A/N: Hi Guys! So I can't stress enough that this is going to be a dark fic and it's sort of a test for my writing abilities, so I hope I handle this sensitive subject well. I hope the OP approves too, as I shall be adding a few twists of my own! Prepare for a lot of Mycroft angst and feels. Also, there will be OOCness, but I think that can be expected. Thanks for reading!

Reviews mean the world to me :) xx

Chapter 1: Hell Takes Over

Mycroft couldn't say he was particularly fond of participating in such affairs. Nowhere in his job description had it stated that he would need to stand loyally by his employer's side whilst the stuffy older man plastered on a fake smile and greeted people he pretended to care about – though it was really all about business, of course. Mycroft couldn't argue though; at the age of 21 he was sort of an apprentice to Mr Samuel Harwood and so felt obliged to abide his every instruction if he wanted to become a successful politician himself.

Harwood seemed normal enough. He was arguably a stereotypical aristocrat who enjoyed the finer things in life, and was always up for argument and debate. He had taken an instant shining to Mycroft when the young man had applied for the job, and although Harwood was not the most open man (and probably one of the most demanding) Mycroft didn't particularly mind; he enjoyed the challenge.

The party was merely a casual affair to celebrate the up and coming Christmas festivities (and probably a way for his boss to do a bit of point scoring). However, Mycroft could say he was somewhat elated by the opportunity of meeting various leading moguls of their respective fields.

"Ah, Magnussen!" Harwood boomed as he welcomed yet another rich and elderly man with a firm handshake. "It's good to see you, old boy. Surely this young man is not your son, Charles? He has certainly grown since I last saw him."

"Indeed he is. He's going to take over the paper one day soon and be just as successful as his father" Magnussen senior beamed proudly and clapped a hand on his son's shoulder (whom Mycroft gathered to be a few years older than himself.)

"And who are you?" The younger Magnussen asked with a seductive stare at Mycroft.

"This is young Mycroft Holmes! My protégé, he's going to make a fine politician himself one day" Harwood responded whilst Mycroft (unusually for him) tried not to turn any redder with embarrassment (or perhaps even flattery.)

"It's nice to meet you" Mycroft said politely and went to shake Charles' hand.

The younger Magnussen complied by gently taking Mycroft's hand and caressing the back of it whilst gazing at Mycroft with a smooth smile – Mycroft felt the heat beginning to creep up in his cheeks again.

"The pleasure is all mine" Charles insisted.

Mycroft saw out of the corner of his eye the disproving look his boss was shooting in their direction.

"That's quite enough, Charles" his father warned him sternly. "I shall see you inside" he said with a nod towards Harwood before ushering his son in to join the rest of the party.

"It seems Charles has taken quite a shining to you" Harwood said gruffly though he refused to meet Mycroft's gaze.

"Oh, I think he was just being friendly, sir" Mycroft tried to reason, not wanting to be in trouble with his boss.

"Mmm, a little too friendly for my liking" Harwood muttered more to himself than Mycroft. "Anyway, come along now, Holmes, that should be everyone now."

Mycroft spent the next couple of hours traipsing around after his employer meeting various people and trying his best to hold light conversation. After a while it appeared that he ended up doing most of the talking anyway as Harwood was close to having one whiskey too many.

"Come on, Mycroft!" Harwood exclaimed jovially as the night drew on and the people present started to thin. "You deserve a drink, my boy."

"Oh, I don't think that would be appropriate, sir" Mycroft replied modestly.

"Nonsense!" Harwood insisted as he forcefully thrust a glass of something into Mycroft's hand. "Get it down you, boy, politics isn't all about having a stiff upper lip you know."

Mycroft gave his boss a wary smile before taking a sip from the glass (of which its contents turned out to be very strong whiskey.) Harwood watched Mycroft encouragingly, a half smirk on his face, and he spent the rest of the night making sure that his protégés glass never ran dry. It went against Mycroft's better judgement to drink so much when he was still supposed to appear in a professional state despite the party's casual nature, but he felt he couldn't decline his employer's wishes.

Regardless of the fact he was becoming increasingly tipsy, Mycroft was still aware of Charles Magnussen looking at him from across the room. The budding politician had slowly transcended from being flattered to slightly disturbed. There was something quite dark and calculating about those piercing eyes; not like they were being used for deduction like Mycroft's own, but rather as if the younger Magnussen feared missing something of deeper import (that was what bothered Mycroft the most.)

"Mycroft, come with me, my dear boy" Harwood insisted in a hushed tone. "I have something…important to give you."

The younger man was slightly alarmed at first by the amount of strength there was behind the man's grip as he clasped his arm, but by this point Mycroft could feel the room spinning from the high amounts of alcohol finally getting to him, and he could only assume his employer felt the same.

Mycroft paid little attention (as he was more focused on not stumbling over his own feet) when Harwood managed to drag him up the stairs and into one of his many mahogany offices. He left Mycroft swaying slightly by the desk (whom felt the need to touch everything on it) and the younger man was only faintly aware of the soft click which signalled that his boss had locked the door; his mind was too boggled in his current state to process any danger this could lead him to be in.

"What can I do for you, sir?" Mycroft asked, having to think a lot more carefully about forming the words so as not to stutter.

"I just couldn't stand to see Charles looking at you that way any longer." Harwood almost growled possessively. "You are mine, Holmes."

Mycroft actually paused at that forceful and presumptuous statement. He turned to his superior and tried not to let a curious frown overtake his expression.

"I am your employee, Mr Harwood." Mycroft stated in return, as that was all his idled mind could take the older man to mean at that time.

"Please, call me Samuel" Harwood insisted as he moved closer towards Mycroft, his steps calculated as if he were not trying to scare the younger man away – and with good reason.

"I don't think that would…" Mycroft started, but he was soon stunned into a shocked silence.

His eyes widened with fright and his breath caught when his employer brought up a delicate hand to start caressing his cheek, and he could feel the other hand running around the waist band of his trousers.

"W-what are d-doing?" Mycroft asked with shakiness and terror that he hadn't known he'd had in him before.

"Sshhh" Harwood whispered deeply into Mycroft's ear. "You know this is what you deserve."

"P-please get off me!" Mycroft yelled, hoping that someone, anyone, would come to his aid.

He struggled and tried to push Harwood away but he was still weakened by his intoxicated state and it seemed Harwood had only been acting drunkenly for show; he'd wanted to make sure Mycroft would be unable to defend himself so he would have complete control. Harwood did not take kindly to Mycroft's fight and so gripped his wrists tightly, pushing him back against the desk.

"No one will believe you boy. No one's coming to save you because you know you don't deserve to be saved. You need this just as much as I do. You think I hired you for your brains? I have plenty of that myself, no, you have your red hair and your pretty little freckles. That's what I like."

Mycroft whimpered helplessly and still tried to continue his fight, but Harwood had almost complete power over him now as he had Mycroft nearly laid right back on the desk and his started to kiss the younger man harshly on the lips and suck as his neck.

Mycroft soon found himself shaking too much to struggle anymore. He felt sick to his stomach and all he could do was hope that someone would walk in and find them. He wanted to scream but all he would allow were the silent tears to start streaming down his face. But more than anything, as he felt Harwood begin to tangle with his belt buckle, he wished for the darkness to take him away.