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“If we survive this—” Mycroft was driving Greg home after one of their dinners when a car slammed into them at an intersection. They had no time to recover before masked men dragged them into a waiting van.
“I can assure you, DI Lestrade, we will survive.”
“I get that you’ve been kidnapped before and this doesn’t rattle you,” Greg hissed, struggling against the ropes cutting into his wrists, His fingers were already numb, hands tied behind his back. “But I’m bloody terrified, mate.”
“I know,” Mycroft said softly. He was just as afraid. He had been kidnapped, tortured, and broken in the past—but one never grew used to it.
“Do you?” Greg snapped. “You sit there like a marble statue while I’m counting every second before they decide to put a bullet in our skulls.”
“I’ll do my best so you get out of this situation unharmed, Gregory. You know nothing,”
“Like they’d care.” Greg snapped.
“No they won’t.” Mycroft admitted.
“Could have lied.” Greg grumbled.
“What’s the point?” Mycroft leaned his shoulder against Greg’s, the only comfort he could offer in the freezing dark.
“What do they want?”
“We’ll soon find out.” Heavy footsteps approached. The door swung open, blinding light flooding the cell.
“Which one of you is Holmes?”
“That would be me.” Mycroft fixed his professional cold glare at him.
The man smirked and grabbed Greg instead.
“Get your dirty paws off me,” Greg struggled, but his protest was cut short by a blow.
“He knows nothing,” Mycroft surged forward only to be slammed back with a kick to the chest.
The door closed, leaving him alone in the darkness.
Greg’s screams tore through the silence Mycroft pressed his forehead against the wall, shaking, hating himself for letting Greg get this close—close enough to be used against him. If they lived, he’d have to keep away from Greg—for his own safety. Even if it broke him.
It seemed like hours had passed when the door opened again. They dumped Greg on the floor without a word. This time, the lights stayed on.
“Gregory,” Mycroft called out, voice cracking.
“Alive,” Greg muttered, rolling onto his back. Mycroft’s breath caught. Bruises already bloomed across his body, cigarette burns and cuts scattered over his skin.
“I’m so sorry.” Mycroft’s voice was shaking. He felt helpless and angry—mosty at himself.
“Stop blaming yourself and start planning our escape.” Greg forced himself upright. “I was going to say, if we survive this, we go on a date. But if you get us out, I’ll bloody marry you.”
Before Mycroft could react, Greg kissed him.
“Right,” Mycroft stared at him, his heart was hammering, his mind filled with the fleeting warmths against his lips.
Then reality snapped back. “They didn’t tie you up,” he muttered, forcing himself to focus. “My collar—tear it. There’s a blade sewn inside.”
“What?”
“Just do it.”
Greg’s fingers fumbled at his neck, cold against Mycroft’s skin. His crushed hand shook with the effort, and he bit his lip to keep from groaning.
“I’m sorry I have to ask this of you,” Mycroft whispered.
“‘S okay.” Greg managed to rip the fabric. He passed the hidden blade just as the door burst open again.
“Not again,” Greg whispered, eyes filled with dread.
This time both of them were taken from the room.
Mycroft scanned their surroundings. The morning sun illuminated the space, they were in a garage, near the river. The door was heavily bolted, windows high, no other exit in sight.
Three armed men—nervous, ill-trained. Amateurs, Mycroft concluded. Which made them even more dangerous.
They were pushed to kneel on the ground, guns at their heads The third stood in front of them, smiling.
“Mr. Holmes.”
“Just get to the point.” Mycroft rolled his eyes. He had no patience for the dramatics.
“If you don’t pay us a million pounds, your little friend will suffer even more.”
Mycroft’s laughter sent chills down Greg’s spine. He looked at Mycroft like he lost his mind.
Mycroft stood up calmly, all guns were immediately pointed at him.
“Nex time, gentlemen,” the rope dropped, he rubbed his writs, getting circulation back to them. It’s been a long while since he had to do this, he hoped muscle memory will kick in. “Do your research better.” he smiled.
In one swift motion, he twisted the gun from his guard’s grip, turned, and fired. Two men fell before their fingers tightened on their triggers. The last froze, wide-eyed.
“Stay put,” he growled. The man knelt on the ground, his hands in the air.
Greg’s ears were ringing, his eyes fixed on Mycroft, mouth open in awe.
“I love you even more,” he whispered.
“Gregory,” Mycroft said firmly. “Come here,”
Greg staggered to his feet, he grabbed the weapon holding the three men in check while Mycroft went through their guards’ pockets and secured them.
“Thank you.” Mycroft took the gun back. “Sit down Gregory.”
“I’m fine.”
“Please,” Mycroft asked softly.
Greg slumped against a crate, shivering. “Might rest a little.”
“Help is on the way,” Mycroft promised, though his hand shook as he dialled.
“You are all I need.” Greg whispered, eyelids heavy.
“Did you mean it?” Mycroft’s hopeful voice brought him back.
“That I’ll marry you?” Greg smiled. “As soon as I’m out of hospital, we’re off to the registry office, love.”
“It’s not funny,” Greg could only see Mycroft’s back.
“I’m not joking. We skip the hospital, I know you’ll disappear if given the chance.”
“But,”
“You are not lovable?" Greg got up with a grunt.
“I know for a fact I’m not an easy person to live with,”
“I like a challenge," Greg placed a hand on Mycroft’s shoulder. “Face it—you’ve already accepted your fate, Mycroft Holmes-Lestrade.”
Sirens wailed in the distance.
“You know,” Greg continued. Mycroft kept his eyes on their hostages, unable to look at Greg. “How much I care for you, love you. You've seen it.”
Mycroft nodded quietly.
“And you feel the same way.”
He nodded again.
“Splendid. Anthea and Sally can be our witnesses. No fuss.”
“You are not curious why I held back?”
“No.” Greg leant against him. “All that matters is that you’ll be mine, for the rest of our lives.”
The bolted door got thrown open, uniforms flooding the room.