Trigger warning for forced drug use.
Sherlock growled low in his throat as Moriarty danced around him.
"Your pet's unhappy with you, Shezza. You ran off and left him again." Moriarty clapped his hands, a gesture that was growing increasingly irritating to the detective. "Do you think he'll put up with that much longer?"
Hands still held in the air, Sherlock turned his head to glare at the vision. Just as he was about to make a sharp retort, the door to the house opened and two men came out. They were wielding guns which were trained directly on the detective.
Sherlock transferred his gaze to the two men, forcing himself to ignore Moriarty's taunting. "It took you long enough. I've been trying to surrender for several minutes."
One of the men, the blond, gestured to his companion. "Search him."
Sherlock stood perfectly still. He ignored the man's hands as they ran over him from shoulder to ankle, but when the man pulled back and leered at him, it was all he could do not to spit in his face. Sherlock was struggling to maintain his self control in the face unrelenting fury. The hand that groped his crotch made him snap and he slammed his forehead against the other man's skull, sending him reeling. He would have kicked the man for good measure, but the blond had moved fast and had rested the barrel of the gun against the base of Sherlock's neck.
"That's enough!" the blond growled. "Link, get the cuffs on him."
Link got to his feet, hand rubbing where Sherlock had head butted him. His face was full of rage. He pulled Sherlock's arms behind him one at a time and cuffed them, then he punched the detective just over the kidney. "I'm going to ask for whatever's left of you when Walsh is done."
Sherlock ignored the pain as best he could and bit off the spiteful words that came to mind. This was just the beginning and he knew it would get worse before help would arrive. Despite what Moriarty had said, Sherlock hadn't left John behind, not like the vision had meant. Sherlock knew that he had to get inside and provide a distraction for Greg and John to use to their advantage. Nothing else had a chance of working.
Link took him roughly by the arm and guided him into the house. As they stepped into the room where Mycroft was being held, the brothers' eyes met.
"So glad you could join us, brother dear," Mycroft said through split lips. "I was beginning to wonder if you would come."
The detective was shoved down into a chair. "I wouldn't miss this for anything, Mycroft. Have you been having fun without me?" Sherlock's demeanour might have been one of bravado, but inside, he cringed. Mycroft didn't look good, he had obviously been beaten and quite thoroughly. Sherlock's fury redoubled. He'd kill Walsh.
The man himself had watched their greeting with curiosity. "Welcome, Sherlock. Your brother and I have been talking about you. Well, I've been talking. Mycroft's been glaring. He's quite good at it."
"Yes," Sherlock agreed, "but it's not his glare that will kill you." He grinned, showing all his teeth. "I will."
"About that, I don't think so," Walsh countered. "Moriarty taught me well. I plan on breaking Mycroft before I kill him. Now that's where you come in." He reached and opened the top drawer of his desk. The vial and syringe he set out gleamed in the light, drawing Sherlock's attention. "You see, I know Mycroft's greatest fear."
The elder Holmes could feel his heart racing in his chest. It was beating so hard, he thought it might burst. "Walsh," he said, his tone cold. "You don't know a thing about me." He kept his eyes locked on his rival and determinedly off of Sherlock. He didn't let himself glance at the hated objects on the man's desk.
Moriarty had settled on the arm of Sherlock's chair. "Well," he drawled. "It looks like the end of your sobriety is near. It's rather fitting, don't you think? Poetic, even. The great Sherlock Holmes finally resolves to get clean, and he goes out on an overdose. Can I come with you? I'll sign you a lullaby as you go."
"Shut up!" Sherlock tried to lunge from the chair, but two strong hands held him in place. For Sherlock's troubles, the man standing watch over Mycroft hit the government official hard in the back of the head with the butt of his gun. The detective forced himself to relax for his brother's sake.
With only a gesture from Walsh, Link pulled back the sleeve of Sherlock's coat and jacket. He unbuttoned the detective's sleeve and exposed his arm. Reaching over, Link took the syringe that Walsh had filled from the vial and injected it smoothly into Sherlock's waiting vein.