"Be careful," Mycroft snapped, when a medical technician ran a scanner over Danny's neck.
"Mr. Holmes, do you want a read out of the chip or not?"
"Mr. Holmes, you do realize that the information from the chip will show up on the scanner whether or not the patient is alive, don't you?"
"Yes, now get on with it and be gentle. He's been through a lot."
Danny looked over at him and smiled. What do I do when he smiles at me? His green eyes bore into my soul. A fleeting smile twitched at the corner of his lips, then he turned away, preferring to look at the medical equipment—cold and sterile like me.
A few moments later, and he held the deadly formula in his hands, downloaded on a thumb drive. Danny turned his tear-filled eyes towards him. "What will you do with it?"
He fingered the drive, then clasped it in a tight grip. "I'm going to destroy it."
"What, but I thought we were going after the people who killed Alex and Scotty. As long as I'm alive I'll never be free and neither will you. They will come after you, Sherlock, John, and everyone you've ever met."
He smiled when a familiar emotion surged through his veins—fury. Sentiment is difficult and fraught with danger, but anger, bitterness and frustration are just my game—to play for blood. I am the hunter and I always get my prey. After the technician left the room he turned towards Danny, where he reclined on an examination table, the wax paper crinkling when he moved. "Danny, Sherlock and John will be here in a few moments. This is how things are going to play out. I will destroy the drive, under his watchful eye, allowing him to first verify its contents. He mustn't be allowed to view all the data, or he will memorize it. Then you will go to Switzerland where a specialist will remove the chip, you so foolishly had implanted in your neck. After that your death will be faked, Sherlock can help with that. You will be given a new identity and a new place to live and in future be more careful whom you take home."
Danny hopped off the table and came towards him. "Do I get a say about any of this?"
"No," he answered, looking at the ass print Danny had left on the exam table paper.
"What gives you the right to make decisions for me?"
I could comfort him, take him in my arms, tell him how much he's meant to me, tell how much I'm going to miss him. God, I will miss him, but there's no reason why he should miss me. It's better he hates me. Why should he feel another loss? "You are no longer an asset, Danny and will do as I say. I could have the surgeon scramble just enough of your brain to make you a vegetable for life, or I could have all your so-called friends eradicated. Better yet, how about I have your parents snuffed out? Oh, never mind. They won't feel your loss, will they Danny?"
He watched with a detached air, while tears streamed down Danny's face. "Fuck you, Mycroft, you're a monster. You're just like them."
"Oh, making more friends, are we?" Sherlock asked when he breezed through the door.
"Well, brother mine, timely entrance as usual. Please come over here just long enough to verify the contents of this thumb drive."
Sherlock grabbed the drive from him, his eyes shining with lust—the lust for an unsolved mystery—knowledge at all cost. To know and want to be known, that is our curse brother mine. He watched while Sherlock, inserted the drive into a nearby laptop, and began to read. Just when he sensed Sherlock's memorization skills begin to kick in, he walked over and slammed the laptop shut. "Playtime's over, brother mine."
A noise to his left made him snap to attention. "Grab him he shouted to two guards that stood by the door." Danny struggled in their grasp, while John protested their rough treatment of him. "Sedate him."
Danny's eyes grew wide, when they held him down. "Don't, stop."
"What are you doing to him?" John shouted, while he moved to intervene.
Danny screamed, when a long needle pierced his taut neck muscles. He walked over and took Danny's swaying form in his arms. Danny looked up at him, and slurred, "I hate you, you bast...ard." Then Danny's eyes fluttered shut. The bright sterile light in the room hurt his eyes and he wanted to collapse on the floor, but he didn't. Hold steadfast, that's what you always do. His next words, tore at his heart, an organ he could swear had disappeared into a lump of tissue years ago. "Take him to the plane and be quick about it."
He massaged his neck, then stood with his face towards the wall. When he turned around Sherlock and John were staring at him. "What are you two looking at?!" Then he stomped on the thumb drive until it lay shattered at his feet. The destruction of the laptop came next. He threw it against the wall, gathering up the pieces and injecting the hard drive with a chemical that would destroy its memory. I wonder if it would do the same for me?
Sherlock watched Mycroft's every move, the way his hands shook, when he picked up the pieces of the laptop, and the slight stoop to his shoulders when he faced them again. "Well, brother mine it's back to Baker Street for you and John."
"We're not going home until we are sure Danny is safe." John said, stepping forward.
He smiled. My brave, sweet, loyal doctor. "Yes, Mycroft, how do we know that you aren't going to have him dropped over the ocean somewhere? Besides I thought you needed my help in faking his death?"
He watched, while Mycroft moved a hand over his face. "Whatever, if you want to come fine. But I don't need your help with faking his death. He is going to die during surgery."
"You mean his death is going to faked during surgery?" John asked in a firm tone.
There goes my doctor, off to the rescue again. He is so brave, loyal and...
"Were you even listening to me?"
"Of course, Mycroft."
"Oh, forget it, you've been staring at John with that, that look on your face. You've allowed him to degenerate your thought processes."
He smiled at John, past worries forgotten. "Uh huh, mmm so sweet," he whispered in John's ear. Without breaking eye contact with him, he said, "Mycroft, make sure you acquire a Lear jet, the model with the shower and private bedroom."