Warning: this chapter has descriptions of sexual acts and an inference of incest.

Chapter Twenty

Sherlock sat back down on the bed and took out his own phone, dialing Molly's number. It was half past seven in the evening. She would have just finished putting the boys to bed and would probably be giving Violet her bedtime feed. He felt rather mean, intruding on this private time between mother and baby, but he had promised to call and he did not know when he might have another opportunity.

It took a moment or two for his wife to answer the phone but, when she did, she sounded relieved to hear from him.

'Hello, my darling. Thank you for ringing.'

Sherlock lay back on the bed, with the phone to his ear, and closed his eyes, picturing, in his mind's eye, the vision of Molly and Violet, sharing a quiet moment.

'How was the journey?'

'It was mercifully uneventful. John stuffed his face and I studied the lie of the land. We are meeting the sisters in about twenty minutes. I don't think they know where Arthur is. They both seem genuinely concerned about his radio silence.'

'Well, do try not to frighten them still further, my love,' she cautioned.

'That's why I brought John. He's good at these sorts of situations.'

'And where are you staying?'

'At a hotel right next to the railway station,' he advised.

'Does it have a name?'

Sherlock had no idea. He had just followed John here. He looked on the nightstand, to see if there was any hotel stationery in evidence, and found a brochure.

'Ah,' he announced, 'it's called the Railway Hotel. How original.'

Molly smiled to herself, at Sherlock's unique perspective on the world, and Violet smiled back, releasing the suction on the nipple she was currently suckling and letting a dribble of milk trickle across her cheek and into the folds of her neck. This made Molly giggle and Sherlock wrinkled his brow, wondering what was so amusing.

'Violet says hello,' Molly said. 'She's just having supper and then she's off to bed. I wonder if she will bother to wake up tonight, knowing that you are not here to play with?'

They chatted about this and that, until a tap on the door announced to Sherlock that it was time to go. He said a fond farewell and closed the call.

ooOoo

The door to Arthur's prison cell opened and MIB entered, performed his customary visual scan then held the door for the doctor to enter before leaving the room, himself. Knowles was carrying a supper tray. He placed it on the counter, removed the cover, then took a knife and fork and sampled a little of every item on the plate, as Arthur watched from the bed. Knowles then broke the seal on the water bottle and took a sip then returned the bottle to the tray and carried it to the bed.

Arthur took the meal tray from the therapist's hands and balanced it on his knee as he began to eat.

'I'm so glad that you have finally realised that I am, truly, your friend,' Knowles began, as the door re-opened and Blake backed into the room, towing the TV trolley, once again.

Arthur looked up, shrugged, and went back to his supper.

'Now, Arthur, I want you to remember that what I am about to show you is for your own good. I know that you now see the error of your old ways but I wonder whether you fully appreciate the degree to which you have been used and abused by the man you call your fiancé.'

Arthur listened without comment, continuing to consume his meal. Privately, he was intrigued to know what they had in store for him. Not more skin flicks, he hoped. He thought he had made it clear that porn movies had no effect on him whatsoever. But the 'use and abuse' comment was a little unsettling.

Blake had plugged in the TV and set the chair in front of it, as before, then stood by, waiting for Arthur to finish eating. Once the food was gone, Knowles moved the tray back to the counter and invited Arthur to sit in the chair. He slid off the bed and padded, subserviently, over to the seat, dropping down and folding his hands in his lap, adopting a submissive pose.

At a nod from Knowles, Blake switched on the DVD player.

The scene materialised on the screen and Arthur was not sure what he was looking at. This was no commercially produced porn video. The image was black and white, dark and indistinct, badly lit and grainy, like that from a security camera. The perspective gradually became apparent as an overhead shot, looking down onto a bed, on which two bodies were visible. There was no sound track to add context but it was obvious that the two subjects were engaged in sexual congress.

As Arthur peered at the image, he began to recognise familiar details in the scene, though he had never before observed them from this perspective or in black and white. It was the master bedroom, in Mycroft's official residence in Cadogan Square. And one of the subjects in the shot was obviously Mycroft – Arthur was familiar with every aspect of that man's body. The identity of the second subject was difficult to make out, since that person was lying prone on the bed, his face pressed into the mattress, the features obscured, but Arthur knew it was not himself. He knew his own body very well, too.

The initial shock of seeing his partner making love to another man was quickly tempered by the practical acknowledgement that he was not Mycroft's first lover, not by a long chalk. He had no way of knowing the vintage of this film. It was perfectly possible – in fact most probable – that it had been recorded before he and Mycroft even met, let alone became intimate.

Arthur had had other sexual encounters, too. These former partners had been good company, good friends and good lovers but he had never felt for any of them in the same way he did for his fiancé. Therefore, he could not avoid the sharp pang of emotional pain that he felt, watching the man he loved making love, so ardently, to another.

But the shock and hurt at the nature of the images were quickly replaced by outrage that someone had planted surveillance equipment in Mycroft's bedroom without his knowledge and taped him in his most unguarded moments, then passed that tape on to a third party. How could this be? And how did these people get their hands on it? Who were they and why were they doing this?

He suddenly realised that he was betraying his true feelings for the man he had been robustly denouncing for the past several hours. This video had caught him off guard. He was tired and stressed and he was vulnerable. His captors had taken advantage of this. They had tricked him. They had out-witted him. He made an attempt to retrieve the situation.

'Why should I care who he's fucking? Rather them than me!' but he already knew, from the self-satisfied smirk on Blake's face, that he had seen through the act. Knowles, however, was still none the wiser. He was so engrossed in the action on the screen, licking his lips, lasciviously, that he was oblivious to everything else.

For his part, as all the conflicting emotions vied for dominance within him, Arthur now felt acutely uncomfortable observing his partner making love to another man. It felt voyeuristic, even more so in the knowledge that Mycroft was unaware that this intimate act had been recorded for posterity

'Are you sure you don't care who he fucks?' Blake asked, out of the blue, taking Arthur by surprise. He had never been involved with the 'talking' bits before.

'Couldn't give a monkey's,' Arthur replied, flippantly.

'OK. Just as well really.'

As Blake made this comment, the love-making moved on to a new phase and, as Mycroft slipped to the right, the other man rolled over onto his back and reached out to pull Mycroft's head towards his own for a passionate kiss and Arthur gasped as he recognised the sexual partner.

It was Andrew Lewis, Mycroft's valet-butler.

This put a whole different conplection on the matter. It might be an old video, shot years before, but Andrew was still in Mycroft's life. Arthur suddenly felt like the second husband, in a polygamous relationship. And it showed. Even Knowles noticed.

'Oh, Arthur, you poor boy. I did warn you, didn't I? This man has betrayed your trust and exploited your vulnerability. And, believe me, there is worse to come.'

Arthur could not, at that precise moment, imagine anything worse than discovering that his future husband had had a sexual relationship with one of his employees – whom he still saw every day of his life, who was his close confident, his man-servant. A vicious thought insinuated itself into his consciousness, before he could block it, like a viper pouring poison into his ear. What if that relationship was still on-going?

Whilst Arthur had been reeling from the revelation of the identity of Mycroft's on-screen lover, the image on the screen had changed, abruptly. The two bodies had vanished from the bed, which was now made up, neatly, with a duvet and pillow set in a pattern which Arthur knew to be still in use, at the Knightsbridge apartment.

Arthur watched, mesmerised, unable to look away as shadows stretched out across the bed, closely followed by their corporeal counterparts – Mycroft, again, and another man, who was not Andrew. They were both naked. Mycroft fell onto the bed and the other man threw himself next to him and they proceeded to engage in mutual fellatio, in the classic '69' position.

Arthur was shocked to his core. Not just because of the utter abandon with which his lover was giving himself to this sex act – which he had never once suggested to Arthur nor appeared remotely interested when Arthur hinted at it – but, once again, it was the identity of the partner that cut him to the quick. The man was Charles Meadows, the Estate manager. Arthur's head spun. Was Mycroft's world entirely populated by his ex-lovers? Assuming, of course, that they were 'ex'.

'Still not bothered?' Blake taunted, crossing the room to stand over Arthur, staring down at him with a mocking smile.

There was no point in lying. Arthur knew the game was up. His heart was well and truly on his sleeve, exposed for all to see.

'Ok, you've made your point. You can turn it off now,' he hissed, through gritted teeth, feeling perilously close to breaking down under the impact of these earth-shattering revelations.

'No, not quite yet,' Blake insisted. 'There is just one more film you need to see. If you think those two were bad, wait until you see this one!'

'It's not necessary, I get it!' Arthur retorted. 'My partner has a harem of former lovers in his employ – me included, I suppose, although I was an employee first and then a lover so maybe that makes me special but, somehow, it doesn't feel much like that. Don't waste my time or yours showing me more of the same. You've won. Game, set and match. Mycroft and I are history.'

Blake put a restraining hand on Arthur's shoulder and fixed him with a steel-hard glare.

'You need to see this,' he insisted and his expression confirmed that this was not optional.

This time, it was Blake who nodded and Knowles who pressed the 'Play' button.

The scene was Mycroft's bedroom, once again, and Arthur noted that the bedding was not a set he recognised. This was an older film, then, so why should Mycroft's choice of sexual partner be of any concern to him? Unless it was Anthea, he thought, absurdly. Now, that would be a turn up for the books. Arthur almost laughed at the very idea of Mycroft shagging a woman.

But, as the dark, grainy image resolved itself into two bodies, lying diagonally across the bed, Arthur was stupefied. The smaller of the two figures - a good thirty centimetres shorter than the man, who was unequivocally Mycroft - was slim, slight, and willowy, with milky pale skin, and a thick mop of dark, curly hair. As he watched the two bodies entwine, he shook his head in disbelief and felt an icy wave wash over his skin, as all colour drained from his cheeks.

He pushed up off the chair and lurched toward the sink, where he vomited, violently, on top of the stale, stinking puke still festering there from the day before.

'No! No!' he gasped. 'No! Not…not…' He couldn't even say the words. His mind refused to accept what his eyes insisted was true. This could not be, was not possible, no, no. His legs could not support his weight and he buckled at the knees, sinking to the floor, still heaving and rasping, where he lay in a heap, insensate, whilst his guts continued to pump out onto the floor through his lax lips.

ooOoo

Mycroft sat in the leather winged chair, by the empty fire grate in his study, brooding. This was the second night of Arthur's absence and the hollow feeling in his chest was growing ever deeper, broader and more hollow. He rubbed his brow and tried to repress the mental images of Arthur's lifeless eyes that kept insinuating themselves into his imagination.

Molly had tried to persuade him to join her in the Summer Drawing Room. She felt it was unwise for him to be alone. He sort of agreed. At least in company, his autopilot clicked in and he could maintain a controlled demeanour. In isolation, there was no imperative to do that and he could feel his resolve crumbling.

He shook his head, trying to banish the despair that was threatening to over-whelm him.

Then the phone rang. He snatched up the receiver.

'Sir,' came Anthea's calm, business-like tone, 'Interpol have apprehended Marcus Frayne.'

ooOoo