Mycroft stepped into the office on shaky legs, his mind racing. At the desk sat a man in his mid-fifties, ex-military and the only man Mycroft had to answer to. He had never abhorred that fact more than in that moment. He was a rigid man who did everything by the books, preferably with loud, noisy guns and bombs. They constantly clashed as Mycroft was much more inclined to use subterfuge and espionage to achieve his means.
This was why Isla was in Yemen in the first place. Looking back it was terribly stupid to have sent her, but the documents were highly classified and extremely important. He may have been a proponent for espionage, but he didn't trust any of his people. They spied on people for money.
So he had sent his little sister, a master of languages even when compared to he and Sherlock. She wasn't even officially part of MI-6. She was still studying at university, barely twenty-one, her whole life ahead of her. And now she had hours.
"I need an extraction team," Mycroft said, burying his hands in his pockets to hide the fact that they were shaking. Isla's voice still rang in his ears, pleading for his help, her broken form tattooed against his eyelids. "An asset has been compromised. She's been taken hostage by the AQAP in Yemen while delivering information on the Djinn to Operative 2461."
The man turned to his computer, taking far too long to type something into his computer and read the results. He answered, equally slowly, "There are no documented operatives in that area of Yemen besides 2461. No operatives were deployed to meet with them, nor is there any record of information sent to 2561."
"This was meant to be off the books- by order of the Minister of Defense. Her name is Isla Holmes, she is a stu-"
"Holmes? Any relation, Mycroft?"
"She's my sister, sir." The last word stung his tongue like acid.
"Why on earth would you send your sister to Yemen? She has no training, no skills-"
"My sister is the most gifted linguist I have ever met. She learned every dialect spoken in the country in under three hours. None of the Agents were proficient in Yemeni Arabic-"
"That is wonderful, Mycroft, but she is not an agent! What did you expect, sending her into a war zone? What happened to the intelligence?"
"It was safely delivered as planned."
"At least she's not entirely incompetent."
"Sir-"
"No, I cannot justify risking soldiers' lives for one girl. If the intelligence was at stake it might be a different story, but she is simply a civilian in the wrong place at the wrong time. You have to step back from your brotherly compassion and look at the bigger picture." He looked over at Mycroft, his face impassive. "I am sorry for your loss."