thewhitelily

S

“I’ll tell him,” said the man, smirking directly at the camera behind the glass.

He knew where it was, no matter where they moved it. A cheap trick, but it continued to be disconcerting to the technicians.

H

“You can’t keep me here forever, and when I get out I’ll tell him.”

He’d found something sharp again; he was scratching the letters onto the walls of his cell. Again.

E

“She didn’t tell me much, but it was enough that I found out more.”

Mycroft didn’t doubt it. It had always been the riskiest part of this particular course of action. Eurus was a wild card; unpredictable. He couldn’t know what she might have said to him while the cameras had been off.

R

“I’ll tell him about Redbeard.”

Would Sherlock believe Jim Moriarty’s tale, if he did? Of course he would. The man was a master at leading Sherlock around by the nose, when he wanted to. There was so little left for either of them to deduce about what had happened—but there was enough, particularly if Sherlock's memories started resurfacing. Nothing good could become of their awakening.

L

“And it will destroy him.”

Mycroft didn’t doubt that at least. Throughout his later childhood Sherlock had become incoherent with distress whenever anyone came even close to triggering one of his repressed memories. Eventually even Mummy and Father had given up and stopped mentioning Eurus in front of Sherlock. Mycroft couldn’t imagine Moriarty exhibiting the same tact when Sherlock began screaming.

O

“I’ll tell him. I will. I’ll love it.”

But... no. That was obviously a lie. The man was a narcissist, a stalker obsessed with Sherlock far beyond the point of madness. But he already had Sherlock’s focus. There was nothing for him to gain by introducing another, closer target into their battle. Blood was thicker than water, after all. After all he’d done to attract Sherlock’s attention, he would never take the chance that he might find his own sister a more interesting playmate than him.

C

“Unless you play the game; unless you tell me, Mycroft Holmes,” hissed Moriarty, staring straight into the camera, etching the last letter into the wall by feel alone.

He’d been in custody for three weeks, and so far Mycroft had resisted all his cagey, lacklustre attempts at an information trade. Childhood stories about his brother, he’d repeated, were not negotiable currency.  It took time to establish a rapport; to build up the frustration that would lead to your opponent making a fatal mistake.  Mycroft had been content to wait for the man to make his move; he had to have implicated himself in the Bond Air scheme for some purpose after all.

K

“Tell me everything else.”

Moriarty sat back, grinning insanely at the camera, obviously more than confident now he'd finally showed his intentions, convinced that he had the right leverage to force Mycroft into his trap: betraying his brother to protect his brother.  He was certain he had the upper hand.

Which meant... yes.

Mycroft stood and brushed off his suit, ready to go down to the cells.  It was time to put their plan into action.

A lever, after all, operated in both directions.