The Other One

by Still Marauding

The line went dead. He cradled his head in his hands, feeling. His phone rang again. A single beep. He picked it up and almost immediately dropped it again. It was his sister, his sweet sister, beaten and bloody, barely recognizable. Every bit of her face was stretched and distorted, discolored and bloody. "You know what happened to the other one."

4. Three

Mycroft looked up, his eyes red from crying. Everyone was long gone, the cubicles outside his office empty, the chatter gone. His door was shut and locked, his phone lay upside down on his desk. He had called in every favor he could, and still, no one could or would help. One life in the AQAP camps wasn't enough to motivate. She was just a number to them.

His computer monitor blinked on, unbidden. The hour had at last come. Her eyes shone underneath the hijab, though not with fear or sorrow. They flashed furiously, her brows set. She had always been so brave, so determined, so much like Sherlock in that way. His heart fell at the thought of what her loss would do to him.

"Looks as if the big brother does not care as much as you thought," came a man's voice, his face out of frame. "He has decided to watch you die instead."

"My brother would never do that," she snarled, her eyes narrowed. "He would do anything, but you gave him no time. He will find you, and he will skin you and make you beg for death."

The man laughed, his booming voice joined by others also out of frame. "That is big talk, little one," came another voice. Mycroft felt his skin crawl but he refused to look away. He owed her that.

"Is that what you call your manhood?" she snarled back. "I thought it was supposed to be longer than my eyelashes."

A hand cracked against her face along with a hurled insult. The blow knocked her off balance and she was roughly shoved back into place. "No more time for games." Came the first voice again. He appeared in the frame, face still out of view, this time wielding a thick sword. Isla turned to the camera, her face braking from its mask of fury to something earnest, soft, the little girl he had read to all those years ago. She addressed him in English, leaving behind the harsh tones of her captors.

"Tell Mummy and Daddy and Sherlock how much I love them. Don't blame yourself Mye, I know you tried. I love you forever. And tell Alfie yes-"

Her voice was cut off as he swung. Mycroft closed his eyes, even though he promised he wouldn't. He couldn't bear to see her beheaded, to see life leave her eyes and run from her neck. He opened them though, a split second later, determined to make good on his promise.

The screen was black.