Partners In Crime: Watch Them Fall Apart [COMPLETED]

Chapter 8: Me Too

"You'd lose your mind trying to understand mine."

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It was Mycroft who came in to interrogate her next. 

Beth, despite still having quite a few blood stains from her previous encounter with an interrogator, she greeted him with enthusiasm as he unlocked the handcuffs, and brought in two chairs for the both of them.

"Oh! Hello Mycroft!" she smiled as he took the handcuffs off. Her wrist still stung, but she was otherwise fine. James wasn't with her, but she could let that slide for now. All that mattered was escaping now.

"Lizbeth," Mycroft gave a fake smile, matching her overly sweet welcome, "Lovely to see you."

Mycroft subtly switched into asking a question, starting the interrogation, "So, how did all of this happen? How did you go from a little girl in America to the big bad Heartbreaker?"

She laughed, clapping her hands in mock glee, "I got bored. Came here. Stole some things. Killed some people. Made my own little signature. Met my husband. Started a business. You know... The usual, I guess. Fell in love with my husband even more after all of that. Got married..."

"But psychopaths can't love, can they?" he had her in a corner. Maybe he could get her to turn against James.

"Well, few can. And maybe he's not a psychopath. But who really does know?"

"But you just said you fell in love? Do you think he feels the same?"

Beth clicked her tongue, "Mycroft Holmes, of course he does. And it is true, most psychopaths are incapable of love. But then again, so are most sociopaths. And your brother did seem quite fond of me.." She had turned the tables. The trouble is, she knew it.

"Don't you dare mention my brother." Mycroft stopped playing nice. His tone had turned lethal. He no longer looked friendly. He hissed, "You better not dare bring him up again."

Beth still had the upper hand, though. She was being held captive against her will, and she still had the upper hand. This wasn't good for him.

Beth stood up, circling Mycroft like a predator would circle its prey.
"I mean, he showed all the classical signs of love," she stopped in front of him, swaying her hips, "Diliated pupils.... fast pulse.... quick breathing..."
"Stop!"
"Only on two conditions...."
Mycroft growled, "What?"

"1. While I am forced to stay here, I want scheduled times to see my husband...."

"Yes. And?"

"I want you to let Sebastian Moran out of here."

The older Holmes growled, "Why should I?"

"Because he knows little about the inner workings of my husband's organization. All he does is do his work. That's all he's ever done."

Mycroft frowned, "... Fine."

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The door to Sebastian Moran's cell opened. He had been wolfing down what little of a dinner they had given him. A roll of stale bread. A small bowl of broth. A glass of water. Before all of this, he could easily eat an entire steak in one sitting. He was rather tall, and rather fit. He had needed the calories. Yet he was starving for more now.

The men at the door looked at him, and tossed him a plastic bag. He opened it eagerly, ripping open the ties at the top to look in. Inside was the clothing and items he had had on him when he had been captured.

"You have one hour to get ready." One of the men said, not making eye contact with him.

"Get ready? For what?!" Moran blew his messy blond hair out of his eyes, his tone was deadly. They didn't answer, only slamming the door shut.

He got dressed in what they had given him. Camouflage themed trousers. Black turtle neck sweater. Everything he had been wearing the day of his capture. Put the items he had had in his pockets. For good measure, just in case, he smashed the mirror on his wall, and tucked a shard of glass in his pocket. If anything was going to attack him, he was going to be ready.

When the hour was up, and they came back for him, he went with them reluctantly. Dragging his feet, about to attack if anything went wrong.

But, no.

They simply forced him to drink a Dixie cup of anesthetic. Soon enough, he was unconscious.

He woke up in the flat he shared with James. It was as if none of this had ever happened. Taped to the ceiling above him was a note.

Thank Mrs. Moriarty for us letting you go.

- MH

He stood up, getting his things.

He wasn't sure what he was going to do. Perhaps he could find out where they had kept him. Go there. Slaughter anyone who got in his way. But yet he thought about it. It was a preposterous plan. It would never work.

No. He was going to wait. If they weren't back in two weeks, he would seek help.

Even if it killed him.