A/N: I'm too shocked to speak.. I mean write... whatever. Your feedback has been beyond amazing! So I'm giving you another chapter, which is not the last one. I hope you enjoy!

Sherlock observed the two newcomers. Sasha appeared to be a typical muscle-man, over six foot, broadly built, shaven head, dressed in leather, tattoos and piercings. He was also clearly armed. His mouth was stretched into a leer, showing a mouthful of rotten teeth, plus two gold ones. Igor, on the other hand, was well groomed, his clothes dripping money and style. Sherlock had a gut feeling about the roles they were supposed to play.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Igor greeted them. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." His accent was as polished and smooth as the Holmes's. "Especially this gentleman over here. Mycroft Holmes, I presume?" He walked over to the bound man. "I've heard so much about you. I'm sure we will get along splendidly."

John sprang to his feet. "Who exactly are you guys, and what do you think you're doing?"

"Poor little John. Always the last one to understand," Magnussen mocked. "Let me explain it to you, in miniscule words so your pea-sized brain can grasp it. As I said, I'm a businessman. I do deals, trades, exchanges, whatever you wish to call it. What I need is information. These gentlemen can provide it for me, in exchange for one British Government. That's all there is to it."

Sherlock observed Mycroft, looking more like himself now, his expression composed, and his eyes observing the newcomers sharply. He tried to catch his eye, to send him some sort of message, although he wasn't quite sure what. 'I'm sorry,' perhaps? Or, 'this wasn't suppose to happen, this was a mistake?' Or maybe, 'We need a plan, or we're toast.' But his brother wouldn't look at him.

"I don't understand," John said, exasperated.

"You should put it on a t-shirt," the magnate suggested. "Alright, gentlemen, you may have him."

"No," said Sherlock firmly. "Let's go over the terms of the deal. What are we getting out of it? Why should I let you sell my brother to a foreign country, that was never part of the deal!"

"The deal was that I get your brother. What I do with him is my concern now."

"What is all this discussion, Charlie?" Sasha interrupted, in a heavy Russian accent that Sherlock suspected was at least partially an affectation. "In Russia, we don't talk, talk, talk all day, we work. Now, khurry up, we need to go."

Igor said some words to Sasha in fluent Russian, and the thug shut up. "Why don't we sit down and discuss this properly?" The well-dressed Russian said smoothly. "Let's have some drinks. Oh, and there's no need for such extreme measures," he gestured towards Mycroft. "Nobody will be going anywhere until we finished."

Igor waved his hand languidly, and Sasha advanced towards Mycroft. "No, let me," Sherlock blurted out. The least he could do was prevent another thug from touching his brother, even if it was only to unbind him. He approached and knelt down next to Mycroft, gently removing the cuffs and chains, and then cutting the ropes. He worked as quickly as he could, not daring to look into his brother's eyes and see the pain and humiliation he was suffering.

"Much better, brother mine," he heard Mycroft say, in his usual sarcastic tone, and the younger one dared to look up, still kneeling by his chair. Sherlock allowed his face to show all the regret he was feeling, as well as the helplessness and anguish at the situation he had gotten them all in. Mycroft's eyes were hard, his gaze penetrating, as the brothers looked at each other for several moments. Then Sherlock recognized a minute softening in the frigid blue eyes, a spark of understanding, and even forgiveness. That would have to be enough for now.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Sherlock retorted snarkily. "You are the life of the party, and the party is about to start."

"I hope there won't be anything in the punch this time," Mycroft said facetiously.

"Something in the punch? I have no idea what you're talking about. It isn't my fault that you're a complete lightweight."

"Quiet, you two. Let Igor talk," Sasha said testily, looming over the both of them. Sherlock got up and sat down next to John, while Mycroft stretched and rubbed his hands.

"Okay, listen up, everyone," Igor began. "My government would like to have Mycroft Holmes as a guest, just for a short little while. His presence can enhance our negotiations with your country, perhaps get them off our backs for a while. Then there are the Americans, who are allied with your little country here, and we might get something out of them too, if the United Kingdom is prepared to negotiate for that. I won't bore you with all the details of our foreign relations issues, as I'm sure Mycroft here, and Charles, of course, understand them already, and you two won't be any more enlightened even if I do attempt to explain."

"You won't get away with this," Sherlock told the man harshly. "Our government won't look too kindly on the abduction of such an important official."

"No, you're wrong," Igor smiled at him condescendingly. "They can't go complain about it, can they, since Mycroft Holmes officially holds only a minor position in the British government. Also, there won't be any direct negotiations, it will all be through third parties, and no one will be able to prove that we've got him."

"Third parties... You mean Magnussen and me."

"Of course," the Russian agent agreed. "We will return him after a while, if we get what we wanted. That will be a part of the negotiations."

"Lovely." This time, it was the intended hostage himself who spoke up. "I think you're on overestimating both my importance, and our government's willingness to negotiate with terrorists like you."

Igor smiled dangerously. "We shall see about that."

"This entire discussion is ridiculous, as well as superfluous," the detective burst out. "Come on, John, Mycroft, we're leaving. I'd like to see any of you trying to stop us."

"Go ahead. Of course you're free to leave. Take your soldier friend, and your big brother. I will keep what I have, of course, since the deal is off."

Sherlock whipped around to face Magnussen. "What did you do?"

"Nothing, yet. I've only secured my bargaining chip."

With a sudden dawning understanding, John turned white hot with rage. He flew at Magnussen, trying to physically attacked him, but was held back by Sasha's strong grip. "What did you do to my wife!" he screamed, bucking and clawing at the thug holding him. "What did you do to Mary, you monster!"

"Really, such dramatics. It isn't quite necessary. Your little murderous wife is safe, being held by my people on an undisclosed location. She and the little one are being taken very good care of. They say it will be a little girl, don't they? I wonder if she will have the same temper like her daddy, or perhaps she will be as cunning and naughty like her mummy."

The doctor began hyperventilating at that point, and Sherlock placed a firm hand on his friend's back. "Let me take care of this, John. Just keep calm."

"So you have Mary. What happens when we walk out?"

"I make a few phone calls. To old friends of Mrs. Watson, who would be so glad to hear about her. They would probably love to visit, too. They might want to talk about some old grudges, and perhaps work it out with her. Who knows?"

John was clamping his lips tightly together, while Sherlock assessed the magnate. Mycroft smiled coldly at CAM. "I suppose I'll go along with your little game for now, but be aware, you won't get away with this for long."

Magnussen smiled happily. "Yes, you can arrest me, but you will still have to find a judge and jury to convict me. You English are so earnestly law-abiding, you make me laugh. You won't try any underhanded tricks, I'm too well known for you to make me disappear. Your goose is cooked. But let's leave the final choice for Little Brother over here. Sherlock, make your choice; three for one, or one for three?"

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut. His head felt as if on fire, bursting with so many details, possibilities, and choices that he couldn't keep up.

"I can't," he nearly whimpered.

"I can throw in some free offers to help you decide," Igor said in mock sympathy. He stood behind Mycroft's chair and put a hand on his shoulder. "Your dear brother will get back without even a scratch. He will be put up as an honored guest, all on our tab."

"Of course. I know your techniques," Sherlock said bitterly. He ran through the possibilities in his mind. The KGB used to be famous for their psychological tortures as much as their physical ones. Although officially abolished, Sherlock was sure that the "special methods" were still in use, for "special guests" like Mycroft. They would break Mycroft's mind, while his body remained whole.

Ironically, the Holmes brother's were both mentally fragile in a way, not despite, but because, of their superlative minds. A genius mind needed stimulation, or it would rip itself apart. Conversely, if presented with too much stimulation, the constant stream of information that bombarded it would overwhelm the psyche, causing a mental shutdown. That's why the Holmes brother's both needed to retreat into peace and quiet at frequent intervals, in order to sort through and organize their thoughts, and to take a break from outside stimulation, so their hard drive wouldn't overheat, so to speak.

Put Mycroft Holmes in an empty, quiet room for several weeks, with no human contact, no books, no people or things to deduce, and he will lose his mind. Alternately, bombard him with stimuli, lights, sounds, people, and questions, deprive him of sleep, and his brain will shut down. If done for long enough, it might even break.

Sherlock smiled suddenly. "You know, you're going about this all wrong," he said serenely.

"What, you khave better plan?" Sasha asked keenly. By now, Sherlock was convinced that his heavy accent and bad grammar was part of the charade he played, as the thug had to be much more intelligent then he portrayed himself, judging by the shrewd way he was taking everything in. Sherlock had underestimated an enemy before, and was now in a pickle because of it. It wouldn't do to make the same mistakes again. He would have to be very, very, careful.

"Yes, I do. Magnussen here, all he wants is information from you, I suppose about the influential people on your country."

"I've always wanted to have a real country, instead of this dumpy little place over here," CAM interrupted. "The Russian Bear, that's a challenge, now. They know how to fight, over there, instead of being passive little lambs. This should be most amusing."

"Shut up," the detective said testily, and turned to the two foreigners. "In exchange, you want influence over the British government, which you get in the former of Mycroft Holmes. I can offer you something much better than that, that will still have all parties satisfied."

"Alright, let's hear it," Igor said curiously. "What are you offering?"

Sherlock grinned again. "Me."