Mycroft took shallow breaths, the pain from his fractured ribs not allowing for much else. It had been two weeks since he had been captured, two weeks from when his convey had been attacked on his tour of the bases that he had been forced to go on. Only now he could see that it had all been a trap, a way to get him from England to a place where he was less guarded more open to attack. There must have been a leak, that is the only way someone could have found out that it was Mycroft Holmes visiting the base, and not James Carter.
He lay on his side, on the rock floor of the caves that his captors had holed in; though by the way they talked he would soon be given to the man that had orchestrated this entire attack. Though who that was he didn't know, in all the overheard conversations during and after his beatings not one would mention the person's name as if they were scared to even say it out loud. He gently pressed his face against the cool stone, feeling relief from his swollen eye as the coolness soothed the wound. He imagined not even Sherlock would have recognized his face at this point. His whole body felt like one giant bruise, covered in cuts and bruises from the daily beatings.
His mind wondered to his little brother, he hoped that his younger brother was still clean, that his protocols were being enforced. Sherlock needed to stay clean; his mind was too brilliant to waste it on drugs. No matter what Sherlock thought, Mycroft worried about him constantly and truly just wanted the best for him. So many walls had been built up between the brothers, little grudges that were left to fester, causing resentment to build up. Mycroft missed his happy little brother that used to smile and laugh and loved his older brother. That used to sneak into his room when he had a nightmare, and used to beg to tell him a story. His brother buried that happy little boy with layers of cynical, and arrogance, labeling himself as a sociopath. His brother forced to his these parts because of a world that didn't understand him. He was forced to shoulder all this without anyone to share the burden, Mycroft too busy with his own agendas to see what the world was doing to his dear brother. A small part of Mycroft wondered if his brother would care that he was most likely going to die, if he would be glad to finally be rid of the nuisance that he thought Mycroft was. Laying here Mycroft allowed his mind to dwell on these questions, when in other situations he wouldn't dare dwell on such things. He usually wore his father's saying as a mantle, that caring wasn't an advantage, sentiment made you weak. It was only in these moments that he allowed himself to feel like all the rest of the human population.
He was so lost in these thoughts he didn't hear his captors enter his cell until rough hands grabbed his arms. He was jerked to his feet and a bag shoved over his head, not that it was necessary. He counted three lefts and two rights from his cave to the entrance of the cave system. It was a shock from the cool air in the caves to the blast of dry heat that was the desert. He was unceremoniously shoved on his knees before the bag was ripped from his head, pain quickly cutting through his mind with the bright light.
He could help but hiss as he squinted trying to adjust to the sudden change. It took a few minutes but eventually he was able to take in his surroundings. As he suspected he was in the mountains that looked like the Tora Bora range. He was loosely surrounded with about fifteen men, all armed with high caliber rifles. He focused on the man standing in front of him, obviously the leader. The man smiled at Mycroft, a shark smile before he began to speak, not bothering to use English, knowing that Mycroft could understand him.
"Good afternoon Mr. Holmes I am Raza, and I offer you a chance Mr. Holmes, you are a very powerful man with many connections in the world. Cooperate with us and I will not turn you over to the Spider. Trust me when I say Mr. Holmes that my offer is more than generous."
"You and I have different definitions of generous I am afraid" replied Mycroft stiffly using English.
Raza laughed as if Mycroft said something funny. "I have heard you are a smart man, it would be unwise to refuse me, the Spider is even more merciless then I. We could both benefit from this arrangement, and once our contract is done I will release you."
It was clear to Mycroft that Raza was lying and he knew that Mycroft knew he was lying.
"No you won't, I find that I will have to decline your offer" returned Mycroft, mentally preparing himself for the rage that would follow his answer. He wasn't disappointed as the other's man clouded with anger and with a nod to the man closest to Mycroft a rifle butt was smashed into his face. He was out before he even reached the ground.
Raza glared at the crumpled form of Mycroft before barking to his men, "Get him back inside!"
His men quickly did as they were told, dragging the unconscious form back into the cave system. He ordered the rest of his men to the trucks, it was time to meet the Spider's men and once Mycroft Holmes was tangled in the Spiders clutches he would have wished that he would have taken Raza's offer.
John studied the compound; he cursed himself that he had found a terrorist compound while separated from the rest of his unit. It would be his bloody luck that when the mission went south and the team had scattered that he would be left on his own. He watched as a group of men exited the cave, taking note of the man that was being dragged out with a bag over his head. Ducking back behind the rock, John wondered if he had just stumbled on an execution. He didn't risk being discovered by daring another look, but stayed hidden behind the cluster of rocks, listening to the voices that were carried by the wind. The local dialect was easy to recognize but he froze when another voice floated back to the soldier one that had a familiar English accent. Daring to take a peek, his eyes sought the man that had been forced to kneel. He took in the blood and dirt that covered the man, and the wounds he could see, he looked terrible his face covered in bruises and cuts. His face pale, and not just pale from lack of sun, but from blood lose. John quickly pinpointed to source of bleeding, a spot on the man thigh, much of the man's pant leg was soaked with blood and John could tell it was still sluggishly bleeding. That was not to mention the many cuts that covered the man's torso, that were also weeping blood.
It was this man that the voice came from, and as John watched one of the terrorists snapped forward and smashed the butt of his rifle into the man's face. The man went down hard and as John watched he was dragged back into the caves. The compound becoming a hive of activity as men began to run around and trucks were brought forward. The man whom John guessed was the leader issued orders and over two-thirds of the men who were outside got into the trucks, heading east. Leaving only a handful of soldiers to protect the cave and to watch the prisoner.
John looked at the sun, he had three hours to make his way to the planned rendezvous point, but if he waited that long who knows if the cell would still be here after he convinced the Sarge to come back. From what he observed the men were obviously not planning to stay much longer as crates of weapons and supplies were being piled to the mouth of the cave, John was sure that once whatever business the leader had left on was done the whole compound would move. He didn't have that much time, from the looks of it the gent was losing to much blood and the leader didn't seem to mind if he died or not if he hadn't did anything to stop the bleeding. But the odds were not in John's favor, eight to one were not good odds especially if he attacked them on their home turf. But his sense of morality was refusing to be silent, this man needed his help and it was that in mind he slowly began to creep closer to the caves his browning clench tightly in his hand as went into the breach.
This my first attempt at a Sherlock fic, so I hope that you enjoyed, and please let me know what you think.