John found that he was entirely free to turn his head, and what he saw first flooded him with relief, then he felt puzzlement, quickly followed by cold betrayal, and then finally mere confusion. What he saw was Mycroft Holmes, casually strolling through the warehouse, twirling his unbrella, just like when they had first met.

John was not gagged, but he found he had no words. What on earth was going on here?! As he turned back to look at Sherlock, he found him glaring daggers at his brother, but he found it somewhat reassuring that there still was no fear in his eyes.

"Let me first reassure you, doctor Watson" the elder Holmes started, going over to stand by Sherlock's feet, where he could look at both of them "that I have never, nor will I ever, mean any harm to my brother. He is entirely safe, and so, I assure you, are you. I merely wanted your opinion today. I would have preferred your help, but I had no illusions it would be given. And even if you could be persuaded, much as I doubt it, well..." Mycroft looked down on his umbrella thoughtfully.

"I wouldn't inflict that on my brother. A betrayal by me is one thing" he looked up to look straight at John now "he does not like nor trust me very well, after all. But by you? No, that would be hurting him, and I would never suffer any harm to come to my little brother" the 'minor official' smiled his trademark friendly, fake smile. "But I am sure you can sympathize with that, John".

John cleared his throat "so why are we here then? If you have no intention to harm him, why do this to him?! You must know...!" He stopped himself. "About his years away from our... care? Why, of course. And I know it torments him still. More than he knows". Mycroft had put his umbrella against another table, that contained, John saw now that he noticed it for the first time, and it felt like a punch in the stomach, various torture instruments. Surely Mycroft wouldn't...?

Mycroft Holmes elegantly shrugged out of his dark suit jacket and folded it before laying it down. Then he folded up his shirtsleeves. John thought furiously about something to say, dissuade him before he did something completely crazy. What was the point of this? What crazy thoughts moved through that brilliant, insane Holmes mind of his?

The former soldier looked back at Sherlock. He was looking only at John, not his brother, worry in his eyes as he searched over his body. John hurried to assure him. This much, at least, he could do. "I am not hurt, Sherlock". "He knows that" a look showed that Mycroft had come towards them again, holding a knife as naturally as he would a pen. "I think, John" he continued "you will find that what worries my brother is that you might hurt yourself. Do stop struggling. You will be set loose before you need to move, do not concern yourself".

John was only then aware that he was still testing every inch of his bindings. He was not about to obey Mycroft Holmes, now least of all, but something in the younger brother's eyes made him stop and consider. He let himself relax - which his muscles certainly thanked him for, wrong as it felt - and saw Sherlock let out a breath of what looked suspiciously like relief and promptly focus on his brother instead.

Mycroft, whose henchmen had mostly disappeared, though John could have, if he had cared to, spot a few in the shadows next to the empty walls, walked up to his brother and cut the black shirt off of him.

Funny anticlimax is funny. Weird plot twist is weird. And no, this is not deteriorating into some strange Holmescest, torture fetish... whatever. Never fear. All recognisable content belongs to its respective owners. And reviews would be helpful, as ever. Please tell me what you like and enjoy in this story.

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