Here it is! Because in Germany (where I live) we celebrate christmas and get our presents on christmas eve, I decided to give you this as a present. Merry Christmas and a happy new year!

As always. PM me if you need to!

EDIT: Yes, I edited this a tiny bit because the ending was a bit weird and not how I wanted it to be. Basically I just took the last bit away.

Oh, and the next updates will take longer again, as we have reached the end of this written part... sorry guys :D

"I don't think I will have to ask you again," The emotionless voicenear his ear whispers, and as much as Mycroft wants to move away, the hand in his hair and the tip of the knife, trailing along the back of his hands, his palms and his fingers, now and then adding a new cut to the numerous ones he already has there, keep him still and motionless, despite the pain and the uncomfortable feeling he gets when the woman is speaking this close to his head.

"Because they are arriving right now."

The knife travels higher, to his waist, and the pressure increases as well. Just as the door bursts open, a deep cut is made along the length of his back, and he can't help the quiet moan that escapes his lips.

He can hear how Sherlock and Kiara stop, obviously shocked, and the embarrassment of being found in this situation fades in an instant, overruled by the relief that Sherlock is here. Then the pain takes over again.

After a few seconds Kiara gasps, and somewhere behind the part of his brain that is screaming, he wonders why. Why did she gasp now, and not when she came in? That question is answered when Sherlock's voice cuts through the room, shocked, furious, angry, betrayed.

"Anthea!"

And suddenly, Mycroft understands – everything makes sense. All those times when his information was off, only a tiny detail, but still off; the surveillance at Stone's house; the failure when he tried to catch the threads, why they only managed to catch one and not two; and last but not least, how he had been kidnapped. They hadn't been mistakes. It had been Anthea all along. And now that Sherlock said her name, he recognizes the familiarity of her movements – he hadn't recognized before because he hadn't thought about it and because she had changed her behaviour completely – almost completely.

His fury is overwhelming, shortly even blocking out the pain. And then the information sinks in. Anthea. His Anthea had betrayed him, risked his, Sherlock's and Kiara's life. Anthea – who is still drawing on his back with the knife.

Suddenly all his rationality is gone. Fear spreads through him, he can feel his heart rate and breathing getting faster.

For the first time since he woke up he really starts to struggle, only his basic instinct to get away! cursing through his brain, even though he knows it's useless. His hands, bleeding and torn, are not much use, but he frantically tries to free them anyway. Some cuts on his back which had already stopped bleeding start again.

A hard pull in his hair and a deep cut at the back of his neck pull him back into his own self and he stills again, his breathing ragged.

"Yes. Mr Holmes the Younger."

Now she speaks with her normal voice again, if you can call it that. It now has a hard, cruel streak in it, and Mycroft notices in hindsight that this was her normal voice all along.

The knife makes circles on his back, and Mycroft just wants it all to end. He wants it to be a joke of Sherlock's, like he told Kiara to kidnap him the first time Mycroft met Kiara. A stupid wish. Even though Sherlock doesn't really like his brother, he would never torture him like this, and Mycroft isn't a man who lies to himself. This really is Anthea's work, even though he doesn't want to realise it.

The knife slowly moves down to his hands again, and when he feels it on his small finger of his left hand, he acts on instinct. Just as the knife turns and the tip points towards her, he hits against it with his hand and even though he can feel a blinding pain in his hand, he also feels the slight pressure when it meets Anthea's stomach and then the smooth movement when it slides inside it. And even though he barely feels it because of his own blood, for the first time in his life the blood of somebody else he hurt is on his hands.

The sight of Mycroft, struggling against his bonds, panicking, is unsettling. Very unsettling in fact, so Sherlock is a second quicker than me when Anthea suddenly gasps and stumbles away from Mycroft. Her hands are at her stomach, where the handle of the knife is protruding, and when Sherlock sees that I am rushing towards Mycroft, he changes direction and attacks Anthea. My focus is on Mycroft now, so I don't really notice what Sherlock is doing.

I kneel down in front of Mycroft and carefully touch his cheek, but he yanks his head away and I realise my mistake.

"Shhhhh, Mycroft, it's me, it's Kiara. We're here..." I don't know what exactly I'm saying, but it seems that it helps Mycroft. Slowly and very focused on not yet touching him, I reach up and around his head and open the knot of the blindfold as calmly as I can, conscious of my smell which now must surround him. I hope that it will ground him as well, and I can already hear his breathing getting slower. When the knot opens, the fabric is thrown across the room, where Sherlock is. Somehow I know that he uses it to tie Anthea up, and only seconds later he comes into my view and goes behind Mycroft. I can hear his gasp, but I am already focused on Mycroft again, cupping his face with my hands and using my thumbs to wipe away the tears from his cheeks. There are no other, dried tear-tracks, so I know that they must have been from when he realised it was Anthea.

"Mycroft, can you hear me?"

He is shaking and I don't know what else to do. Sherlock is untying Mycroft's wrists, very carefully by how long he takes, which I don't understand. Couldn't he just use his knife?

When I reach up to kiss his forehead, my fingers move on his neck and they get wet. I frown and when Sherlock gets up from behind his brother and kneels down next to me, I move away to leave him space and go behind Mycroft. What I see makes me want to gag.

The back of his shirt as well as the back of his sleeves are torn, cut, sometimes pieces are only held by tiny threads. I now understand why it looked like his shirt was too big for him. But what is so horrible is what is underneath the destroyed fabric.

Mycroft's whole back, arms and hands are cut, sometimes they only nick the skin, sometimes the cuts are disgustingly deep.

The bloody mess that once was intact skin is bleeding, causing the fabric to be soaking wet with blood. But nothing is visible from the front, where the shirt is still white, although wet because of sweat.

Sherlock didn't manage to open the leather-ties, as they are slick with blood. Once again it surprises me how human he actually is beneath his cold demeanour. Instead of just cutting it with his knife, which would have been the logical and effective way to free Mycroft, he realised that the cold metal of the knife would only hurt Mycroft further.

"Mycroft – My, I am going to put my hands on your arms first, and then I will move down to your hands. It's me, Kiara, don't worry, everything is going to be fine."

I don't know how I get the idea that I should do this, but I don't want him to be frightened by an unexpected touch at his bleeding hands.

"I'm okay, Kiara" Mycroft's voice is hoarse and very quiet, but I am glad he has spoken at all. Slowly I do as I said, and when I reach his hands, my fingers are red with his blood. He feebly tries to touch my hands with his fingers, so I lower my wrists a bit, so he can touch them and I can still free him.

The slick ties turn out to be rather easy to open, better than expected, and even though I don't voice it, I know that Sherlock stopped because he couldn't stand having his brother's blood on his hands.

So, what did youthink? I bet you didn't expect that! I'm sorry for those who like Anthea, but I decided to give her an evil side, she is one of the threads. Thanks for that idea, I'msorrymylove !