After a tense, silent car ride, the group arrived at Bakerstreet, John and Mrs Hudson guiding Sherlock upstairs and into his bed. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. The landlady pulled a blanket over him and went to make some tea. "I'll be right back, Rosie will be here any moment." John said quietly, kissing Sherlock's forehead.
A few minutes later, his daughter on his arm, he checked on Mrs Hudson in the kitchen. She was staring at the kettle, brows pulled together in worry, nails drumming on the kitchen table. "It works better when you switch it on." He said kindly. Her head jerked up as if she had been torn from a deep thought. "I'm sorry, I forgot..." "It's okay, let me help." He placed Rosamund in her chair, supplying her with a toy, stroking her head lovingly.
"Oh John, what happened? What are we going to do about Sherlock? I have never seen him like that, all scared and defeated. Sherlock doesn't give up!" She cried out, burying her face. John took her hands in his, holding them carefully. "Don't worry Mrs H., we'll fix it." He said only half sure, doubt flickering in his eyes. "What happened, John?" Pulling his daughter close, he told the landlady about Moran and his accusations, leaving out his final threat. "He has been a lot more susceptible to emotional pain since the events at Sherinford." He said, "This torture chamber really scarred him more than he lets on, he hasn't really recovered from the blow yet. Sherlock was close to losing his brother once, I think all this is more than he can take right now. And Moran made it pretty clear who's in charge of this game. It all looks a bit hopeless." Mrs Hudson let out a soft wail of pity. "Oh poor Sherlock, he's been through so much, it isn't fair! And to think I was so unfair to Mycroft…" She shook her head gloomily. "It's okay, he wasn't always the nicest person to be around. I do wonder why they took him and left Greg behind." "And how in the world did that awful colonel even find you?" Mrs Hudson asked. "He didn't." sounded a frail voice from the door and Sherlock dragged himself in, leaning against John's shoulder, gently touching Rosie's cheek with a weak smile. "We've been playing his game all this time. Moriarty's videos, Sherinford, Musgrave and then all those clues we followed, we just walked straight into his trap. I was so blind, so stupid." "You should rest, love, please go to bed." Sherlock shook his head. "We have to find him, John! I can't lose him, not after I just got him back. And I can't let Moran hurt anyone else. You wondered why he left Greg? He wants to make sure I know that he can take him anytime he wants. It's not a coincidence or a mistake, nothing was. And I can't just sit around and wait for him to take the next person I care about, there has to be something I can do, I need to keep you safe!" His eyes were full of panic as he pulled his daughter close to him, shaking. With the soft determination of a doctor, John forced his partner to sit down, trying to calm him down. "You need to rest, Sherlock. If we want to help your brother, and we will, then we need you to be strong. Soldiers today, remember?" He placed Rosie on his lap. "We need you to stay calm, rest and then we will come up with a plan. I promise, we will find him." His voice breaking, Sherlock wrapped his arms around Rosie, whispering. "What if there is nothing left of him to find?"
Cold stone on his skin. A strong throbbing in his head. His mouth dry and spongy. He tried to open his eyes but the lids seemed to be glued shut. His limbs were heavy and tingly. Trying to lift his head sent a sharp pain down his spine.
"Oh don't push yourself too hard, take your time." A bittersweet voice sounded from the other site of the room. "You might experience severe headaches, memory loss, the usual. But don't worry, I told my boys to keep their hands to themselves."
Mycroft forced himself to blink, his head screaming as bright light pierced his eyes. In the flashing image, he recognized the outline of Colonel Moran, leaning against a stone wall and very dim light coming from an old gas light in the corner. They were in some kind of storage room, metal shelves lining the walls, barrels stacked up in the corner. As the feeling returned to his limbs, Mycroft realized he was lying on his side, head resting on the hard stone floor, arms and legs a useless tangle.
He remembered the hotel room and the snipers and the threats the Colonel had made. The last thing he could make out was fear for his brother and Greg's hand holding his own. Then everything went black. Greg. Ice cold fear spread through his stomach. He tried desperately to remember the seconds before he blacked out but it was useless. Mycroft tried hard to conceal his worries, forcing his feelings down, trying to shut them away has he had always done, so many years. He built up the walls around his heart, struggling to conceal the stabbing pain and icy worry as the memories of warm brown eyes disappeared behind a cold façade. What was it that his brother and John had said? Soldiers today.
Moran moved, kneeling in front of his prisoner, looking down on him triumphantly. "What's it like to be on the other side of the shackles, Mr. Holmes? To be the one who's alone and lost, forever imprisoned in a cold, dark room?" He sat down on one of the barrels, chuckling. "Oh I would've loved to kill you, right there, your body lying in your partner's arms, watching your poor little brother weep. What a sight that would've been! But alas, your sister wanted you alive! Now, I realize she's in a bad place right now, you kinda ruined it for her, but a deal is a deal."
Mycroft tried to speak but his throat was sore and his mouth dry. He coughed, almost choking on the dust.
Sebastian smiled. "Shocked, are you? Did you really think your sister did all that on her own?" He scoffed. "Puh-lease, even Euros isn't that powerful! Jim made a lot of preparations, yes, but she still needed someone from the outside to help. It was such fun! I got to test all my little chemicals on the prison staff. The human brain is so easily manipulated." He laughed. "And the best part is, you actually believed it! Euros Holmes, controlling people's minds by simply being clever… She's not a demon, Mycroft. Did you never wonder how she got off that island? Who supplied her with the wigs and contacts or the little messages Jim made?" His eyes glinted maliciously, "You really are terrified of her, aren't you?"
Mycroft gagged and spat, fighting through the pain, struggling to find his voice. "You realize how cliché this situation is?" He rasped. "The lonely storage room, abduction and long speeches about accomplishments and plans? At least Moriarty was original." If he was going to die today, he would die with dignity. Forcing his heavy, aching head up, he stared at his captor, eyes flashing with pride.
Moran's face hardened. "You think you are so smart, all three of you." He stood up, kicking dirt in his prisoner's face. "I will break you" he spat, "until that brain you are so terribly proud of will spiral down into insanity."
Blinding light pierced Greg's eyes. His entire body ached, his lungs were screaming and his head felt dizzy and heavy, as if it was stuffed with soaked cotton. He blinked. In the blurred vision, he could roughly make out a lot of white, the silhouette of people a few steps away. Murmured voices, numbed as though they were underwater. Someone left. Another stayed. Were they speaking to him?
He blinked again, straining his ears to function.
"Are you okay?" The voice sounded blurred and strange but it was there. "Greg?" A pleasantly cool hand touched his forehead. The Detective forced his eyes open again. Slowly, Molly Hooper came into focus, looking down on him in concern. He realized he was in a hospital. Again.
Grunting, he lifted himself up a bit. Molly hovered over him, arranging his pillows like an overly protective mother. "John told me to say sorry they're not here but Sherlock isn't feeling well." She said kindly. "They used a pretty strong drug on you, the kind you find in … well party drinks, usually. You'll feel a bit crushed but there won't be any lasting side effects." Blurry memories of the closet and Moran's angry speech flooded Greg's head, making it heavy and painful. The last thing he could remember was taking Mycroft's hand to calm him and then everything went black. Mycroft. "Where's Mycroft, is he alright? Can we see him?" Molly bit her lip nervously, her eyes round and sad. "I am so sorry, Greg. I'm really so sorry to be the one to tell you this but – they took him. We don't know where he is."
The world around him collapsed. Everything started swirling, panic spreading through his chest. He was vaguely aware of his friend's voice calling out to him. Pain spread through is shaking body like a raging fire. Suddenly, all the air seemed to leave his body, his breath came in deep gasps, his lungs tight and hard as stone. Someone pressed a mask on his face. Warm arms wrapped around him, hugging him tightly. A warm feeling on his cheek told him one of them was definitely crying. Greg buried his face in his friend's shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of perfume and cold metal (and maybe a bit of corpse). Slowly, his breathing slowed down, the room stopped moving but his aching chest remained tight and his heart beat painfully strong against his ribs. "it's okay, it's okay" Molly whispered and carefully let go of him but stayed close, holding his hand. "Feeling better?" she asked carefully, removing the mask. "I know you're scared for him, we all are, but panic isn't going to help us out. Sherlock is on the case and he will raise hell to get his brother back." She wiped her own tears away. "And besides, Mycroft is an important man, they probably have a team of the best forces in all of England working on it." Greg nodded weakly. "Yeah, they have us." Taking a deep breath, he tried desperately to push his feelings aside, put them in a small box in his head, focusing on the case. That's what it was, a case that needed solving.
Molly smiled, "And we're already on it. I took a look at Musgrave's body, he wasn't in the best shape, all bony and weak, so I opened him and found a tumour in his brain. He was dying." The Detective furrowed his brows thoughtfully. "That explains why he wanted to get away from the criminal life. Any hints where he was hiding?" Molly nodded, getting out a notepad. "He had a key on him for a small rental storage room. Sergeant Donovan took a team down there to investigate." She let go of her friend's hand and got up. "You should rest and let them take care of you. There's a fully armed police force out there to watch you, so no worries. I'll see what I can do to help and I'll come back later." Greg nodded. "Thank you. And stay safe!" Molly shrugged, "I don't think I'm in a lot of danger, it's not like we're that close." She turned to walk away but her friend grabbed her wrist carefully, looking at her warmly. "You know that's not true. Molly, you are one of his closest friends, and that means something, it's Sherlock Holmes we're talking about. You are important, to all of us, and we won't let anyone hurt you. So please, stay safe." He let go of her wrist, pressing her hand gently, before she turned around and left the room wordlessly. As the door shut behind her, Greg was left alone with his fear and pain, feeling more lost than ever before.