Chapter 4- Overall motive: Understood
Hours slipped into hours like a gentle flowing stream, but still the only thing that finally caused Mycroft to sleep was sheer exhaustion after what must have been nearly a day. Time was beginning to lose meaning. Thoughts were his only company, and they weren't exactly good roommates. Thoughts and theories about his current situation, escape plans that would all be useless unless his hands were free, and about Star rambled around his head, sometimes plodding and sometimes racing. Often Mycroft would find his mind drifting to the dark-haired woman and her kindness to him, despite the fact she was putting herself at risk. But he tried his best to push those thoughts away, because every time he considered the personal danger Star was living in, a feeling he was normally used to, but in a different way, would come creeping in, and he didn't want to consider worrying about her. Well, maybe not too much, but still...
Most of all, Mycroft was worried for Sherlock, and what he could be doing. The last thing he wanted was for his little brother to end up getting hurt- or worse- just because Mycroft was missing; and Mycroft was sure that was the conclusion Sherlock would have come to, because no matter how he wracked his brain or visited his own mind palace, he could remember no hint to Elaine Olinair being connected to the works of James Moriarty. Whether Sherlock would just presume Mycroft's work had suddenly caught up and sealed him off, or if he would actually worry(?), was something Mycroft couldn't predict, despite how well he knew his brother. But worrying was so...un-Sherlock that it was highly doubtful he would be, at least until Anthea said anything, but even then he would probably just wave her off with a vague explanation.
Suddenly, the sound of the metal hinges creaking pierced the otherwise silent air, and Mycroft's head jerked up, only for him to relax as he saw it was Star who had entered, tiny key in hand. But almost immediately, he frowned again as he took in her appearance. Star chuckled as if everything was normal as she unlocked his wrists, but he could hear the hint of forced cheeriness.
"So what have I done today?" she asked with her smile. Mycroft hesitated, a move which surprised himself because it wasn't that he didn't know, it was that he wasn't sure if saying everything he could tell would upset her. For some reason, he didn't want to do that.
"You have been drawing earlier." He stated "I'd say you started in pencil, but then went over the main lines with a fountain pen before using pastel for the colour. An unusual landscape scene, I would guess."
"Correct as ever!" Star smiled, but Mycroft couldn't keep back his words any more. Leaning forward, he lowered his voice and said,
"What did she do to you?"
Immediately, Star paled ever-so-slightly, but adopted an expression of mild confusion.
"What do you mean?" she asked. Slowly, Mycroft leaned forward and took Star's hand in his own, holding it gently and observing it more closely.
"Look at you." He said softly. Even in his palm, her hand was visibly shaking or trembling as if she was scared. He looked back up at Star and went on, "I had my suspicions about mild PTSD when I first saw you, but now something has obviously happened to trigger this." He still held her hand. Star looked at the ground, her eyes somewhat listless, but the inner corners of her eyebrows betrayed her deep thought.
"Yesterday..." she began slowly, and her voice had dropped down to a quiet murmur "M-my sister's boss came to visit."
"Moriarty was here?!" Mycroft questioned tensely "Did you manage to overhear any conversation?"
"I didn't need to evesdrop, Mr. Holmes, they were talking to me." Star replied and even as she said this, she shuddered. "Mr. Moriarty...he was...just so scary. It felt like he knew exactly how he could hurt me, torture me, and he was just waiting for the right opportunity to use that knowledge."
"He can seem intimidating." Mycroft nodded "But he didn't hurt you."
"No. He- he just looked at me and said to Elaine 'You have a soft-hearted sister. Be careful that she doesn't end up socialising with your dear guest.' I presume he meant you by that, but..."
"What?"
"I don't know..." Star glanced up at Mycroft, looking slightly confused. "He said guest, which sounds kind of temporary, doesn't it?" Mycroft considered this, but then stored it in the back of his mind and concentrated on the present.
"And then..." he said slowly "Your half-sister took this to mean that you have been, ah, socialising with me." Star gazed away.
"Elaine is stronger than she looks." She sighed "I may be taller, but she has known me long enough to know exactly how to get me to the ground and hurt me until I can't take it any longer." Mycroft registered that he was still holding Star's hand and slowly curled his thumb over the back of her palm so he was holding it more firmly. He wasn't sure if this was a decent way of comforting someone- he had rarely done so- but Star looked back at him and curled her fingers to his hand, and he saw a little bit of hope creep into her eyes. Gently, Mycroft squeezed her hand and noted curiously the way her cheeks flushed slightly, when suddenly he heard something. He barely heard Star asking if he was ok as he frowned, trying to listen closer. Then he suddenly tensed.
"Quickly, re-chain my hands." He commanded.
"What?" Star blinked, confused, but picked up the key.
"Do it." Mycroft leaned forward to make it easier for Star to reach as she obeyed him without question. Then the clang reached her ears as well and her eyes suddenly widened in some terror before she got to her feet as fast as her leg would permit, and she just managed to back away before the door swung open and Elaine Olinair strode in, instantly rounding on her half-sister. Star hadn't been exaggerating when she had said that she was taller than Elaine, but the way Star cowered away from Elaine's raised hand spoke louder than the abusive words she was receiving. Mycroft suddenly noticed Star slowly sneaking the blue-strung key into Elaine's open pocket and couldn't help but admire her action, when Elaine ceased her threats and shoved something into Star's hand, speaking in a low voice and only jerking a thumb at Mycroft. Star's eyes betrayed her horror, but Elaine Olinair just snapped something like,
"Get on with it. Do it!", and Star slowly obeyed whatever her sister had said, slowly moving towards Mycroft again. As she kneeled down and took the blue key back from her half-sister, Mycroft could read her eyes like a book as she looked straight at him.
"I'm sorry." She was saying. Over and over again, "I'm sorry." With trembling hands, she rolled up his shirt sleeves and gingerly pressed the syringe to his bare skin. She even dared to hesitate, but another harsh threat was thrown at her, and she injected the clear liquid into Mycroft's arm as painlessly as she could. The effect was almost instantaneous; waves of black unconsciousness rolled over his vision and everything drifted into nothing...
Mycroft woke and opened his eyes just as he was dragged through a pair of high brass doors and into a richly carpeted hall. Instinctively, he tried to struggle, but the two men holding him by the arms were strong and he instantly felt the cold barrel of a gun pressed to his temple.
"No games, Mr. Holmes." A harsh London-accented voice snapped. Mycroft glanced to his left and took in the appearance of the man he knew to be Sebastian Moran, the right-hand-man and prime sniper of Moriarty.
"Moran." Mycroft spat with contempt. There was history between them that he wouldn't forget.
"Holmes." Moran returned with a sneer. "I hope you're ready to meet the one you can blame for all this mess."
"I'm sure I am." Mycroft returned coldly and Moran snickered before they stopped at an enormous door made of shining ebony wood.
"Let's see then." The sniper pushed open the doors and they entered a massive room decorated like a library. Golden handled bookcases lined the walls, the drawn curtains were a rich blood red and the sofa which Moran motioned to after unlocking Mycroft's wrists was decorated with sewn-on intricate flowers. Then Moran vanished through another pair of bold brass doors and Mycroft was left alone. Within minutes, those doors swung open again and walking through them was none other than James Moriarty, wearing Westwood and a sarcastic smile to rival any worn before.
"Ah! Mycroft Holmes! My second favourite Holmes brother!" he grinned. "No offence intended, of course. You just happen to be a tad more boring than your dear brother."
"No offense is taken." Mycroft returned smoothly as Moriarty snapped his fingers and a neatly-uniformed maid came in carrying a tray full of tea things. This she placed on the low burgundy and gold-rimmed table as the men sat down, Mycroft on the sofa and Moriarty on the opposite armchair, which matched the curtains in their blood-red colour. Moriarty then began to pour the tea and Mycroft snatched the opportunity to observe the maid as she exited. A quick one-over was all it took, and Mycroft instantly knew exactly where he was. Then Moriarty handed him the tea and for a minute or so, the two men sat in silence until the criminal spoke,
"I suppose, with all your intelligence, that you have figured out why all this has happened?" he questioned politely enough, but with the gleam to his eye. "A little score- off track from Sherlock and my normal problem- but an important score none the less."
"France." Mycroft raised his eyebrows, having figured this out twenty-four hours previously, and went on, "Surely a criminal as sophisticated as yourself shouldn't be fazed by such a petty matter."
"Oh this is not petty, Mycroft Holmes, I assure you. You surely don't think I am that dull, do you?" Moriarty had given a low, feral chuckle, but his eyes narrowed as he set down his tea. "That base wasn't petty at all. It help somewhat of a...sentimental value to it." The word 'sentimental' was spoken with heavy sarcasm in the master criminal's tone. "I am rather curious as to how Sherlock tracked it down within two weeks of my, ah, slip; that is, a mere hint of its existence."
Mycroft inclined his head with raised eyebrows, not letting on for a second that he knew exactly what the criminal meant. Sherlock had figured the accidental hint out immediately and brought it straight to his older brother. Mycroft had worked for hours on end, cracking code after code, wall after wall of security, tricking person after person, wearing himself to a shadow until all it took was a phone call to the French government and a short plane flight for Sherlock to score a serious point against the consultant criminal. But now he said nothing. Moriarty's eyes flicked up to over Mycroft's shoulder and he heard the steady click of a gun, not showing a hint of emotion as he glanced at the small black handgun Moran was pointing lazily at his head, almost as if it was an extension of the sniper himself.
"Oh no, Sebby, I didn't quite mean that!" Moriarty chuckled and tilted his head towards the brass doors he had come through, "I meant..."
"Sure boss." Something near a sneer passed over Moran's face as he looked at Mycroft before going through those doors and was back in seconds with another small syringe full of a yellowish-tinged liquid, which he handed to his boss.
"Do you know what this is?" Moriarty held it up. "Or would you be too proud to admit you don't?"
"I haven't come across it personally." Mycroft responded monotonously and Moriarty chuckled maliciously.
"I've nicknamed it Crucio, after that curse from Harry Potter. I developed this myself, you know." He lazily twirled it between his fingers. "Maybe you haven't read those books. Crucio was the torturing curse. It caused excruciating pain, and so will this, to say the least." He paused and looked up at Mycroft. "Unless you give me the information I need, I will prove it to you."
The closest he ever seemed to get to a smile flitted across his face, but it was a crazy and evil smile which he alone could master. "So where shall we begin? Answer me this, how did Sherlock figure out my accidental hint?"
Mycroft just raised his eyebrows at the consulting criminal as if to ask if he was stupid while not saying a word.
"Are you sure you don't want to answer?" Moriarty crooned, studying the syringe. "You'll regret it the second you feel this, I promise." Still Mycroft said nothing.
"Pity." Moriarty didn't sound sorry at all "Well, looks like we have no choice. Seb, get the camera ready." With that, the consulting criminal whipped out a knife and tore open Mycroft's sleeve before practically stabbing him with the syringe and pressing down the piston. Then Moriarty fell back onto his chair and grinned lazily. "I think you'll start talking pretty soon now, Ice-Man. Even if you don't, this will be funny to watch." Mycroft didn't say anything, but he saw the sniper checking over a camera in the far corner before bringing it closer, and worked out what it was for in micro-seconds.
Then it was burning fire and searing ice all at once, it was boiling, burning pain that shot through his every vein, making his breath hitch in his throat and every pain receptor in his body scream. It was agony, like thousands of swords attacking him, like his skin was burning, like acid was replacing blood. Mycroft didn't make a sound. He was sitting bolt upright, for now. Every muscle was tense as he fought the urge to cry out in pain. He wasn't going to give Moriarty the satisfaction of seeing that, but now his forehead was breaking out in a cold sweat and it was becoming more and more difficult to stay silent. Moriarty gave something near a cackle. "Oh thank you! You've given me the best opportunity to show to you how lenient I can be." With those words, he jabbed another syringe into Mycroft's arm, and a minute or so later, the pain slowly ebbed away. Mycroft slowly let out a breath he hadn't realised he had been holding and noted how physically weak he felt after that ordeal. He wasn't sure if he could even stand after that. "Going to sing now, Icy-Bird?" Moriarty leered at him. "After all, surely yours and your brother's plans are not worth all that again, only it will be much worse than that, I assure you." He glanced up at his sniper and handed him the first syringe. "fill this one up again, Seb, only make it double, wait no, triple!"
"Yes boss." Seb slouched out and Moriarty got up to go the the camera himself just as it gave a high-pitched bleep.
"Ah!" Moriarty drew back and smirked right at the camera, talking to it. "So glad you could join us!" he turned and grinned maniacally back at Mycroft. "You realise who is watching this, don't you? Our single viewer will see everything that goes on- unless he turns the TV off, of course, but I don't don't think he will." He strolled back and flopped down on the sofa cushions again.
"Tell me now, Ice-Man, or you know what you'll get: How did you track down my French base? Even you can't have done it alone, who did you bribe to help you, hmm?" Mycroft refused to look at the camera and kept his face void of all emotion as he stared at Moriarty right in the eyes and refused to answer. The consulting criminal's eyes flared, he jumped to his feet and stood directly in front of Mycroft, his knife back in his hand. The blade moved briefly against the skin of Mycroft's neck not-too-gently.
"Speak, Holmes!" Moriarty shrieked, suddenly not so calm. "How is it that Sherlock could track down my most secret operatives? How did he capture them so easily and how did you help him?!"
"Try not to scream so much, you'll hurt your precious voice and the windows." The words escaped from Mycroft's mouth before he could stop them, and Moriarty's face relaxed. But every inch of his crazed anger had instead flooded to his eyes. He gripped the syringe that Moran had returned to him and slowly let go of the knife, dropping it to the plush cushions and looking back at Mycroft.
"How adorable." He murmured. "Seeing as you won't tell me anything, Mycroft Holmes, just answer this one question for me, will you?" he tilted his head to the side and glanced at the camera before asking, "Would your brother do anything- perhaps even...die, for you?"
Mycroft didn't speak, not because he wasn't going to, but because he honestly didn't know the answer. Would he?
Suddenly there was the sting as Moriarty pressed the syringe into his arm with some relish, and although he had braced himself, nothing could have prepared Mycroft for the agony that seared through his every vein and bone within seconds. He was nearly doubled over and trembling violently, but still he didn't scream, until with a harsh laugh, Moriarty pushed him to the carpeted ground and he finally cried out, unable to keep quiet any longer. Everything was going hazy with the pain surrounding, enveloping, burning him, he was vaguely aware of Moriarty talking to the camera while laughing at him, was vaguely aware of the fact that he wasn't silent any more, but the pain was mounting with every passing second, so unbearable it was a miracle he was still awake. It was like white hot knives delivering every inch and type of pain he had ever felt and more, like molten lava was trapped in his chest, making it hard to even breathe, but still, he clung on to consciousness and refused to, as Moriarty had put it, crack. He refused to give in. Amongst the agony, Mycroft barely noticed the stabbing jolt to his arm until a wave of relief washed over him and the pain slowly ceased, but he was beyond exhausted and felt utterly drained.
Mycroft lay where he was, motionless and struggling to remain awake and at least somewhat alert, though he quickly became aware of the throbbing in his chest and ribs, probably kicked by the criminal mastermind in frustration. There was a familiar metallic taste in his mouth, and he could feel warm liquid slowly trailing down his cheek from his mouth. He didn't open his eyes, and slowly registered the consulting criminal's voice above him.
"Oh what a shame...Seb! The stuff doesn't say anything about an overdose killing, does it?"
"Yeah it does!" came the sniper's reply.
"Oh dear." Moriarty laughed, yes, he laughed, and Mycroft clocked that he was talking to the camera again and forced himself to open his eyes, trying not to squint at the harsh light. "Oh wait!" Moriarty grinned at the camera, which was pointed more at him as he stood over Mycroft, "All is well. Ok, not really all; our British government isn't exactly ok, but still! I think you get my message." Mycroft just focussed on breathing in and out through the remaining pain, and glaring at the consulting criminal.
"Ooooh, doesn't he look angry!" Moriarty giggled, then checked his watch and exclaimed to the camera, "Oh my, would you look at the time! I'd better just tell you the rules of our next game, my dear." He spat out the last two words before pulling out his small gun and twirling it in his palm with a soft psychotic smile.
"The rules are simple. You have...three days- I was going to make it five, but I'm in a good mood. Three days, and I'm giving you no clues, to find out where your beloved brother is being imprisoned." Moriarty gave a chuckle with his words and continued, "Three days, no clues, or else..." Slowly, Moriarty turned and pointed the gun at Mycroft, who had struggled into a somewhat propped-up-on-shoulders position and stared coldly and with contempt at the consulting criminal until, with something of a snarl, Moriarty kicked him hard in the chest and he fell back in silent pain. Mycroft opened his eyes again as an idea flashed into his mind and while the consulting criminal was diverted, he tapped his fingers on the carpet silently, looking right at the camera for the first time.
"Boss?" Moran had re-appeared in the doorway, holding yet another syringe, but one that Mycroft recognised as having the anesthetise in it.
"Oh yes, Sebby, go right ahead." Moriarty grinned (if that was possible) and gave the camera a little finger wave. "Well, it was so nice to speak to you, though I am just going to have to imagine your face. I suppose I'll be seeing you soon, Sherlock. Bye-bye!" Moran had already jabbed the syringe into his arm and by the time Moriarty had finished talking, the blackness had rolled over Mycroft once again.
"Sherlock?" ... "Sherlock, what's up with you? You're staring at a blank TV screen like it holds the answer to life; what the bloody h*ll has happened?"
"...James Moriarty just kicked my brother."
A/N: 0_0 FFabeonG, what drug were you on when you wrote this? Hehe, anyway this scene was inspired by the brilliant artwork by Torheit-die-Katze on Deviantart called "We have a plan". Check it out and notice I said i would include a scene based of it in the comments :)