Chapter 8

Sherlock crouched behind a crate as he heard the warehouse door creak open. He cautiously poked his head out to see what was going on. Moriarty had a strong grip on Mycroft's arm as he led him toward a car that awaited them there. The traitor of a guard followed. Sherlock bit his lip as he contemplated what he should do next. If he stepped out of hiding now, unarmed, then he would just be taken along too, and he'd be no help to his brother.

Sherlock turned his attention to the vehicle. Who was going to be the one driving it? His eyes flicked to the guard as he watched him walk in the direction of the driver's seat. So the traitor guard would be the driver. Immediately, an idea came into Sherlock's head. He could tell just by looking at the vehicle that it was one of the vehicles like Mycroft had, where the front seat and the back seat were divided by a sheet of glass. If he could overtake the guard and take his position, then he'd be able to possibly save his brother.

Though it was very risky, it was the only chance he had, and he wasn't about to let it slip through his fingers.

The next question that he was posed with was how did he overtake the guard and trade places with him without anyone noticing?

Another risky idea presented itself to him. To take the guard's place, he would have to cause some sort of distraction.

He noticed that there were a few small pebbles around his feet, and he bent down to pick one up. He'd have to time this exactly right. As the guard approached Sherlock's range, he quickly threw the pebble at the back of his head with force. The guard's meaty hand immediately went up to touch the back of his neck where the pebble had connected. Sherlock smiled slightly as he threw another one, hitting the same spot. This time, the guard wiped around and looked to see where it had come from. While he was facing him, Sherlock threw another, hitting him in the forehead. The guard growled, turning to look at Moriarty momentarily.

"Someone's throwing rocks at me."

Moriarty paused in his walk, turning to face the guard to put a small pout on his face.

"Oh, poor baby. Go find who it is! What are you wanting me to do? Fix the problem myself?"

"Yes sir," said the guard.

Sherlock could see a small look of surprise and hurt cross Mycroft's face. Apparently his traitor guard never revered him like that. Sherlock wanted to just spring from hiding and strangle him, but he'd get the chance to beat the guard senseless soon enough.

The guard started to walk toward Sherlock's direction as Moriarty and Mycroft got into the back of the vehicle, shutting the door. Sherlock crouched even more underneath the crate. He had to mentally prepare himself to overtake the guard, who was clearly much stronger than he was. He watched the ground, seeing the shadow of the guard appear. That meant that the guard was near. He waited until he thought that the guard was close enough, and sprung up, jumping onto his back. He immediately clamped one hand over his mouth to keep him from screaming out, and wrapped the other around his neck. He went over mentally in his head how to knock someone out cold by holding their neck. He kept his legs firmly wrapped around the guard as the guard turned in circles, trying to get him off his back. Sherlock increased his grip on the guard's neck, finally managing to make him stumble onto his knees.

"Come on! Just pass out!" Sherlock thought as he knelt behind the guard, his arm still around his neck.

The guard's hands went up to try to claw Sherlock's arm off, but Sherlock wasn't about to budge. Not when his brother's life was on the line. He tugged backward forcefully one more time with his arm, managing to finally make the guard pass out unconscious.

Once the guard was unconscious, Sherlock made quick work of emptying his pockets, pocketing his gun, car keys, and mobile. He took his coat off, lying aside as he put on the guard's leather like coat. But what to do about his hair? Moriarty would be able to tell it was him a mile a way with his hair. He bit his lip in thought, finally deciding to cut some of it off real quick. He found a knife in one of the guard's pockets and brought it up to his hair, jaggedly cutting some of his hair. It fell around him like small, black snowflakes. Sherlock realized that it wouldn't be the best haircut that he had ever received, but knew that if he took too long, Moriarty would become suspicious and the plan would be ruined.

Sherlock pocketed the knife once his hair was cut; his hair now a series of small tufts on the top of his head. He made sure he had everything he needed off the guard before walking toward the vehicle. He kept the keys in hand, his head down, the collar of the guard's coat turned upward so he could tuck his face inside it a bit to remain unseen. He made his way quickly past the tinted windows and into the driver's seat. He placed the keys into the ignition, and started up the car. However, he had no idea where he was going.

He allowed the car to pretend to stall as he dug out the mobile he had taken from the guard, looking through his inbox for texts from Moriarty. He noticed that there were a string of messages that looked odd from the rest. When he went to open them, he saw that the they were locked by a three letter password. That left the possibility of over a thousand combinations. He didn't have that kind of time.

He heard a small rap on the glass behind him. He straightened his posture up so he would not reveal himself to Moriarty. He couldn't.

"Did you forget how to drive?" asked Moriarty's sarcastic voice.

He shook his head, knowing clearly that Moriarty would able to see the shadow of his head shaking "no".

"Then drive, yes. I have places to be, hearts to break, people to kill..."

Moriarty laughed with glee after saying the last one. Sherlock paled, gripping the steering wheel in front of him. He still had absolutely no idea where they were suppose to be headed. If he showed that he didn't know where they were going, he'd kill the both of them. He laid the phone on his leg, keeping one hand on the steering wheel as he set it slowly in motion, the other hand on the cell phone. He'd have to do trail and error with trying to figure out the passcode. Luckily the messages didn't have a three attempt protection on them. You could try as many times as you wanted to figure out the passcode, and that's exactly what Sherlock planned to do.

"Well, Mycroft," said James with a sigh as he settled against the seat. "Here we are. On the way to your death. Isn't it charming?"

"I wouldn't call it charming," retorted Mycroft as he shifted his gaze to look out the window as they drove along.

"Why not?" pouted James. "You're dying because you tried to save your brother. It's charming."

Mycroft turned his gaze to focus on James once more.

"I'd appreciate it if I didn't have to waste what could be my final breaths talking to you."

"Would you rather be talking to your beloved brother?"

Mycroft's eyes hardened, making James laugh.

"It's so easy to get your goat! Pressing your buttons is just so easy! What happened to being the iceman? Are you finally thawing?"

"Shut. Up," said Mycroft in a slow, measured voice. He was done putting up with James.

"Careful. Remember I choose how you die."

He looked away from James again, trying not to shake. He was terrified of dying at the hands of this psychopath, but he had no other choice. He couldn't let James ruin all of London by resigning, and by not resigning, a political scandal would be just as bad. He was stuck with no way out. He had to play by James's rules. James held all the cards.

"Now, that reminds me that I still have not chosen a means to your end."

Mycroft didn't say anything, trying to remain composed.

"Hm...how should I make you fall? Maybe...I'll make you shoot yourself. Quite simple and done relatively easily. Would also be easier to make it appear as a suicide..." James jerked himself from his thoughts when he noticed how slow the car was moving. He turned to rap on the glass, irritated.

"Are you lost, you dolt?"

No response came from the front seat. Frowning slightly, James rapped on the glass harder.

"Are you lost and deaf? Answer me!"

At James's sudden acidic tone, the car stopped. James took out the gun he had on him, gripping it. What was going on? The driver of the car got out and approached the backseat; his outline visible in the window. The driver reached to open the door, revealing the outside world to them.

"We've arrived, sir," said the man in a gruff voice.

Mycroft was immediately able to pick up on the fact that that wasn't the voice of the guard who betrayed him. This person was trying to make their voice sound deeper than it actually was. Frowning, he followed James as he yanked him out of the car.

"Well, it sure took you long enough!"

"My apologies, sir," he said, bowing his head slightly.

Mycroft looked at the guard quizzingly as he walked past him. Who was he?

Unfortunately, James realized at the same moment he did who the man really was. A slick grin spread across James's face.

"Well, if it isn't the Holmes brothers reunited again!"

Sherlock lifted up his head, looking at Mycroft. Mycroft stared at Sherlock's changed appearance; at his jaggedly cut hair. Had he really done that for him? Mycroft noted Sherlock's quick motion to his side, where he produced a gun and pointed it at James.

"Let my brother go," said Sherlock, his jaw locking.

James smirked, digging out his own gun and pointing it at Sherlock.

"Don't make me shoot you here. It's much too boring."

Sherlock rolled his eyes before locking his gaze on Mycroft.

"You should have thought about that before."

James rolled his eyes this time.

"No. No. NO! I will not let you ruin this!" stated James, anger flashing in his eyes. "If I can't kill just one, I'll kill both. Then you can both be dead and happy together! Yes, I like that plan a lot."

Before Mycroft could do anything to stop James, James took the butt of his gun and knocked Sherlock out with it, causing him to collapse onto the ground. Mycroft stared at James in horror. Sherlock wasn't suppose to be here. That wasn't suppose to happen. Now they both were left to suffer at the hands of a mad man.