A/N- I found out that I hate writing Mycroft! He's so difficult to work with! If only everyone could be as simple as John.
"Where is he?" screamed Sherlock, shooting at the wall frantically. He dropped the gun on the floor and bent to retrieve his phone, which he'd thrown earlier. He called Moriarty.
"Hello, Jim speaking." The horrid sickly sweet voice floated through the phone.
"What have you done with him?" Sherlock was appalled to hear his voice shaking so thoroughly. He felt tears well in his eyes. What is happening to me?
"Oh, you know. The usual."
Sherlock inhaled. I can't even take a breath without my diaphragm convulsing. The side effect of having your one and only friend's life in the hands of a murdering psychopath, I suppose. "What is that?"
"I can't tell you, sexy!" Moriarty exclaimed. "That would ruin all the fun!"
A tear streaked down Sherlock's pale cheek. "You think this is fun for me? You think it's fun? My best friend could be dead for all I know. His life hangs by a thread, a thread which you're holding. I- I-" The consulting detective took a deep, shuddering breath.
"Look at you!" Moriarty sounded mock surprised. "Wait-don't tell me. Are you crying?"
"No." Sherlock reached up quickly and wiped his eyes on his dressing gown sleeve. "Of course not, I'm Sherlock Holmes."
"Yes, and he's John Watson," Moriarty replied.
He's crushing my heart. How does he know how to manipulate me so thoroughly? "Where is he? Just tell me where he is."
"No," said Moriarty. "I can't, see, because our little Johnny boy begged me not to. He's so cute sometimes."
"John… told you to keep me in the dark?" Sherlock was stunned. How could he do this to me, does he even know what I'm going through?
"I believe his exact words were: 'No, please don't. It'll be all my fault if he shows up and you just-' Then he kind of sighed and thought for a while." Moriarty smiled. "Oh, and have you met Sebastian?"
"Who?" Sherlock asked, scared for the answer.
"Oh, just an assassin, trained gunman, torturer and killer, and… what am I missing?" Moriarty pretended to think about it. "Oh! And he's Johnny's new roommate!"
"I will rip you apart," Sherlock said slowly. "I will-"
"Ta-ta!"
The call was disconnected.
Sherlock screamed, pushing all of the frustration and fear and pent-up worry out through his lungs. He threw his phone on the ground as hard as he could, disappointed when it didn't break open. He fell back into his chair just as the flat door opened.
"Sherlock?" It was Mycroft.
"Get away."
"Oh, brother mine," Mycroft said. "Don't sulk."
"I have a perfectly good reason to sulk, a problem that's more important than you, and I'm…" His voice trailed off. "Well, I suppose I'm scared."
"Scared?" Mycroft scoffed. "Why?"
"You don't know?"
"Mrs. Hudson heard you and was worried. She called me. Why were you yelling, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked, sitting in the chair next to Sherlock's.
"Get out of that chair." Sherlock's voice was so cold it hurt.
"But why? Whatever for-"
"That's John's chair, you can't sit there," said Sherlock.
"Ahhh," Mycroft sighed. "This is about John, isn't it?"
"What else could it be about; I don't care about anything else enough for it to affect me this way," Sherlock said. "Why are you here? Leave as soon as possible."
Mycroft was silent, observing and perhaps deducing Sherlock for several minutes. Then he spoke. "So, you care about this man you met less than a year ago more than your own brother?"
"Yes."
"Why, Sherlock?" Mycroft sounded genuinely hurt, his voice soft.
"Because, throughout our childhood and as adults as well, you made my life hell," Sherlock said quietly. "You intrude on whatever I do; you think you're my manager. And I hate that."
"What about John, why do you like him so much?" Mycroft pressed.
"John…" Sherlock mused, pushing his hands together and resting his fingertips on his lips.
"Why are you going to your mind palace?" asked Mycroft.
"I'm going to my John-room."
Mycroft raised his eyebrows. "You have a whole room just for John? What's-"
"Shut up, dear brother, I can't think," Sherlock interrupted.
And so Mycroft waited in silence for several minutes, ever patient.
"John is special to me because he's so steadfast," Sherlock said. "He's always there and no matter what he's thinking or does he puts me first. I thought it was just obedient soldier habits at first, but no. There was a night… at a pool, and Moriarty was there, and he was going to blow John up."
"Go on," Mycroft said, leaning forwards in John's chair, which he'd refused to vacate.
"And John, well, you know how small he is," Sherlock continued. "He grabbed Moriarty and hung on. So if Moriarty tried to activate the bombs, they'd both die. And he spoke to me, he said these exact words: 'Go. Sherlock, go! Run!' I didn't run, of course, but then I knew that he valued my life more than his own."
"How touching."
"He's so loyal, he'd die for me a hundred times over, even more than that. He's never mean, or rude, and somehow he always puts up with me," said Sherlock. "Another thing is how he knows I've had a bad day, and when that happens he makes me tea, or tells me how smart I am. And it makes me feel better."
"Right," Mycroft said, a look of almost-longing on his face.
"Why?" Sherlock asked.
"Why what?" his brother replied.
"Why did you never do that for me; why did you never care about me the way John does?" asked Sherlock, clearly angry. "We were brothers!"
Mycroft was clearly upset. "We still are brothers, Sherlock, I-"
"No; no, I realized that I don't need a brother. I have John, and he's much more than an idiot of a brother any day," Sherlock said.
"But you don't have John," replied Mycroft.
"Get out!" Sherlock screamed. "Just get out! You can't be here; you have no right to be here!"
His voice, low and murderous, scared Mycroft. The government official picked up his umbrella, stood, and left without a word.
Several long minutes later, Mrs. Hudson peeked nervously around the door. "Sherlock, dear? Not to bother you, but you just shunned the last person you could turn to for help."
"No, it's no bother," Sherlock said, staring at the landlady until she left. She's right. She's right, what do I do? I can't rely on Mycroft, he's the bloody worst brother in the world. Oh, that's right. We aren't brothers anymore. Lestrade will call the police, and if he does that Moriarty will kill John. John, who risks everything every day for me. If I want to win back my own trust, I'll have to rescue him alone.