"Sorry about dinner" Sherlock offered in parting and stepped from the room.

It was only then a tear fell down Irene's cheek as she tried to get her head around what had taken place in the last few minutes. Sherlock had somehow worked out her passcode and now her whole world was crashing down around her.

It was only when Mycroft Holmes spoke she remembered that the other man was in the room. He was standing by his chair with one hand resting on top as he took back control of the situation. His demeanour was stony and professional. If he was feeling smug, pride for his brother's actions or vengeful he kept this well hidden behind a tight mask.

"Well then, Miss Adler. I'll have this destroyed" he explained calmly as he held up the now worthless list of demands. "Now, as you so eloquently put it 'off you pop'".

She turned with confusion on her face which was dulled by her clear shock. "You're not going to have me arrested?"

"My brother suggested that if I was feeling kind then I should lock you up. I assure you kindness, most namely mine, is not on the agenda". He lowered his arm and narrowed his eyes which flicked to the mobile on the table then back to her, menacingly. "I believe I have all I require on this device, if I thought we didn't then we would set up a situation where we would retrieve the information from you. All that we desired using every manner necessary".

The brunette kept her composure, letting out a breath and continuing. Her tone betrayed nothing. "I have to make my own way from here then?"

The British Government stepped forward, he may not have raised his voice but he seemed to chill the air as he spoke, the threat obvious. "Let me make this clear. You stepped into my home wielding enough blackmail material to demand a sizeable piece of Great Britain's wealth. Through your own carelessness, and a man's clever mind, within the space of minutes you have been left with nothing. All that you've ever worked for is gone and you cannot build your way back". He twisted his head as though contemplating the situation further. "I'll make a correction: you have some of the world's worst and most powerful offside and ready to kill you. That is what you have".

Irene was holding her ground, wasn't grovelling or snivelling but you could see the danger was very real as the fear of it etched itself into her face. "Are you going to make me beg you as well?"

"Like you did to my brother? It is such a shame that you are so determined to use your skills for that which you have. We could have used you on our side" he casually gazed down to the 'SHER' now written down on his cuff and for a moment looked very sad. "Others...could have used you".

At this she seemed to physically pull back from the situation as if it were too much but steadied herself quickly. "He was telling the truth, wasn't he? He really believes that love is a disadvantage"

"And where would he have been shown otherwise given your actions over the past few months? No, I think that it is one thing the three of us can agree upon". He shook himself out of that state. "Now, I have two security officers and my assistant in the next room. Would you like them to stay there or be present when you tell me all that you know about one James Moriarty?"

"I can't-"

"-you can and will. I want every detail no matter how small and I want to know where to find him. It's time the two of us have a chat as he so obviously wants to do"

"He'll have me killed!"

Mycroft straightened, a corner of his mouth lifted in dark amusement. "He'll have to get in line first". He let that sink in. "Now sit" he instructed, gesturing towards the chair she had occupied only ten minutes earlier when she had the upper hand. "Tell me what you know and I may organise a car ride for you. Or instead be silent and you'll discover what happens when you don't answer when questioned".

Irene's face screwed up in anger, she looked as though there were many things she'd like to say to this man that had nothing to do with giving information. Slowly though she made her way to the table. The elder Holmes allowed himself a small smirk in triumph.

A/N: I took the writing on the shirt cuff idea from the DVD commentary where Mark said he wrote on his cuff in the scene at Mycroft's house. Sherlock did it in the books as they were detachable back then.

For the several Sherlock stories I've written, and the smaller ones for this story, this is the darkest I've written Mycroft. In this case I think it's justified after all that she's done but professionally and privately.

Feedback is appreciated :)