Yay! I'm back. Thanks everyone for waiting!
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"Ah, Mr. Turner," Mycroft said evenly as he approached the cell. "Finally, we meet."
Henry lifted his head and glared at the government official standing in front of him. He had been manhandled from the location where that pain-in-the-ass, Murray, had fucked up his shoulder and knee and deposited in this silver-lined cell for two days.
"And how do you like your accommodations?" He asked genially. "It's a bit smaller than that villa on Mykonos, but it should be sufficient."
"I'm going to rip your fucking head off." Henry growled letting his fangs drop to intimidate the government twat standing in front of him.
"Four hundred years old and still as crass as the day you were turned." Mycroft tutted sadly. "But what else is to be expected from the son of an adulterous pauper?"
"How the hell did you know that?" Henry said nervously feeling a line of ice replace his spinal cord.
"It's my job to know things, Mr. Turner." Mycroft said smugly. "And I am extraordinarily fantastic at it, if I do say so myself."
"I would have to agree." A man's voice purred from a shadowed doorway at the back of the room. Henry felt anger burn through him as the man walked forward and into the dull light of the overhead fixtures.
"Sawyer," Henry said angrily. "Aren't you supposed to be bending over and begging for it from that bitch at Interpol?"
"Oh, Henry?" Sawyer said deftly avoiding taking the bait. "Still upset about that little game we played in Zurich?"
"I still got away." Henry growled.
"And I still burned your house to the ground and froze all of Swiss bank accounts." Sawyer answered with a grin. "A little birdy told me about your money troubles, Turner. Back the wrong horse?"
"I still got paid." Henry said darkly. "I fucked my little pet and got a half mil for the pleasure."
"Don't look so smug, Turner." Sawyer said heavily. "You're not here to wax nostalgic."
"But you're not going to kill me yet." Henry said assuredly. "You need something or you would have let that little shit, Holmes, take me out at the warehouse. What do you want?"
"You're going to tell us who ordered you to contact the military." Mycroft answered slowly.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Henry said with a little shrug.
"Come now, Mr. Turner." Mycroft said twirling his umbrella. "We both know that you have neither the power, influence, contacts, nor intelligence to come up with that little coup on your own."
"I might be persuaded to try a little harder to remember…" Henry said with a calculating grin.
"You misunderstand me." Mycroft said turning toward a table hidden in shadow and picking up a syringe. "You are going to tell us who hired you. But by the time you do, I doubt you'll even remember your own name."
"What are you going to do?" Henry said nervously.
"It's an ingenious little cocktail." Mycroft said caressing the syringe lovingly. "I will have to send a thank you note to Mr. Moriarty for the formula. I think we'll have the information we need within the week. Your opinion, Richard?"
"Oh, definitely." Sawyer said rubbing his hand lightly over Mycroft's forearm. "Shall we get to work then?"
"Yes, let's." Mycroft answered.
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"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Murray asked with a slight grin.
"Going to see John." Sherlock said trying to push past Murray for the second time.
"No." Murray answered. "I'm going to have a private chat with my army mate and you are going to wait out here."
"Why exactly do you think I would do that?" Sherlock asked snarkily.
"Because I just handcuffed you to the guardrail." Murray answered with a happy smirk before sliding into the room, slamming the door shut, and throwing the bolt sharply. He ignored the muffled pounding of Sherlock's free hand on the door and turned to look at his friend. Bill felt his breath hiss out of him as he stared at the form lying stiffly on the hospital bed. This was John Watson. Medic, Soldier, friend. And here he was fighting the rising panic in his blood, fighting the restraints, fighting the hospital staff, fighting himself. He met that red gaze frankly and shuffled over to sit on the edge of his bed by his shackled feet.
"You look like shit." Bill said bluntly not looking away from those terrifying eyes.
"Did I hurt anyone?" John asked quietly. "I can't remember much after that first dose. Please, tell me I didn't kill someone else as well."
"No, John." Bill answered firmly. "You didn't kill anyone. Not even that first bloke. He was already dying."
"That doesn't make what I did okay, Bill." John said.
"John," Bill said, trying to control his anger. "You were fucking starving. You were injured, scared, and hungry. You couldn't help it."
"That's worse!" John said rising to meet Bill's anger. "The fact that draining that poor sod dry was so instinctive and impulsive that I didn't even fucking register what I was doing until I was covered in his blood and licking his shirt of remnants makes me even more dangerous than I thought. I'm a fucking monster."
"Shut the fuck up, Watson." Bill growled. "Don't be so predictably stupid. I won't let you say shit like that. You're better than that."
"I really should just be taken out back and shot." John answered letting self-loathing color his words.
Bill wound up and slapped John hard across the face, "You listen to me good, Watson. I don't just fucking risk my life for some fucking self-deprecating prick with the intelligence of a goldfish on meth. You're going to get better, you're going to calm the fuck down, and you're going to go back to you're crazy flat on Baker Street and regale me with stories of your insane flatmate when I come back to London to visit. You're going to do all of these things because you, John Watson, are not a quitter. You're a fucking soldier, man-up god damn it."
"Is that an order?" John asked hesitantly.
"You better your sweet ass, it is." Bill said firmly.
"Thanks Bill." John said quietly.
Bill reached forward and ruffled John's hair lightly. "Besides, who would I call to scare the shit out of my daughter's boyfriends if they get too hands-y?"
"Put my number on speed dial, Bill." John said cracking a smile.
"I better get going." Bill said wryly. "If only to uncuff that boyfriend of yours."
"Bill…" John said hesitantly. "I can't…it's not fair to him…"
"John," Bill said seriously. "I love you, mate, but I am not going to give you advice on that crazy arse. You're on your own there."
"Wanker." John huffed.
"Bitch." Bill answered arching an eyebrow. "Take care, John."
"You too, Bill."
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Moriarty sat at the desk of one of his many safe houses scattered around London and glared at the computer screen in front of him. All of that work. All of that fucking time and effort. Wasted. Wasted because of that insufferable Holmes. He may be a genius, almost as intelligent as Moriarty himself, but he was definitely wearing out his welcome. He'd been so close to breaking that little shit vampire. It would have been glorious. Now, he was left with no vampire, no house, and was half a million pounds lighter. He felt rage bubble delightfully in his gut. He pulled out his flash drive and twirled it around his fingers lightly before plugging it into his laptop. He may be coming up short in this little venture of his, but that didn't mean that he couldn't inflict a bit of pain and chaos on the boys of Baker Street.
He pulled up the video file and let it play on mute in the background.
"What do you think the men and women of Scotland Yard would think of Sherlock's pet when they see him buggered in an alleyway?" Moriarty said gleefully to himself before composing an email to every employee of the police station. He decided to include the men and women of the Armed Forces as well. Any job worth doing was worth overdoing, of course. He giggled happily and moved his cursor to send the video file when his screen rippled strangely and then froze.
He felt something heavy settle in his gut as a video screen appeared on his monitor and flashed to life. The image of a woman appeared flanked by two very official attendants on either side. The woman was tall and thin with a no-nonsense bob of white hair framing her face. Her eyes were steel grey and seemed to shred Moriarty's already tenuous grip on sanity.
"I wouldn't recommend sending that little missive, James." The woman said evenly.
"Who the hell are you?" He asked angrily.
"My name is Margaret." She answered with a smile. "And I believe you know my son, Sherlock."
Moriarty smirked and let out a little laugh. "Is Mummy going to save little Sherly from the big bad consulting criminal?"
"I said that I'm his mother, James." Margaret answered. "I didn't say I was acting on his behalf. Please keep up."
Moriarty growled at the implication, "Have a death wish, do you?"
"Hardly." Margaret answered with a little wave. "I just have a warning."
"And what could you possibly threaten me with?" Moriarty asked darkly.
"It's simple, James." She said, unfazed. "You've been hiding relatively well these past ten years. And that's mostly because you were always a shadow. Always just a rumor. No one seeing your face or knowing your patterns. But that's pretty much been thrown out the window for you. Interpol has your image and a list of your contacts. My boy, Sherlock, figured out your patterns relatively easily. I had some of my men devise a fantastic little algorithm to determine possible locations for safehouses, drop-points, etc."
Moriarty felt something cold grip his gut and close his throat.
"Good." She said continuing. "I'm glad that you understand the implications. You're only option, James, is to run. Run with everything you have because I'm coming for you and you won't find me amused by puzzles and games. I will eviscerate you without a second thought and then go have tea with my boy. So, run along, James."
With that the entire computer went black and left Moriarty sitting in the dark. He practically jumped away from the desk and made his way out into the night air. It was time to start running.
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Next Chapter: John and Sherlock figure shit out! Yay!
Thanks again for reading! It gives me the warm and fuzzies inside.