Mycroft sat at his desk rubbing his bleary eyes. After the whole incident with Irene Adler and the H.O.U.N.D.S of Baskerville, he had barely gotten any sleep at all. He got up, ready to finally leave the office, when suddenly his phone rang. Mycroft thought nothing of this for it was not unusual to get a phone call at this hour since he was practically the head of the British government. However, he started to worry when the number came up as blocked.
Cautiously he clicked call and brought the phone up to his mouth. "Yes?"
"Hello again Mycroft," the man said. It was just three little words in a high pitched voice and yet it struck fear in Mycroft's heart, not that he would ever admit it.
Mycroft took a deep breath. This was the last thing he needed. "What has my little brother gotten into this time," he asked begrudgingly.
Moriarty let out a high pitched laughter. "Surprisingly it isn't sweet Sherlock. It's actually a certain Detective Inspector. Greg is his first name I believe."
He froze. Mycroft couldn't move. Slowly, with shaking hands, he sat back down. He didn't cry though he wanted to quite a bit. His eyes burned but there were zero tears. He hadn't cried in years and he wasn't going to start now. Mycroft did have to take several shaky breaths before he was ready to talk again, however. "I don't know who you're talking about."
"Oh come on," said Moriarty in his most playful voice ever. "Just because I call you The Iceman doesn't mean you have to act like one. And you know exactly who I am talking about. DI Lestrade."
Just hearing Moriarty say Greg's name made Mycroft want to snap his neck. Still playing dumb wasn't going to save any one so Mycroft finally asked, "What have you done to him? Where is he?"
"Not too much damage, though it would most defiantly take more than a few weeks to recover, is your answer to the first quesion. I won't answer your second question though. Wouldn't be as much fun," Moriarty replied. Suddenly a scream ripped through the air on the other side of the phone. Mycroft didn't have to be told. He knew it was Lestrade's voice.
Then the call ended.
Lestrade was tied to a chair in the middle of what looked like a large, empty closet, similar to that of Mycroft's, but it was hard to tell for he could barely see straight anymore through all the pain. However, he could tell that Moriarty was standing a few feet away with Sebastian just a little bit closer. His right shoulder was now broken along with his left hand. His gray hair was also a rusty brown now because of all the dried blood in it.
Moriarty walked up to him then and got right up in his face. His dark eyes wide and dangerous he, with a malicious tone, said, "It seems like the Iceman doesn't care for you as much as I thought he would."
"You . . . don't know him . . . like I do. He will come," mumbled Lestrade through a mouth full of saliva and blood. The taste of iron was filling up his taste buds. He hurt all over too, and though he tried not to show it, Moriarty's remark had hurt whether it was true or not.
"Always the faithful pets of the Homleses brothers. First John and know you," Moriarty smiled wickedly. "Sebastian I do believe he needs another lashing."
Sebastian picked up what was probably a metal tipped whip. Bringing it back in his hand, he let it fly onto Lestrade's side, cutting into his flesh and even nicking the bones.
Moriarty giggled with glee as he watched on while Sebastian simply smiled. Lestrade screamed at the top of his lungs over and over. When he wasn't screaming he was crying so hard that he could barely get any air in to scream the next time around. However, when it looked like he might faint, Sebastian only hit him harder, sending him back awake with another jolt of pain. Through it all, pretty much the same thoughts of 'I'm sorry everybody -, I'll miss you-,' and 'I'm going to die-,' ran round and round in his head. However, the thought that appeared much more often was simpler and even more heartbreaking.
Please hurry Mycroft.
However, Mycroft didn't know what to do. This was one situation he didn't know how to approach. He knew, from experience that he wouldn't be able to trace the call. So, he did the next best thing. He called his little brother.
When Sherlock answered it was with his usual air of annoyance as he began to say, "Dear Brother . . . what has-"
But he was cut off. Mycroft did not want to deal with his adolescences today so he simply cut to the point. "Moriarty has Greg."
That surprised Sherlock more than anything in quite a while. He was silent for a moment until he asked, "How?"
And just that word, that small word, sent Mycroft over the edge for he had kept a surveillance on Greg just to make sure he was always okay and apparently not even his own damned secret service could outwit Moriarty. Yet, somehow he hadn't even realized it until his little brother had asked 'how'. So instead of answering the question he simply replied with, "Fuck."
Despite the fact that Mycroft didn't yell or sound harsh when he said the word, it still struck a chord in Sherlock himself because his brother was always the cool one, calm and graceful. He never cussed, well at least Sherlock was pretty sure he didn't.
"Mycroft, there is no need for you to get so worked up-"
"Worked up! Sherlock I am dying here and don't ramble on about how I'm not actually dying. Just think, for once. What if it wasn't me it was you and the person they were beating to death was John!" Mycroft cried out at him. Though really they hadn't told anyone, Mycroft was easily able to deduce how much farther their relationship had gone, even if Sherlock and/or John didn't quite realize it yet.
However, it was apparent from Sherlock's silence that, even though he didn't quite understand it, his feelings had grown over the years. But grown in to what exactly, was the question. "I," Sherlock tried to say but he kinda choked up before he could get anything else out. "We'll talk about this later. Right now we need to find Lestrade. Don't worry, just sit tight and I'll call you when I get something."
"Thank you," replied Mycroft.