Panthera Pardus

Chapter 15: Opportunities

Warnings: NSFW, Frottage, Hand Job

"Flug 24-175, þú ert í lendingu," a voice crackled over the radio.

"Þakka þér," Sherlock replied as the plane dipped down below the clouds and aligned with the tarmac several hundred feet in front of it.

The small private jet sunk lower and lower until the wheels gently reunited with the ground. Soon, the plane came to a halt inside a hanger and the brunet consulting detective stepped out to breath in the fresh salty air. Keflavík International Airport near Keflavík, Iceland was on a thin peninsula stretching out into the North Atlantic on the west side of the island. The smell of salt and fish was prevalent, but Sherlock wasn't interested in these scents in the least. He inhaled deeply, as though expecting to pick up John's scent, but he knew it was impossible. There was too much interference. That and John's scent would have changed now that he was a shapeshifter.

Sherlock frowned at this revelation. He would miss John's warm tea, gunpowder, and wool smell. However he was willing to learn John's new scent, and John would have to re-learn Sherlock's scent with his enhanced olfactory senses. There was much that would need to be done when he found his mate. However there was still more traveling to be done.

According to the surveillance photos that Jerry had forwarded to Sherlock's mobile, the van had headed east on Suðurlandsvegur, but cloud cover had obscured the final destination. This, Sherlock could work with. Odds were that they would stay in the southern part of the country. The north was less hospitable. Of course, Moriarty would want somewhere secluded though. Quickly slipping his mobile out of his pocket, the younger Holmes sent off a text to his brother asking for Moriarty's known associates in southern Iceland.

It was only a few minutes later that Mycroft replied with a short list of people. One of whom was a man named Jóhann Mustanen in a village about an hour a head called Árborg. With a smile, he directed Mycroft's man driving the vehicle to make a pit stop in the small town.

Cold water splashed over John and he started violently, whimpering as he pushed back with all four paws. "Come on then," a gruff voice said. "Boss says you can have something to drink then we need to get your training underway, savvy?"

John grumbled a bit, but didn't hesitate as the man set down a bowl of water just inside the door. He attacked the water with vigor, lapping up the cold liquid until his stomach hurt. "That's enough," the man said as he kicked at the bowl. "Come on, we need to get moving."

He opened the door wider and allowed John to walk down the hall on his own. There were perhaps a dozen kennels between him and the door at the end of the hall, and there was no one else here. John turned to see the man behind him looking at him sternly. "Get movin'!" he said wielding what looked like a cattle prod.

John growled and turned to face the man. If a prod was all he had, then John could take him. "Don' even think about it!" the man growled back. "You'll regret it if ya do!"

John didn't listen to the man though and continued to advance on him, head lowered and teeth bared. The man made a jab at him with the crackling electric prod, but missed as John's agility was superior to his own. The former army doctor hunkered down on his haunches and sprang forward, hitting the man's shoulders and causing them both to tumble to the ground. He was just about to attempt to bite the man when a bolt of electricity struck him from the collar, sending him limp and completely at the mercy of the man.

He was shoved off and landed in a twitching heap on the floor. Small whimpers left his muzzle until the electricity stopped a moment later. It was all John could do to pant heavily against the concrete floor. "Tut, tut," a familiar voice said followed by the sharp click of shoes.

Moriarty walked around to John's head and crouched down. "I thought you'd behave, Doctor Watson. I can see that I underestimated you though. I should have known you would be an opportunist." He shook his head slowly, a smile creeping along his face. "You should have waited. This was not your opportunity, and you won't have another, because now I'll have to arm all of my guards who handle you with one of these," he held up the hated black remote. John flinched at the sight of it and let out a low whine. "It's a shame really, that you're so afraid of the pain. It'll make breaking you easy."

The dark haired man rose and began to walk back toward the door at the end of the hall. "Pick him up and follow," he commanded the man that John had attacked.

Without preamble, John was flung over a shoulder and carried into the next room. It was large and concrete, almost like a gym, only without the training weights or the basketball hoops. Light shone in from the long horizontal windows near the ceiling. John glanced over to Moriarty who was standing casually with his hands behind his back. A smile graced his face and John shrunk back. Smiles were never good on this man.

"Had a good look around?" he asked. John didn't answer. "Good, because it's time to get down to business."

John let out a growl. He would not break easy. He had to keep telling himself that Sherlock was coming. Soon… very soon.

"I've got an idea," Gregory Lestrade said into his mobile as he walked down the dark street lit intermittently by streetlights.

"What's that?" his mate, Mycroft Holmes asked. His voice was tired, but Greg knew the elder Holmes wouldn't sleep until either A) he collapsed from exhaustion or B) John was found and returned to Sherlock.

"Well, since I know you won't come home or get any sort of rest until this is sorted, I thought I'd pick up Thai and meet you at your office."

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment and Greg began to think that Mycroft had fallen asleep. "That sounds wonderful, Gregory," he said softly. "Sherlock is on the move right now and there is little I can do besides worry."

Greg smiled and looked up ahead to the simple white building that was the Diogenes Club. "Then I suggest you come down and meet me at the door. I don't think the staff like me very much."

Mycroft snorted. "That's only because of the noise you made last time you were in my office."

"That was hardly my fault!" Greg protested.

"I'll see you momentarily, Gregory," Mycroft said before hanging up.

Greg smiled and tucked the mobile back in his coat pocket. True to his word, Mycroft met him at the door and led him up to his office. The large room with its stacks of mahogany bookshelves and liquor cabinet in the corner had become quite familiar to Greg over the past year. He'd learned early on that if he only waited to see his husband at home, he'd likely not see him very often.

The silver haired man set the bag with Thai food in it on the desk and took off his coat, throwing it over the back of one of the chairs. Mycroft winced a little at the coat being so carelessly thrown about, but declined to say anything about. "Water?" he asked his husband.

Greg smiled and nodded. He and Mycroft had been working together to live a little bit healthier. Take-out Thai didn't really help, but this was not really a good time to go home and make an elaborate meal. Besides, Mycroft was the cook out of the two of them and they both knew that he wasn't going home until John was back in 221B.

The meal was simple and the two shared it quietly until the take out boxes were empty. Greg glanced up at Mycroft and frowned at the look of concentration as the elder Holmes looked over a document. "Mycroft," he said gently, taking the document folder away. "The point of this was to relax a bit."

"There's far too much to be done," the elder Holmes replied frowning as the folder was taken away.

Greg simply smirked and stood. He took the few necessary steps to reach Mycroft before carefully straddling the man's lap and settling down on his thighs. The DI placed his hands on Mycroft's shoulders and leaned in to nip at his lower lip. The auburn haired man let out a small moan and leaned forward when Greg leaned back. A smile played at his lips as Greg's hands slid down to unbutton the top two buttons on Mycroft's shirt. They continued to sweep over the man's chest, rubbing soothingly as they went. "Now, are you going to relax for ten minutes?" Greg asked.

Mycroft seemed to study his husband for a moment before reaching out and wordlessly pulling the silver haired man forward into a deep kiss. Their lips parted and his tongue darted out to enter the DI's, flicking in and around, teasing and frustrating. His teeth nipped and nibbled along Greg's lower lip, as his hands clutched at the man's arse. Greg moaned into Mycroft's mouth and ground his hips forward causing Mycroft to gasp and clutch his hands tighter.

Greg thrust forward again and Mycroft met him. Both men groaned at the friction and moved faster. Greg's hands brushed over Mycroft's nipples, earning another gasp. Mycroft in retaliation thrust up again, holding onto Greg's arse to keep him in place. "Myc!" Greg whimpered.

Mycroft growled and attacked the DI's neck, biting and nipping along his collar. "You've successfully diverted my attention, Gregory. What do you expect?" he said between nips.

Greg's eyes rolled back as he thrust his hips forward. Mycroft deftly reached into his jacket pocket then and pulled out a monogrammed handkerchief. He pushed Greg back a little to reach for his zip and undid it, pulling his cock through the slit in his boxers as he did so. His own cock was freed shortly after. Greg whimpered at the loss of contact, however brief. He groaned again though as Mycroft draped the handkerchief over both of their cocks and gripped them tightly, rubbing them together and thrusting upwards.

What rhythm they had was erratic and broken as their breath sped up. Greg's fingers were leaving indents in Mycroft's shoulders and his chest was heaving. Small whimpers left his throat every time Mycroft thrust up. Mycroft himself wasn't much better. His heart was pounding and the only reason he too wasn't making any noise was because he was biting his lower lip.

Greg was the first to let go, and his orgasm ripped through him. Mycroft thrust up still though seeking his own orgasm as Greg continued to ride his out. A moment later the elder Holmes sucked in a deep breath as the handkerchief was thoroughly soaked with both of their releases.

Greg slumped forward and Mycroft relaxed back into his chair. Their breathing slowly came back under control and they enjoyed the moment while they could. However reality poked sharply at them as a knock was heard at the door. Greg snuffled into Mycroft's neck as the elder Holmes let his head bounce back against the back of the seat. "Yes?" he called out.

"Sir, your brother is on the line," Anthea's voice called through the door.

Greg was grateful for the woman's tact as she didn't intrude on their privacy. "Thank you, Anthea," Mycroft called out. They heard her walk away and Mycroft reached over to stab at the speaker button on the phone. "Sherlock," he said as Greg sat up and tucked both of them back into their trousers after cleaning up a bit with the dry parts of the handkerchief.

"Mycroft," Sherlock's voice was tired and worn, but held a hint of triumph. "I know where he is."

Mycroft's eyebrow's arched up in surprise. He hadn't been expecting to hear from Sherlock until the morning. "Your interrogation went well," he said.

"Yes. It didn't really take much before he was eager to tell me whatever I wanted to know."

Greg's eyebrows furrowed in worry. Mycroft shook his head subtly though and continued on, "I'm pleased to hear it. What do you need from me?"

"Heat vision goggles and tranquilizer guns."

Mycroft was quiet for a moment while he thought. "Of course," he said finally. "You'll have what you need by the morning. And Sherlock?" Mycroft paused for a moment. "Be careful."

"Don't be stupid, Mycroft," the younger Holmes said, and hung up.

Greg and Mycroft turned back to each other. "I'm afraid to ask what he did to get answers so quickly," Greg asked turning sideways to sit across Mycroft's lap.

Mycroft wrapped an arm around Greg as he dialed a number on his mobile. "I wouldn't worry too much. The man's most likely still alive."

"That doesn't actually help, Myc," Greg grumbled.

Mycroft smiled, but didn't reply as he held his mobile up to his ear. Greg listened as the elder Holmes gave orders for supplies to be routed to Sherlock and his team. "It won't be long now," he said quietly as he hung up.

Greg nodded and hugged his husband close, hoping that John would be okay.

A/N: Apologies once again for how long it took to get this out. Had a lot going on in the month of July. I participated in another writing challenge, and won. Only 30,000 words this time, but it was still a challenge with all that I had going on. I also moved. I am now in my own apartment in the same city as where I'll be going back to school, which is coming up REALLY soon here. School starts August 26th. I'm hoping to have this story finished by then.

Also, I'd like to apologize for the confusion in the last chapter. Apparently I mixed up scenes and there was some confusion as to Sherlock indentifying John on the video feed. It's now been fixed.

Translation: The dialogue at the beginning of the chapter is in Icelandic and roughly translates to "Flight 24-175, you are good to land." "Thank you."

If any of you out there reading this actually speak Icelandic and would like to correct it, please let me know.