I'M SO SORRY FOR THE LAST CHAPTER. AND I'M SORRY FOR THIS ONE.
WARNING : CHARACTER DEATH. AGAIN.
Watching Jim die had been two entirely different sensations for the pair. For Sherlock, overwhelming sadness and anger. And perhaps a small amount of relief. For Victor, it was far more the latter. Excitement. He finally gets to take over the Empire, if he plays it well.
"What now?" Sherlock murmurs taking a moment to savor the heat in Victor's hand against the sudden cold wind in his hair.
Victor hums, squeezing Sherlock's hand.
"We can't just let the Empire fall after how long Jim was working on it."
"So we take over? Are you sure we can do that?"
Sherlock muses. Victor chuckles, stops walking and pulls Sherlock close to his chest.
"I know we can," he hums against Sherlock's curls. "We can take over. Make it even better."
Sherlock groans against Victor chest.
"Sounds perfect. Just me and you?"
"Of course. Just you and me," he replies, smoothing down Sherlock's hair. "Come on, we need to get back."
Sherlock nods, letting go of Victor. The two walk back to the compound fairly slowly watching snowflakes drift down from the clouds and Victor sees Sherlock give a genuine smile for the first time in a while.
Sherlock presses against Victor's side affectionately, watching the snowflakes fall.
Until, of course, a car pulls up in front of them with tinted-out windows and a very professional looking driver.
"In."
Sherlock climbs in obediently beside Victor.
"Straight home?"
He'd made a habit out of calling Jim's compound home since he wasn't welcome in his old one.
"Yes, sir," the man in front replies, gunning the engine and taking off down the street. Victor smiles, grabbing Sherlock by the chin and lightly pulling him in for a kiss.
"We'll be running the world in hours."
Sherlock leans into him, smiling when they parted.
"Hard to imagine isn't it, it's all happening so fast. It was only an hour ago that we watched Jim die. What are we going to do about John, Sebastian and Lestrade? They're going to stop at nothing to separate us."
Victor nods.
"I know. It's amazing, isn't it?" He hums. "We're going to have to kill them. All of them. And then," he purrs, tapping on Sherlock's nose, "We'll be unstoppable."
Sherlock chuckles. "The world will kneel at our feet." He shuffles close to him, looking up. "When did you start working for Jim?"
Victor twirls the man's hair around his finger.
"8 years, love," he replies with a soft purr, pressing a kiss to his short curls.
"How? Sebastian told me he was forced to join Jim's team, is that what you had to go through?" Sherlock's voice was strained and concerned for his lover's welfare.
Victor chuckles and shakes his head, nuzzling at Sherlock's neck.
"No, I didn't. I joined entirely willingly. Saw how big it was becoming and decided to jump on board."
Sherlock hums with Victor's lips at his neck. He turned over and wrapped his arms around the tall man's neck.
"I've missed you."
"Mmm. I missed you too, love," he purrs, scooping Sherlock up into his lap and stroking his hand down the man's back.
Sherlock captures the man's mouth in his, moving his hands to Victor's shoulders. Victor pulled him closer, entangling one hand in his short hair as the kiss deepened.
The driver rolls his eyes and shuts the divider as the kiss deepens and Sherlock is rolled onto his back and Victor tugs on his hair, teasing.
With him now underneath Victor, Sherlock wrapped his slender legs around Victor's middle and pulled him down towards him. Victor has to put one hand on the back of the seat to keep them both steady.
Victor leans down and kisses Sherlock firmly, his free hand moving to the man's hips to hold him still before slipping it down his waistband.
Sherlock's gasp is cut off by Victor's teeth on his throat, sucking bruises into his marble skin.
Sherlock groans softly, hands coming up to twine around Victor's waist and tugging him closer as the kiss deepens.
He tangles himself against his old lover, hips involuntarily bucking against him. The driver taps on the divider twice and Victor turns around. He glares at his obvious meaning.
"Mind your own bloody business."
The driver taps again obviously wanting Victor's attention.
The driver jumps and points ahead of the car. There was a tall man stood in the road.
"You know him?"
Sherlock looks up at Victor.
"Who is he?"
"No one you need to worry about, love."
"Take care of it," he hisses to the driver before slamming the divider shut.
Sherlock wriggles uncomfortably.
"Vicy? Who was he?"
"Sherly, like I said. No one important, anymore," he purrs, trying to distract him with an expert stroke over his head.
The car pulls to a stop, the driver glancing apologetically in the mirror as Victor huffs and withdraws himself from Sherlock, tucking himself away before stalking out of the car with an angered expression.
Sherlock obediently follows. The 'man' becomes clearer as they get closer. It was Donovan. Shock registers on her face as she meets eyes with Sherlock.
Victor doesn't so much as bat an eye as he walks over to the woman, eyes narrowed.
"Something you wanted, miss?" he asks coldly, already mentally deciding how best to kill the bitch that had taunted Sherlock.
She speaks slowly.
"Road ahead's closed. Haven't you seen the news? Hospital worker's dead." Her eyes rake over Sherlock. "Christ. Greg said you'd changed."
Victor cocks a brow.
"Did the Detective Inspector tell you anything else?"
Sally swallows nervously and shook her head.
Victor purses his lips and nods.
"Are there any other officers nearby?"
"A few up ahead. We switch regularly." Sally could feel the hostility and tried to say something that might deter an attack. Oh, how wrong she was.
"Mm." He glances at Sherlock. "What do you think?"
Sherlock shrugs.
"If we're quick, I guess."
"Do you want to?"
Sally was beginning to worry for not only her own safety but Sherlock's. Greg had said Sherlock had changed for the worst but who was this other guy?
Sherlock steps forwards bending and cracking his fingers.
"I'll take that as a yes."
He steps forwards, rounding behind the woman and clamping a strong hand over her mouth, half-dragging her to an alley off to the side.
Sally's training immediately came into play. She slammed her elbow backward into Sherlock's stomach. As soon as he doubled, she whirled around, driving her elbow into his jaw. She'd hardly got half way up the alley when another pair of hands grabbed her and pinned her against the wall. Victor glanced at Sherlock.
"You alright, love?"
Sherlock groans a bit, rubbing his stomach and jaw.
"I'm fine. Bitch packs a punch."
Victor shrugs.
"In that case, I'll return the favour." He drives a fist upward into the woman's ribs, driving the air from her lungs as something cracks.
Sally tries to draw in a breath but her broken rib was causing her too much pain.
"Who are you?" She gasps. Her breath coming out broken and forced.
"Victor Trevor," he introduces, flashing a bright smile that doesn't match the dark intent in his eyes. "Sherlock, love, do you want to do the honours. This one's all yours."
Sherlock had recovered now and walked over to where Victor had Sally pinned in front of him. A blade flashed, the one Victor carried in his belt wherever he went.
"When did you get hold of that?" Victor chuckles.
"When you've got one hand down my trousers, you'll be amazing how easy you are to pickpocket." Sherlock twirls the knife in his hand and glances at Sally. "How about we leave a message for our dear Detective Inspector Lestrade? He may not be in office but I'm sure word will spread quickly. One Scotland Yard's 'finest' investigators found dead in an alleyway. Slashed to death. Throat cut." He chuckles darkly. "You must be more careful who you pick on in future."
Victor chuckles.
"You forget she doesn't have one beyond a bloody and painful death, darling," he chides, rolling his eyes as Sally tries to push him off and simply wrenching an arm up behind her back and forcing her in front of him, one hand over her mouth. "Have fun, but do try to avoid getting blood on my shirt."
The first cut Sherlock makes is above her ribs through her stomach. She squeals underneath Victor's hand as her white uniform is stained crimson. The second incision is across her face and jaw, slicing skin open, blood flowing down into her mouth which she tries to spit out.
Victor simply tightens his grip, holding her shoulder tightly and bringing his lips to the woman's ear from behind.
"What was it that you said?'One day we'll be standing around a body, and Sherlock Holmes will be the one who put it there?' Hm, mostly correct. Except you won't be standing around the body, you'll be the body. At least one of them. There's already one or two," he murmurs as Sherlock continues.
Sally struggles, making her confusion clear in her eyes. She turns her head to look at Victor as the knife slicked through her upper arm, making her cry out.
"Severin Moran. Mycroft Holmes," he elaborates, smirking. "Sherly killed both of them. Jim Moriarty killed little Miss Hooper. And we're going after your idiotic little side affair next- Anderson, is it? And then Lestrade, and then little John Watson. All of them are going to die," he says in a childish lilt as Sherlock makes a matching slice on the opposite side.
Sally manages to struggle out of Victor's hand over her mouth.
"You're own brother?" She stares at Sherlock in horror.
Sherlock suddenly jolted the blade forwards and buried the knife up to the hilt in her stomach making her scream then gasp as her lungs filled with blood.
Victor allows her to fall to the ground, placing a foot on top of her throat as she begins choking on her own blood.
"Indeed. Goodbye, Ms Donovan. Your little boyfriend will be following soon, don't you worry."
Sally looks at Sherlock before her eyes flicker shut though blood still flowed from her open wounds. She sighed and then was still. Victor stood, brushing wrinkles out of his suit. The bloody investigator lay at their feet and Sherlock can't help but smile.
Victor takes back his knife and wipes it off on a clean part of the woman's clothes before tucking it back into his belt, ensuring there are no blood stains on either of them before he wraps an arm around Sherlock's waist and leads him out of the alleyway.
"Feel good, love?"
Sherlock grins, eyes on the bloody woman.
"Much." He then chuckled. "Won't take the others long to get wind of this. They'll know it was us."
"Oh, I know they will. That was rather the point," he hums, climbing back into the car with Sherlock. "Drive."
The driver takes off without question. He manages to dodge the roadworks up ahead and pulls onto the compound's borders. Victor takes Sherlock's hand and together they walk into the main hall.
"What will we do now?" Sherlock asks.
"We need to go up to Jim's office. Look at his files," he hums, already starting towards the elevator and waiting for Sherlock before pushing the button for Jim's floor.
The doors open and Sherlock's makes his way down the winding corridor to Jim's office where the door is slightly open. He shoots a glance to Victor who immediately grabs the knife from his belt. They burst into the room where a thin man in stood by the window. He squeaks in alarm as the two enter.
Victor freezes in the doorway when the man turns around, brow creasing in a combination of confusion and anger. That isn't Jim. It can't be Jim. And Jim is impossible to sneak up on.
"Who the hell are you?" he snaps, Sherlock just standing there in stunned silence.
Sherlock cuts in for him.
"That's Richard Brook. Jim's twin."
His eyes were still on Richard as he turned and leaned in the edge of the desk.
Victor glares, not releasing his hold on the knife.
"Jim never said he had a sibling."
"There are four of us." Richard points out, casually. "Where is my brother?"
Victor still doesn't lower the knife.
"Jim was shot," he replies simply. "He's dead."
Richard doesn't move as the news echoes around in his head. His twin was dead. Something clicks in his head, something that doesn't click very often. The violent part Jim had embraced while Richard did his best to push it down and keep it away.
Sherlock detects the subtle change faster than Victor does and immediately goes on the defensive, inching towards the table near the wall where he's sure there's a weapon.
Richard still looks surprisingly calm as he paces the room again. Victor still hadn't picked up the change.
"Who killed him?" The twin says quietly.
Sherlock has made his way over to the desk, subtly slipping his hand into the drawer. Letter opener. Could possibly be of use. But other than that, nothing, so he curses mentally and takes the opener, tucking it into his pocket.
"John Watson."
Richard turns to him.
"The blogger?" Richard shakes his head, not believing. "He doesn't have murder in him." Soon enough he'd made a full circle of the room and was leaning on the desk in front of the window again.
Except now Victor had caught on to the change and tensed himself, ready for action.
"He was a soldier. He hated Jim, and he thought Jim had brainwashed me," Sherlock says slowly, giving a small nod to Victor.
Richard's voice was smooth.
"And has he?"
Sherlock gulps but shakes his head.
"No. He hadn't."
He nods at Victor and together the two of them lunged for the twin.
Richard had been expecting it- he wasn't naive. He'd known exactly what was going on when Sherlock had moved for the desk, so when Victor reaches him first, he moves quickly- muscle memory from childhood when he'd had to deal with bullies. He pins the man's arm between his side and arm and wrenches the knife from his hand before turning and holding it out defensively, slamming down on the security button under Jim's desk.
Victor struggled in Richard's grip, lashing out with his feet. Sherlock stops as soon as Richard hits the button.
"Why are you here?" He snaps.
Richard rolls his eyes and releases the man, still holding Victor's knife as security storms in and grabs both Victor and Sherlock.
"Taking over."
"Who the hell do you think you are?" Victor yells.
He'd worked for years to eventually take over the Empire. There was no way he was going to allow someone to take it from him.
Richard smirks at him, rolling the handle of the knife between his fingers.
"Jimmy's twin. You've been working for both of us for almost a decade. How do you think 'Jim' ever managed a sick day?"
Victor's fists clenched.
"What are you doing with us?"
"I don't quite know. You seem rather volatile. Don't want to be killed by you." He twirls the knife. "Put them downstairs for now."
The two men are hauled away and Richard's face drops. He puts the knife on the table and turns back to the window; tears gathered in his eyes and he quickly blinked them away. He sighed and found himself thinking about his other brothers. Jaime was fine. He was happy and married. He didn't want to get him involved. His twin was dead, killed by a trigger happy blogger. As for his eldest brother, James, god knows where he was. Probably stirring up trouble back home, knowing him.
Yeah...I'M SORRY.