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“You want me to what?” Mycroft asked with more than a hint of shock in his voice. He had, in fact, heard Jim perfectly, but he was really hoping he was wrong.
“I want you to put an arrest warrant out for me.” Jim calmly repeated himself.
“No.”
“Oh come on myc! Give me some fun!”
Mycroft frowned and looked at Jim for a long moment.
“You’re bored.” He deduced.
Jim just rolled his eyes at Mycroft with a huff.
Mycroft had known something was up exact the moment he arrived home. Jim was restless and a restless Jim was never good. Mycroft hadn’t even gotten a welcome home kiss.
Mycroft rubbed his face in annoyance and exhaustion. “Jim. Please. I’ve been up for almost fifty hours. I need sleep.”
Jim huffed again. “And I need you to put an arrest warrant out for me.”
“Jim...” Mycroft sighed. He pulled Jim into a hug, which Jim let happen reluctantly. “Jim darling. Please. I’ll try to help you in the morning, but right now I need to sleep and I would really like my boyfriend in bed with me.”
Jim shook his head unhappily “I can’t.” He said with a frustrated and unhappy undertone. Mycroft rubbed his face once again and tried to think. He hated seeing Jim in one of those moods.
“alright. I want you to fix yourself an alias that stands up to high scrutiny. Spy for hire. And no offensive weapons, but escape tools are allowed.”
Jim’s eyes lit up. He nodded and disappeared to his office. Mycroft made himself an extra strong cup of tea with far too much sugar and went to work calling in a few favours.
It was the next morning and thankfully Mycroft had had a good night sleep. Jim was practically bouncing and had made breakfast for Mycroft. He clearly hadn’t slept at all, but looked good anyway. He let his eyes go over Jim. The messy hair, the freshly shaven face. The suit wasn’t one of Jim’s usual and Mycroft thought it suited Jims alias.
“So what’s the plan?” He asked as soon as Mycroft came into the kitchen. Mycroft sat down, took a long sip of coffee and looked at Jim for a long moment before speaking.
“I’m sure you’re familiar with a war game. I called a few people and convinced them it was time for one. At 10 am an MI5 team will be briefed with the information about your alias. They’re to detain you. They’re not briefed that this is an exercise and I expect you to not cause any permanent damage to yourself or them.”
Jim nodded. Mycroft had his don’t-mess-with-me expression on and Jim had learned the hard way to take Mycroft serious when he had that.
Mycroft tossed a file towards Jim “this is what you’re supposedly doing. They’ll try to get it out of you. If it gets too much you know the procedure.”
Jim scanned the pages. His alias had stolen files. Boring but practical. He admired Mycroft’s foresight and made a note to compliment him on it after all this.
“You better get going.” Mycroft said and snapped Jim out of his focus on the papers.
“Yeah yeah. I’ll get going.” Jim said as he picked up his backpack walked to the door.
Mycroft raised an eyebrow at him, which was enough for Jim to come back and peck a soft kiss on Mycroft’s cheek
“Don’t take unnecessary risks, love.”
Jim headed out and to the hotel room Mycroft had set up for him. He went through the back door and to his room, where he went through making it seem used before checking out of the hotel and leaving his suitcase with the hotel.
Soon enough he noticed he was being followed. This was going to be fun.
He got onto the tube, changing lines several times to keep track of the team that was following him. After watching the crew tag team to avoid suspicion and memorising their faces, all while pretending to read a book, he got out at a station on the northern line. He’d picked in advance in his head, to make sure it was quiet and have several exists. He headed out as if he was meeting someone there and kept careful track of the people following him. As soon as there was no one else the man behind him jumped him. Jim had thrown the man off before he fully realised it and had started to run. The man and another man started chasing him. Jim ran until he turned a corner and then stopped. He quickly ‘ditched’ the backpack he’d been carrying behind a bin and took a second to compose himself. As he predicted the two men turned the corner. The taller of the two tried to twist Jim’s arm on his back, but Jim got out of it and threw the man on the floor with a swipe of his leg. He turned his attention to the other man who just attempted a punch. Jim ducked and slammed the man into the wall. The first man grabbed his foot and Jim, in a reflex, kicked at the hand. Even through his shoes he felt a finger break beneath his foot. He kicked the second man in the stomach to keep him at a distance when he suddenly felt the barrel of a gun in his neck. A female voice came from behind him “hands in the air.”
Jim complied, trying his best to hide a manic smirk. He got a punch in his stomach for his trouble before getting slammed into the wall. The gun went from his neck to his back and the female voice instructed him to put his hands on his head. He hesitated for a moment, he could go for the gun, but it was likely to injure, if not kill, the woman behind him, so in the end he complied. His hands were barely on his head before his right arm was pulled down and into a painful arm lock. Jim hissed at this, though he was pleased he could use the wall to hide his grin. Plastic cuffs were slipped on his wrists and tightened before a hood was slipped over his head. Jim felt hands roughly search him and take everything from his pockets. The gun was pushed into his back and he was dragged outside. He felt ecstatic. The thrill of it all, the adrenaline, he only wished it were Mycroft’s hands instead of some stranger. He was tossed into the back of a van where his feet were tied together before the van drove off. He wasn’t comfortable, but that wasn’t the point. He listened to the driving while ignoring the pins and needles in the arm that he was laying on. Occasionally there was a sharp turn and he was thrown to the side or even against one of the walls. He felt high on all the adrenaline.
The van stopped. The engine cut out and doors opened and closed before the door behind him opened and he was roughly dragged out and slung over someone’s shoulder. It was, Jim quickly deduced, the second man from the tube station. The one without the broken finger. He counted four pairs of footsteps as they walked through some sort of warehouse. It was undoubtedly the sound of concrete in a large place. A door opened and the echo of the footsteps changed when they went through it. He was put in a chair while they went through his backpack.
“Where is it.” The woman demanded. Jim was quiet. The hood was pulled from his head and Jim blinked. It was your cliché bright light focused on you scenario. Jim kept his mouth shut as he started deducing what he could see.
“You’re new to this, so I’ll give you one more chance. Tell me where it is.” The woman said coldly. She was clearly the boss of the group. The fourth member, the only one he hadn’t encountered in the tube station, had clearly been the driver. He was smaller than the rest and less of an obvious fighter. Jim let his eyes go over all of the members but didn’t say anything. The woman came close, yanked Jim’s head back by his hair and growled “tell me where it is. Now. Or I’ll make sure you’ll regret it.”
Jim spit in her face and showed a fraction of his manic expression. She slapped him across the face and stood back.
“Take him out of those clothes and then toss him in the cell.” Her voice was still collected, which almost surprised Jim. He was cut out of his suit, left in only his boxer briefs, and tossed into a cell. The hood went over his head again before they left him alone. Jim curled up, pretending to be bothered by the cool temperature but instead used it as a guise to take the plastic cuffs off with a well hidden tool. He blindly did the same to the ones on his ankles, making sure that it was unlikely to be seen. He knew where the camera would likely be in reference to the door and he knew where the door was. Less than half an hour later the door opened again. Jim listened carefully and just before he was picked up he carefully aimed a powerful kick and hit exactly where he wanted, right in the man's crotch. Jim pulled the hood off, ignored the whimpering man on the floor and ran out the cell. His freedom didn’t last long. He was barely out of the cell when he was faced with the leader pointing a gun at him.
“You do like your guns.” Jim said with a smirk. “I bet you sleep with one under your pillow.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Get on your knees.”
Jim knelt down, not breaking eye contact. “So what do you have in mind then?” Jim asked, putting extra emphasis on his Irish accent. “Remind me what are you /allowed/ to do.”
“Who cares about a few rules.” She replied with a smirk. “They care about results. And I’m about to get them.”
She cocked the gun and aimed it at Jim’s knees.
“Enough.” Came a voice from behind. It was unmistakably Mycroft’s.
“Oh come on Mycroft!” Jim said with almost a whine in his voice.
“But sir.” Started the woman.
“Quiet. Both of you.” Mycroft ordered.
The woman shut up, but Jim didn’t.
“Oh come on Mycroft. She was about to beat the crap out of me.” He said with a cocky smirk.
He woman raised an eyebrow at this but didn’t say anything. She’d instantly drawn the right conclusions. “This was a test?” She sounded almost angry.
“An exercise.” Mycroft corrected her. He turned to Jim “get back into that cell. Now.” Jim gave the both of them a manic grin and then went back into the cell, closing the door.
“You will be debriefed at HQ. Collect your team and go.” Mycroft told her.
“Yes sir.” She said almost a hiss and left.
Mycroft came into the cell, carrying his full iceman look. Jim said cross-legged on the cold concrete floor and smirked up at him.
“James Moriarty.” Mycroft said coldly. Jim licked his lips with a smirk. He couldn’t tell what Mycroft was up to but it promised to be fun.