Title: "A Bit of Fun"
Pairing: Moriarty/Mycroft
TV Show: BBC Sherlock
Word Count: ~650
Rating: PG

A/N: This one was fun to write. Oh man. I was inspired by The Great Game, and I couldn't refuse.

I do prompts on Tumblr from time to time, and this was something requested.

Enjoy!

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"I worry about him—constantly."

Mycroft sat inside his office, staring at the multiple monitors glowing in the darkness. They all had the same image plastered, different angles, and all he had to do was monitor their—rather, his—status. It first started out as a request from the higher-ups in his division, then it became his personal project. There was not a moment too soon or late when he could not think about his little brother. And there he rested on the sofa, sulking (John had left moments before). It was possible that Sherlock was thinking.

And it frightened Mycroft.

He knew what his brother was capable of when bored. "Mycroft, it's hardly a matter of life or death. The bird was a perfect specimen for the experiment." It was only a matter of time before the bird would grow into a human being—possibly John Watson, possibly an innocent victim. Either way, Mycroft would watch him for hours on end, watching, waiting for Sherlock to break. Then he would be there. But what would keep him busy?

A vibration rattled against his desk. He leaned in his chair and looked at the screen. Frowning, he clicked the answer key and brought the phone to his ear. "Three minutes."

A small hum came. "Oh, you really are no fun, Mycroft Holmes. Let me guess, you were just thinking about me, weren't you?" Mycroft leaned in his chair and turned away from the monitors.

"What is it that you want, Moriarty?" Another hum came along.

"You always know what I want, darling," Moriarty chimed. Mycroft kept silent."But since you never want to see me, I thought about dear Sherlock—"

Mycroft chuckled. "And why would you do such a thing?"

"Oh, darling, you and I both know we need our kicks," Mycroft knew he had a point. "And you are working yourself to death at keeping him safe. Let me keep an eye on him. Just for a while."

Mycroft looked out his office window. "You must know that I have surveillance on him—"

Moriarty grunted. "Pitiful surveillance, but the police cannot catch me. Not with you on my side." Mycroft stayed still. Since hiring Moriarty as a sort of distraction for Sherlock, the police have never been able to catch him, or Sherlock himself. It bothered them, kept them on their toes for the next attack. But, it was such a pain keeping them in check. "Now, now, Mycroft Holmes, don't you worry your little head. He'll be kept alive, and I'll have him running around town on a little game of cat and mouse."

Mycroft sighed. "And you will not harm him in any way."

"Well, it won't be life-threatening, if that's what you're worried about. Leave it to me, Mycroft darling. Let me take care of him."

Mycroft tapped his foot against the floor. "You get four days off your leash," he heard what sounded like a clap on the other end. Then, he smiled. "What do you have in mind?"

He heard Moriarty sort of giggle on the other end. "I've already had the pleasure of taking care of that."

Click. Mycroft looked at the phone—the call ended. He spun in his chair and looked at the monitors. Sherlock was standing in his flat, smirking at the wall that he normally shot at. A few seconds later, his cameras shook, and debris flew everywhere. A bomb.

Mycroft shut down the system. Four days.