The Puppeteers (Mycroft Holmes)

Chapter 17

Chapter 17 - The Devil's Ultimatum

Mycroft barely registered the moment when he arrived at his safe house. Anthea had a security detail attend him and she followed him inside. The only sound was the click of her heels and the tap of her fingers. He was brought to a bedroom with an ensuite and a change of clothes was provided.

Going to the shower in a daze, he washed soot and sweat from his skin and hair, blankly staring at it as it swirled the drain. The water turned cold eventually and he stepped out. He dried slowly and dressed absently.

A guard was waiting outside his door. Mycroft made an effort to examine the house though there was little of note and he couldn't bring himself out of his thoughts.

"Perimeter is secure, Mr. Holmes." Someone said behind him. Anthea... He looked over his shoulder and nodded. "I'll have a team salvage what they can from the house tomorrow."

She kept talking but it grew louder, clamoring in his head. He closed his eyes, feeling a migraine rising. His blood roared in his ears, beating painfully against his temples. He couldn't breathe. She called him softly but it added to the noise.

"Mr. Holmes?"

He shook his head and turned on his heel, going up the stairs and to his room. He dismissed the wide-eyed guard and locked the door behind him. Sinking to the floor, his back to the opposite wall, he held his head in his hands and took shuddering breaths.

He couldn't breathe. The air was stifling. Smoke. There was still smoke in here. The fire wasn't out; he was trapped. Everything was gone. God, he couldn't breathe.

Nothing was right and just as it was coming apart the world was asking, prying, searching.

Who is Mycroft Holmes? What is he hiding?

He couldn't breathe.

Stop it.

His hands clenched over his head and he closed his eyes. He breathed in slowly and exhaled to a count of ten.

There was no fire. Sherlock was fine. The world didn't know a damn thing and everything would be fine.

Breathe, dammit. Just breathe.

*

He woke up to the sound of a door closing. Blinking against the pillow, he squinted at something on the other side of the bed. It sat on the pillow. Reaching for it, his hands gripped paper. He pulled it closer and opened it at the fold.

"Dinner? Tomorrow, eight? Your other townhouse. I'll cook. O."

He didn't have time to panic. Jumping out of bed, he threw the door open and searched for his guard. Cursing, he remembered dismissing the man. He ran to the front door and wrenched it open. The neighborhood was quiet, asleep.

He ran to the street and turned to find a woman walking away.

She looked over her shoulder, smiled and blew a kiss.

His phone beeped and he startled, not realizing that he had grabbed it. He looked down at the text.

"Go inside, love. It's not a safe house if you're making a target of yourself. O."

Looking around suspiciously, he went back inside and threw all the locks closed.

"Mr. Holmes?"

He spun and faced a concerned guard. Fury bubbled in his chest as his fear subsided.

"A woman was just here. How the hell did anyone get in here without you knowing about it?"

*