Despite the Odds

Chapter 1: Return

After extensive police investigations, Richard Brook did indeed prove to be the creation of James Moriarty. Amidst unprecedented scenes, there was uproar in court as Sherlock Holmes was vindicated and cleared of all suspicion, but sadly, all this comes too late for the detective who became something of a celebrity two years ago.

Questions are now being asked as to why police let matters get so far, even going so far- insiders say- as suspecting Holmes' girlfriend, Rosanne Marie Jones, of being an international spy, another creation of James Moriarty. Jones disappeared shortly after Sherlock Holmes fell to his death from the top of London's Bart's Hospital. It is likely he and his girlfriend were unable to cope with...

Mycroft raised his brows as he watched the news reports, sipping his tea. His phone rang and he glanced down at the number, sighing before he placed his teacup back in its saucer. He picked up the phone.

"Hello?" He asked. He listened intently and then sighed once more. "Of course. I'll see to it myself."

He ended the call, massaging his temples. His little brother was certainly keeping busy. Before he rose to attend to the latest incident Sherlock had caused, Mycroft paused. He looked back down at his phone, contemplating before he sighed for the third time. Picking it up, he typed a quick text- she wouldn't be able to answer a call at the moment- before standing up and leaving the room.

His phone made a soft ding as the message sent. 'He will be back tonight. Wrap it up.'

*********

Mycroft P.O.V.

Mycroft sat calmly in the corner of the Russian holding cell, his legs propped up on a stool before him with his ankles casually crossed, as he watched the burly Russian torturer punching the chained intruder.

The dishevelled man grunted and groaned with each impact, staggering on his legs and unable to collapse as the chains on each wrist held him partially upright. The torturer finally paused, and the intruder coughed as his head fell forward, the chains pulled taut and keeping him somewhat upright.

"You broke in here for a reason." The torturer began, speaking in Russian as he paced before the prisoner. "Just tell us why and you can sleep."

Blood spilled from the intruder's mouth, probably from some minor internal bleeding.

"Remember sleep?" The torturer continued, taunting the prisoner. He raised a metal pipe, preparing to hit the prisoner's head when the prisoner began whispering something.

"What?" He asked, dropping the pipe and pulling the prisoner's head, leaning in to listen to what the man was saying.

"Well? What did he say?" Mycroft asked, also in Russian, and the Russian soldier replied in a confused voice: "He said that I used to work in the navy, where I had an unhappy love affair."

"What? Mycroft asked, still in Russian, and the torturer continued, listening to their prisoner and repeating: "That the electricity isn't working in my bathroom; and... that my wife is sleeping with our next door neighbour! And?... The coffin maker! And? And?... If I go home now, I'll catch them at it!"

The Russian turned, spitting: "I knew it! I knew there was something going on!"

He walked out, rushing home.

As the doors shut behind him, Mycroft said coldly in Russian: "So, my friend. Now it's just you and me."

He uncrossed his legs, commenting as he walked over to their prisoner: "You have no idea the trouble it took to find you."