A/N Just an idea I had after seeing the end of 'Hounds of the Baskerville'. Sorry if they are too ooc. Hope you enjoy :)
Disclaimer: I own nothing :(
It was difficult to believe, even after everything that Mycroft had experienced, that this small, soft-spoken man could possibly be the world's most dangerous criminal mastermind. However there was obviously a distinct undercurrent of insanity within him, the insanity illustrated by the many carvings of the name 'Sherlock' across the concrete walls of the cell. A slight chill ran down the elder Holmes' spine as he took in his brother's name surrounding him on all sides. For the most part he was a master over his emotions but it seemed that the ice cracked slightly whenever Sherlock was involved. It seemed that the protective streak that had been born when a young Mycroft had held his baby brother in his arms for the first time had never really gone away. Which made his daily meetings with Moriarty in this cold cell all the more unnerving.
Moriarty had acknowledged his presence, his head had raised slightly and he was now turning his neck to face him in an almost reptilian way. A smile forced its way onto the consulting criminal's face and Mycroft thought for a fleeting moment that he would happily do anything to wipe the smirk away were he not so desperate for information. It was strange that despite being the prisoner, Moriarty seemed to be the higher power in the room. Mind you, he was the owner of a code that could bring the world crashing to its knees.
"Do you like my new artwork, Mr Holmes?" Moriarty asked in a sing-song voice. "It took me all night."
Sure enough it seemed that Moriarty had grown bored of vandalising the walls and had moved onto the opposite mirror instead. Mycroft could see from the small droplets of blood staining the glass and floor and gathered underneath the man's fingernails that the action would have pained him, yet Moriarty still took pride in his 'artwork'.
Mycroft sauntered over to the man so that he was standing before him, taking in his prisoner with some interest. The man had clearly been physically affected by his time here. The prison robes that had fitted him comfortably when he'd been taken in now hung off his skeletal frame; beads of cold sweat ran down his ghostly pale face. And yet he still wore that same maniacal grin, the bright glint in his eyes still burned wildly and Mycroft was fully aware that he was still dealing with a dangerous lunatic.
"I suppose you want more information about the key-code," he said quietly, a mocking undertone in his soft voice. He brought his gaze up to meet Mycroft's and the elder Holmes was once again reminded of some sort of reptilian creature.
"You suppose correctly," Mycroft replied, making sure to keep control over his cool exterior and keep his voice hard and emotionless. He was not here for friendly conversation.
Moriarty shook his head which now sported an almost comical frown and drew his attention to the floor, where he seemed to find entertainment in making his hand dance across the surface, his fingertips disturbing the thin layer of dust. "You know what I want in return Mycroft."
Mycroft breathed an irritable sigh. It was the same every day. Moriarty would promise information, and occasionally he'd give it, but first he'd ask for information about his nemesis' past. Mycroft had willingly obliged at first, trying to keep his information fairly harmless for Sherlock's sake. However as more time had passed Moriarty had grown dissatisfied with the small portions of information, and was hungrily trying to get more information out of Mycroft, only giving him something in return if he was satisfied.
"I've told you more than enough, Moriarty, now give me information." He received no response, instead Moriarty continued watching the floor while his fingers continued to dance across the concrete floor as if they were playing the keys on a piano. He was muttering under his breath and Mycroft wondered if he was even paying attention any more. "Unless, of course, you wish to be tortured again? I know a few people who'd happily try to break you."
A smile broke across the psychopath's face again. So he had been listening.
"Your men don't intimidate me, Mycroft." His dark gaze forced its way up to meet Mycroft's once more, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "And neither do you." Had Mycroft been a normal person with an average mind then the delivery of this comment may have unnerved him. The softness had an added layer of unmistakeable venom and Mycroft could clearly see the madness in the other man's eyes for a split second. However the madness faded almost instantly after it had appeared and the threatening tone melted into a conversational one as Moriarty spoke again. "So tell me more about our dear Sherlock. Why do you two despise each other so much?"
"As I recall I've already told you that Moriarty," Mycroft replied, a slight hint of impatience slipping into his tone.
"Tell me again then," the prisoner sang. "I love that story. It's almost as good as the one where you beat up his bullies when he was five. You were such a sweet older brother once, weren't you?"
Mycroft groaned in slight exasperation. Obviously Moriarty wasn't going to open up today, and he had already forced more information out of Mycroft about his younger brother than he was comfortable with in the past. "Obviously I'm wasting my time. If you aren't going to tell me anything useful..."
"Patience, Mycroft, patience!" Moriarty cried out, waving his hands in some grand gesture. Yet another sly grin worked its way onto his face. It seemed that he had an amazing ability to change his facial expressions from menacing to gleeful within a matter of seconds. "Besides you'll discover everything soon enough. Your brother and I have yet to face one more problem. The final problem..." The last words were murmured as if they were simply an afterthought.
Mycroft had had enough. Some days he could get a lot out of Moriarty, others he could barely get a sane word out of him or was only given pointless riddles. Obviously today was in the latter category. Without another word Mycroft walked past the other man, signalling to the waiting guard to let him out.
Before he had even taken one step outside the cell the mocking voice sounded from behind him once more, the hidden laughter so defined that Mycroft could almost see the grin on his prisoners face. "I don't need to tell you the code, Mr Holmes. I've already shown you."
Mycroft raised an eyebrow and threw a questioning glance at the guard, who shrugged in response. He hadn't noticed his prisoner do anything abnormal, it seemed. Well, apart from scratching a name all across his prison wall. Mycroft thought back on their past conversations in order to find anything that could back Moriarty's statement up but nothing immediate came to mind. The sing-song tone sounded unhelpfully from behind him once more, a hidden challenge in the words. "Were you paying attention?"
These bold words had barely enough time to sink in before the cell door slammed shut behind him, creating a barrier that separated the Ice Man from the psychopath.