*Bad blood*

by: WhiteGloves

A.N: I am terribly sorry for being gone for... nearly a month!

*gasps* real life is really pulling some punches! In compensation- I made this extra long!

Plus one final chapter! Do forgive me! (kicks the shadow of work from pulling her baccccccck to oblivion xD)

Thank you and enjoy!

Chapter 10: Way Out

[Six years ago: Sebria]

"So, my friend. Now it's just you and me."

He heard the man spoke in perfect Sebrian, understood its meaning even having been trapped there for many weeks with his handler incessantly inflicting him pain. His mouth was dry with only the taste of blood. His arms were numb from the way it hung, stretched on his side like a spread eagle. His body stank with his sweat, blood and grime, his throat dry but at best, he was able to use it to buy him some time as he told his torturer about his wife's infidelity and like the small-minded fool that he was, the bald Sebrian guy was gone.

Leaving him alone with that idiot brother of his because make no mistake, Sherlock recognized him even with the layer of his thick coat and fur. Sherlock knew it was Mycroft the moment he entered the room and settled himself on the opposite chair. The way he silently made his presence known without having to speak, the precise footfall of his feet and the way he carried himself that stood among the barbarians. Mycroft had tried to blend in, but his superior nature was always showing. At least to the trained eyes.

And now Mycroft had stood up from the chair, his feet hitting the ground quietly.

"You have no idea the trouble it took to find you." He stood beside him, then there was that painful tug on his hair, followed by sounds of chain as a hand clamped on his head and pulled his head firmly. Mycroft surely enjoys himself, Sherlock thought scathingly as he heard his brother speak now in their native tongue about a terrorist network acting in London.

Of course, why else would Mycroft be here if it isn't for his next utility?

"Back to Baker Street." said the man, "Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock felt a smile tug at the corner of his lips but it didn't last as he slowly looked up behind his long curls, his murderous eyes staring intently at that tall man still beaming at him with his hands behind him. Mycroft looked elated, especially when he raised his right hand, revealing a chain of keys. He looked triumphant but all Sherlock could think about was how long Mycroft had been sitting his bottom there without any inclination to stop his torturer. They stared quietly at each other in the next seconds, Sherlock seething in annoyance and Mycroft somewhat looking confused. When Sherlock continued giving him a glare, refusing to even utter the words of what should be obviously done next, the older Holmes sighed and blinked at each of his red wrists quietly and then moved on to use the keys.

The first chain clicked and Sherlock felt himself sway to his right, his knees buckling beneath him as his free hand landed on his leg, heaving breathes as Mycroft moved to unchain his other hand. He felt sore, felt his body was warm but not enough to render him unconscious.

"The trouble you find yourself in, brothermine," came Mycroft's voice, free from any emotion as the chain locked and Sherlock found himself kneeling on the floor, trying to regain his composure. The cold floor was haven to his aching legs. He coveted Mycroft's shoes who stood in front of him, knowing his own feet must still have those unattended wounds from all the running in the woods. Slowly, he relaxes as at the back of his mind, he knew he was finally going home.

But the package that Mycroft was the person to find him made him revolt and glared upwards again. Mycroft was still smiling down at him with his sharp eyes dancing. He was really proud of himself. Sherlock gritted his teeth.

"You came." He huffed, finally clambering to his feet to meet his brother on eye level. He couldn't stand being under his condescending smirk anymore and knowing Mycroft, he knew he wouldn't hear the end of this.

"Of course." Mycroft nodded, eyes still light, "Who else do you think has the capacity to make the perfect rescue?"

Sherlock groaned and massaged his right wrists. "Why you?"

Mycroft stopped and blinked, seemingly trying not to be offended. "Because it's me. Who else do you think is there, Sherlock?"

"Point." The younger Holmes rubbed his other hand, a frown forming on his forehead as he was reminded that yes, there was only him and Mycroft. Ever since he faked his death after the Reichenbach fall, there was only the two of them—just like old times. Like Baker Street had never even happened, and John never existed. That Mycroft's presence was the only ever thing he could count on and though it never made him feel alone, it didn't make him feel any better. Not after knowing a warmer presence in the person of his flat mate. The thought somehow sent melancholy on the man's chest, but he rubbed it off together with the pain on his wrists as he stood straight, eyes hard on the door.

"You don't seem to have any lasting damage on that body of yours. You'll be fine." Mycroft voiced his assessment and Sherlock was once again painfully reminded how Mycroft just sat there but he opted to change the topic instead.

"Fine is when I'm out of this hell hole, Mycroft. Now stop bragging of your rescue when we're still stuck in here, what's the plan?" he shot a glance at his brother and found Mycroft already staring nonchalantly at the doorway.

"There's only one young sentinel outside, he doesn't even count as a threat. Five more lingers by the corridor but I don't think they would dare get on my way. See, I have quite a distinct reputation and rank—"

"Oh, shut up, get on with it." Sherlock interrupted before Mycroft could elevate himself further at his successful infiltration where he obviously managed to rank up. Sherlock had no time for his shit, his body ached like he was in flames. "If we're going, then it's now."

Mycroft nodded in agreement and gestured for Sherlock to keep himself hidden while he stood in the middle of the room. Sherlock did and the older Holmes proceeded in calling his man outside in perfect Sebrian tongue. The metal door opened and the guard, seeing as the chains were no longer holding their captive, gasped especially at Mycroft's icy tone in Sebrian—

"What's the meaning of this?" indicating the chains, his tone accusatory. He flashed the poor man one of his most deadly look and the guard frantically ran to his side, his weapon raised in alert as he told Mycroft in sequence how he was sure he heard their prisoner in here not long ago—

Mycroft didn't even have to turn his eyes when Sherlock made the assault. He kept himself standing there quietly, waiting for Sherlock to finish his business. Only when he heard Sherlock zip his jacket did he look beside him to find his brother donning the sentry's look that fitted him perfectly.

Sherlock mused on the fitting and gave his older brother a suspicious look. Mycroft smirked, looking as if he was caught red-handed as his eyes travelled down the unconscious guard on the floor.

"There's a reason I hand picked him to be the sentinel outside, he's the only one near your body size."

"How far are we from the exit and how many obstacles?" Sherlock ignored him and Mycroft didn't see to mind as he watched the younger Holmes put the strap of an assault rifle around his body and fixed his long hair clear off his face and wear the fur hat.

"Fifteen minutes if we don't meet anyone. But they know better than to engage me."

"What'd you do—kill a person to prove it?"

"I don't have to eliminate anyone to prove power, Sherlock."

"Sure. And I didn't have to save my skin from my torturer with your 'power' looming in front of me either."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Now you're asking." He smirked and left his older brother as he stepped towards the door, "Are we leaving or not?" There was no response for a long time and for the briefest second inside his mind palace, Sherlock thought something had happened while his back was turned— like the guard waking up realizing the traitor and slitting Mycroft's throat—it sent an unpleasant shiver on his spine that in a snap, he turned to look at Mycroft in annoyance, knowing full well his mind was getting too active for his own good.

He found Mycroft standing there with a gun on his hand, eyes inspecting it quietly.

"I could use a weapon on the way out." He said, more to himself.

Sherlock's expression scrunched. "Really? You don't have a weapon under all that garb?"

Mycroft gave him an exasperated look as he kept the weapon and walked behind him. "I'm surprised you couldn't tell. I didn't come here with the plan of aggravating anyone to the point that I get myself in a fix before I even get to my target. Weapons are for direct combat and self defense. I didn't plan on acquiring one as I see no necessity to defend myself. Now that you my brother has been located, I think there is already a reason for combat." He took something from his other pocket and Sherlock watched as his brother attached a silencer at the tip of the gun before slipping the weapon inside his coat pocket.

Sherlock couldn't help the snort that he made as he reached for the door and opened it, peeking cautiously outside.

"You bring a weapon around you all the time in London inside that umbrella." He pointed out. "Yet not bring one in a terrorist cell?"

"Well, you know London," Mycroft tapped Sherlock to move aside and stepped outside the metal door, legging the corridor and seeing no enemy, gestured for Sherlock to follow as he continued, "I find the Parliament even more deadly than this place combined."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning it's difficult to fathom the actions of people with hidden agenda whereas this place moves single-mindedly."

"Ah." Sherlock whispered as they briskly walked, "Now there's the understatement. Not like you get up from the chair, pointing your umbrella at them?"

"Maybe, but the gun will remain in my hand, Sherlock." Mycroft clarified, somewhat knowing the point of the conversation, "It's an insurance. A gentleman can't walk around without protection when a havoc like you're around. It's like walking naked in the Cabinet office."

"I'm sure Lady Smallwood will enjoy that."

Mycroft gave a pause, Sherlock grinning back at him from where they stood at the end of the corridor, still not meeting anyone. The prospect of his brother being intimate with anyone seemed so ridiculous at that point.

The older Holmes' eyebrows rose up. "And why wouldn't Sir Edward enjoy it as well?"

Sherlock nearly pulled the trigger of the gun on his hand. He looked back at his older brother to find him smiling at him easily and realized Mycroft was pulling his leg. It made him crunch his teeth as the older Holmes walked ahead of him.

"Very funny, Mycroft."

"You started the picture."

"I don't want to remember you in your birthday suit."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "How unfortunate for you."

Sherlock hissed, angling his shoulder to a more comfortable position so his wound would not be grazed by the belt of the rifle. His slight groan made Mycroft look behind him as they pressed their backs on a wall. There was an amused expression on his face.

"Your wounds are not deep, but it will sting, I imagine."

"I'm aware, Mycroft. I can feel them." He said through gritted his teeth.

"If you prefer to rest for a while—"

"Just move!"

The two moved adeptly with Sherlock bringing up the rear despite his body's condition. The corridor was narrow and dark, like an underground that it was, and each turn they see more enemies standing or walking around. Not once had they been stopped the moment their eyes fell on Mycroft who seemed to be acting the part as their superior. Which again heavily reminded Sherlock that this brother of his sat there, knowing he could stop the beating earlier on, enjoying himself.

He decided to let it slip for now.

They rounded a corner, just before the door at the end of the corridor Mycroft obviously had memorized to be the exit when the British Government Head collided with someone with sturdy body as wide as the wall. An angry yelp slipped from the man who was a few inches taller than Mycroft, wearing the same attire with heavy eyebrows and pointed large nose. Mycroft rubbed his shoulder with his expression a mask of unconcern. The man seemed to recognized Mycroft who stepped back to shield Sherlock from view as the consulting detective automatically lowered his head.

In no time, both were exchanging gruff greetings in Russian tongue.

"Kusteekh." He said, addressing Mycroft who gave a slight nod, lips thin.

"Kañ-ool."

"What are you doing here? The leader's been calling for you. He wants to send you now to Moscow for a negotiation."

"Was that supposed to be now?" Mycroft's eyebrow arched and Sherlock stole a glance up, trying to sense if they were in danger with this man. They were still within the cell—heck they haven't even stepped outside the prison camp and creating a ruckus right now could be a poor strategy and a waste of effort on his brother's part. Like sinking the walls of a dam with them standing before it. No, they couldn't miss this chance.

"Change plans." Said Kañ-ool, standing sideways and showing Mycroft the door and gesturing his head to it, "I'm supposed to escort you, let's go."

Mycroft stood rigidly for a second, before nodding and Kañ-ool walked ahead. Mycroft didn't move. Immediately, Sherlock was on his side and the brothers followed the tall Russian man's figure with their eyes.

"Is it possible to tell you to go ahead without me while I try to follow you back when I can?" the older Holmes asked with humor while Sherlock shook his head.

"Nope."

"I figured. My chance of escaping is pretty slim if I am left behind. There'd be no way out."

"Then why ask?"

"Just trying to avoid the inevitable…" there was a strange note in Mycroft's words that Sherlock caught, before he saw his brother dig his hand inside his coat pocket. It stayed there for a few minutes. The younger Holmes could see hesitation in his brother's eyes.

"Hey, what are you doing still standing there?" called Kañ-ool with heavy tone. Mycroft's eyes flickered and from his pocket he slowly pulled out the gun and weighed it on his hand, his eyes focused on his target. Sherlock threw his brother a quick look. Kañ-ool was standing too far to see what was on the older Holmes' hand.

"Mycroft…" Sherlock called softly.

"But we have no choice." Mycroft replied grimly, yet the gun remained on his side. Seeing that his brother could barely clasp the weapon on his palm, Sherlock clenched his jaw and took the gun from his brother. Mycroft jumped in surprise, but felt himself getting pushed from the back forcefully—

"Sherlock—"

"Walk." The consulting detective commanded, eyes on his target, as he kept himself behind the older Holmes, "He's a few feet from the doorway. He's the only block to freedom. We need to get rid of him."

"You're not—"

Sherlock didn't answer. His eyes flashed dangerously as they slowly approach, already seeing that it would be a difficult combat with the man so muscular but hey, what's with the element of surprise? In one single motion, just as they stopped beside the man, Sherlock gave all his might and swung the butt of the rifle he was clutching at the side of the head of his target— the most vulnerable one— making sure to make contact with a pressure point—

The strike knocked the man out in an instant. Sherlock breathed heavily, knowing his own blood was rushing in his veins at the strength he had to muster right after being tortured. But he had to make sure the man was taken down quickly. Any other disturbance there would call the attention of the whole vicinity. He turned to Mycroft who was staring at him with mouth slightly open.

"The gun's heavy." He said dryly.

"Of course it is." Sherlock said as he turned his body towards the last steps heading to the door, knowing well both of them understood the weight of the weapon. He clasped a hand on the metal doorway and pushed it open, stepping in the clear path and seeing the gray sky.

Will you look at that? Sherlock thought in amusement as Mycroft stepped behind him.

He got himself out.

Just another day for Sherlock Holmes and dear brother Mycroft.

Which was saying something in the present as Sherlock found himself yet again in a difficult situation where his brother was concerned. It would have been like any other operation they have handled from their years of experience with Sherlock destroying everything he can reach and Mycroft cleaning up his mess. Sherlock wouldn't have been worried at all even when surrounded by enemies looking for his older brother, or in this case cousin—but this didn't feel like anything he has handled in the past. Somehow, Sherlock felt like he was alone even with John watching his back. He could even feel a trickle of cold sweat sliding down his cheeks, hinting on his awareness that something was not right.

It was screaming on his face every time he looked over at his older brother.

Mycroft remained stoic and in control—nothing new. But why was his mind—no, why was his heart hammering—? Like an instinct telling him something was off? Mycroft was unfazed even with the prospect of being taken by the group of men only after their own self-preservation. But that was just Mycroft being Mycroft. He was never one to show weakness in front of others… Mycroft was fine… Mycroft was okay…

Sherlock knew he was only trying to convince himself.

In the silence that fell after Adams' demand, came a forbidding voice in the dark.

"Take one step…I dare you…"

It was deep and low, like a rumble of thunder emanating concealed power. He didn't have to shout, but everyone knew that his threat was sound. His eyes glinted darkly and though he was not holding any weapon, the consulting detective radiated like an atomic bomb as he stood like a boulder between his older brother and the men surrounding them who had attempted to seize him in order to save their lives. Even John Watson had positioned himself behind Sherlock, standing in front of Mycroft the moment he saw the threatening movements toward the older Holmes.

Sherlock's eyes were on Seth and Seth alone. John could not see his best friend's expression but he could just imagine his silent anger seeping through the look he was giving Mycroft's half-brother. It could only be that look—the same look that had graced the kind of Magnussen, Culverton and Moriarty. Whenever anyone he ever cared about was under threat, Sherlock was sure to have that look.

Mycroft was silent.

"You know you can't give him up." John said amidst the tension, Sherlock not moving an inch while his networks stared at him dumbly and anxiously. They obviously know what he was capable of. John knew he had to do something as his eyes fell on Adams. "You know Mycroft came here to help you. Whether he's the reason we're in this mess or not, he still came for you. He maybe manipulative, but he's never left anyone hanging in the air. He's here to prove that. Aren't you, Mycroft?"

He glared back at the British Government Head whom he found staring quietly at the back of Sherlock's head before meeting his eyes pointedly, an eyebrow always superiorly up, his answer was stern. "You really think I'd stoop low enough to prove myself to anyone?"

John couldn't believe he was standing between this poor excuse of a human and the men who could beat him in satisfaction. Maybe he should have let them. Mycroft didn't look like he was being insincere and this above anything else ticked John into clenching his fist rather than tackle the man himself.

"Sherlock…" he hissed, a warning on his tone. Sherlock eyed Mycroft from the corner of his eyes.

"Don't be stubborn, Mycroft." He whispered quietly, eyes darting back to the men in front of him, a hand slowly raising up to halt any movements. "No one will take anyone, and no one will get hurt. I say you step down and no one here will get killed. My brother doesn't answer to any of you. Not even you."

Seth and Sherlock glared antagonistically at each other and it was obvious there was real bad blood between them when Mycroft stepped from the corner of the wall, standing almost ahead of John, his features grim and silent.

"If testosterones could level down, the two of you idiots will all get us killed by the time you decide whether it's safe for us to linger." Eyes pulling from his brothers, the British Government Head addressed the other men, his tone dead, "I don't think you'd want to lay a hand on me. Not if you know what's best for you because I promise you, the moment you escape this hole, no amount of hiding can save you from the British Government's most elite force. This is a reconnaissance. As we speak, an infiltration team has been progressively moving at this epicenter from northing and easting locations within 20 m radius, waiting for my signal. Units have been standing by on all escape routes a kilometer from this point, leaving no chance for the enemy to slip." Mycroft's eyebrows rose up characteristically, his tone in calculated measure, calm and lucid. "So, if you plan to identify yourself opposite me then resign yourself to the consequences, it will not stop whether I am present or not. If you have made a decision, take a step forward and pray… take me."

He opened his arms in a welcome invitation but there was something in his cold demeanor and expression that had all men stare at him in awe. A beat passed; nobody made any movement. Sherlock's eyes were trained on his older brother. Seth never took his eyes from him too as Mycroft blinked ever so slowly, an eyebrow rising higher than the other and whispered, "No? Good." He lowered his arms, "It's the smartest thing you've ever done, I assure you."

John swallowed hard and he was sure Sherlock was looking at him now too. The doctor knew from the beginning that Mycroft had a plan. This was an intelligence operation; it was impossible for Mycroft not to have prepared any countermeasures when outnumbered and chances of survival are minimal. Especially when it involves having to interact with potential traitors, the man himself was a walking threat to others, that much John understood. And yet he could not stomach understanding this deeper… he couldn't help the silent rage in his voice when he spoke above the noise after the British Government's revelation.

"So… you're saying your men have been waiting all this time..." He licked his dried lips, his fists clenching and unclenching as Mycroft slowly turned his direction. "Outside— waiting for your signal to come and rescue. And you haven't made a move even with those people are dying under your nose?" That one John could not understand and he made sure to get it across the British Government Head as his heated eyes burned him with intensity. "You let people die even when you have the option to save them?"

"Their rescue is not my concern." Mycroft replied dryly, not a sign of life on his eyes, "I do not compromise operations, Doctor Watson. Not for anything."

John hissed and before he could stop himself, his right hand had clasped on the lapel of Mycroft's clothes. It didn't matter if Mycroft was inches taller than him, John was sure he could take down the mountain any second. Had Sherlock come between them, John was sure he would have punched his best friend. Sherlock knew better and stayed where he was, watching John muster his anger as he concentrated on the older Holmes.

"That 'anything' was lives, Mycroft! You could have saved them! What's more important than human lives!? How could you not— you—" he didn't know how to describe the man anymore and he would have used the word monster but realized he didn't have to. Mycroft got his message loud and clear but his eyes remained icy.

"It's not my concern." He repeated still.

"John," Sherlock finally stepped between them, putting a firm hand on his friend's wrist gripping Mycroft, "It's already done. We can discuss this at length later." He gave his older brother a penetrating gaze which Mycroft only returned without much as a scowl as he freed himself from the doctor. "We have to move. The radio has been buzzing about finding Adams as well and from the looks of it, they are already threatening to burn the place down." He tapped on the device in his ear to silently convey where he got the information. He looked his brother square in the eyes, "Your men would be useless here if they engulf the place in flames. But really, a reconnaissance with you as the vanguard?"

"Not the first time I've done it to secure the target." Mycroft answered pointedly and both brothers were reminded of those many times the older Holmes would appear on site when Sherlock needed rescue the most, the most recent one in Sebria flashing in their memories. This time, however, Sherlock knew Mycroft had a different 'brother' in mind. The idea clipped something in his stomach but this was no time to act irrationally because whatever it was that made him glance at Seth Adams was not pleasant. He turned back to Mycroft. "What's your plan?"

Mycroft took one look at Sherlock with a frown, then swept his eyes at everyone else, his lips curling.

"We don't need this many number going in one direction if we all want to escape unnoticed. We have to go on separate directions to locate the different way out. North and East side are where my men will meet us once I give the go signal. We are located at the annex of the left wing. From here the first group can take the right corridor leading to the backdoor onto the trees. Continue in that direction they are can reach the railway station. Safe to say, that route is the most secured as the north unit will meet them approximately 32 minutes from now. If apprehended by my men just give them the code: Umbrella Corporation and they'll know I sent you."

He finished his words, clearly looking at the members of networks staring at him. In the next beat, they were all scrambling out of the room with energy like the devil himself was chasing them, leaving the Holmes brothers, John, Seth, Kemp and two younger men staring at them, uncertain whether to follow or not. Mycroft huffed silently but with no visible concern.

"Halfwits, I said it's unsafe to go as group."

Not a second passed when he said it, thunderous feet could be heard from the corridor followed by gun shots hitting walls and men roaring behind. Sherlock immediately grabbed Mycroft's arm and ushered him out as the others ducked, going in the opposite direction and out on the other corridor. They ran like hell, with gun fires still ringing on their ears. As much as John was concerned for those who were chased in what they believed to be the 'safest route', he couldn't help but feel vexed at Mycroft's obvious goading. Did he plan to eliminate those men singlehandedly by manipulating their fears? Because that's how he saw it happen.

Sherlock, on the other hand, was busily dragging his older brother, especially when they heard heavy feet running behind them. There were thuds and cracks as they made their way on the darkened and cluttered corridor blocked by several pieces of broken ceiling that were dangerously kicked around by Seth and John who were running ahead. Moonlight shone above them from the cracks of the ceilings.

They hadn't been running long when Mycroft gasped in pain—the next thing he was limply following Sherlock and the detective was sure his brother, in contrast to his unrivaled sharp mind— sucked the most in his clumsy physical nature, must've hit something along the way.

"Hurry up!" he scolded him, aware of Mycroft's heavy breathing, unaccustomed to such physical exertion. But Sherlock was only half sympathetic as another part of him wanted to teach his older brother a lesson about sneaking around and placing himself in operations that required bodily flexibility to survive. Mycroft remained apathetic even to his brother's admonishment.

"You forget I'm not made for legworks." He said quietly between catching his breaths.

"Then you shouldn't have volunteered here in the first place." The consulting detective spat.

"Let me go."

Instinct made Sherlock to grip him tightly. "If you look at yourself now, you'd probably realize it's the exact opposite you're doing. You didn't have to come here… what you are doing here eludes me. I know it's pointless to ask."

"Then don't." came the cutting reply.

Sherlock was tempted to just stop and knock some sense to his brother; as dire as their situation was, Mycroft's absolute indifference to his surrounding and his consistent dramatic repose and stasis despite their situation was starting to unnerve Sherlock. It was not out of his brother's character to be calm during an operation. Hell, Mycroft can infiltrate terrorist camps with only his wits and escape unscathed and unnoticed. Sherlock visibly recalled their time in Sebria, when he was captured and relentlessly tortured. Mycroft had come to his rescue in perfect disguise as one of the ranked officials. Not that he doubted his older brother finding him, but to find that Mycroft was there spoke volumes of his concern and his priority. Not to mention, probably to make sure everything goes smoothly. Mycroft covered this later by confessing afterwards that he didn't want Sherlock to jeopardize the rescue operation.

They were late as it is. Mycroft had said, as if speaking of missing a tea party.

Sherlock had acknowledged that, but was deeply annoyed by then that Mycroft took time in watching as he was tortured. He remembered Mycroft smirking at him as they waded themselves out after unhinging him from the chain. It was quite easy to escape from there seeing as Mycroft had made sure he was at the top position not to be questioned of his business by anyone they encounter along the way. If Sherlock hadn't been too warped in his own bitterness of having been rescued by Mycroft (which then felt like a slap in the face), he would have admitted to be impressed.

Mycroft knew that he knew he owe him another one. His dancing eyes said as much. Good thing Sherlock was able to get even by saving his older brother's behind many times after that encounter. Otherwise Mycroft would never let him hear the end of it.

This time was no different than then. Mycroft infiltrating. Mycroft in disguise. Mycroft being there.

Yet, it was all wrong. Where as Mycroft had been a walking sass and wit back then, letting Sherlock do all the physical fight till they were out of harm's way with comments too sarcastic for Sherlock to tolerate, today he was nothing but a walking corpse. Dead inside. He would look at his older brother and all his sees was the depth of the coldness of his eyes, staring glassily ahead with his too short replies. This was not the Mycroft would rescue him when the situation was serious, no matter how dire. This was not the Mycroft who willingly staged himself as a fisherman out of humor despite the grave business in Sherrinford. That Mycroft was missing here replaced by a soulless shell. Sherlock should have noticed it from the beginning. What has happened to his brother? He kept a firm hold on that sluggish arm.

But at that moment, his best friend's voice alerted him.

"Turn off your lights!" John hissed frantically, "someone's behind us!"

"Take left!" Kemp hollered loud enough for them to follow his voice as all lights turned off and Sherlock struggled with his feet to make sure nothing blocks his path, "There's a boiler room in there we can hide going underground!"

Without question, Sherlock tugged on Mycroft whom he found pliantly following his direction. Their way was dark and dangerous with only feeble light coming from the moon on the broken ceiling and window, but after all the colliding sounds head of them, the two soon heard crashing sounds Sherlock quickly identified as woods scratching the floor and crashing to many things in front of them. Someone apparently thought it wise to clear their path using broken woods used to block and tackle —but the noise it was creating was enough to make racket in the whole floor—

"Stop that!" Sherlock bellowed, glad that Mycroft was not letting himself get dragged anymore, though he still kept limping. The two of them were the last in the troupe. "You want them to find us quickly?"

"Tell that to splinter of woods sticking on my ass!" Kemp retorted but there was a sound of heavy wood getting thrown on the side wall and sounds of feet begrudgingly making its way on the corridor. An annoyed sound came next, and then Adams turned on his mobile's torch.

"This is stupid." He muttered, pointing the torch up till they saw how near they were to adjacent corridors.

"Left!" Kemp began again and he was already halfway on the direction, followed by Adams and the two homeless network members when Sherlock was suddenly stopped by his brother-cousin's hand, pulling him back. Looking sharply behind him, the younger Holmes found his brother's silhouette, close and tall against him. He could not see Mycroft's expression, but his eyes glinted in the reflected moonlight.

"Sherlock, this is the perfect opportunity to disperse. Our number is still great and can attract attention."

"Why? Our number is enough as it is." Sherlock answered, taking a step closer to the man to see his face, but Mycroft, as ever, was devoid of any emotion at the moment. "Come on, we can't waste time—"

"Tell me you don't think it's a good idea to split up—"

"No, it's really not—and even if it is, there's no way you're not going to the other group other than mine."

"Sherlock?" Came John's inquiring voice not far from them that had the detective glancing behind him, before looking back at Mycroft. "Come on, we can't do this now. We have to go."

There was urgency in Sherlock's tone now for he was sure he saw torch lights coming from the end of the corridor they had just come from, "Mycroft, we really have to go—"

"Would you rather Doctor Watson lead the other group?"

Mycroft's question had Sherlock frowning. "Why are you obsessed with splitting up?"

"They're coming! Jesus!" John called in whisper, scrambling back to the Holmes brothers, "Sherlock!"

"Go!" Sherlock barked at his best friend, clasping both hands in front of his idiot brother's uniform and slamming him inside a room on his right, "We'll follow! Shortly! Throw your phone on the right corridor, John and leave the torch on! That'll mislead them!"

He did not wait for the doctor's reply as he grabbed the top of Mycroft's head and forcefully had him duck down inside the too dark room, sliding on the wall and placing a finger on his lips, not sure if Mycroft could see him. No sooner had they done this, they heard rumbling footsteps and the floor vibrated with running feet coming closer and closer—Sherlock clutched his hand at the back of his older brother's head, having imagined for the wildest moment Mycroft to raise his head out of impulse—

Which reminded him once again of what was the matter—what was off? Was Mycroft having an episode!?

Angry voices went pass their hiding place, three- five—seven men trotting one after the other. Sherlock pressed back on the wall till the last man was gone, before letting out a long sigh he didn't know he was holding. Slowly, he craned his neck by the door less archway, but only saw the empty, dark corridor. He listened for a few seconds, and when nothing came, he pulled himself back inside the room.

"They went right," he sighed, dropping his head back on the wall and opening his eyes to the broken ceiling, revealing a starless sky. His heart was still pounding under his chest which was a good thing. If he hadn't been too afflicted about the man beside him, he would have found all of this funny. "And there are no gunshots… they're safe."

"So, you made a choice to let Doctor Watson lead the other group?" Mycroft sounded grim, but dead pan straight fact.

"Better him than you." Sherlock now glared at his brother, finally having the space to turn to him, see his silhouette unmoving from where he sat and the way his head drooped concerned Sherlock. "You're too unstable to be left on your own, Mycroft. What's wrong?"

"It doesn't concern you."

"Bullshit." His voice came out strong and for a second, he thought he saw Mycroft turn his way a little too quickly but stayed silent. This made Sherlock grimace even more for the Mycroft that he knew wouldn't be able to resist a sharp comment on his profanity. "Mycroft…" his tone was full of warning. "What's happening to you?"

"I want out." Breathed the older Holmes.

Sherlock paused, his frown deepening. "Out…? From what?"

"From everything."

Sherlock studied his brother's silhouette for a few seconds, the meaning of his words sinking deep and touching something alarming in him. Was he suggesting…?

"Don't be an idiot!" he snarled, but after a few seconds, Sherlock found himself blinking as reason started to flow in his head instead of instant rejection. Why Mycroft would want to be 'out' when everything around him had crumbled in no lesser than a week, everything he strongly believed in, the very foundation of his very being trampled upon by no other than his own father. Sherlock couldn't blame him, yet couldn't support him in that out either. Many times, he wanted things to end, but every time he does, the reprimanding tone of his older brother would bring him back to his senses. No matter how lost he was, no matter how stoned he was he would always hear Mycroft's strong voice of reprimand and goads to come back—to think. Was that what Mycroft needed right now? Someone to tell him to get off his arse and start thinking? Sherlock then wondered who it was that can always push Mycroft to go forward when he stumbles. It made Sherlock pause again. Has his brother ever stumbled before?

And even if he did—when did he ever expressed himself in such a way—? Mycroft was never one to show inclination to emotion— let alone depression—

Sherlock's jaw dropped open as he stared at his brother. "Mycroft—"

"I want out." the British Government Head muttered as he raised his chin and glanced at Sherlock's direction. "We need to get out of here soon, Sherlock. We have to escape. If we don't, I have a feeling this is where we will meet our end."

Sherlock crinkled his nose and looked away. "You don't want to meet your end?"

"I prefer it is not in a dingy environment where a possibility of my body getting charred is high, so no."

The younger Holmes sucked some air and let his arms fall on his knees tucked near his chest. "Good to hear." He didn't know why, but seeing his older brother breaking down, or admitting a weakness in such a way had a huge impact on him. He was just glad Mycroft still got it together. He hoped his brother could keep it together, but there are times he wanted the man to just be an open book like John. But then, that was like hoping the sky would crack open and reveal its maker. Near impossible.

When silence greeted his ears for a long while, Sherlock opted to speak again.

"You know we can always escape. We've had plenty of wading ins in our lives. Nothing can stop us getting out of here alive together."

"There is now." Mycroft's tone was quiet, and for a moment, Sherlock thought he planned to end it there, only for him to continue, "This time, it's not just the two of us, Sherlock. This time we have other people we need to protect. You have yours, I have mine. We need to set priorities, brother…" his voice trailed away.

Sherlock pointedly look at his older brother who was no longer looking his way. It dawned to him that Mycroft was speaking of John, and of Adams. Strangely, he could not counter that. Was that why Mycroft wanted to separate their groups? So he, Sherlock, could concentrate on saving the life of his best friend? But what does Mycroft expect himself to do? Tackle Seth's enemy in a hand combat? Adams was practically throwing Mycroft around the first time they met, it was obvious who needed the protection.

"I need to do this; I am his brother." Mycroft's voice was unrecognizable. "The least I could do is save him."

Sherlock closed his eyes as he realized this was not about what he can and can't do. Mycroft needed this to ground himself on something. To rebuilt his foundation. Not allowing Mycroft to do this was like shackling him from independence. The man was trying to function in a strange orbit he had just stepped in and he wants to be in control. And it all came back to Sherlock how he was always getting in the way of his brother from meeting with Seth, to bringing him back to talk to their parents—his aunt and uncle or whatsis. Have those affected Mycroft's self-esteem? Maybe he had meddled too much… it was possible he was also adding to whatever Mycroft was going through by being too much of himself. Too selfish.

But to leave without Mycroft?

It was still all leaving a bad taste in his mouth.

"I can't just leave you…" Sherlock started, stopping with a wave of protest on his chest.

"You're not." Mycroft's voice was firm and for a moment, Sherlock saw his older brother, the one from before any of this began, stared back at him with confidence, "This is merely a tactic. It's not like we can't see each other at the end of the tunnel."

Sherlock found his eyes not leaving his brothers. He gritted his teeth.

"You make sure you come out of that hole, Mycroft."

Only his brother's silhouette making a curt nod was there to assure him that he was heard.

"What's going on? What took you guys so long? Did they find my phone?" John scrambled to his feet inside the long boiler room with five tanks, pipes and trinkets around surrounded by doors on each side. The Holmes brothers appeared there fifteen minutes later, Sherlock with his phone's torch on and Mycroft right behind him. Both brothers looked a mess with torn pants and scratches on their knees and legs. Mycroft had it worse as his right shin was actually bleeding.

"It wasn't there any longer so obviously." Sherlock informed his flatmate as he looked around the company, "Anyway, we're going to split up. Units from North and East will meet us at juncture right outside the trees. But the two of you are coming with us," he told his network whom he doesn't really trust at the moment, "I can't let Mycroft get distracted by anything you might pull."

Actually, Mycroft doesn't care, John wanted to point out as he stole a glance at the apathetic Holmes.

"Split up is fine with me, but why not take him?" Adams nodded at his half brother who caught his eyes but remained silent. Adams returned his look sullenly, "His leg is already busted, he's only going to slow us down. Take him with you."

Mycroft's eyes didn't leave Seth. "If you feel safer with Sherlock, then go wrap your arms around him."

Sherlock suppressed the initial thought to laugh, "We're the only two people in this group to have memorized the entire area's layout plan to a fault and know where our back ups are currently located. I don't like the idea but moving with seven men, it will be difficult to slip anyone along the way without getting attention."

"He's right," Kemp muttered behind Seth, "The way we run's like having rhinos in the distance. We'll be dead before we can find that exit door."

Sherlock looked from Kemp to Adams, before his eyes fell to his older brother. "You'll be alright?"

Mycroft nodded once, "I have sent a message to my men just now. They will be infiltrating in the next ten minutes. It's best that we are not on their way when they engage. Hopefully they will not set the whole place ablaze… I have also sent for fire marshals to use the helicopters. If we can still save lives as what Doctor Watson intended—"

John just stood there with arms crossed looking disgruntled. "You're only working that out now? They're all dead."

"Nothing bad in trying." Was Mycroft monotonous reply without his usual fake smile that would normally accompany his remarks. "We should be going now. Time is our enemy." The Holmes brothers took one last look at each other, before the older Holmes turned his heels and left.

John stood beside Sherlock as they too faced the opposite door, a heavy frown gracing his eyes.

"Is he gonna be okay?"

Sherlock pressed a smile, glad that despite his best friend's aversion to Mycroft, he still had enough soft spot for him to care. Not many people could hold that spot on his older brother. Either Mycroft ticks them, or he simply do not allow them which only made Sherlock admire John more.

"He'll be fine. Now we need to move to safety. And John?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

Seth and Kemp lead the way as they were the ones with the phone torches with Mycroft guiding them from the rear. They heard no one follow them in the first five minutes, not even heard a sound of other people's footsteps as they made their way in a hurry towards the northern exit. No wind could be felt or heard, yet at some point, the dilapidated wallpapers would flap in their presence, their shadows growing with the torch's light. The corridor they crossed was not as cluttered like the rest but it was narrower with lines of open metal doors to their right, showing numbers of empty beds, some with bed foam, others rusty metallic bunkers that were all left forgotten. This was an Asylum after all.

Mycroft gave the objects no heed as he stared at his two companions. They were nearing the exit area yet all he could do was to stare at the two men, especially at the blonde, lanky man he knew had to answer to him. He stopped walking.

The absence of his footfalls made a considerable change in their ears and the two men also had to stop. Adams looked back first and pointed the torch at his half-brother.

"What's wrong?"

But Mycroft didn't answer. Instead, he pointedly looked at Seth's friend with his shrewd eyes. There was something cold in the atmosphere that had nothing to do with the night sky for there are no windows on the long wall, only the creaking, rusty metal doors and the emptiness of each room. Mycroft blinked once and narrowed his eyes.

"I seem to recall you saying you've never been in this place."

Charlie Kemp was surprised to find himself being addressed and his frown was deep. "Yeah? So?"

"Then pray tell… how you know where the boiler room is located?"

A ringing silence filled the air. Seth glared at his half-brother, then turned a confused look at his friend who seemed to have forgotten how to close his mouth. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly that." Mycroft continued, aware of Kemp's sudden rigidity and glare, "And while you're preparing to explain that, you might as well enlighten us on your abstruse lie… that I… how did you phrase that? Used you to get to my half-brother. I am sorry, but I do not need pawns like you to reach a goal. Do stop thinking highly of yourself, I merely paid you money to do as I bid and that was only to judge your character whether you are to be trusted or not. Safe to say, I proved my point when I told you that you're just like everyone else. Did you mention it to him? That you accepted the money?"

Seth's eyes widened. He shot Kemp a disgusted look. "Is that true?" It was clear from his voice that he didn't think the idea beyond his companion. Mycroft kept his eyes at the blonde man who neither shook nor nodded his head.

"H-he bribed me with money and he said there'll be more…"the man's breathing was starting to hitch, but the redness of his eyes was more alarming, "And before I know it, they've come after me—the gang when I got released—what am I supposed to do then?"

"Don't lie." Mycroft's icy eyes nearly discouraged the hyperventilating man, except Kemp wasn't at all that scared. He took steps towards Mycroft violently and swore.

"What do you know? You're not the one they promised to torture!"

"Did they ask you to bring me here?"

"No—it wasn't you. They were after Sherlock Holmes at first—"

Mycroft's eyes glinted. "You told them about Sherlock Holmes?"

"They weren't as interested with him as they were with you!" Kemp knew he was gaining upper hand and was too obvious in trying hard to manipulate Mycroft. Except Mycroft was always ten steps ahead of everyone else, even with his legs hurting, "I told them you've got the money and influence! I told them your name but they don't know you— that's when I know you'd show up where your brother is!"

A quick movement from Mycroft and the next thing, Kemp had a gun pointed directly in his temple. Mycroft looked gravely down at him, his eyes showing no sign of hesitation nor emotion except spite. Kemp suddenly dreaded standing there, unarmed. Seth immediately took steps near them, his fury heard as he shouted—

"Drop the gun!"

Kemp was shaking so bad his legs were about to giveaway. Mycroft did not find it amusing.

These goldfishes thinking that they can get the best of him…

"Mycroft, put the gun down!" Seth repeated, reaching Kemp's back and raising a hand, catching the look of pure malignancy on his half-brother's eyes. And that was the moment Seth Adams realized how his friend already had one foot on his graveyard. Mycroft was dead serious. He had faced enough enemies to know their murderous expression and Mycroft without having to say his intention, was radiating of such aura. Does Mycroft plan to kill Kemp there? Was that his plan from the beginning? Questions tumbled one after another in Seth's mind, but there was only one question he thought enough to get the British Government Head's attention. "Is this why you wanted to separate from Sherlock Holmes' group so bad!? So, you can murder anyone in cold blood?"

Mycroft didn't seem moved for a few seconds, before his silent eyes travelled up to Seth who was already standing beside his shaking friend. "And what do you know about me being cold blooded?"

"I can see it clearly," Seth insisted with his voice shaking, "you with your heavy gun and cold-blooded look! Just make sure you can carry the weight of killing my friend, Mycroft!"

But Mycroft had already begun dropping the gun the moment he heard those two words. Heavy. Gun. Life.

Sherlock.

Before Mycroft could comprehend what was happening, Seth's hands had pried away the weapon on his hand while another set of arms—long arms tackled him and threw him face down a dark room. He groaned in pain as his already injured leg got pressed beneath him. It sent his head spiraling in dizziness. But before anything else could register on his mind, he heard the sharp rattling of metal doors snapping shut followed by the loud noise of its hinges being driven against another metal—and then all noise was gone.

Darkness enveloped him; he couldn't even see his own person. Mycroft sat still, numbed by the pain on his legs.

That was when it hit him as he felt both coldness seep to his skin. He realized amidst the pain that he had been locked in one of the asylum rooms in the middle of nowhere.

And there was no way out.

Oh! I could only add photos in my Ao3 account!

-To Be Continued-