Out of the frying pan into the fire...
Mycroft couldn't help but recite the phrase in his mind as he tilted his chin up with his neck too strained by the arm holding him, making it difficult to catch his breath and have any view of those around. He was held firmly by the Assistant Commissioner' bulky arm; Roylott was not taller than him but large enough to hold him down and restrain any further struggle. His grip was too forceful and wild like at every turn of his body he might just accidentally pull the trigger. Not that Mycroft planned to go anywhere soon. As far as he was concerned his beaten body had reached its limit of movement that every shift of his feet was a curse, he could barely support his weight. Even his hearing had become quite a problem that the idea of a gun on his head hardly registered.
But what Roylott said did make sense. It was one of the most reasonable things Mycroft had heard for days.
The shadows of the militants were all in position to shoot and that was keeping the suspense in the air. Aiming to fire but not doing so for they were waiting for the order which by far, hadn't come.
"Roylott..." Sherlock's voice said in the middle of the rising action, "You don't have to do this... please..."
Mycroft coughed and opened his eyes, his eyebrows contorted.
"You know bloody hell it has to be done. I don't care what happens to me—to none of you—but you're not having him." The determined constable dug the point of the gun at the side of Mycroft's forehead that made the British head grit his teeth. "Make a move and I shoot him!"
The threat hung in the air amidst all the rebel guns. There was no apparent movement, just steady arms and hands. The Turkish man was silent with a hand on top of his ring again and his silence was most alarming, his eyes narrowed and unblinking.
"Surely you won't...?" began the man till they heard the lock of the gun's trigger clicked.
Eyes widened, breathe sucked in. The Turkish leader's expression darkened than ever and it was the longest second for everybody in the area, until finally, he dropped his hands and all militant guns were lowered down.
The unexpected response even made the constable look around uncertainly. Mycroft could judge his every movement. He shifted his feet and looked from left to right but his hand was ever steady on his hold of his gun.
"Okay..." Roylott breathed hard after awhile, "so that's how it's going to be..."
The British Government head read the situation with his eyes falling on the Turkish man.
That was when he felt Roylott stir him and before everyone's eyes, the Assistant Commissioner suddenly began moving backwards. As slowly as he could, he dragged Mycroft with him within the silence that threatened to break any moment if one wrong movement or a changed of wind arose. Mycroft had gone silent in those moments as well, feeling his every movement and the beating heart of the man behind him.
Then he heard the van door open—
Guns were pointed at them again fast but it was the Turkish man himself who ordered the halt when for the -ent time, Mycroft gritted his teeth as he felt the point of the gun dig deeper on the side of his head too strongly.
"I won't try that if I were you." Hissed the manic sounding officer and guns were lowered once more. He waded himself backwards till he passed from the car door with eyes on his enemies. "I swear to god I'd kill this guy before you can be finished with me. Between escaping now and killing him, two things I can accomplish."
No response except another silence.
Anything could have happened in the next second when the British Head felt himself get shoved inside the van with John unsurprisingly by the driver's seat and Sherlock seated beside him. With the gun still hovering on his head, the engine was turned on and with one reverse moved the van streaked out of the middle of the war—
And still the rebels did not raise their guns and merely watched as the van turned once and sped up into the road and out on free way. The army doctor accelerated that brushed the dark trees blurry to their sight until they were miles away.
Sherlock looked at the side mirror while John did the rear view.
"Nothing?" asked the detective in alert.
"Nothing." John shook his head.
"Speed up. They'll follow us."
"Bloody hell they will." The car jumped into another speed. It was another minute or two before the people in the car could calm down as they checked their backs and still see nothing.
Mycroft sighed after another minute with eyes closed. The gun was already lowered down.
Roylott who was beside him glanced at him shortly and was brisk and business like saying— "I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes. Just following orders."
"I guessed as much." He raised his eyes and found his younger brother looking at him with a grin from ear to ear.
"Are you alright, Mycroft? I've never seen you look so better."
"Your view always amazes me."
"Then perhaps you start looking into mine." There was a sudden serious glint in his eyes that only made the older Holmes stare, until he waved it away with both eyebrows rising.
"Well... when did you plan this?"
"While you were sleeping." Sherlock's eyes flickered with a winning smile on his lips, "I figured there's no stopping you jumping to the enemy's arms like it's a newly found habit unless I stop it by force. Good thing there are many people here willing to point a gun at you."
"You really know how to push your luck, don't you?" Mycroft muttered gravely as he glared beside him to the officer now sitting next to him innocently. "And I'll have you know I'll get you back for this."
Sherlock shrugged.
"It was just a gun. Did it with John awhile back, right, John?" the doctor gave him a look that said 'don't involve me'.
"He doesn't know me." Mycroft glared.
"Another good thing."
"Why?" the Assistant Commissioner turned at the older Holmes with an alarmed look, "Did I just point a gun at a royal family member?"
Mycroft arched an eyebrow at him.
"Close enough." Sherlock smiled that made Roylott stare at him in disbelief. Then he turned to his brother once more. "How did you know it was an act?"
"Try listening to your voice, brothermine." The older Holmes said in a matter of fact tone, "I know when you are distressed and know when you're pulling my leg. I had to know the difference. Besides, this gentleman here could but control his heart beat."
"How would you know from a heartbeat?" John wanted to know but was ignored when the detective rolled his eyes at his best friend as if it was too obvious before turning back to the officer.
"It wouldn't have work if it weren't somebody from this place. They wouldn't have believed me of course so it had to be you; someone who really means to pull the trigger. And unless you say those old fashioned notion of patriotism and clearly not give a damn about this precious brother of mine, we could have died."
"Still very risky." John said from the front seat with a frown now forming on his head as what just occurred sunk to him. "What if they waited if he really would shoot?"
"No, they won't."
"How did you know?"
"I didn't. It was a trial." Sherlock straightened on his chair while the doctor looked at him with mouth gaping. "But I never guessed. Mycroft seems important to them, of course they won't let him die." To the rear view mirror, he looked straight at his exasperated brother with another faint smile, "Good thing they badly need you, brother, well done!"
Mycroft grimaced and shifted on his seat with eyes turning to the windows.
"You noticed they let us off without a chase? It's not real."
Sherlock's demeanour changed sourly. "I know."
John immediately looked at his side mirror. "There's nothing there. I would've thought there'd be right behind us."
"Or." Mycroft stared ahead too. "Already in front. I'm certain of an ambush."
"What?" Roylott turned from one brother to another. "There's more?"
"You better believe my brother, he's always accurate." The detective narrowed his eyes as he glanced at the officer. "And no, we can't use the hostage tactic twice. They would have realised by now it nothing but a scheme."
"So where are we heading now?" John drove on in the middle of the dark, "If what I heard is correct we should be meeting up with your military convoy heading this way?"
"We cannot trust them." Sherlock said plainly all of a sudden. He received another one of the doctor's many shocked expressions.
"But they are the British troupes why shouldn't we—?"
"John." The detective looked pointedly at his friend. "You were taken while you were with them and Carruther's dead."
The horror in the man's eyes was clearly visible at the news of one fallen agent while the detective fixed him a look of utmost severity. Mycroft looked down his clenched hand looking unsurprised while Roylott remained silent.
"They also lost us quite easily despite the fact that they are our escort. There too many lapses and questionable things... too obvious things all coming together... which could only mean one thing..." he glanced up at the rear view mirror towards his brother again who met his eyes squarely. "Someone from the British Government with power is also behind this."
Mycroft's cold expression was too icy. "Elementary."
"No way..."
"Given the circumstances," the older Holmes supplied casually, "they chose this moment to attack when they thought I am vulnerable. The internet scandal gave them all the openings. Typical."
"Typical?" John said with a strain in his tone. Was he the only one seeing the complexity of the situation? "You call that typical? People are trying to murder you and you call that normal? Just what kind of world are you living in?"
Sherlock smiled slightly while Mycroft blinked and looked up curiously.
"What a very strange question, John. I thought you knew."
"You mean to say we're running for our lives because some higher up also wants you out?"
"Easy math, wasn't it?" Mycroft offered.
Which made the doctor grit his teeth and turn his eyes back to the road with a newly found line increased on his forehead. Silence fell in the group for awhile until the doctor broke his with a turn of the clutch.
"There's something you need to know, Sherlock."
"The more the merrier."
"I'm serious. There's a very dangerous man out there."
Sherlock glanced behind to Mycroft again whose eyebrows rose questioningly to heaven once more.
"Okay, looking right at him. Now what?"
"He's not who I meant!" the doctor injected with another step on the accelerator, "There was another guy there in the place where they took me. It's not really an exact spot, they had me blindfolded... the Turkish guy you were talking to? They call him Serςe but there was another guy."
Another exchange of looks from the Holmes brothers as John went on—
"American. I didn't see him they stuck me in the car but I could hear his voice, his accent was a dead giveaway. They talked in codes and numbers."
"I know him. What did you hear?" Mycroft inquired with a glint in his eyes.
"Something about a line..." the doctor glanced up at the rear view mirror. "Line protocol?"
Sherlock frowned at the doctor and then turned a look at the mirror exactly as he saw his brother's face paled. He looked like he had seen a ghost with his eyes wide from the sudden bolt from the blue. That didn't bode well.
"Oh." Was the only thing he was able to say as he resumed a blank expression on his white face with a distant look in his eyes.
"Mycroft?" Sherlock whispered as he looked behind him directly to his brother. "What?"
But the older Holmes shut his thin lips closed that told the detective that was the end of the discussion.
"You're going to have to confirm that to me soon."
Mycroft glowered. "Treason, brother."
"It's always treason with you."
"It's different this time."
"Where do we go from here?" John called before the two could start another glaring match. The road was still long but there were no other vehicles that could be seen. "If there's an ambush waiting for us out here—?"
"We can't use the old Belfast road if that's the case. It's the point straight main road used by many and Belfast is still far off." the Assistant Commissioner rose with a frown on his face. "If we need back up from people we can trust we have to reach Commissioner Bradstreet. They should be back at the Head Quarters from the Russian encounter; it's been over two hours."
"It's half past three to be exact." Mycroft offered without much as glance.
"Exact? How did you know?"
"Never mind him, he's a walking metronome." Sherlock shook his head, "Now where can we stay and recuperate in this area? We can't reach Belfast and not run into the expected pursuers. Frankly, I don't think we should meet anyone at all given the circumstances; we need a place where we can be invisible to avoid detection and curious eyes. We need to contact Bradstreet and keep hidden while doing so. Roylott?"
"If it's a hidden town there's Newtownbreda to the left of this road. It's not a short cut but it will eventually lead us to Belfast main. If you turn to a sign of Purdysburn road after another mile we'll reach it."
John did the turn and a long road of curved sections greeted their head lights.
The Assistant Commissioner finally gave his full attention to the British Government head with a deep scowl on his face that didn't escape Mycroft who looked back quietly.
"So in fact you are somebody with power from the higher government?"
Mycroft considered with an eyebrow flying so high.
"I don't look it but yes. I know how clothes can be an appalling first impression." He turned to his brother abruptly. "I need a change of clothes, Sherlock."
"Why? That suits you perfectly." The detective grinned from ear to ear, making the older Holmes sigh and shake his head.
"If I am considered important on both sides I might as well look it."
"You're in disguise."
The older Holmes paused and then gave another sigh.
"I hate undercover ops."
They reached the gloomy place of Newtownbreda right before dawn with the gray bluish light of the sky giving them a view of a bleak atmosphere of houses and empty streets. Crows were rampant up the sky that added to the distaste of the murky town. If it wasn't to the early risers cleaning and opening their business shops, they would have thought it one of those ghost towns. Assistant Commissioner pointed towards a street that read Beechill Road and from there he led them to the almost secluded housings of a Berkley CT.
Sherlock glanced at the officer after their vehicle went pass a lone stone tower.
"Eyes on Northern Ireland. Seriously?"
"It's as invisible as you get."
"Why, what's that?" John pointed a look at his passengers.
"It's a caring institution for blind children." Mycroft supplied with a heavy frown on his face.
It took them another half an hour to find the place to settle in—it was an empty one floor lodge recommended strongly by the Assistant Commissioner found at the outskirt of town. Once out of the car, Sherlock eyed the vicinity sharply.
"There should be a constable around, I'll go check their communication line." Roylott took the vehicle's key from the doctor and exchanged it with the house key. "Will you lot be fine here?"
Sherlock looked at the wide open sky where birds flew in flocks.
"It's fine."
"Mycroft?" John had bowed down to the van's backseat to the older Holmes whom he found was fast asleep with chin on his chest. The man stirred and looked up at the doctor with blurry eyes. There was a certain colour on his face, one that didn't escape the doctor who reached a hand on Mycroft's forehead. "You're burning up."
"Yes, I felt that too." He shook his head and accepted John's hand and slid out of the van into the morning light. "That's been awhile..." he coughed hard, making his younger brother look at him.
"Get him inside."
"He's got a temperature."
"He's been walking around half dead for half the night, of course he has." He rounded on the vehicle's cargo and opened it, took a large medical box and a metal hanging rod and then shut it close.
"We'll get in touch." With a nod at the Assistant Commissioner, they turned towards the house just as the van drove away.
John Watson had been busy from that moment on. Setting up the sanitation of the room and the IV drop carefully, he was very firm and indignant the moment he removed Mycroft's clothes hiding his bloody bandages.
"You've been moving around with these?" he demanded as he gazed at the gashes and open wounds that had started to bleed again right on Mycroft's front while the man sat on the bed quietly. "You shouldn't have been forcing yourself!"
The British Government head gave a small, unsympathetic smile but didn't say anything, making the doctor square his jaw and with his reprimanding nature, started cleaning each and every wound gently, wrapping them with clean gauzes and applying extra ointment for the pain. Mycroft's head had been floating in his mind palace, that, or he was already delirious with profuse sweat on his face.
Once done of the front, the grumpy doctor rounded on the bed—and was aghast by the injury at the back.
"Jesus, Mycroft... what have they done to you?"
With a little more care, he instructed the man to lie on his side while he addressed the wound with expression hard and jaws clenched. Sherlock came back after another half an hour carrying packs of meal and was on time to receive and angry glare from his best friend. Mycroft was on the bed, dead to the world.
"I didn't give him any morphine." The doctor began as he removed his white gloves and threw them on the almost full trash bin. "Or even sleeping tablet in case we get under fire from those rebels."
"We're quite safe."
"Did you contact the secret service? His secretary?"
There was a pause. Then the detective shook his impassive face. "No. I want to keep everything out of radar. I don't trust any of them."
"So we'll be here for an indefinite number of time?"
"Just for awhile. Until Mycroft decides who to trust." He looked over his older brother. "How he?"
"Tough as old boots." He turned his eyes to older Holmes, "I had to do twelve stitches over all—did you know he had that nasty burn at his back? The skin's burnt, it'll definitely leave a mark."
"Mm." Sherlock nodded without blinking. "A good reminder he's not invincible after all that power he's got."
John slumped on the next chair and took a coffee can from Sherlock's pack.
"Right. May I just clear—are we running away from the government?"
"Apparently."
"Do we get wanted posters?"
Sherlock smiled and sat on the opposite chair. "Who needs posters. You can easily blogged it out to the world and tell them we're doing this case—which of course will make my brother shut down the blog site and accuse you of treason and send you back to the army to save the trouble of imprisoning you. Sounds good?"
"If he's that powerful why not send his jet planes all over here?" he drank the coffee.
"In due time." The detective glanced at his brother's sleeping form again. "Let's just keep him breathing before he does that."
A chuckle escaped the doctor. He received a sharp glare from the detective.
"What?"
"Well, I used to think you hate your brother, Sherlock."
"Who doesn't."
"All those complaints and nasty remarks you throw at each other... you both always go at each other's throat when you don't see eye to eye which was often. All this time I thought you hate him because of a simple superior brother complex."
"You're not one to talk when you had the same sentiments with your sister."
The doctor raised his eyes up straight to the detective.
"At least my sister doesn't get kidnapped when we argue nor get threatened. The worst thing that could happen was a bottle on her head and even she can be just as resilient. But we're talking about your brother here which Harry's situation can never be compared with—but, if my sister was to do something so dangerous I would also be always angry every time we see each other."
"Your point?"
"Have you told Mycroft how worried you've been?"
A blank stare covered the detective's eyes. "What?"
John shook his head. "That's the thing with you, Sherlock—you're always the gun and run type with your emotions—"
"You think I haven't shoved it on his face?" the response caught the doctor off guard that for a second he only stared at his friend whose eyes were brooding, "Try having your sibling come back from the grave like that and you'll be singing the same tune, John. He knows it but he's having a hard time accepting it because you know what? You're right— it is a superior brother complex."
"John thinks I'm not worried about you."
"Where does he get that idea?"
It was already noon by the time Mycroft had opened his eyes and found his younger brother watching him from a corner. The curtains were down but faint light was coming from the bleak atmosphere of the silent vicinity. Refreshed as he was from a truly long sleep—and one he needed badly, the British Head had sat up straight after a few minutes of lying on the bed with eyes on the ceiling. Sherlock allowed him to untangle his thoughts before helping the older Holmes to sit up with that IV drop forever attached on his arm.
"Where's he and why does he think that?" Mycroft touched his arm with the needle before looking slowly at his younger brother who remained rooted on the spot just beside the bed.
"Buying something for lunch, we leased a car. Probably because I haven't said anything."
"You've been shoving it on my face since we met—"
"Told him that. I said it didn't sit well with you when the younger brother's worried."
"Are we going all sentimental again right after I wake up?"
"Why not?" there was truly a curious tone in Sherlock's voice with his sharp eyes that said he was serious to know.
Mycroft stared at his brother and even afford to blink up with dark lines under his eyes.
"I didn't realise..." the man then muttered after awhile, "or maybe I did... you're still that same old baby brother with plenty of questions."
That got Sherlock to purse his lips.
"I'm no baby—"
"You're really growing into John." The older Holmes shook his head slightly and looked around with a lick on his dry lips. "Get me some water, please?"
"Don't you think you should too?" Sherlock suggested as he rounded back and gave his brother a glass of water, "You've always had that emotional range of salt pinch."
"And you're an emotional expert now?" Mycroft asked testily with an eyebrow up after sipping his much needed drink. "If I needed counselling I wouldn't be going to you—someone who's like a hurricane once he felt everything—"
"If you can go to anyone at all—" the detective smirked.
"I don't plan to go all mawkish on anyone, Sherlock. Least of all to myself." he let the glass be taken when his brother offered a hand and brushed his no nonsense attitude forward. "If you are ruled out by your emotions things get even more complicated. It's a weakness. One you shouldn't practice at unnecessary times—"
"But you do understand?" the detective's voice had change a note, it was barely a whisper. He was looking at his brother with undivided attention and with sharp blazes on his eyes. "I am concerned about you?"
It was Mycroft who smirked this time.
"You don't need to tell me anything. You're already here."
A poignant moment as it was, it was disrupted when a car's engine stopped in front of the house and John came calling from the outside door that opened and slammed close. The Holmes brothers turned their eyes immediately as the doctor came with a dishevelled and alarmed look on his face with hands gripping the meal packets he bought.
"You've got to see the news—London's been attacked!"
Complex
~To be continued~
*fiction*fiction*
Thanks for reading! :)
