"Tell me about Sherlock," the prisoner demanded.
Mycroft swallowed hard. He didn't want to. He didn't want to give over his little brother's life into the hands of a volatile psychopath. Sherlock had to be protected from those who could to hurt him.
Yet he knew he wouldn't refuse. Just like he hadn't the last time, and the time before. Nevertheless, he began with his usual preface. "Sherlock's life is not a game for you to play."
The prisoner smirked. "We'll see about that. Sherlock is my favorite, you know that."
"I do. And that's why I'll do my utmost to keep you away from him."
The inmate grinned. "Tell me."
And so he spoke. He told of Sherlock's life, his dreams, his habits. His new friend.
"A friend?" came the disbelieving response.
"Yes. And you will not mess with him either."
As he spoke, he saw the previously dead-looking eyes come to life, glowing with interest. He swallowed his bile. He hoped he wasn't stoking a fire that could potentially burn them all.
And yet, he talked. Because talking about Sherlock was the only way to bring that spark of life into his sister's drab existence. He only prayed that his kindness would never turn into betrayal.