The handcuffs were cutting into his wrists.
A silly thing to be thinking about in his current situation, John knew. He should probably be more concerned about the fact that he was tied to a chair in the middle of an abandoned warehouse with only Mycroft and "Anthea" around to act as witnesses to anything unfortunate that might befall him. Unfortunately, the sight of Mycroft leaning against the infamous black car examining his fat, swollen nose in his phone's camera was just too much for him to be able to take the situation as anything more than a mild annoyance. John didn't bother to hide his feral grin. It was too bad the man had managed to move just enough to avoid breaking anything.
Catching sight of John out of the corner of his eye, Mycroft gave up his pretense of ignoring him and instead slid the phone back into his pocket so he could grace him with his full penetrating gaze. John itched to chin him again for the ridiculous power display.
"I'm glad I can entertain you, Dr. Watson." Oh, so he was Dr. Watson now, was he? "Perhaps you'll show me the same curtesy by telling me a story. I'm certain it will be enthralling." Mycroft's smile promised a terrible fate if otherwise.
John wondered how often that same look had been turned on his own brother. Or had he not even needed to threaten? It wasn't as if Sherlock understood the basics of human social interaction even as an adult. It wouldn't have taken much for a boy seven years his senior to convince him of the proper way to play "pirates."
John wondered if he could trick Mycroft into coming closer so he could head-butt him.
Something about John must have registered with Mycroft. His voice came out softer when he asked, "Why, John?"
John chuckled. The bastard sounded genuinely confused, but he'd been around Sherlock far too long to fall for Holmesian acting tricks.
"Are you sure you want your assistant here for this? Not every day someone finds out their boss is a fucking child molester!" John thought they might have heard him on the other side of the district by the end. Good.
Mycroft jerked back, and John thought for one glorious moment he might actually trip over backwards and fall on his arse. He was sadly disappointed when Mycroft recovered. At least Anthea had finally lowered her phone. Enough, at least, to stare at John with wide eyes before shifting her gaze to Mycroft.
"I'm not certain where you received your information-"
"From Sherlock!" John snarled.
Mycroft stared at him in what could only be described as absolute shock. Anthea, for her part, just blinked.
"He called me a child molester?"
John had to strain to hear the question, despite the otherwise complete silence in the warehouse.
"Not in so many words. He said you had 'nice hands.'"
Mycroft actually had the audacity to look relieved. And then embarrassed. The slight blush that tinged his cheeks was so out of place on a man like Mycroft Holmes that John couldn't help but lose some of his rage to incredulity.
"You misunderstand…" Mycroft trailed off.
A pointed look was sent Anthea's way and the woman suddenly had some urgent reason to get into the car. And stay there. Mycroft swallowed before continuing.
"Sherlock was twenty-seven when we first changed the nature of our relationship. And before you ask, that wasn't how long it took me to 'brainwash' him. Everything has always been completely consensual on his end."
John snorted.
"Ignoring that you're seven years older for a moment, we still have the fact that you control everything from his finances to his friends. Or, at least you try to."
Mycroft's lips thinned into a tight line before he blanked his face to a more neutral expression.
"The fact that I'm, shall we say, 'failing' in that endeavor should be evidence enough that I don't overly influence my brother's decisions."
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe he's just better than you." Better at what, John couldn't say. Stubbornness, perhaps.
"You think too little of my abilities."
"What I think is that you could ruin Sherlock's life with the snap of your fingers. I think you could take away his monthly allowance, his official backing with all of the agencies he uses, his unseen protector that keeps him from getting an ASBO every other week. Pressure his unofficial connections into abandoning him. Ruin his reputation. Hell, just save yourself the trouble and outright disappear him and anyone who ever knew him."
"I would never do that," Mycroft snapped.
John watched as his hand tightened around his umbrella handle, and he was forced to consider the idea that the ever-controlled British Government might actually hit him with it.
He paused to study the man before him. One didn't have to be Sherlock Holmes to see that he was upset. Surely he didn't believe himself innocent to John's accusations? As if he didn't realize that everything about the situation was wrong. Mycroft wasn't nearly that naïve.
Still, perhaps it would have been wise not to punch the man the moment he'd seen him.
John pushed on. It was too late to go back and someone needed to say this, whether or not Mycroft wanted to hear it. For Sherlock's sake.
"But you could. And Sherlock knows you could. So when his brother comes around asking him if he wants to have a little incestuous shag, what the hell is he supposed to say?"
Mycroft's back stiffened but he otherwise gave no response. John wondered if that meant he'd won. Or if Mycroft had decided he wasn't going to convince him so he might as well ignore him in favor of thinking up the best place to hide the body.
"I see I'm not going to convince you," Mycroft said.
Ah, well, the first option had always been a long-shot anyway. John just hoped he got the decency of a heroic end. He didn't want Mycroft going around telling people he'd fallen into a pool while texting and drowned.
"What are you going to tell Sherlock? Because you know he won't accept whatever bullshit excuse you throw at him." And then because he might as well go for gold, he added, "Killing his one and only friend. Mmm." John mock winced. "Might make getting into his trousers a bit difficult. Being a completely consensual relationship and all."
Mycroft rolled his eyes and let out a little sigh. John would have given his left leg to be able to punch him again right that moment. He didn't get to pretend to be the exasperated big brother - the normal one who had to deal with all the childishness around him. Not anymore.
"While the image my brother has built up around me is somewhat amusing, it is an image. I don't kill people. Nor do I have them killed. Though for you I might make an exception." Mycroft smiled at him sarcastically.
"Yes, well, I'm afraid I find that a bit hard to believe. Considering you can't exactly let me go." John indicated his current predicament with a sweep of his eyes.
"Why is that? Because you'll tattle on me? You have no proof of any wrongdoing and even if you did we both know it would become…" Mycroft made a show of looking for the right word "unfortunately lost. If you ignore the wheels of justice and instead take your information directly to the papers, you'll find that the sharks that call themselves journalists these days have been waiting to see Sherlock shed blood for some time now. I doubt they even he has a brother. And if you physically attack me your dear sister will soon discover what the climate is like in a rather unpleasant part of the world."
John's nails were biting into his palms by the time he finished. He'd probably have marks when he was finally given the chance to look.
Mycroft's cold demeanor melted away as he looked at him. Just a little.
"I am not a villain, Dr. Watson. Talk to Sherlock."
With that, he turned on his heal and sauntered back to the car. It pulled away not a minute later. And then not five minutes after that, once John's wrists were bleeding from him trying to wriggle out of the cuffs, a police car came into view.
Lestrade got out of the driver's side once it came to a stop.
"John? Is that you?" he asked, flashing a torch in his face. John flinched away from the light.
"Yes."
He'd have to thank Lestrade for blinding him after he was done thanking him for not leaving him to be attacked by the packs of hooligans that probably roamed this area at night.
John refused to think about the fact that Mycroft had probably chosen Lestrade specifically because he knew John could trust him to not secretly be taking him away to be murdered. John was not going to be thanking Sherlock's attacker for the consideration.
"What the hell happened to you?"
Blinking spots out of his eyes, he looked at the other man. He'd obviously come here on Mycroft's orders. But still, he cared for Sherlock. And John knew him well enough to consider him one of his friends, one of their friends, even if the emotionally stunted human being known as Sherlock Holmes didn't know the meaning of that word. He'd help him put an end to Mycroft, for whatever his help might be worth.
John thought of his sister, whom he wasn't exactly on good terms with but whom he loved anyway.
"Nothing," John said. And then, because if there was one thing living with Sherlock taught a man it was how to lie better, he added, "Mycroft decided to test out my escape skills. You know, because of what happened the other day."
Nothing had happened the other day. That was another great lesson from a man who knew a lot of psychology for someone who didn't know much about actual human beings: people didn't like to let on they weren't in the know.
Lestrade nodded like he had any idea of what John was talking about.
"And, what? He got a call in the middle of practice and decided to leave you here?"
"He doesn't like failure," John answered.
"Holmeses," Lestrade said, shaking his head as he came forward to uncuff him.
"What the bloody hell happened to your wrists?"
"Sherlock told me lubricant helps. Thought I'd try it," John answered, though that wasn't actually something he'd learned from Sherlock. He didn't much feel up to having a drawn-out discussion about all of the times he'd been kidnapped by psychopaths.
"Do me a favor, mate. Next time Sherlock tells you something, just ignore it."
John smiled bitterly. If only it were that simple.
AN: Hey guys, LMK what you think! Concrit is welcome! If you see anything in here that's definitely not-British, give me a head's up!
Also, I'm looking for a beta, if anyone's interested (for any of my fics). This fic will be probably close to 10k when it's finished, so not too many words but not a baby either. LMK if you'd be interested! Thanks!