Mycroft headed towards his own study, the package still tightly gripped in his hand. He had notions on what was on it. He both wanted and was terrified of seeing it. He needed to know but at the same time he was scared about what he might see. Mycroft shut the door behind him, locking it securely and sat down at his desk. A laptop sat, waiting. He removed the disc from it's packaging, placing it in the computer and waited. Should he wear headphones? No, this room was mostly soundproof, there was only one person in the building who should not see the contents of this disc and he was sleeping.

A menu screen appeared. Very simple. There appeared to be four videos, each labeled. Me First, Terror, Pain, Cracks. Me First showed a frozen image of one James Moriarty. Mycroft didn't even realise that his hands had clenched into fists. He took a deep breath and moved the cursor over the first box and clicked.

The image unfroze. Moriarty was seated in a luxurious brown leather armchair, in an immaculate white suit, a glass of wine in one hand.

"Hello dear Mycroft. How are you? Stressed most likely. Understandable. Angry perhaps as well, angry at me, angry at yourself. Guilty maybe. Over what happened to your little brother. Oh you lost him again didn't you? How sad. You really need to keep a closer eye on him. But it's ok, because you found him didn't you? Congratulations!" He raised his glass in a mock toast.

"And how did you find him? Not what you thought was it. Not what you hoped. You hoped to find him alive, whole, himself. But you didn't did you? You found him broken, alive but missing. I know, I watched it happen. Admittedly I never meant for things to go that far, I wanted him broken but I wanted him still responsive. But once he retreated, I had little use for him. We were going to send him to London, kill him in front of dear John. But then you had to show up and ruin everything."

Mycroft's hands clenched tighter, the knuckles going white. "How is dear Lockie now? Hopefully still a broken mess, as long as he stays such, he stays alive, he stays safe! So I'd keep a close eye on him this time. Don't want to lose dear baby brother again do you? But aren't you curious as to how he came to be that way? I compiled three videos for you. Just so you can see, just a glimpse, of what happened to your little brother. Enjoy, Mycroft Holmes, I hope to see you real soon. Kisses!" He blew one at the screen and the video stopped.

He was right about the contents then. He needed to know some of what had happened to Sherlock. Even if it hurt to watch, even if it gave him nightmares, it wasn't like he didn't already have those. Mycroft was going to hate it and himself later but he had to know. Maybe it would help, maybe he could help Sherlock if he understood things better. So he moved the cursor over the next video, Terror and clicked play.

"Is there a reason you called me and asked me to the pub? Or are you going to make me guess?" John smiled into his pint as he watched the Inspector stumble over his words. "Look, I need to ask you something John, and you don't have to say yes, just hear me out. Ok?"

"Alright, I'm all ears mate"

"I want you to be my Best Man"

John almost spat out his beer. Was he serious? Him, the best man? Surely someone from the force, or someone like a family member would be better suited for the job. Why him? "M-me? Are you sure mate? Really, me? Bloody hell" It was a good thing he was drinking. Lestrade grinned and laughed, lifting his mug to his lips. "Yeah mate, look you've been a great friend and, we'll I don't have any brothers and I don't feel I know anyone in the force as well as I know you, so I just thought..anyway. What do you say? Say yes mate, come on"

He couldn't really refuse such an honour, could he? "Sure mate, I'd love to be your Best Man. That means I get to organise your stag doesn't it? Brilliant" Oh he could already see plans forming in his mind and so could Greg. "Nothing ridiculous or embarrassing John" He teased.

"Oh I wouldn't dream of embarrassing the great Detective Inspector. You'll let me know all the details as they come, right?"

"Yup"

"Great. Thanks" Wow.

"Don't mention it"

They both finished their pints in pleasurable silence.

Mycroft knelt on the floor, picking up the broken pieces of his wine glass, wincing as one cut into his finger. It was inexcusable anger that was the cause of it smashing against the carpet. And understandable reaction though, the video he had just witnessed. His brother, huddled against a wall, chained to it.

Crying out, screaming at nothing. Screaming in terror, in fright at an invisible monster. And then crying out his heart, over the bodies he believed he was seeing lying bleeding on the floor in front of him. And he unable to go and comfort or save them. Bodies of his friends, of Lestrade, of Molly, of Mrs Hudson, of Irene and especially of John. Even of Mycroft. Sherlock had been absolutely terrified and Mycroft ached to see him in such a way. The video played similar scenes over and over until Sherlock no longer screamed, he just whimpered.

The next video was Pain.

Molly handed Irene a small glass of juice and sat opposite her, watching the other woman stroke back Sherlock's curls as he slept. "He looks so innocent when he's sleeping" She said quietly, unsure really how to act around this woman. "He is innocent in a lot of ways I think, especially after what happened to him. He's more..fragile now. More vulnerable."

"I hate it"

"So do I. The worst thing is, he may never recover from it. I actually miss the sarcasm, the insults." Molly smiled slightly. "Me too. God he could be so infuriating, but you still couldn't help but like him. I'll miss the side of him, if it doesn't return I mean" Irene nodded. "So will I". Molly stared into her drink. She wasn't as shy as she used to be, but she was unsure of herself around Irene. Irene who was beautiful, more so than herself. Irene who was so confident and smart. Molly envied her. No wonder Sherlock liked her. Maybe if Molly had been like Irene, Sherlock would have liked her more. But that was just silly, she didn't even really have a crush on him anymore.

"You've known him for a long time haven't you?

Molly shrugged. "In a way, he was always coming into the morgue or the labs at St Barts. Everyone thought he was an arrogant prat, which he was, I guess. But, I don't know, every so often I'd see this other side of him. I found that I was really the only one who could stand dealing with him, well me and Mike Stamford. I wouldn't say that I knew him very well though." Irene smiled, sipping from her glass. "I envy you"

"You what? Me? Why, y-you're pretty and smart and..Sherlock likes you" Irene shook her head sadly. "You are very pretty Molly darling and smarter than you give yourself credit for. No, I envy the trust Sherlock has in you, the obvious friendship and care that he feels for you. I'm something that fascinates him but, I don't think I am held in the realms of friendship. You are. So, I envy you Molly Hooper" Molly swallowed quickly and flushed.

"Wow, thanks."

Pain had been infinitely worse than Terror. Pain was a series of clips. Of whips and burns. Of cuts and fists. Of screaming, of whimpering. Of begging. Of blood. Mycroft had felt sick to his stomach. He had even dry retched into the waste basket that sat beneath the desk. The images of his brother being tortured wouldn't leave him mind. Nor would the ones where he barely responded. Where he could clearly see his brother start to run away from reality. When it had come to Jim gleefully burning a brand into his little brother's sole, it had taken all his restraint not to throw the laptop to the floor.

He took a deep breath. One video left. Just one and it would be all over. He clicked it.

Cracks.

Sherlock sat, his back pressed against the cell wall, his arms around his knees, sobbing. Blood streamed down his face from a cut on his head. Bruises were clearly seen on his arms and face. Even through the grainy footage. He sobbed into his knees for several minutes before he lay down on the cold floor, still curled into himself.

Another clip. Sherlock curled on the floor once again, his back bare and bleeding. Sherlock was sobbing, begging. Please save me. He said. Someone, anyone. Someone save me. John save me. Mycroft save me. Lestrade save me. His tears were such that his whole body would heave, which caused him considerably pain.

Please, please come and find me.

Please.

Another clip. Sherlock hugged his knees, flinching as his captors threw jeers in his direction. You're all alone. No one is coming. No, Sherlock was adamant. Someone would find him, someone had to find him. Soon. Soon. He wept.

This new clip had Jim. He knelt next to the curled figure on the floor. Unsure. It was clear this was not exactly what he wanted. He prodded the body. It let out a small pain filled cry. Oh Sherlock, Sherlock, whispered Jim. Help me. No one is coming to help you Sherlock. No you're wrong. They'll save me. Who? J-john. John doesn't care, John thinks you're dead. M-mycroft will come. Dear brother? He won't come Sherlock, he doesn't care. None of them care.

Jim pressed down the plunger of a small needle, watching a small amount of liquid spurt out, before he pressed it into Sherlock's arm. The detective gasped. Sssh, Lockie. Listen to me. They aren't coming, they don't care. What did I say? Come on now. Jim pressed his hand against a dark bruise. A whimper.

They c-care. They don't. They hate you Sherlock. N-no, you're wrong. I showed you the footage. Not real. Come now my dear. I wouldn't lie to you. No..n-no. There, there, Jim is here for you.

The last video was of Sherlock appeared to be not long before he was found. He only caught one word. Let me die.

Mycroft felt hot liquid sting his eyes and he let them fall, ashamed. This was his fault. He had failed to find his brother, he had let him fall into Moriarty's clutches because he was paying attention. Never again. He would find Jim Moriarty and he would crush him. Not before he saved his brother though. Not before he brought back what was lost.

I care Sherlock and I will save you.