Disclaimer: Neither Sherlock or Black Butler belong to me. I am just a lowly fangirl playing around with things I shouldn't really touch.
Mycroft gazed deep into the smouldering embers of his dying fire as he took another sip of his expensive scotch and thought about his little brother.
Sherlock would be the death of him.
With a sigh, the most powerful man in the British government wished for a way to keep his annoying and danger seeking git of a brother safe. He would give anything- ANYTHING!- to protect Sherlock from his own destructive behavior.
"Anything?" Not showing any outward signs of his sudden startlement, Mycroft began to look for the source of the quiet voice that shouldn't be in the room with him.
"Looking in the wrong place I'm afraid." Turning towards the fireplace Mycroft could just make out a pair of blue eyes staring at him from within the flames.
"Oh! Would you prefer something a bit more ordinary then?" The voice teased, clearly amused by Mycroft's shock.
The embers stirred and a figure climbed out of the flames and sat in a chair near the 'minor' government official. A taunting smile stretched- his? its?- mouth.
Looking over the figure Mycroft was disappointed in what he saw: short, stocky build, sandy blonde hair turning to grey in places, the blue eyes that he had already noted, the uniform of an army Captain with an added badge to show he was a doctor and a fatal looking bullet wound in his left shoulder.
Nothing to indicate how he had gotten into Mycroft's secure flat, or how he hadn't been terribly burned by the flames- dying fire or not, those embers were hot!
If he were a lesser man he might think he had been drugged, or was going insane, but he knew better. With a brother like Sherlock, one had to become VERY aware of their surroundings and know their own mind thoroughly.
These musings took less than a breath to cross his mind and he quickly focused back on the... person's amused eyes.
"I heard you. You would do 'Anything!' to protect your brother." Giving Mycroft a friendly smile that did nothing to hide the predatory gleam of his eyes, the 'man' laid a hand on his breast.
"I'm 'Anything'." As the eyes flashed a momentary red, Mycroft finally understood what he was faced with: a demon.
Deciding to see where this would go, he downed the rest of his scotch in a hand that he would never admit shook; and turned a level look upon his otherworldly visitor.
"Your kind only come when called. I did not call you." A lazy smile played across the demon's features.
"Oh, but you did Mycroft. You did. I was just leaving the life my last Master inflicted on me," the demon indicated the large wound in his shoulder- Mycroft could now see that it was in fact completely healed- and continued, "when I heard you make your wish."
"People make wishes all the time, that is no reason to appear to them and offer your 'services'."
"True. But then, so few people actually mean it when they saw that they would do anything for what they want; and I happen to prefer the taste of selfless souls, especially when they normally are not so inclined." Giving Mycroft a pointed look the demon let the genius figure it out. A moment later he wasn't disappointed.
"You want my soul in exchange for my brother's safety?" He phrased it carefully, no need to give this monster everything at once.
"Yes. I would take care of Sherlock's health and well-being in exchange for your soul." The creäture had the audacity to smirk after revealing that it knew the name of the younger Holmes brother.
"I would keep him happy and out if danger, or at least, out of life threatening danger. And I would protect him from everything I could not prevent." Mycroft had to admit that it sounded too good to be true, and so knew that there had to be a large trap in there somewhere.
"And just how long would you look after my brother? Until I died? Or until you killed me?" Smiling in proud way, as if Mycroft were a puppy that had just done a complicated trick, the demon nodded approval.
"Very smart- genius even! So few mortals realize the fallacy of language, or just how a contract can be worded to the demon's benefit." Sitting straighter the demon inclined his head to indicate a shared secret.
"Take my most recent Master for instance: Bill Murry. His brother kills their Captain because the man refused his sexual advances, and then Bill begs me to take on the life of the dead doctor so no-one will know what had happened. The fool never said a word about his or his brothers' lives!" The demon chuckles darkly and Mycroft can imagine what had happened.
"I strung them along for a few months until they relaxed, and then I staged a fire fight with a group of locals. No-one noticed a couple of extra bodies in the mix of blood and death, but my Master got exactly, and only, what he had asked for: his brother got away with murder." Giving Mycroft a calculating look the demon's smile grew.
"I'll tell you what: you write up the contract, and if I like it we can make a deal." Standing the demon headed back towards the fireplace.
"I'll return tomorrow night for your answer, shall I?" Not waiting for a response, the demon entered the fires and was gone.
Getting himself another scotch the elder Holmes contemplated the demon's offer.
He would not take it- he could not! He would not barter his soul to an untrustworthy demon!
Just as he made up his mind his phone rang. It was one of the security details he had following Sherlock.
Sherlock had run into a building full of human traffickers and was now in the hospital being treated. He had been shot at and was hit once- just above the left knee, a through and through, not very much damage done- and had to have several grazes stitched.
Placing his phone down, Mycroft resigned himself to not getting any sleep that night- he had a carefully worded contract to write up.