Hi! Here's chapter 41, gosh, thats a big number. Aaaaand I'm sorry about the long wait, I knew what I wanted to write for ages (since chapter 32 or so) but I somehow couldn't be bothered until now. Anyway,

Enjoy!

The wealth and power visible in the house might intimidate other people, but not him. It's not that he himself lives in such luxury, but there is something he needs to do and he doesn't hesitate to go through it.

The security had cost him a few minutes – more than he had planned. More than once the alarm had nearly gone off, and he curses her for her incomplete information. Then again, the information is more than five months old – and they know about him. Not enough, mind, but a bit.

But all in all he is nearly disappointed by how easy it was to get in. It is practically careless, as if they wanted him to intrude.

The layout is the same as she described, he racks his brain for her exact descriptions, and carefully goes up a staircase. The carpet muffles his already quiet steps so he is as good as inaudible, his gloves stop any fingerprints from staying on the rail.

The girl's door is slightly ajar, only barely, but enough to make it easy to open. God, why is everything so easy? He knows it's not a trap, he can hear quiet movements in the room next to the girl's, obviously one of the brothers. From the room slightly further down the corridor he can hear whispers and moans, together with the creaking of the bed he knows the person is having a nightmare. The other brother, then, he'll have to be careful. In the moment he's safe as the man is making enough noises to distract, but as soon as he wakes up that will change, especially as the man is likely to get up.

The door doesn't creak when he pushes it open slowly and once more he smiles about the luxury. They wouldn't let a door creak in this house, would they?

Inside it isn't as dark as expected, but a lot messier. DVDs, CDs, games and books, as well as clothes are everywhere in the room, making it harder to navigate. Well – the one time he met the girl her father had already said she was a whirlwind.

It was and still is strange to imagine the powerful man with a daughter, caring for a daughter. He certainly seemed to, even though he had been very strict the one time the intruder had seen them both together, and the girl had looked at her father with love shining in her eyes.

He is careful not to step on anything, if everything goes to plan it wouldn't matter if he destroyed the whole room, nobody besides the police would care, but right now, it would make too much noise. The moon shining through the window is very helpful, it is nearly full moon, and the light makes a stark contrast to the places where the opened curtains block the light.

The girl in the bed is sleeping peacefully, her red hair messy around her head on the pillow, very dark because of the unusual lighting.

She is beautiful in her own, strange way, and looks a lot different than the girl in his memory. Granted, that one meeting had been eight years ago, but she is quite grown up now. Going through all that shit does that to one, the intruder muses, looking around in the room.

She might have been a brilliant leader of her father's network. She would have been the leader, and he would have been loyal – but now everything is different. And he knows he has to cut all her little opportunities away, in one single act.

There is a heavy lamp next to her on the night-stand, a dangerous weapon if wielded in the right hands, so he steps closer to take it off the table. He'd have at least a concussion if not worse if she hit him with it.

He knows what he has to do, and how to do it, but he steps back once more, to the middle of the room, and breathes in deeply, closing his eyes, steeling himself for the chaos that is likely to erupt in a second.

Opening his eyes again, he looks back to the bed. Directly into Kiara Moriarty's open, focused eyes.

I wake up when I hear quiet steps and the nearly inaudible whisper of clothes in my room. Instantly alert and tense, I check through the possibilities. It can't be Mycroft, he wouldn't come into my room, or he would at least knock. Would have knocked, when he still talked to me.

Sherlock wouldn't have bothered being quiet, he'd just burst in and demand whatever he wanted. The staff only partly lives in the manor, and they never come into the rooms when we are in it, just the butler or a called maid would do so, but certainly not at night. Conclusion, it's somebody else. And "somebody else" sounds far too suspicious for my liking.

I open my eyes, but don't move yet, hoping to be able to see who it is without alerting the intruder that I'm awake.

The man is standing in the middle of the room, turned away slightly, but I can see his closed eyes and hear his deliberate breaths. When he opens his eyes and looks at me, I stare back.

He freezes for a moment, then moves towards me. I know he's too quick so I can't just roll off the bed on the other side, I'm caught by the blanket, and he's a grown man, a strong grown man, who won't have any troubles when he is using gravity to his advantage as well.

I do the only possible thing in the moment. I draw a quick breath and scream.

I scream as loud as I can, "Sherlock!" and "Help!" and then he's by my side. I know it's useless, but I try to fight him anyway, but my tired body is quickly subdued by him. He kneels on the bed, rather over me and holds me down like Stone did, but his knees are on my biceps. I have barely a moment to breathe once more until he clamps his left hand over my nose and mouth. I can't breathe, can't say anything, but it gets worse when he uses his right to press down on my neck.

He doesn't do it the brute, usual, stupid way, but his fingers find the veins in my neck within moments and interrupts the blood-flow.

The pain forces tears to my eyes and I struggle uselessly, the world already greying.

Mycroft is awake. He heard Kiara scream, probably just another nightmare. She has more of them now than ever, and he can feel a slight flutter of guilt. Yes, she had betrayed them, but he made it extra hard for him. There are some sounds coming from Kiara's room, probably Sherlock helping her after the nightmare, but after a few seconds it goes silent again.

Mycroft is lying in his bed, staring up to the ceiling. His work is harder than usual, but Melissandre is helping a lot – even though she only does the minimal, rather unimportant stuff. He is behind, the next week needs to be spend working, doing his actual job instead of searching for threads.

A loud crash pulls him out of his thoughts and he sits up. That's unusual, Kiara usually calms down after a minute. It has been two since she screamed.

"Mycroft! Mycroft!" Suddenly another voice breaks the silence, Sherlock sounds strained and angry, but also scared. What is going on?

"Sherlock?" He calls back, already getting up and hurrying towards the doors leading to Sherlock's and Kiara's room.

"Mycroft!" The shout comes from Kiara's room, and Mycroft hurries even more. What the hell is going on?

He pushes the door open and flicks on the lights in a second, eyes flitting around to take in what's happening in the room.

Sherlock is on the floor, but getting up slowly, unsteadily, a body at his feet. Mycroft can see the rise and fall of the chest of the unknown man, and the blood on his temple. Unconscious, obviously.

But his eyes are drawn to the bed. He takes a step into the room to see around the mess of the blanket and pillow, and looks directly into Kiara's unseeing, open eyes.