Two Years Gone

Pain

*Mycroft POV*

"Get up."

Someone kicks my side, dragging me to my feet as I wake up.

"We're going to do something new today."

"It's day one, what 'new' thing could you possibly have come up with?"

I am punched again, biting back a yell.

"Lets go, take him into the main room."

They pull me out of the room I was in, shoving me to the ground.

"How long does it take for you to tell me the truth? For you to admit it?"

I shift, steeling myself for a few long hours of pain.

"Bring out a chair."

"Yes sir."

They tie me tightly to the chair, stripping me of my shirt. Moriarty steps out in front of me, knife held in his hands.

"Now, why did you come?"

"To get-"

He drags the blade across my skin, smiling the whole time. I cant make a sound, Sherlock should be awake by now.

"Why?"

"I had to-"

"Stop lying to me."

He does it again, pressing deeper. Stitches I won't receive are needed with the depth of the cut.

"Are you ready to tell me the truth?"

"It was-"

More pain shoots through my body, blade sunk deep into my stomach. I wince, closing my eyes and biting my lip to avoid yelling. We go about like this for a few hours, Moriarty getting more frustrated with me the longer it goes on. He avoids my face, anywhere I can't hide with clothing is left unscathed. He knows I'll come after him and expose them if he doesn't do it this way. Its our agreement, leave me okay enough that no one will notice, and he'll let Sherlock live through the year.

"Fucking damn it! Go get his brother."

"You promised."

"I'm bored, things changed."

I swallow a cry of fear, knowing he will hurt Sherlock worse than me. We all know he is the one that can be hurt, the one with seven months left of recovery.

"Get off of me! Stop. Please...please stop."

Sherlock catches my eye, struggling harder when he sees me. I shake my head slightly, telling him I didnt tell Moriarty anything. Not yet. I won't. Sherlock is tied to another chair, yelping when the ropes are tied around his wrists. A few of his fingers are swollen, possibly broken. Hes crying, no longer struggling.

"We're going to play a game."

"Dont."

Someone hits Sherlock, making him yell again.

"Anything I dont like from one of you, the other gets punished. Understand?"

"Then I suppose we will play."

They hit Sherlock again, apparently unpleased with my response.

"Now, answer my question. Why did you come?"

"For my-"

"Here."

Moriarty hands Zach the blade, pulling another from his pocket.

"Lets start with one."

Zach nods, cutting a long path down Sherlocks arm. He is wriggling again, trying to make it stop.

"Enough."

He stops, blood dripping from the blade as he pulls it back. Sherlock wont look at me, eyes closed as he accepts my refusal to answer the questions. No one asks him anything, this is solely a test to see how far I will let them hurt my brother.

"Why?"

"Does it matter?"

"Again."

Sherlock bites back another scream, letting Zach cut deep into his arm. We go on like this, another few hours before Moriarty gets bored with us. Sherlock is in tears, flinching every time someone moves. I let it all happen, forcing myself to let them hurt him without a word of objection.

"Stop, let me do this one."

Moriarty runs his fingers down Sherlocks side, pressing down on his potentialy broken ribs. Sherlock screams, begging Moriarty to stop. He pulls back after a few minutes, smiling and watching Sherlock calm himself back down again before he turns back to face me.

"So, are you going to answer me now?"

"Not really."

He grabs Sherlocks arm, dragging the blade across his wrist before letting him go. Moriarty does it again, watching my reactions. I force myself to stay straight faced, watching him as he slowly kills my brother.

"Stop."

"What?"

I dont say anything else, not flinching as Moriarty turns on me. I barely feel the sting of the blade as he drags it down the length of my arm, stopping just above my wrist.

"Still keeping up with our agreement I see."

"Obviously."

Moriarty soon gets bored again, yelling in frustration before he cuts Sherlock loose. He falls hard, yelping as he connects with the ground.

"Zack."

The man turns to me, pressing the blade against my stomach again until Moriarty signals for him to stop.

"Answer the question Mycroft."

"No."

"Zach, my bags please."

Zach nods, heading off and grabbing a heavy looking set of bags from another room and bringing them to Moriarty. He digs through them, pulling a heavy looking metal bat from one and turning back to Sherlock.

"Answer me, or ill break his leg."

Sherlock starts crying again, whimpering softly as Moriarty turns to face me.

"Please..."

"One."

"I'm not helping you."

"Two."

"No."

"Three."

"Do it."

Sherlock flinches, squeezing his eyes shut as Moriarty brings the bat down hard on his leg. He screams, Moriarty wincing at the sound of breaking bone. I manage to stay silent, forcing myself to watch Sherlock pass out from pain.

"Are you really this heartless?"

"Always have been."

"What if we were to kill him next time?"

"You wouldn't."

"Oh?"

He pulls a gun from the bag next, loading it and pointing it at Sherlock. I bite my lip, struggling to stay calm. Panicking wont help him, it'll hurt him more for me to show it bothers me.

"Take Sherlock back to his room, ill handle Mycroft."

Moriarty grabs me roughly, cutting the ropes and pushing me towards my room. I fall against the wall, letting him lock the door as he leaves me alone in the dark. Before I can stop myself, I punch the wall. It stings, but I do it a few more times before I realize I wont be able to help Sherlock if I am injured like this. I sink down against the wall with a loose board, listening for Sherlock. It takes me a while, but I eventually manage to fall asleep, curled against the wall waiting for Sherlock.