It was a strange and terrible feeling, the devastating emptiness in his chest, it felt hollow and painful, unlike anything he had ever experienced.
"Your loss would break my heart."
A few years ago, having any kind of sentimental feelings had seemed like a joke, a human error, and Sherlock was not human, not like them. He and Mycroft had watched the outside world from what they thought was a high throne, while all these silly humans got tangled in their relationships and drama, the two of them were free and superior.
True, in the past years that he had spent with John, Sherlock had started to truly care for many people, to the point where he considered many his friends and part of his family. He had softened, had learned about love and loss, neither of them were the cold machined they used to be.
But even then he would have never thought he could feel like this. So lost. So afraid.
It had torn him apart when he watched John get married and live his normal human life with someone else. But at least he had known that he was safe, that Mary was there to take care of him.
Right now, they had no idea where Mycroft was, if he was even still alive. There was no one there to comfort his brother who, too, had become much more vulnerable over the past months. Just now, when the brothers had finally opened up to each other, when it seemed like they could be a family again, he had lost him.
Sherlock buried his face deeper into the pillows, fighting to suppress the helpless scream building up in his throat. He was curled up in his bed, after John had forced him to rest. God, he hated himself for being such a pathetic mess, crying in his sheet like a dramatic teenager. In the moment where he needed his superior brain the most, Sherlock's heart betrayed him. Over and over he had tried to review the facts, desperately searching for an answer, but his mind palace was infested with fears. Whenever he closed his eyes and walked inside, images of his brother showed up around every corner, merged with the most horrible corpses he had seen during his work with the yard. Sebastian Moran had managed what Jim Moriarty had worked so hard to achieve and become the virus in his hard drive, more terrible than anything the Detective could have imagined.
"Your flat is so easy to break into. Never thought of installing an alarm?"
Sherlock rose his head from the pile of pillows to find the elegant silhouette of Irene Adler perched on the side of his bed. "And you're not really on your guard either, it's pathetic, really." The Detective sat up, trying hard not to look as terrible as he felt. "There is an entire police force outside." He said calmly. Irene gave him a reproachful look. "This is pathetic." She said, leaning forward to study his face. "No drugs?" "John made me promise." "How honourable." Leaning back, the Woman crossed her arms, watching him, her fiery gaze flickering in a soft hint of sympathy. "I warned you. You didn't listen. You just had to hunt him down, right into his trap." Sherlock's head snapped up. "You knew about the trap? You led us into it?" She flinched. "Do you really think I'd sink that low?" she asked, hurt. "There were rumour, about a new conspiracy to bring you down but I couldn't find out what it was about. All I knew was that Moran is dangerous in a way Moriarty could never be. Jim did all this for sports, it was a passionate hobby to watch the criminal world do his bidding and have you chase after them, like a dog retrieving the same ball over and over again. But Sebastian took over not because he sought power or entertainment but for revenge. He is fuelled by his pain and rage and there is no stopping him."
"Why are you here?"
"To bathe in the glory of my victory?" Irene suggested, "I was right and you were wrong and now you're a mess." Sherlock just stared at her, his expression empty. Her gaze softened. "He's alive, Sherlock. Find him."
Sherlock's heart jumped and he drew a sharp, short breath, looking at the Woman questioningly, as hope bloomed in his eyes. "Where is he? Tell me!" He reached to grab her but she moved aside with the swift elegance of a wild cat. "I don't know and I will not find out. I am already in danger. Sacrifice your life for your brother if you have to but don't demand the same of me." She said sternly, before melting back into the shadows, the door closing noiselessly behind her. New energy rushing through his veins, Sherlock jumped to his feet, dashing out behind her and into the living room, where notes and files covered every available surface, including the floor.
The pain in his head had stopped. There was a bowl of what looked like undercooked porridge and a glass of water. Mycroft sat up, looking around the room. Now that the drug had completely left his system, he could see the room more clearly. There were no sounds or windows to give him an idea where his prison was. The walls looked very old, it might be church or castle or an old country house. Trails in the dust on the floor told Mycroft that the shelves had been moved quite recently and it looked like there had been a table in the centre before they had rearranged the storage room to a prison. Might have been a bar or restaurant. He took a closer look at the shelves lining the room's walls. It wasn't food as he had expected, but a collection of tools and metals bars. A large anvil was half hidden in the shadows, confirming his theory he was kept in what used to be a smith's workplace. Ignoring his grumbling stomach, Mycroft pushed the food away, suspicious of what else might be in it. Upon trying to stand up, he realized he was shackled to the wall with a pair of handcuffs connecting his ankle to a metal ring protruding from the stone wall. How classy.
Anxiety spread through his insides, cold and painful, making his hands shake and his chest deflate. Even if he made it out of the room, chances were, the door was heavily guarded. The building was probably full of Moran's men. His chances of survival where the highest while he stayed in the storage room, hoping someone would come to save him. God, he hated himself for it. Pathetic. The damsel in distress. Praying that his brother came for his rescue.
Feeling defeated, Mycroft leaned his head against the wall, closing his eyes. If Sherlock was still out there, then he would find him. He had never let him down.
Still feeling a bit weak, leaning on Molly for support, Gregory Lestrade entered the room at 221B, the last refuge for the hopeless and the terrified. Never before had it seemed so accurate. Sherlock was leaning over a pile of files, John had Rosie pressed closely to his chest and Mrs Hudson was skipping through every newspaper London had to offer. Molly helped Greg into an armchair before joining Sherlock at the coffee table. "Are you sure he's well enough to be here?" he asked her softly. "Mycroft is his boyfriend, Sherlock, he has a right to be part of this." She reached into her bag and pulled out another file. "Lab reports on Reginald Musgrave plus any information I could get from his doctors." The pathologist looked at him with worried eyes. "You look like you need some rest. He's not using again, is he?" She asked John, who shook his head. "No, but he isn't sleeping and he says his mind palace isn't working correctly." Sherlock shook his curls violently. "It's poisoned. No matter where I go, I can't reach the information I need without seeing my brother." He took the file from Molly, who sat down next to him, hand on his shoulder. "I know you're hurt and scared but we can't do this without you. Mycroft needs you! Focus!" Her voice was kind but stern and Sherlock nodded, taking a deep breath. "You're right." He sighed. "First of, take out the batteries of your phones. I already checked the apartment. I have no idea what Moran is capable of, so we can't take any chances. Good. Well then, let's see if there's anything important in the medical files."
John sat Rosie down, supplying her with a toy to take a look at the new clues. They shuffled through the paper, reading intently.
"She said her first word a couple of days ago, did they tell you?" Mrs Hudson asked quietly. Greg shook his head, "No they didn't, that's great!" "What did she say?" Molly asked. The landlady smiled warmly. "Called John 'Daddy' when he was reading her story, it was lovely. She also started saying 'no' a lot, suppose she hears that word too often."
There was a loud rustling and the group looked up to see Sherlock throw the files away in frustration. "Nothing! There's just no point!" He buried his head in his hands. "This is useless, I am useless, I lost him." His voice was breaking. John wrapped his arms around his partner, trying to calm him. "Sherlock, everyone you trust and care about is here, we are all there for you and we will find your brother." "How? So far, Moran knew my every step, I blindly fell into his trap, it is my fault Mycroft is missing and there is no way for us to know if Moran has more for all of us in store. He promised he'd destroy me and he won't sit and wait for me to stop him." Greg flinched. "Why hasn't he done anything yet? It's kinda obvious we would all end up here." Sherlock shook his head. "I don't know, I can't understand the way he thinks." "Why did Musgrave need the Greeks?" Molly asked. "He needed someone to help him with the riddle." John answered. "He went to Greece," she said slowly, "to find the Kratides siblings, a week after his last doctor's visit. After he was told the tumour in his brain wasn't treatable." Sherlock rose his head, eyes wide and blazing. "If he knew he didn't have long to live anyway, why was he so intent to find his ancestor's treasure? Why didn't I see that before, Molly you're amazing!" He started to eagerly skip through the papers, face set to a keen, determined expression.
"Sherlock. John." Molly said quietly, smiling. The pair looked up, following her gaze. Feeling left out, Rosie had pulled herself up into a standing position, holding on tightly to the coffee table and was looking at her parents with big, sparkling eyes. Taking a clumsy step, she fell towards Sherlock, who caught her and scooped her up. "We'll have to practise that, huh?" He said warmly. "Papa?" Rosie answered, padding her tiny hand on his head. Sherlock's face lit up, he laughed softly and kissed his daughters cheek, a tear of joy glistening in his eyes. "Yes, yes, that's me, well done! Oh, you smart little kid!" A wave of warmth went through the room, as Sherlock and John praised the girl for her achievement, trying to make her take another step. Pleased to be back in the centre of attention, Rosamund proudly wobbled on her feet, managing something between walking and falling.
Molly leaned against Greg's armchair, thankful for the bit of distraction to ease her friend's mind. "She's as stubborn as her parents." She said affectionately. "They're really great together, Sherlock and John. She's lucky." Hearing the pain in her voice, Greg took his friend's hand. "I admire you a lot, you know." He said quietly. "You're such a strong and kind person. And we surely wouldn't be here without you." She looked at him in surprise. "Thank you."
"Children!" Sherlock suddenly exclaimed, scooping Rosie up into his arm, making her squeal with delight. "Like cab driver Moriarty employed! Musgrave must have children that need taking care of, that's what he needed the money for." John picked up the papers again. "But there's no trace of any family except the distant relatives from Greece. We researched his family tree for ages when we took the case." Molly picked up a part of the medical files, waving them up in excitement. "He was sperm donor! Four years ago. I guess the debts his parents left him with where so high he got a bit desperate. It was anonymous, the children wouldn't show up as his descendants but it got into his record after the tumour was discovered." "You're on fire today Molly!" Sherlock hugged her, with his free arm, placing an excited kiss on her cheek. Rosie leaned forward to pat her head. "Any chance you know the woman who received the donation?" "Women." Molly corrected him. "Marilyn and Samantha Jones, a young couple living in Norwood Hill. Do you want me to try and get the medical files on them?" Sherlock nodded eagerly. "We need anything we can find on them. But don't use any electronic devices, stay in populated areas and don't ever go anywhere alone. I'll send message out through the homeless network. We'll do a background check from Mycroft's office, it's the hardest to infiltrate. Mrs Hudson, you and Rosie should stay in the Diogenes Club, it's probably the safest place. My parents are already there. Let's go there's no time to lose!" Pressing his daughter into John's arms, he dashed out of the door and down the staircase. "I'll get Rosie's stuff, you get yours." John said, "Quickly!"
The group got their equipment together, Greg announced that he felt well enough to accompany Molly, making a point that together they were less vulnerable. John called for a cab, sending the first three away before settling for the fourth as an extra security measure. Just as he wanted to call out for Sherlock, his daughter already strapped to the safety seat, an ear splitting scream pierced the air, followed by the sound of shattered glass.