(10 years earlier cont.d)
Mycroft stood, looking at the man who he only knew as his husband, with a face filled with confusion and bewilderment.
"What?" he almost shrieked, letting his voice raise unintentionally as his nerves jangled and his brain whirred.
"Jerry? What are you talking about?"
Jerry shook his head. Poor, confused Mycroft. He really had been sucked in hook, line and sinker. He rolled his eyes skyward and, with a long sigh, pulled out a strangely new-looking desk chair to seat himself. He pushed another one over on its wheels towards Mycroft, waving his arms as an indication to sit. Mycroft looked aghast at the chair before deciding he really did need to sit down.
"Jerry?" he said quietly, starting to doubt even himself. Starting to doubt everything.
'Jerry' shook his head again, his eyes pitying. "Sorry, Mycroft." he began, rubbing his hands across his face before rolling his shoulders and neck. "Jim Moriarty. James Moriarty was my father."
Mycroft felt his stomach lurch, and it was all he could do to stop himself from throwing up right then and there. He blinked back the tears that pricked behind his eyelids and fought to slow his breathing which had started to accelerate rapidly.
Jerry was James Moriarty's son? It didn't make any sense. He had known this man for 10 years. They knew everything about each other; had shared everything.
"Oh god." he whispered as the news sunk in. "Why? Why me? Why now?"
Jerry's... Jim's eyes fell for a moment before he straightened himself again. "I've waited."
Mycroft's deepening frown showed that he clearly wasn't following at all. He was in shock. His husband had turned out to be the son of his father's nemesis, but it still didn't make any sense.
"But what did I do?" he finally asked, his voice breaking under the strain of keeping his emotions under control.
Jim shrugged and stood, crossing to Mycroft who visibly flinched at the approach and started to stand. He'd had enough. He would just leave and forget everything, moving on with his life. Jim grabbed his shoulders, pushing him back down onto the chair and, as Mycroft made to get up again, this time with a more aggressive expression, a red dot of light appeared on his chest.
"Now, now, Mycroft." Jim taunted, his Irish lilt suddenly sounding threatening and so different to how it had ever sounded in the ten years Mycroft had known him, "Please sit. I do have some... trigger-happy friends." He waved his arms about the warehouse office.
"I promise I won't keep you long," he continued, slowly stroking his arm up Mycroft's and into his hair, "I just need to..." he paused again and, with a chuckled, "... fill you in."
"You see, Mycroft, your father is the reason that my father is dead. I originally only wanted to avenge his death; get back at your father for ruining my life. I never imagined that you and I would... well, you know. And you with your job, becoming more powerful than anybody around you realises, I knew that, if I bided my time..." he trailed off, brushing his fingers along his 'husband's' cheek and chuckling at the resulting flinch.
"Anyway, I waited. I waited ten long years." he shook his head in disbelief at his own words, "but I never could have dreamed up what actually happened, Mycroft. Your brother. Your impulsive, ridiculous brother actually killed your father, and you... you turned straight to me. Dear God, " he laughed, coming to stand in front of Mycroft again and leaning in to his face, "it was perfect."
"I fixed it. I fixed it for you and your brother and now you owe me. You. Owe. Me. Big." He punctuated the words, leaving no room for doubt.
Mycroft blinked back more tears, determined not to break down. Not here, not now. It became clear that Jim wanted something. Something from Mycroft? He wasn't sure. He let out a long breath before speaking.
"What do you want from me?"
Jim smiled. Not the genuine, heart-warming loving smile that Mycroft was used to seeing on the Irishman's face, but an evil, cold, calculating smile. A smile that meant nothing good.
"Simple, Mycroft. I want two things. Firstly, I want you to make sure that I am able to 'work' unimpeded. That my network remains hidden and un-investigated and that any time it or I might be implicated in something, you will make it mysteriously go away."
"But I can't..." Mycroft opened his mouth to argue but found himself cut short by Jim's fist coming down on a table, raising a cloud of dust which he then proceeded to brush down off his suit.
"You CAN!" he shouted, his patience obviously wearing thin. "I have watched you." he spat. "I have watched you make things and people disappear. If you want me to keep quiet about what I know, you have no choice." The Irishman's voice returned to its normal level as he finished before he turned back to the nervous Holmes and sat back down on the second chair.
"There's something else." Mycroft said deadpan. It wasn't a question. It was a statement. He knew there was more, and the dreadful twisting in the pit of his stomach gave him a feeling that he knew what it would be.
"Very good, Mycroft." Jim responded, giving the man a 'well done' pat on his cheek. "Very good. There is something else."
He sat back in the office chair, letting the back bounce casually as he continued. "The second thing that I want, my dear Mycroft, is your brother."