Summary: After Moriarty makes another threat, Sylvia, Mycroft and Sherlock have to ride in the car together to resolve it. Shenanigans and hurt feelings follow.

Chapter 16 - You melted the Ice Man's heart

I remove my arm from Mycroft's grip run to the car to escape the cold. As I climb in and close the door behind me, I see Mycroft running around the car to enter through the other side. I can't believe this is happening. I told him I never wanted to see him again, let alone talk, let alone ride the car together to go on a dangerous mission or misadventure. Still, the look in his eyes told me this was something serious.

Mycroft enters the car and after he closes the door I shiver, putting my hands in the pocket of the hoodie to keep them warm. Thankfully, I exchanged my house slippers for some army boots before going outside to take out the trash. Still, I'm freezing. I glance at the driver and Anthea apprehensively, but they are unreadable as usual. Mycroft looks at me and says:

"There's been a bomb threat. Sherlock received a call from an unknown number, a man telling him to go near the docks, alone, otherwise he would blow himself up. Of course he went immediately without calling for backup. When he got there, he found a man strapped to a bomb, being fed what to say over an earpiece. He demanded to speak to you and only you."

I turn to him quizzically. I curse myself from breaking my resolve of not acknowledging Mycroft but this situation is bigger than me. I just had to endure it until it was resolved and we were all safe.

He nods. "We don't know why, but we have a feeling this is Moriarty again." I look at Anthea through the rearview mirror. She shoots me a worried glance and I purse my lips. "Thankfully, my little brother called me so the police are already there. He attempted to triangulate the signal from the man's earpiece and it led to an abandoned warehouse. Of course he rushed there immediately, to see if maybe Moriarty was there, but found it completely empty, apart from a computer connected to a phone." Mycroft sighs and I hold on to his every word. How could all of this have happened while I was cleaning, blissfully ignorant in my apartment? I should have been paying more attention to Sherlock. I feel guilty but the truth is it's too painful to hang out with him. He reminds me of Mycroft so ever since he broke my heart, I haven't spent as much time with Sherlock as I usually did.

Mycroft continues: "We're picking up Sherlock from the wherehouse and going straight to the docks."

I nod and turn to look out the window. If Mycroft thinks I'm going to give him attention and ask him questions and pay him compliments or engage in polite small talk like I used to do, he is sorely mistaken.

He goes on in his professional stern voice: "We will need to assess whether or not this is a real threat. We don't know if the bomb is real or not but we have to treat it as such. He specifically demanded to talk only to you. We suspect this is Moriarty's doing but we need more information. If he asks you anything, keep your answers brief and try to get as much information from him as you can." I feel his eyes burn into me. I stay silent even though I'm listening to every word he says. "Miss Sylvia, for God's sake, are you listening to me?" I tense my jaw and turn to him, giving him a small nod.

"How long do you intend to keep up this silent treatment?" I inhale through my nose and bite down on my closed lips to control my anger. I can feel him shift in his seat. He clears his throat. "I ask that you please put any ill feelings you might have aside for now, and treat this matter seriously. We don't have time for this childish behaviour."

That's it. That's the last drop. I feel like my head is a boiling kettle, the whistle ringing in my teeth and steam coming out of my ears. I look at Anthea and raise my chin, as if I'm reciting a poem. "I took pity on you. Pathetic how easily you fell for it. This is desperate even for your standards."

Mycroft looks at me confused and says: "I'm sorry?" but I ignore him and keep looking at Anthea through the rearview mirror. She eyes me puzzled.

"That's what he said to me after we made out a couple times. Now he expects me to forget about it and talk to him like nothing's happened."

The driver clears his throat and Anthea's eyes widen with shock. She turns backwards and looks at Mycroft. "Is this true, sir?!"

"Oh stop it, both of you. Miss Sylvia, please don't start another of your inappropriate ramblings."

I let out a disgusted laugh and turn towards the window once more.

Mycroft clears his throat. "Could you please just- I need you to give this matter your full attention."

I turn fully to look at him for the first time. No sideways glances, just staring head on. He glances at me slightly uncomfortable. I look at him without breaking eye contact, waiting for him to speak first. My features frozen in what I imagine to be a furious shifts his jaw. "I need you to ask strategic questions to figure out what Moriarty or whoever is controlling this man is capable of doing. You'll wear an earpiece so we can help you in real time while you speak to him. Can you do that?"

I nod and turn back towards the window. Mycroft huffs but doesn't try to get me to talk to him anymore and I relax a little, feeling relieved.

We slow to a stop and my door is yanked open. Sherlock climbs in, practically shoving me into Mycroft's lap as he does so. I brush against his side and huff, adjusting myself in the seat so I'm leaning more against Sherlock. He notices and glances me up and down, curiously.

"Oh, good Lord, not this again. What have you done this time, Mycroft?" He looks at his older brother but he doesn't reply. Sherlock chuckles. "It figures. I knew you'd end up hurting Sylvia's feelings again, like the idiot you are."

"Shut up, Sherlock. So, what do you know about this man?" I ask, trying to change the subject. I don't want Mycroft to know that I told Sherlock what happened. He seems to be pretending he doesn't know and I'm glad for that.

"Well, he's in his early thirties, a tech worker, he's been clearly kidnapped…." He pauses, shifting in his seat. "Please don't sit so close to me. I know you're mad at Mycroft, but he would enjoy having you leaning against him much more than me."

"Sherlock-" Mycroft starts.

"Oh, shut up. You know you would. You're hopelessly in love with her and keep denying yourself the pleasure like a tortured poet. You really are too old for that, you know."

"Sherlock, shut up!" I reply this time, getting fed up with his comments. Despite my own just a few minutes ago, I don't want mine and Mycroft's private moments being dissected by Sherlock like this.

He turns his head to me and rambles on: "And you're one to talk. Cooped up in your flat getting plastered and listening to sad music. If you miss my brother so much why don't you just talk to him and-"

"Sherlock!" I put my hand on his arm and he looks down at it with a mix of confusion and surprise. "Please, stop. We have to concentrate on this bomb. Now, please tell me about this man."

"We're perfectly safe. The man explicitly said he wouldn't do anything if we brought you to him and that's exactly what we're doing. When we get there you'll wear an earpiece so we'll be able to help you while you're talking to him."

"Right. And then what?"

"Then hopefully he'll tell you whatever it is he wants, this idiotic game will be over, the bomb squad will disarm him and you can go back home with Mycroft and have some much needed make-up sex."

"Sherlock! Stop it!" Mycroft interjects angrily.

"Or snog, whatever." Sherlock replies with a disinterested sneer.

"Shut up, Sherlock!" I yell.

"Well, you should. It would definitely help with your stress and my brother's repressed frustration."

"He can jack off for all I care." I reply bitterly, my core aching and bubbling with anger.

"Or you can jack each other off." Sherlock replies nonchalantly.

I turn to look at him shocked and he looks back at me smirking. I let out a wheeze and he starts chuckling until we both eventually erupt in laughter.

"Enough! For once, can you two behave like grown-ups?" Mycroft replies, furious. This whole time he's been attempting to stare out the window unsuccessfully. His left hand closed in a fist.

Seeing his angry face makes me happy and I bite my lip to stop myself from laughing any more.I sigh and adjust in my seat, trying my hardest not to brush against Mycroft.

"So, you think Moriarty is behind this?" I ask.

"Yes." Both he and Mycroft reply at the same time. I roll my eyes and turn to Sherlock again. "Why?"

Thankfully, only Sherlock answers this time. "Well, Moriarty broke into my brother's safe house to threaten you into stealing his laptop for him. He's probably angry that you failed to comply and will attempt to get you to give him information about Mycroft again."

I pick at my skin and purse my lips together. This is all my fault. Again. Me and my stupid crush on Mycroft that isn't even reciprocated.

There is an awkward silence in the car until Sherlock suddenly sets his giant hand down on my lap on top of my interlocked fingers that I kept fidgeting with nervously. I stare down at them confused and surprised, then back at him. He has a small smile on his lips and says softly: "Don't worry Sylvia, everything will be alright. We'll be there to help you."

With my eyebrows raised and my mouth slack from the shock of Sherlock's kind gesture, I reply: "Thanks, Sherlock." And smile up at him, taking one of my hands and stroking his glances at Mycroft, his lips spread into a satisfied grin, and removes his hands, facing forward like a kid who just played a successful prank. I follow his gaze and find Mycroft glaring at him, his jaw locked and his lips pulled into a angry sneer. He notices me staring at him and clears his throat, turning away to look out the window. I roll my eyes as I understand that, once again, the only reason Sherlock is showing any affection towards me is to get a rise out of Mycroft. They are insufferable and I cannot bear to sit between them one moment longer.

As I am almost suffocating with awkwardness between the Holmes', we finally arrive at the docks. As the car stops, Sherlock opens his door and I turn to follow after him, not wanting to give Mycroft the chance to hold the door open for me. The cold ravishes through my thin clothes and I shiver. Sherlock leading the way, we start walking towards the entrance of one of the docks buildings, and I suddenly feel a heavy coat being put on my back. I turn my head to the side and see Mycroft with a stoney look on his face, already walking briskly ahead of me to not give me the chance to protest. I huff in frustration but am thankful for the warmth and slip my arms inside the sleeves of his luxurious winter coat. The smell of his cologne fills my nostrils and I wrap it around my shivering body. I'll make sure to return it to him before getting in the car.

As we get inside one of the buildings, an agent holds up a small box in front of me. It contains what looks like a tiny earbud. He signals for me to take it and put it in my ear. I pick it up with my usual trembling hands and drop it on the floor. "Shit! I'm sorry." I lower myself to grab it but Mycroft is faster than me. He holds it between his gloved fingers and I shift my jaw, trying to control my anger towards him. Why did he have to do this? Pick me up from my flat, give me his coat, stand so close to me, always helping me. I take the earbud from him, my fingertips brushing against his leather gloves and I put it inside my ear. As I do, I look up and find he is staring at me. I glare at him, my nostrils flaring and my lips pursing, and he looks away, seeming somewhat 's rich.I think to myself. I try to shift my thoughts away from him and focus on the mission at hand.

I enter a dimly lit room and find a distressed man sitting on a chair behind a metal desk. He has a large winter parka with wires poking out of it. I sit on the other chair across from him and say: "Hello, I'm Sylvia. You wanted to talk to me?"

"Yes. I...have a message from...Moriarty." He replies, repeating what he's being told into his ear I assume.

I swallow. "Very well. What is it?"

"You should...have done...what I told you to. But I see...you melted...the Ice Man's heart."

I huff and shift in my seat. I am so tired of being a pawn in this game and having everyone and their mother tell me how in love I am with Mycroft. "I don't know what that means. What's your name?" I reply, angrily.

"He's just...a dumb messenger...for me."

"What do you want from me?!" I snap at him.

"Miss Sylvia, be gentle with him. Ask him why he's doing this." Mycroft's soft tone enters my ear and I jump, my skin tingling. I assumed Sherlock would be on the other end.

"I just want to know...if you've kissed him already."

"What?" I feel my face turning red.

"Have you...kissed the Ice Man?"

"That's none of your business." I reply through clenched teeth.

"I'll blow you all...to smithereens, honey." The man replies, a tear falling from his face.

"Just answer him, Miss Sylvia. Please." Mycroft says into the earpiece again. This is humiliating.

"Yes." I reply flatly.

"Good...I thought you did...Good job, Sylvia."

"Is that all?" I ask, clenching my fists in my lap.

"Thank you for...humoring me. I'll be back soon...to play with Sherlock...Bye-bye." The man says and looks behind me with his eyes widened. "He turned it off. Please help me!"

Two agents rush into the room and the man lets out a choked sob, removing the earpiece from his ear. "Please, help! Get this off me!"

I stand and leave the room, accompanied by an agent as the others start disarming the bomb. I return the earpiece to him and dodge the people rushing past me, heading outside. I see Sherlock getting in a car and I instinctively reach into my pockets for my pack of cigarettes but remember it's Mycroft's coat and I didn't bring anything with me. I sigh and look around to see if I can find anyone smoking and suddenly I see a cigarette being held out in front of me by a black leather glove. Of course, Mycroft again. I turn towards him and take the cigarette.

"Thanks." Shit. I wasn't supposed to talk to him.

He holds out a metal lighter as if to light it in front of me but I take it from his hand, not wanting to have that intimate moment of closeness again. I light the cigarette in my cupped hand against the wind and return it to Mycroft. He pockets it wordlessly and turns to stand beside me, looking at Sherlock's car driving away in the distance.

"I thought you were quitting." He finally says in a disappointed tone.

"Don't have an incentive anymore." I reply dryly. No use in giving him the silent treatment now. It was much more enjoyable to stab at him with my angry quips.

"Your health should be incentive enough." He chastises.

"Why don't you go fuck yourself Mycroft?" I reply in a sweet mocking voice, blowing out smoke.

"Lovely choice of words, Miss Sylvia." He replies, staring at his shoes.

"You've hurt me. I'm angry at you. Stop helping me and giving me coats and cigarettes because it's not gonna make me forgive you."

"You think highly of yourself if you think I'm trying to obtain your forgiveness." He replies in his usual monotone.

"Please. Sherlock said you've been insufferable. You should insult me back if you're so mad at me. This was all my fault anyway." I retort, getting fed up by this conversation.

"I'm not mad at you, and this wasn't your fault, Miss Sylvia."

"Really? Then what do you want? To lie to me again and make me believe you like me? Does it make you feel good about yourself? Stroking your ego?"I turn to him and he's staring down at his shoes again, looking guilty. I decide to ease off, for now.

"Why does he call you the Ice Man anyway?" I ask, still irritated.

"I assume because he finds me to be cold and calculating." Mycroft replies in a cool tone.

"Right. Seems appropriate."

"I'm sorry you had to go through that." He says quietly, glancing at his shoes again. "Moriarty is insane and revels in pushing people's pressure points."

I look at him. I can tell he feels guilty and conflicted but that wasn't the apology I was hoping for. I don't even know why I hoped for it. "Is this what you were talking about when you said you didn't want relationships then? Cause Moriarty finds out and mocks you?" I ask, my wounded heart still looking for answers and justifications.

"That wasn't mocking. He puts people in danger. I can't let that happen, I don't like loose ends. Not on my watch." He replies, straightening his back and looking ahead, back to his cold demeanour.

"I'm sure you don't." I reply bitterly, flicking the ash off my cigarette.

"Also…I wanted to ask if you'd be willing to resume our arrangement. Looking after Sherlock." I feel him turning his head towards me but I can't bear to look back.

"Fine." I croak out. I curse myself for accepting it but I knew I couldn't say no. I didn't want to say no.

"You'd have to unblock my number of course." He adds innocently. I knew this would happen. This was the reason we met after all, the only reason he started talking to me. He knew I had nothing going on after not taking that supermarket job and I'm sure he enjoyed having someone under his control. He probably felt guilty too and giving me the job again was an excuse to make him feel better. But I couldn't let myself get close to him senses my hesitation but awaits my response patiently, his eyes never leaving me.

"Fine but…you have to leave me alone. I don't want to be around you. I'll tell you about Sherlock and that's it." I reply, stubbing out my cigarette under my foot.

"Very well. We should go now, it's getting quite late." He replies softly and I notice a hint of relief in his voice.

"I'll take a cab." I reply, reaching for my phone, forgetting I don't have it.

"Please Miss Sylvia, you don't have your wallet and I'm heading in your direction anyway. I promise I won't talk to you during the ride." I look at him and see his wide pleading eyes, like a puppy dog. I can't resist him like this. I'm not that strong.

"Okay." I reply defeated, and follow him towards the car. He opens the door for me and I climb in, annoyed and uncomfortable.

He enters through his side and remains silent. He types away on his phone and I look out the window the whole way. I can't bear to be close to him like this after what's happened. It's torture to not be able to steal my casual glances and make my cheeky remarks trying to learn more about him and make him smile. I feel like an idiot for letting my feelings take hold of me like that. I feel naive and humiliated. As I see we're nearing Baker Street, I start removing my coat to hand it to him.

"Please Miss Sylvia, you can keep-"

"I don't want it." I reply quietly and set it down on the seat between us. I bid the driver goodnight and open my door, feeling the cold assault my skin again, and close it behind me without looking back.

I finally reach my flat and put on a warm robe around me, turning the heater on. I find my phone on the coffee table and reach for it. I open my contacts and unblock Mycroft's number. I close my eyes and sigh. He was nice to me yes, but he hadn't apologised and he wasn't planning to, I was sure of it. So, this didn't mean he could just be thoughtful and chivalrous and start doing stuff for me like he did before. I wanted nothing to do with him but I didn't mind getting his money, so I would relent to text him about Sherlock and that was it.

Notes:
Sorry it took me longer to update. I've been struggling with writer's block to move the story forward but I promise Sylvia and Mycroft won't be mad forever. There will be a Christmas chapter full of fluffiness in the future. I hope you are doing well wherever you are dear readers, and I wish you all Happy Holidays with those you love the most.