might as well be her name for the rest of the night, parked the Jeep basically in the first location that she thought would keep the car safe and out of the way. No sooner had she turned off the headlamps, than the cylinder of light from a torch descended onto the car hood and scanned the passengers with a blinding burst of white light.
"Mr. Holmes? Mr. Mycroft Holmes?"
"For goodness sake, put that light down!" Mycroft barked shielding his eyes.
The light plunged out of the vehicle. "Oh, my bad sir."
Mycroft stepped out of the car, blinking away the smears of green and blue color that obscured his vision, and went to meet the yellow light at the front of the car.
"It's nice to meet you at last Mr. Holmes, you're brother really gave us a scare the other…" Mycroft silenced the man with a brief chop of his hand and continued rubbing the blindness out of his eyes.
Yes, I'm aware of my brother's actions; won't you please show us inside?" Mycroft asked in a kind tone, but if the man could have seen his face he would have known that Mycroft wasn't asking. It was a delicately veiled command.
"Of course, right away Sir." He pointed out a path to a door with his torch. "This way ma'am." He added to Anthea who had materialized silently next to her boss.
They followed the man at a brisk clip quietly, listening to the sounds of the top-secret government research facility at night.
"Anticlimactically," Anthea thought "It sounds just like a top-secret Government research facility during the day."
The man opened the door with a hideous screeching that set the teeth in Mycroft's jaw on edge.
"Oil." Mycroft thought silently, massaging the shooting pain out of his molars with his tongue. "Now."
Anthea followed the dark gray silhouette through the door and blinked in surprise. It took several moments for her eyes to adjust to the bright white walls and the brilliant fluorescent light pouring from the pristine ceiling. She had the overall impression that she had walked into the torch.
"Major Barrymore should be in lab number four at this time of night doing his rounds, if you'll please, I'll lead you to his office and go and…"
"No, no." Mycroft said in his most officious tone. "We should go ahead and meet him there."
He smiled shyly, but with the unmistakable twinkle in his eye that showcased what a talent for politics he had. Anthea watched, amused and the man fluctuated between the orders he must have been given from Major Barrymore; probably to heard the Government official into an office until he was ready to be dealt with, or the kindly suggestion with the implied threat that had been dealt to him by the Boss-of-his-boss's-boss. He was at a loss for words, and gaped blankly down the hallway.
"Buh-buh-buh-but…"
Mycroft Holmes smiled warmly, an extension of his shy smile that he only ever exhibited when he had completely dominated another person with his power and personage. He nodded to the man and arched his eyebrows expectantly.
"Show me." he said with a chilling finality. The man stopped gaping and nodded in defeat, leading the duo to the lift at the end of the hallway.
Anthea glanced at her boss as they boarded the lift together and made sure he wasn't watching her. She pulled her phone out of her jacket pocket and clicked a few keys.
"Excuse me, Miss?" the young man asked carefully, regaining some of his confidence. "You can't have phones in the labs. It interferes with the equipment."
Anthea blushed lightly and sheepishly pocketed her phone ignoring the icy glare Mycroft shot at her from where he stood patiently waiting for the young man to operate the lift (which had no indicators to which floors were which).
"Phones don't work down there anyway. The signal gets lost somewhere around the second floor. Nothing comes in or out." He explained.
Anthea mumbled a reply that sounded somewhat like an apology and the young man mashed a button.
The lift shuttered to life with an agonized groan and slowly started descending the halls of Baskerville with only the slightest lurching.
Mycroft counted floors for a time, but stopped himself forcibly when he reached the double digits. Anthea only thought it was a long way down.
"How for down does this lift go?" Mycroft asked.
"Quite a ways." The man said somewhat proudly. Mycroft did not even bother to inform the man that he was avoiding the answer.
Finally the lift halted, and the metal doors were pulled aside.
Mycroft stepped out and was met with the red, bearded face of one very, very angry Major Barrymore.
"Ah, Major Barrymore I presume." He said with his usual calmness, ignoring the smell of the Major's last meal that wafted out of his mouth in labored pants that the Major could just barely keep from becoming a shout of frustration.
"And you must be Mycroft Holmes. I can see the resemblance." Major Barrymore managed to say in a gruff tone, barely above a growl.
The Major glanced over Mycroft's shoulder at the young man and relished in the thrill of fear that pealed through his expression momentarily before sealing itself off in an expression of groomed indifference.
"Might we talk somewhere a bit more…conducive?" Mycroft asked sensing the young man's progress as a hindrance.
"Like, perhaps my office?" Major Barrymore said smiling wolfishly, knitting his brow together in a concentrated effort not to explode in a fit of rage. It had not been a good day.
"I was thinking in the office of a Mrs…" Mycroft dug his notebook out of his jacket pocket and flipped through the pages "Stapleton?"
Major Barrymore stood completely still for a full moment as he processed this information slowly and carefully.
"What do you want with Dr. Stapleton?" He asked at length.
"Oh, just a chat. Nothing too serious." Mycroft arched his eyebrows significantly "Nothing you feel uncomfortable with."
Major Barrymore had had it. Government bureaucrats in his business were bad enough, but one smug, pompous, holier-than-thou politician was not going to barge into his facility and 'chat' with his doctors.
"You know what I'm uncomfortable with?" He charged.
"High blood pressure?" Anthea chimed. She couldn't help it, it was too easy.
"You self-righteous government bullies in the monkey suits coming in here and telling me how to run my damn life." He shouted.
"Easy Major." From down the hall a matronly blond woman exited the lab and stepped into the hall, dusting her hands off with two great sweeps of her slender hands.
"Stapleton, they're…"
"They're expected." She cut into the Major's speech with a single curt change of tone.
Mycroft smiled genuinely. Finally, someone who was willing to be somewhat reasonable. After all, this wasn't exactly a surprise visit.
"You're the man who sent my daughter the new rabbit." She accused.
"I told you we'd be in touch." Mycroft nodded.
"You want to talk in my office?"
"Please."
Dr. Stapleton opened the lab door and the odd procession of four filed into the lab in a curious line. Stapleton cut through the wide, blanched lab with the confidence of someone who had walked through the narrow tables covered in chemicals and around the squealing primates being injected with the cold and the cure every day for years. Mycroft followed her with the confidence that he emits naturally when he has just started to get his way, and plans to accomplish much, much more before he's done. Major Barrymore trotted after him, frustrated and protective of the scientists that were under his guard, and Anthea clipped close on his heels, still feeling a bit nervous.
Dr. Stapleton's office was comparatively small when seen from the rest of the lab, but it had more than enough room for her books, computer, computer chair, and a small rubber flower that sat in a pink vase. The four people piled into one end of the room and each refused to spread out to the other half of the office. A faint hissing was the only indicator of the dangerous gas that was still leaking slightly from the ancient pipes that stretched up the wall. Dr. Stapleton had attacked the problem herself with a role of duct tape, but her formal complaint at being forced to share an office with a dangerous neurotoxin was still being processed by the higher-ups.
"Make this fast gentleman, I need to be in lab number twenty-three in six minutes to see if I've killed another research subject." Stapleton said eyeing each person in turn.
Mycroft smiled charmingly, thinking "Why, how very professional of this woman."
"I'll be brief," He said "Frankly the need has been aroused, and the funding has been found to further research on a few experimental chemicals. My superiors have asked me to come as a mediator for them and to seek out a handful of hopefuls who will head the new wave of experiments."
Anthea felt a chill ripple down her spine and she glanced out the small window at the top of the door. Every iron door at Baskerville automatically closes itself and locks itself hermetically. The only air that passed into the room came from either the noxious fumes wafting at one end of the room, or the rectangle of air conditioning that hummed just above Dr. Stapleton's desk. It was claustrophobic to think about.
"So you came to… what? Get our opinion?" Stapleton asked crossing her arms.
"No, I came to inform you that you have been chosen to head the research." Mycroft said.
Stapleton leapt out of her chair with a violent start. "What?"
"You've been chosen to be transferred to start a new research program. You're critical experiments will advance Britain in the arms race and probably save hundreds of lives, your name will be published in medical and scientific journals as the beginning of a new age of innovators." Mycroft smiled a bit wider. "If you can make progress, that is."
Stapleton bit her lip nervously "What about my research here?"
Mycroft frowned, as though he was truly disappointed, but in truth he had expected this.
"Well, it is a very prestigious position. But I wouldn't want to distract you from your work with… glowing rabbits."
Stapleton glowered at him. "I have my hand in a lot of pies, Mr. Holmes."
"I understand, but let me explain: you will not be asked to leave Baskerville. The research is going to take place here, of course." Mycroft nodded to Major Barrymore, who had begun turning an alarming shade of purple with rage.
"Your hours are going to need re-arranging, but with a bit of persuasion I don't see why you cannot continue your research."
Stapleton lost her visage of professionalism and clapped her hands together excitedly.
"It sounds perfect!" She cried smiling.
"Too perfect." Major Barrymore whispered harshly.
"I trust that this little matter is settled?" Mycroft asked, eager to finish the list of things he had to run through before daybreak when he wanted to be in the hotel asleep.
"Wait just one minute Mr. Holmes!" Major Barrymore shot up an accusing finger and pointed it straight at Mycroft. "Just what are these experimental chemicals you expect us to work with here; what are we dealing with?"
This was another question he'd been expecting, but had been all too happy not to answer. None the less he paused for a beat to gather his thoughts.
"Well, one of the most notable chemicals is going to be the notorious agent H.O.U.N.D." Eyebrows arched around the room, but Mycroft pressed on. "However there is also going to be research into an experimental substitute for heroin that can be consumed in detox and can alleviate some of the symptoms of withdrawal, a faster and more human poison for prisons, with a higher percentage of fatality without complications…"
"It sounds wonderful!" Stapleton said with stars twinkling in her eyes.
Yes, well, you'll be the first person to be briefed when the work begins in a few weeks' time, until them my people will be in contact with you. If you have any research that you can wrap up, I suggest you do it within the next few weeks."
Suddenly the lab went pitch black and the only light in the room came from the square of a window in the door. Then the light in the window vanished too.
"What the…" Major Barrymore used a guttural swear and crashed into Mycroft as he groped through the darkness in search of a light switch.
"What happened?" Anthea asked straining to make out shapes in the blackness.
"The lights went out!" Stapleton exclaimed. Mycroft was about to snap at her about her stupidity, when a deafening siren blared, echoing around the tiny office.
Mycroft clamped his hand over his ears, startlingly disoriented and bumping into the few pieces of furniture that Dr. Stapleton had in her office. He wasn't sure where he was, but he took a few uneven steps into the abysmal blackness and almost lost his balance.
As soon as the sirens had started their roaring, they tapered away leaving a slight ringing sound behind and the crushing silence.
No one spoke for a moment; they only looked around trying to pierce the darkness without success.
"What was that?" Anthea asked hysterically. The powerful bad feeling had swollen to the point which she could no longer ignore it and the sirens had only reinforced her fears.
"That was our emergency siren system. It's only used when someone has hacked into our main computer system. That system controls everything." Major Barrymore waved his hand, though no one could see it. "Even the lights."
Dimly, the orange emergency lights flickered to life and the fingers of weak light stretched across the walls. Mycroft thought he felt his heart beating a few paces quicker than usual and wondered if it was the situation, or just the fumes he had been inhaling.
Major Barrymore had found his way to the door and with his access card, opened it and beckoned everyone to evacuate the office.
Outside, seven scientists were huddled at one corner of the lab, pressed against the door which led to the lift.
When they saw Major Barrymore, their dependable protector, they besieged him with horrified wails, confident that he would either fix the situation somehow, or get angry and throw a temper tantrum that would justify their own reactions.
"The doors are locked, our cards won't work!" One mousy scientist cried.
"What?" Major Barrymore puffed up his chest and pulled out his access card, confident that his card would work.
Mycroft scanned the lab and noted everything from the convoluted chemistry equipment (Which reminded him a bit of Sherlock's) to the way the dim light cast strange shadows across the tile floor. The monkey that had been injected earlier sat patiently in his cage, watching the group of humans chatter. Mycroft thought he spotted a hint of condescension in the way he nodded at them.
Major Barrymore's card was denied with a chilling computer tone, and he had descended to beating against the door with both of his tight, meaty fists.
"Why…Won't…It…Work!" He punctuated his words with a punch.
"Don't bother; the doors are hermetically sealed, aren't they?" Anthea said bitterly.
"We'll just have to wait for help." Dr. Stapleton said.
Mycroft opened his mouth to offer a suggestion, but at that moment the intercom clicked, and even without hearing the click, everyone felt a heavy presence in the room.
They each froze, words dying in their mouths and thoughts perishing in a wave of terror in their minds.
Mycroft and Anthea exchanged significant glances, one of horror, one of resignation. The smooth, lilting voice that floated down from the intercom was all too recognizably sinister.
"Yoo-hoo." A sing-song squeal assaulted their ears at a shrill volume that made them all wince.
"Oops, sorry. This volume control is a bit temperamental. Can you hear me now?" Anthea turned to her boss, eyes wide and glazed, mouth gaping in fear.
"James Moriarty here, Baskerville. Good evening!"
Mycroft's mouth was a solid white line and tension was etched through his forehead.
"I just wanted to wish Mycroft Holmes a very merry welcome. And what an occasion it is!" The Irish accent broke suddenly into a fit of giggles that sounded extremely unnatural.
"Oh, I just can't keep a straight face. I'll just come out and say it. Good evening hostages!"
The seven scientists started crying out in fear and confusion and more than one asked blankly "Who's James?"
"That's right; hostages! At any minute I can flood the room with deadly chemicals and kill you all! Isn't this fun? And the best part is: I can have my choice of hundreds of chemicals. This one's odorless, this one burns; it's Christmas!"
Stapleton raised her hands to her hair and dug her nails into her scalp. The weight of the situation had just slammed into her. Major Barrymore continued to look indignant, though he did seem rather paler.
"But hey, I'm a nice guy. I'll let you make one phone call and get your affairs in order."
"What do you want?" Major Barrymore screamed at the ceiling.
The intercom clicked off again and the room was silent.
Mycroft walked to the end of the lab, near Stapleton's office where he'd seen a phone.
"Wait a minute, shouldn't we get together and decide who we're going to phone for help?" Major Barrymore half-asked, half demanded.
"Normally I'd say yes, but under the circumstances I think not." Mycroft said. "Does anyone have and objections with my brother?"
There were whispers among the scientists and one lad who asked "Who is he?"
"Isn't Moriarty, like, your brother's arch-enemy?" Stapleton asked.
"Precisely."
"So he's expecting us to call Sherlock?"
"Yes, I imagine so."
"Then shouldn't we call someone else?" Stapleton reasoned.
"Maybe, but if he doesn't get his way, Moriarty might as well go ahead and kill us. " Mycroft said calmly as the anger and stress melted a bit from his face to be replaced with the slightest intimation of worry and doubt.
"Besides, I suppose he's the only one who can play Moriarty's game." Mycroft added.
"I have some connections." Major Barrymore tried to intercede, but Mycroft shut him up with a very, very stern look.
"And he is the only one who we can trust not to destroy, or divulge government secrets. Am I correct?"
Mycroft picked up the phone with one hand, feeling the enormous weight of the ten lives that waited patiently behind him, quelled by his superiority and the aura of security he emitted.
"But Sir…" Anthea whispered walking over to him "What if he doesn't pick up?"
"Hush." He said. There are some things better left unsaid.
Mycroft dialed, realizing more and more with each number that he was about to leave his life, and the lives of those around him in the hands of a psychopath and his brother.
And frankly, he wasn't sure which scared him more.
Sherlock Holmes was waiting for a case.
He had run out of bullets, so he couldn't shoot up the wall anymore, and his harpoon had 'magically' vanished.
He was so bored that he could almost have accepted a case from Mycroft.
Just then his phone rang. He peeked at it and realized the caller was unknown and laughed with joy. A case!
He answered and held the phone up to his ear.
"Sherlock!"
He was so disappointed when he heard Mycroft's voice he could have almost cried.
"What do you want; if it's another case of yours then you can forget…"
"NO!" A chorus of voices rose from the phone and a pulse of worry shook Sherlock. Who were all those people?
"Sherlock, listen to me. Don't hang up, lives are on the line. It's Moriarty."
Sherlock swallowed a lump that had been developing in his throat. Moriarty!
"I'm at Baskerville. He's taken all of us hostage."
"What?" Sherlock leapt to his feet, startling John who had been calmly reading a newspaper beside him.
"Come at once if convenient." Mycroft said, sounding slightly more like his usual smug self.
"If inconvenient, come all the same!" A woman's voice shouted into the earpiece. Then a chorus of voices chimed all at once in a clashing roar of voices, pleading for the great detective's help.
Then the line went dead, leaving nothing but a droning tone.
Sherlock shed his dressing gown quickly and picked up a wallet of his that he'd left on the counter.
"Get dressed John; we're going back to Dartmoor!"
John looked up from his newspaper confused. "What? Why?"
I wrote this all at once. I'm a bit proud.
This thought came from "Hey, I wonder what all they have in Baskerville."
Here's the only hint I'm going to give you: The glowing rabbits have been multiplying.