A/N: The beginning of this chapter backtracks a little bit to Moriarty and Mycroft's conversation. Also a bit of a warning here: Mentions of rape, and still more drug use references… nothing descript.
Chapter 21: Conversations
Moriarty smiled and allowed the silence to fill the air for a few moments, "Do you remember me when I was the one tied to a chair?"
Mycroft did not respond. He simply rolled his eyes and looked away from Moriarty who was invading his personal space.
Moriarty didn't seem to appreciate Mycroft's attempts at ignoring him, he reached out and grabbed Mycroft's face, turning it so they faced each other so close they could feel each other's breath. "Things were quite different then." Moriarty's voice was dark and dangerous- ominous, "Big bad Mycroft with all those horses and men, an entire government at his disposal thought he could take on the spider." Moriarty allowed himself to smirk at Mycroft's scowl. "I love your brother's nickname for me. He does have quite the flair for dramatics. So do I though." Moriarty smiled, "Now you know better than thinking you can take me on though, don't you?"
Moriarty's hand was still holding Mycroft's face, directing his attention to himself. Mycroft scowled and spoke in a voice far too calm for the situation, "What do you want?" he tried to shift his head out of Moriarty's grasp, to no avail.
Moriarty smiled, "Remember when you had me tied to a chair?"
"Yes." Mycroft's voice was full of skepticism, unsure of where Moriarty was going with this train of thought.
"You had me beaten." Moriarty allowed the sentence to linger in the air a few moments, Mycroft's face showed no emotion. "And you also told me about Sherlock." Moriarty's smile reappeared on his face and he seemed to have a new burst of energy, "Now I want to tell you about Sherlock."
Mycroft arched an eyebrow, "What do you have to tell me about my brother?"
"I can tell you all about his cocaine addiction."
"Oh?" Mycroft's face was still devoid of emotion, he didn't want to give Moriarty anything to feed off of.
"Yep, I can tell you all about him and Victor Trevor." Moriarty noticed the slightest bit of a scowl edge its way onto Mycroft's features at the mention of Victor and he smiled smug and self-satisfied, "I knew Victor back in the day." Moriarty was leaning back in his chair now after having removed his hand from Mycroft's face, "He and I were buddies. One day I suggested that he should try some cocaine because it's really, really good. Poor lad, so ordinary, so lonely. It didn't take much influence to get him going on it. Sherlock was more resolute against it, worried it would hinder his cognitive functions. But boredom has its way of changing good ol' Sherly's mind."
"I already know that you were the one indirectly behind his addiction." Mycroft raised his chin slightly, "Do you really think I don't know?" Mycroft smirked slightly.
"Oh, I'd be disappointed if you didn't." Moriarty assured him, "That's not the point of the story though. No," he paused for dramatic effect, mocking a thinking pout, "no, that's not the end at all." His smile looked almost like it could split his face in two. "See, one day," another dramatic pause, "when he was out cold…" Moriarty had to stifle a bit of laughter and Mycroft felt like a stone was slowly slinking down his throat and sinking to the bottom of his stomach, leaving an unpleasant weight there, "… I found him. Your brother is just so gorgeous. I couldn't resist."
Mycroft didn't want to listen to this, he decided to speak up, "I'm sure you had a jolly time."
Moriarty smiled, "I did. I was almost surprised when you didn't figure it out. His walking gait was slightly different for the next few days, did you not pick up on it?" Mycroft blankly stared at him, "No? Oh, tisk, tisk, tisk, Mr. Holmes, I expected better from you."
Mycroft grimaced a smile, "I really don't care. Just tell me what you want?"
Moriarty scowled as he leaned forward slightly, "You care. Don't tell me you don't." Moriarty was very close to Mycroft now, faces just breaths apart, "You may be the iceman, but you do have a heart somewhere in that ice." Moriarty leaned back again, "You took Sherly away from me, after all that work I put in. You took him away and got him all nice and rehabilitated; how proper of you." Moriarty continued to scowl, "That was unkind, Mycroft, very unkind indeed. Now I want you to listen and know exactly what I did to Sherlock, and I want you to know what I'm going to do." Moriarty allowed for another dramatic pause as he and Mycroft maintained furious eye contact, "And I want you to know that there's absolutely nothing you can do to stop me." His voice and face softened and he allowed himself the smallest of smiles.
Mycroft sighed, "I suppose there's not much I can do to stop you from telling me."
Moriarty shook his head and smiled, "Sherly's my virgin, mine. It really shouldn't count if he can't remember it." Moriarty then attempted to regale more himself than Mycroft with a very descriptive narrative of the rape of an unconscious Sherlock. Mycroft did his best to keep his face impassive, but Moriarty could see each and every small emotion that flit across his features, speaking loud volumes which he fed from. Moriarty found himself quite satisfied with his choice of vengeance against Mycroft for his incessant interfering.
Once finished telling his story Moriarty put his hands on Mycroft's knees and rubbed up towards his thighs; Mycroft couldn't suppress the involuntary shudder that ran through his body at the touch, he felt like he was about to vomit; aside from the slight shudder his posture and expression were completely impassive. It was enough for Moriarty, his smile was wide and unnatural looking; Mycroft found himself wishing he could tie him up, put a nice bow on him, and let John do as he pleased with him. John had been in the military, had innate medical and anatomical knowledge. Mycroft was sure that John would be able to come up with an imaginative fate for the devil on Sherlock's shoulder, especially if Mycroft let just a few tid-bits of information slip in front of him.
"And when everything is done, I promise you that I'll have Sherlock on a leash."
Mycroft managed a scoff that lacked its usual edge of superiority.
Mycroft stood up from the seat he had been bound to, thanks to Lestrade releasing him, and looked thoughtfully at his younger brother. He couldn't tell him, even Mycroft had no clue what kind of reaction Sherlock would have to such information. He wouldn't tell him, it was for the best that he never learn what Moriarty had done. Sherlock searched the room for the cameras and quickly found them.
Sherlock quickly strode across the room without looking at his older brother, "Meet us at 221B, we'll have our discussion there, Mycroft." Sherlock sneered, John silently followed close behind.
"Is he not coming with us? There's room in the c-" Lestrade began but was cut of short when Sherlock yelled at him to hurry, Mycroft would be able to find his own way. Lestrade rushed along and drove Sherlock and John back to 221B. Mycroft sighed and sent a text with directions of where to pick him up and where to take him, who to bring and what to do once they arrived at the location.
Mycroft showed up to the flat fifteen minutes after John and Sherlock had returned. Lestrade had left upon their request without any attempt of an argument. He understood this was a more personal matter for them and he just hoped that they would fill him in on the need to know later. Mycroft slowly took each step leading up to 221B one at a time, he was embarrassed, he was concerned, and while he was sure he could hide the full truth from Sherlock there was always the faint possibility that he couldn't.
Mycroft entered the flat and was greeted by the sight of John and Sherlock sitting in their usual seats, waiting for Mycroft to sit on the uncomfortable wooden client's chair; both men looked livid in their own way. Mycroft took his uncomfortable seat and didn't wait for them to prompt him, "I personally oversaw the selection of Isabella's safe house location, her caretakers, and the security personnel that were to look after her. Everyone had been working for me personally for years. Their records had no marks on them whatsoever.
"This time, however, I noticed one of the caretakers behaving in an odd way. Where normally I receive the utmost respect this caretaker was now smirking. I checked his credentials again, they passed. I was going to fire him today and have Isabella moved to a different, secure location as I didn't want to risk anything. Upon arriving at the house I noticed that one of the security guards was absent from his post. I went inside in search of others to see what the problem was when I was hit over my head. When I awoke I was bound to the chair and the caretaker took Isabella. He was soon replaced in the room by Moriarty. He is convinced that by the end of your little game that he will have you wearing a leash, Sherlock. So please, be careful." Mycroft left out the topic of discussion and that the rest of the men and women under his employment for the care of Isabella had all been assassinated.
Sherlock scoffed, he didn't need to hear from Mycroft to be careful, not when it was Mycroft who had allowed Isabella to be taken. No, he didn't need to hear that from him. "What was the caretaker's name?" Sherlock's voice was deep and disturbingly indifferent.
"Michael Prowell."
Sherlock looked to John, "text Moran and see if the name is familiar to him." John nodded, a scowl still on his face as he turned his attention to his phone, texting Moran the name. Within a minute John received a return text: Pseudonym for Lester, one of Moriarty's loyalists. Not sure of surname.
John handed Sherlock his phone with the response open on the screen. Sherlock looked down at it and muttered, "Perhaps we should have asked Moran about all your employees before we entrusted Isabella to you."
Another text came in: What's happened?
Sherlock responded on John's phone: Nothing, you needn't be concerned.
Sherlock held the phone in his hand; knowing that his response would not have satisfied Moran, he awaited the next text: Bull shit, this is Sherlock isn't it? I can tell the difference. What's going on?
Sherlock smirked at the phone, Moran was cleverer than he looks. John arched a curious eyebrow at Sherlock and asked what was going on. Sherlock composed his response: Moriarty has Isabella. Message from an old friend says he and Isabella will be 'playing on the roof' Do you know of any roof aside from Bart's that would have significance to him?
The response read: I'll be at your flat in 5. Wait for me.
Sherlock physically shook his head: no, you have to stay with Agatha. You can't abandon her.
The response: Aggy can look after herself- trained assassin- I'm on my way.
Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Mycroft, you can leave now. Moran's on his way." He spoke more to John than to Mycroft.
Mycroft grimaced a smile, "Oh! You're working with Moran, Sebastian Moran? And you give me a hard time about working with Moriarty's operatives." He scoffed, "Good luck, you know you can't trust him."
John looked up from Sherlock to Mycroft, "Yea. Actually, we're already well aware of that. Thanks." He laughed slightly as he turned back to Sherlock.
Mycroft rolled his eyes and left the flat where he entered one of his town cars and quickly disappeared into traffic.
Moran showed up in five minutes, both John and Sherlock looked at him curiously. How did he manage that? He should have taken at least an extra five minutes longer than he did. Even more surprising to them was that behind him Aggy walked into the room nursing her ribs as she moved across the floor to gingerly lay on the couch. Moran stood next to the couch with his arms folded over his chest.
John furrowed his brows and cocked his head slightly to the side as he pointed at the injured woman lying on the couch, "What's she doing here?"
"Bastian may be a good liar, but he's not that good. When I found out I insisted that I come with him or he wasn't allowed to go."
"Your ribs still require at least two more weeks of healing before you should be moving around." Sherlock spoke up, voicing just one of John's thoughts.
Agatha nodded, "Yes. I should be resting. But I've worked in worse condition." She managed to suppress a laugh, "not much worse, mind you." A grin spread across her face then she grew serious again, "Moriarty has your little girl, John. And While I might not have been there for her so far I won't allow that. I am her mother after all." Agatha smiled as she pondered over the notion. She had no intentions of being around for Isabella's day to day life; however, when it really counted, when it really mattered, she would always be there to protect her daughter.
John nodded; she was right, it was possible that she would be able to help them.
A/N: So that's the chapter for the day, I probably could make this chapter longer, but that's all I feel like putting in right now. Sorry about what Moriarty did to Sherlock back in the day, I didn't initially plan on that but then it popped into my head and since I'm cruel I decided to put it in. Hope you're all still enjoying! Thanks for reading, reviewing, the follows and the favorites :D