AN: Warning: This is a dark fic. This chapter is about physical and psychological torture. It includes references to implied child abuse. Please be aware of that before you read it.

The tall elegant Alpha in the beautiful grey three piece suit stared with no discernible emotion through the two way mirror in the observation room at the unconscious naked body of the man crumbled in an instinctive defensive curl on the cold concrete floor of the cold concrete cell. But the hand holding the expensive hand crafted umbrella was clenched tightly, almost white knuckled as if this precise conservative restrained aristocratic being had to release some emotion and the only way he could do it was to leave ingrained finger marks on the polished ebony of the umbrella handle.

The Alpha was exuding an unnerving menace which had driven away all but his essential personnel, his escaping minions thankful that they were not needed at that moment and praying to every deity they could think of, that they wouldn't be whilst he was in that mood.
The Alpha's normal demeanour was that of understated ultra civilised but obvious power, the pure silk glove coating the strength of the tempered steel beneath, like finely applied subtle gold leaf gilding.
In the observation room, that steel sang with the implacable desire for blood and vengeance and there was no mistaking the ruthless will which would satisfy that desire.
His breathing was precise and controlled; one breath in, expand his lungs, expel the waste and one breath out. The rhythmic constant movement grounded him. He would not allow his utter rage and primal Alpha need for retribution to distract him from his goal. That could be unleashed once he had what he needed from the would be assassin.

The Omega was lucky that Sherlock was still alive. If his little brother had died, if that bullet discharged from the gun by that worthless Omega had taken the life of his only surviving sibling, then Mycroft Holmes would have ensured that the Omega's death was as excruciating and drawn out as possible, but only after he had decimated the Omega's family in front of his eyes.
But Sherlock was alive. His heart was still beating and pumping blood through his veins and feeding oxygen to his magnificent genius mind, although when Mycroft had seen the volume of blood spilt on the glossy sanitary tiles of the teaching laboratory floor, his distraught brain had failed to comprehend how his brother had survived the loss.
He merely offered up his thanks to whatever guardian angel had been looking after Sherlock this time and then the relief at the knowledge of Sherlock's continued sentience had exacerbated the absolute rage rather than dissipate it, the rage had become colder and made him more determined to exact both information and retribution, before his stubborn obsessed independent idiot of a brother intervened.

Sherlock had been adamant even as he slurred his way into unconsciousness; he had very definite views on the proper treatment of this piece of filth. His brother was even under the delusion that this homicidal Omega was his destined mate.
The Alpha gave an unamused snort, he wouldn't put it past his little brother to have a murderous mate, in fact there was an odd sort of cosmic balance to it, but to Mycroft's unbelieving and impotent fury the fact the Omega had tried to kill him, did not disturb Sherlock in the slightest. It merely made that dangerous gleam in those argent eyes brighter and his determination to handle the situation and the recalcitrant Omega himself as immovable as that proverbial object in the face of Mycroft's impeccably irresistible force of logic and reason.

Ten years before, Mycroft Holmes had been close to losing his beloved little brother to something he could not control and it had nearly destroyed him. He had helplessly watched his brilliant sibling's decline into drugs and apathy because of his relentless boredom, until the crisis point was reached one freezing winters night, when he had been found half naked in a drugs induced delirium in a back street alley, screaming for his mate, and displaying the kind of instinctive aggressive bonded Alpha behaviour that meant the mate was carrying pups.

Mycroft had had his brother's ambulance diverted to an exclusive specialist rehabilitation facility whilst he had tried to ascertain if Sherlock's behaviour and belief were based on the overdose or something more disturbingly real. The only evidence his team could find in the alley was that his brother had definitely had sex, but there was no secondary DNA to be found and by the time Mycroft ordered swabs to be taken from his brother, Sherlock had already been cleansed in preparation for the arduous withdrawal process and there was nothing left to provide information.
The unpleasant truth was that Sherlock had probably paid for his latest hit of drugs with his body, and the effect of the drugs had triggered the mate delusion in order for him to retain whatever dignity, self respect and Alpha pride he had left.

Mycroft Holmes knew that caring was not an advantage, but Sherlock was the only disadvantage in a life so locked down with ice cold protocol and purpose.

So Mycroft Holmes protected his disadvantage with fervour and dedication and he had utilized all the resources at his disposal. Within twenty minutes, the Ministry of Defence had relinquished Captain Watson's military file, and Mycroft devoured it, every nuance, whisper, and bold black word in Times new roman font which told him about his brother's attacker. Mycroft firmly believed in following the" know thine enemy" principle.

John Hamish Watson, retired Captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers had been a distinguished field surgeon, an excellent soldier and a superb marksman.

Despite Mycroft's bone and sinew deep rage at this Omega's actions against his brother, he knew damn well that Captain Watson would not just randomly shoot anyone. There must have been a purpose behind the attempt on Sherlock's life.
It was a logical assumption that Captain Watson, in dire need of funds after his medical discharge from the Army, had been recruited and paid by one of Sherlock's enemies to put him out of their misery.

Now Mycroft had to find out who that particular enemy was before Sherlock got his hands on the Omega, and discovered the plot himself, thereby ensuring even more sleepless nights for Mycroft until he could force Sherlock to accept his help.
The Alpha took his duty to look after his little brother very seriously and he worried about him constantly.

The one anomaly was the fact that Sherlock was still alive. The fact that Captain Watson had not completed his mission was unusual. The man simply did not miss with a gun. He was dedicated and relentless in his duty so why was Sherlock still breathing?
His lips narrowed and he flicked his gaze to the wiry lithe black suited Beta standing beside him at the observation window, who was studying the cell's occupant with a small intrigued smirk on his lips.

"You may begin" he uttered with cold indifference and without waiting to see the Beta's acknowledgement, returned his gaze to window and studied the crumpled form on the floor.

The freezing water which hit John's face and shoulders with the strength of a punch dragged him out of blissful unconsciousness.

Mycroft Holmes calmly looked down at his watch. He was on a deadline but he still had time to break the stubborn Omega. Sherlock would come for him as soon as he could stand upright which would be within the next twenty four hours. The Omega had been held for less than four and Mycroft wanted answers before Sherlock's arrival. Therefore Mycroft stood behind the two way mirror and watched every blow.

The primal part of himself that he rarely acknowledge reveled in the fact that his brother's attacker was suffering and he buried any instinctive discomfort at hurting an Omega deep as he remembered the colour of his brother's blood.

The Omega's questions weren't answered. He was just beaten systematically and scientifically, his body worked on in a predetermined route, and then it would start from the beginning again until finally the Omega couldn't even whimper with pain and he passed out to be woken by the ice cold water, and the process started again.

He begged over and over to know what they wanted but there was never a response until finally he was left to lie in his own blood and bodily fluids.

Mycroft had been very clear about his treatment, no permanent removal of limbs, no knife wounds, no sexual torture or rape, no broken bones. If Sherlock was correct and this worthless waste of oxygen and energy was his mate then he would be furious if he was damaged too badly and would hunt down anyone who had dared to touch him sexually and destroy them.

There were other less... provoking methods for getting the information Mycroft needed.

The Omega was allowed to wake gradually this time. No buckets of ice cold water to flood his body with adrenaline and send his heart rate so high he could have cardiac respiratory failure. This time when he woke, Mycroft would start the interrogation

Mycroft knew that the pain would be screaming through his battered, broken bleeding body. He sat in the chair in the centre of the cell and watched as the Omega opened his swollen eyes and when he realised that he was not alone, Mycroft was satisfied at the full body flinch as the Omega tried to focus on him. But there were still remnants of defiance in the stubborn Omega's face.

Well Mycroft now knew how to erase that, and break the Omega totally. At the slight nod of his head, a young child's voice was piped through the hidden speakers

"Daddy John, I'm scared" whimpered the little one.

Mycroft Holmes watched with vicious satisfaction as the worthless Omega on his knees before him, shattered into splinters like delicate glass deliberately thrown to the floor.

"Who are you working for?" his voice was calm and controlled.

The cowed Omega looked up at him in confusion "I don't understand" his voice was hoarse from screaming.

Mycroft repeated the question and watched unblinking as the Omega still remained confused

"Who paid you to kill Sherlock Holmes?"

The Omega was shaking his head as he stared up at him, Mycroft nodded once more and the high pitched scream of a terrified child squealed through the speakers.

"Christ, no, please no" begged the Omega almost incoherently as he tried to crawl towards the impassive indifferent man in the chair, before he was kicked viciously in the stomach by his previous tormentor who had been standing silently in the shadows. He lay there panting in agony, sure that one of his lower ribs was broken, under the mocking gaze of the seated Alpha.

When he could draw enough breath into his lungs, he begged without shame, unable to stop the tears leaking from his eyes. "Anything, please anything, just don't hurt her, please, please don't hurt her", the whispers were the only sound in the room other than the ragged painful breaths he was drawing into his lungs.

"Who paid you?" the implacable Alpha asked again

"No-one, I swear to God no-one paid me, it was revenge" the Omega barely got the words out through his bloody swollen lips and the terror clawing at him.

"Liar" was the sibilant response and the sound of the child sobbing echoed through the cold concrete cell.

The Omega flung back his head, rage, fear, pain finally breaking through the dam of his silence and he screamed the words he had told no-one except his family and best friend so long ago.

"The fucker raped me and that's his daughter you are torturing"

AN:

Poor John. Well thought there was only going to be one more chapter but Mycroft interfered and now there are at least another two. This is a dark fic and no infringement intended. Let me know what you think.