Mycroft sat numbly at his desk, dropping the phone back into its cradle. "How could he know? How could he possibly know?" was all that Mycroft could think for a while, like a broken record. Obviously, he'd expected Moriarty to find out at some point, but not so quickly! And obviously, he'd prepared Greg for the possibility of Moriarty using him as leverage. Greg had been so understanding, he smiled fondly at the thought, remembering how he'd feared that it might scare Greg away, the possibility of kidnapping, torture, even death, for either of them. But he stayed, to Mycroft's surprise and delight. Gregory Lestrade was truly remarkable.
His fond smile disappeared as reality brought the gravity of the situation crashing on to his shoulders once more. James Moriarty found his relationship with Lestrade "interesting". Never had a notion chilled Mycroft to the bone as much as this. He had never underestimated Moriarty's capabilities and coupled with this new found knowledge, he was more dangerous than ever. Who knows what he had planned for Mycroft this time. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger wearily. Yet another thing to add to his endless list of things to do. It would go straight to the top of the list of course, or as near as he could get it. Just beneath the Korean elections and saving the economy from the brink of collapse. Again.
Mycroft leaned back in his chair as he thought deeply. Aside from the threat Moriarty posed, he had behaved strangely on the phone. Well, he always behaved strangely, Mycroft braved an amused quirk of his mouth, but even stranger than usual. There had been something in his voice, and Mycroft couldn't place it, that seemed out of place. It wasn't unnerving, or at least, not to the great Mycroft Holmes. As much as he hated to admit it, the threat in Moriarty's voice and the promise of more secrets had set Mycroft's mind alight with curiosity. Jim was up to something and Mycroft wanted - needed - to know why he had felt the need to call Mycroft about it, and then not give anything away. This was most unlike him. And Mycroft couldn't help but be intrigued by it.
"I'd never thought you'd be the type to settle down, especially not with someone like Lestrade."
The words echoed around his head as though Moriarty was whispering them in his ear. "Settle down"? That's certainly not what Mycroft was doing, that much was obvious, which made Moriarty either an idiot or he was implying something. And James Moriarty was no idiot. So, what was he implying? Mycroft hissed to himself in irritation. This shouldn't be so difficult; it was never this difficult to work out what someone was thinking. And Mycroft was expected to know "exactly what it means"! That was a step too far for Mycroft's mind to comprehend right now, had Moriarty said something earlier in the conversation that would make this all so much clearer? Had Mycroft simply not been listening hard enough to begin with?
Despite the latter theory sounding carelessly slapdash of him, Mycroft received far too many phone calls from Moriarty to feel the need to hang on to every word he says anymore. Most of the time, his calls were purely a ruse to get Mycroft's attention diverted for a while so he could kidnap Sherlock or blow up part of a government building. Humiliate him, in short. Now, he simply ignored his calls but watched him closer than ever.
This seemed to be neither of those things. Moriarty plays games with people, he leaves Mycroft or Sherlock clues as to what he is about it do so he can either be stopped, or have a large audience for his latest stunt. Regardless of the outcome, both of the Holmes brothers react beautifully to Moriarty's leads and pull out all the stops to ensure that they can at least try to do something. Both for different reasons of course. Mycroft didn't enjoy playing this game nearly as much as Sherlock did, he's far too busy to be watching for Moriarty's next attempt at flamboyant (and highly dangerous) attention seeking.
He drummed his fingers again in irritation and sighed. He couldn't work anymore tonight; his mind was too busy with too many thoughts, and none of them about the paperwork before him. He stood and stretched away the creeping pains that come from sitting in the same position for 8 hours. He looked at the clock. 3.25am. No wonder his brain was worn out. At least he was getting an early night tonight; Greg would be pleased about that.
He shuffled from his office and up to the bedroom where Greg was already asleep, tangled in the sheets and snoring lightly. Mycroft smiled to himself as he changed, taking the time to fold his suit neatly despite his brain demanding he get straight to bed without a moment's hesitation. He carefully detangled some of the sheets from Lestrade's grip (thank God he was a heavy sleeper) and shifted himself closer to the man he loved.
Still, Moriarty was all that he thought of that night.