Title: 'til the end

Rating: T because I'm lazy

Summary: Tag for 'The Hounds of Baskerville'; an interview between Mycroft and Moriarty. SPOILERS for this episode

Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with 'Sherlock'. It's a sad truth but you never know, if I wish hard enough it might happen one day? All credit for this wonderful series goes to Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss and BBC.

Author's Note: I know I'm on a bit of a role today. As I said in my other tag for 'SiB' these new episodes give me such Mycroft muse it's incredible! I don't even know what this is; I suppose it's set just before the end of 'HoB' or could be seen as a little change in the ending. I don't know, but I've always wanted a proper confrontation between these two because Mycroft strikes me as very protective this series and I think he would destroy Moriarty if he hurt Sherlock. So, we'll see if 'The Reichenbach Fall' inspires another chapter on this one or simply another random bit like this. Please do let me know what you think, because this is just a really random piece that wouldn't leave my head after watching and re-watching that episode. Also, just going to plug the Mystrade in that episode. Squee.

All for one and one for all
My brother and my friend
What fun we have
The time we share
Brothers 'til the end.
~Author Unknown

"I can assure you my brother is safe."

"Can you be so sure of that, Mr Holmes?" The cold laughter reverberated around the room as the man before him stared up at him. Every wall bore his brother's name, scratched into glass and scribbled on metal. Everywhere he looked he was reminded just how dangerous this man was; the most dangerous man in London if not the world.

"Very easily, Jim." His tone was as calm and collected as per usual but his mind was racing. He wanted to run out of this cell and ensure that all the security teams were in place; he needed to know that Sherlock was truly safe. He knew exactly what this man before he was capable of and he knew that he would rest until he'd either destroyed Sherlock completely or else had warped his mind sufficiently that he could convince him to join him. Neither of these were satisfactory outcomes.

It was for this reason that he had captured Jim Moriarty and why he was kept below ground in the most secure facility available in London. Mycroft had insisted on the most highly trained officers to stand guard and had made sure that he was constantly watched. He would not allow this monster to escape.

"So confident, Mycroft," His eyes narrowed slightly, how dare this psychopath have the audacity to call him by his Christian name. "You're both so similar, aren't you? Sherlock's prettier, obviously. He's younger, more virile. Looks good in that purple shirt, doesn't he?" A sickening smile crossed Moriarty's lips as he lent against the wall, his arms folded and it was as though he could read the thoughts that were running through Mycroft's mind.

He couldn't think of anything to say in response, could simply glare and wish that he had his umbrella on his arm in order to beat this man to a pulp. He rarely resorted to violence, had not done for years since his childhood but being in the presence of this man seemed to uncork all his most violent urges. That was something he would have to watch.

He could not help but think back to a conversation he had had with Sherlock only a few months ago; his brother had asked if he thought there was something wrong with them for not caring as much as the rest of the populous. Mycroft had done his best to reassure Sherlock but he knew that whilst he may speak against caring too deeply for one person he knew that he had already broken his own golden rule. He cared too much for Sherlock, would do anything in order to protect him and that was a weakness. One that Moriarty had apparently uncovered and was willing to exploit.

Mycroft had prided himself on his detachment and now he was being tortured with the only weapon that would work.

"I do so love a man with great cheekbones," Jim shot him a suggestive wink before he finally looked away, his gaze falling instead on one of the many scrawls on the wall. "It would be a pity to scar that poor, handsome face wouldn't it? Maybe I should keep it whole and mount it on my wall. I bet he'd make a good centrepiece. Don't you think, Mycroft, quite the talking point? His white skin even paler, those eyes open and glassy. Oh what a picture!" Mycroft knew his posture had stiffened, could feel his nails cutting into his palms from where he had unconsciously balled his hands into fists. It took a conscious effort to uncurl them, trying to relax himself whilst attempting not to alert Moriarty to the fact that what he was saying was affecting him quite so badly.

"You can't stop me, Mr Holmes. You can try, but you won't succeed." He took a step closer to the seated man, his face impassive now as he looked down at the monster that was Jim Moriarty. If it cost him his life he would ensure that this filth did not touch his little brother. The other man continued to stare at Sherlock's name inscribed on the wall, the hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. The smile of a madman.

"I will protect him, Jim. You have my word that if you touch him you will not see another day on this earth, of that I am unequivocally certain." The smile left Jim's face momentarily but still he did not look at him, it was as though he wanted the burn Sherlock's name into his retinas. "Do we understand one another?"

"Of course, Mr Holmes." He sincerely doubted that the other knew exactly what he was capable of achieving if he put his mind to it. He could delete anyone from existence; all records of them destroyed and their whole lives taken from them. He knew how to deal sentences far worse than death.

There seemed to be no other words forthcoming and so Mycroft turned on his heel and began to walk towards the door, he knocked once on it and waited for it to open.

"Give my love to Sherlock won't you? And John. I can't wait to see them." He kept his eyes fixed on the door, refusing to allow his agitation show but he could already hear chuckling behind him. Finally the lock scraped back and he managed to walk out with his dignity still mostly intact. Just before the door was closed fully the chuckles had turned to full-blown laughter.

Mycroft continued his walk down the corridor until he was out of sight of the officer on guard, once he was assured of the fact that no one bar the CCTV cameras could see him (and anyone manning those would never dare say anything to another living soul) he lent his back against the wall and ran a hand through his thinning hair. He had been so pleased to have Moriarty in custody, he had finally thought that the Government and everyone else involved would be safe and yet he appeared to still be pulling strings even without contact with the outside world.

A deep breath helped him to restore his thoughts to something akin to normality; there were things that needed to be done and done quickly. He pulled his mobile out of the pocket of his jacket, clicking on messages and began to write a text.

Watch him John. Of vital importance.

MH

As he pressed send he stood up straight once more, metal walls back in place. He had a Government to support and he could not stop the world turning for his brother. His phone bleeped at him and as much as he wanted to ignore it, to simply leave the matter up to John now he knew that he could not. He had always been there for Sherlock even if his brother had not known or been happy about it, he could not let this doctor take over a role he had cultivated over many years.

Why? What's he done now?

J

Oh how was one to explain this? He wanted to tell John everything; to give him all the facts so that he could take them both far away from danger but such a thing would only cause one to overreact and the other to see it as a challenge. Sherlock would want to bring Moriarty down once and for all, his infernal ego and curiosity besting him once again; whilst John would be do his utmost to defend the detective and most certainly get himself hurt or killed in the process.

As he stared at the screen he had an immediate flashback to a telephone call he'd received nearly six years ago; one Inspector Lestrade calling to inform him that his brother was in hospital with a suspected overdose. He'd held the phone against his ear, listening but not processing.

His brother had looked so small, so innocent in that hospital bed. He would not see that again.

I can no longer guarantee his safety. Keep him safe, John.

MH