"When you'll get another message?"
"Soon."
"And we are going to wait? We won't do anything; we'll just sit here and wait…"
Mycroft looked at John over his laptop.
"You can make some breakfast."
"I don't believe it," John said, getting up from the sofa and running his hand through his hair.
"Why are you so nervous, John?" Mycroft asked as he continued typing something. John turned, staring at him.
"And why are you so calm?"
"I worry inside," Mycroft assured him and John nodded.
"Right. You're counting on your superpowers. But what if this is beyond you?"
Mycroft laughed briefly.
"What an interesting thought," he remarked. John sighed and sat back on the sofa. It was almost nine in the morning, Mary had just been having a shower and he was supposed to be at work in five minutes.
"Listen to me, John," Mycroft said, putting the laptop aside. "There's going to be another message including the requirements. When we know what they want, we can start making a plan. I'm filling the time with doing other useful things."
"Do you have any idea who they are?"
"Not yet," Mycroft said. "Sherlock didn't tell me anything about his little trip."
"And you didn't stalk him like you always do, right? I don't buy this, Mycroft. You know about his every move, don't tell me –"
"Of course I searched," Mycroft interrupted him. "He left me fake clues. I followed them and they led to nowhere."
"Why would he do that?"
Mycroft was looking him in the eyes.
"He was after something he wanted to hide from me. Really hide from me."
"What could that be?"
Mycroft looked away and John knew he was lying when he said: "I'm not sure."
"Anything new?" Mary asked, walking in with a towel wrapped around her hair.
"No," John said. "Mycroft suggested we do something useful like washing the floor before the next message arrives."
Mycroft sighed and opened his mouth to speak when a silent beep could be heard, coming from his laptop. They didn't say anything but gathered around the computer while Mycroft played the recording.
"Hello, Mycroft," the voice said and John felt his hair stand up. There was something about the voice, something frightening.
"You think how easily you'll handle this situation once you know what I want… Are you expecting my requirements? What do you think I want – money? Releasing a mass murderer? Secret information on the Queen?"
There was a short pause.
"What if I told you, dear Mycroft, I want none of it? What if I told you I simply enjoy your absolute helplessness? Imagine you have no requirements to meet or no clue about your brother's whereabouts… What exactly would you do, Mycroft?"
The screen went white from black and changed to the room they saw in the previous recording. John felt his guts twist painfully when the camera showed Sherlock, the bag removed from his head, and he was very pale and more bruised than before. Mycroft flinched a little bit and Mary squeezed John's shoulder.
"I know how this looks like," Sherlock said, his voice less carefree than before but still quite firm, "but I'm really having fun."
Sherlock smirked.
"You haven't showed it to John, have you, Mycroft? You know him. He's going to panic and things like that; he's going to call you names for remaining your usual impassive self… He's probably going to kick your ass and – you know what, show him."
Suddenly, somebody appeared beside Sherlock. They couldn't see the head but Sherlock was listening to whoever it was, still looking into the camera.
"I knew it," Sherlock said with satisfaction. "I knew you would eventually want him to know. My abductor wants me to reveal his identity. Do you have any guesses, Mycroft? No? Take your time…"
Sherlock frowned, obviously teasing him. Mycroft who was fully absorbed by watching the recording moved his hand as if he wanted to slap Sherlock across the face.
"Clueless, I see," Sherlock said. "Fine, let me have the pleasure to introduce you your old friend. Our mutual friend."
Sherlock pouted.
"Angel," he said. Mycroft widened his eyes, backing off slightly from the laptop.
"Impossible…" he breathed out.
"Now when you know it, brother, you know what's going to happen. So I ask you again, don't tell John. Make up a story, a different story, for him."
Sherlock sighed.
"You are probably angry with me now. Well, I stumbled upon a clue. Subtle enough so I didn't see it had been set for me. Which was very smart of you, by the way," Sherlock remarked to Angel, who was still standing beside him.
"I followed it. And I found who I was looking for…"
Sherlock paused and lifted his eyes to Angel. He was speaking to him, evidently, because Sherlock was listening. And a smile started spreading over his face.
"Well, this is interesting…" he said eventually. "I've been just told you knew about it the whole time."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
"That's a surprise, dear brother."
"Enough."
It was the voice again, Angel's voice. A hand in a black leather glove appeared, squeezing Sherlock's shoulder. John saw Sherlock tense under the touch, tense with what could only be fear.
"You know all you need, Mycroft," Angel said. "There will be more messages, featuring more of your little brother. Remember how he looks like now, for it won't last any longer."
And the video ended, leaving all three of them in stunned silence. John turned at Mycroft and was actually shocked even more when he saw his face that was – for lack of further description – horrified.
John was the first one to speak.
"Who is Angel?" he asked, sure he didn't want to know the answer. Mycroft finally looked away from the blank screen.
"Angel," he said slowly, "will – in the following couple of days – become my brother's murderer."