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Companions of Honour

Chapter Text

Mycroft started looking for a beta the day he turned sixteen. He'd come to the conclusion that it was the only thing that made any sense, no matter how he looked at it: the idea of bonding was insupportable, but he did want to have sex. At sixteen, he would have come very close to calling it a need for sex. He hated letting his body dictate any part of his life, but finding a beta for that purpose would be far, far better than being permanently bonded to an omega. He knew that would have to happen eventually, and the thought always gave him a roil of disgust. He hated most of all that he had no choice at all. The pressure was already on from family friends, and in a lot of ways Mycroft knew they were right: he had the family and money to make it happen sooner, rather than later, and since the death of his parents it was his job to ensure the line would continue. In a lot of ways he envied Sherlock, who never capitulated to pressure of any kind. Who had never had to, because Mycroft would always do it for him. For a few days Mycroft toyed with the idea of refusing to bond altogether, of abdicating every responsibility he'd ever been burdened with. It was a stupid, foolish luxury, and a waste of time. He'd have to bond. In the meantime, then, he would carve out a tiny thing that was all his own, something that had nothing to do with expectations, or obligations, or anyone's happiness but his own. He wanted a beta.

He'd had no idea how difficult that would be.

At Cambridge he moved in alpha circles. His contact with betas was sporadic at best, and none of the ones he did meet struck him as particularly attractive. Alphas always claimed that the only reason betas would attend Cambridge would be to throw themselves in the path of wealthy young alphas, hoping to be taken on as secondary lovers after the alpha was bonded. Those were chasers, the ones who would pursue alphas at every turn, hoping to soak up some reflected privilege.

In theory that was perfect for what Mycroft had in mind. In practice it proved to be a little lacking.

He hadn't expected that.

****

The idea of dating, as two equals, was a difficult one to swallow. It wasn't done, but that was the least of Mycroft's concerns.

For one thing, he wasn't sure it was possible for anyone to want to date him without expecting something material in return. He'd never fancied himself as being much of a catch. He knew he was rubbish at people, all forced politeness and sneering. He didn't have any friends, nor had he ever wanted any. It had just never seemed remotely important; for someone like him, it hardly mattered if people actually liked him. His place in society was assured, and people would flock to him because he had influence. Nothing else mattered.

It was hard enough being at Cambridge and knowing that Sherlock was on his own in London, getting into so much trouble that Mycroft often wondered if he did it deliberately, just to spite him. Mycroft put up with it because sometimes he felt like it was the only thing he had to offer Sherlock at all. Other times he was sure of it.

He'd assumed the worst when he spotted Sherlock getting out of the police car, in a flash imagining all the things his brother might've done to get himself arrested.

When the beta constable got out after him there was a moment when Mycroft actually had to catch his breath, because the man was absolutely gorgeous. Brown hair a little long for the Yard, trim frame, tall. Large dark eyes that took in Mycroft completely. Mycroft had never thought about himself as having a specific type before, but Gregory Lestrade seemed to fit every single one of his unknown requirements.

He didn't expect he met any of Greg's. He'd never thought for a second Gregory would actually phone him.

****

Mycroft had fully expected the dating itself to be a disaster. They had almost nothing in common, aside from an errant ten year old and the last thing Mycroft expected was for Sherlock to ever be conducive to getting a leg over. Mainly it was the opposite.

Mainly.

There was the night that Gregory spent complaining about Sherlock nicking his handcuffs again and then demonstrating exactly how many interesting ways the cuffs could be used. For hours. If Mycroft could've thought of a way to phrase it, he might've even thanked his brother.

****

When Sherlock phoned to say he'd seen Moriarty, the first thing Mycroft felt was a detached sort of relief. He'd known Moriarty would contact him eventually and the waiting was almost worse than knowing he'd been summoned. That was probably why Moriarty took so long in doing so: taking his time, drawing it out, making Mycroft sweat.

It was a tactic Mycroft had used himself, on more than one occasion.

It was when Sherlock mentioned Moriarty having someone as leverage that Mycroft's blood ran cold. He knew immediately who it was, knew from the dismissive way Moriarty had talked about Greg the first time they met. "A beta, Mycroft – really? For someone in your position? I'd think you'd be able to do better." An omega like Moriarty may have certain reservations about killing another omega, but he'd not care at all about killing a beta. Greg was the perfect threat, because there was nothing empty about it.

Mycroft disconnected the call with his brother and took a deep breath. He'd mentally prepared for every contingency, and Sherlock, John or Greg being taken had been among them. It was, apparently, what Moriarty did. Now that it was actually happening, however, he found himself nearly paralyzed with fear. He had never in a million years expected that. He told himself it didn't matter. His fear wasn't important; he couldn't let it be important. He had a decade of holding his emotions in tight control and he certainly wasn't going to let it all come crashing down in the middle of a crisis just because his lover –

Working mechanically, he put two Taskforce tactical units on standby three blocks from the meeting place. He's been an arrogant fool to go into Moriarty's meeting alone last time; he knew perfectly well that he'd be worse than that to go in with any sort of backup this time. It wasn't going to stop him from putting backup in place, however, just in case the worst-case scenario played out. Even if he himself didn't make it out, he wanted to make absolutely sure that Greg would.

Afterward he sat at his desk for a long time, staring into space, his hands neatly folded in front of him. He tried not to panic.

Mostly, he failed.

****

When Mycroft got home, Sherlock was standing in the sitting room, his arms crossed over his chest, glaring.

"What is it, Sherlock?" he asked wearily.

"How long have you been seeing him?" Sherlock demanded.

"Do you really think that's the most relevant thing to discuss at the moment?" Mycroft rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. There were limits, and there were limits, and Sherlock seemed immune for understanding anything of the sort. "Of course you do; it's the only part that's in any way about you."

He was somewhat pleased to see Sherlock's eyes widen slightly at that. "What do you –"

"Sherlock," Mycroft snapped. "If you must throw a tantrum about this, do it later. Not now." He pushed past his brother and went up the stairs to change.

John was hovering in the hallway. He gave Mycroft a worried smile. "Are you all right? Is there anything I can do?"

Mycroft felt himself relax minutely. After years of putting up with Sherlock, John was like a breath of fresh air. "I'll need you to keep an eye on Sherlock tonight. The absolute last thing we need is for him to go off on an ill-advised undertaking. He knows where the meeting is, and at what time."

"Of course." John frowned. "You don't think he'll do anything? He cares about Greg; he wouldn't want to put him at risk."

"I've learned to never underestimate my brother's capacity for doing the exact thing that will exacerbate any terrible situation. There's nothing I can say that won't make it worse, but he'll listen to you."

"I'm not sure about that," John said. "I don't think anyone can force Sherlock to do anything."

"But you've come the closest," Mycroft pointed out. "He trusts you more than anyone. Especially at the moment. Make sure he doesn't leave the house tonight. There's nothing to be gained from Moriarty getting anywhere near Sherlock."

"I'll try," John said hesitantly.

"Drug him if you have to." He patted John's arm lightly, and John nodded.

****

He didn't bother arming himself. Moriarty had no interest in harming him – he already had Greg stashed away for that purpose. Harming Mycroft would be counterproductive to whatever it was he really wanted. He turned off his phone's ringer and got out of the car. He just wanted to get it over with.

****

Inside, he saw Moriarty standing at the opposite end of the garage, smiling at him. Mycroft couldn't see any gunmen, but he had to assume they were there, somewhere.

"So nice to see you again, Mycroft," Moriarty smirked.

"I can't say the same. Where's Gregory?"

"I'm afraid he's rather tied up at the moment. Unfortunately he was a little harder to capture than I'd anticipated. My men had to shoot him."

"You –"

Moriarty waved his hand. "He'll be fine. Probably. He should see a proper doctor at some point, but that depends on you, doesn't it?"

"What do you want? I assume this has something to do with my bond to John."

"Oh, no. It's nothing to do with that. Not yet, anyway. The opportunity to have your brother and the omega at my disposal hit slightly before I was expecting, so your bonding took place before I was entirely ready to exploit it. The problem is that you Holmeses keep putting kinks in all my plans. But don't worry. I was taught to have a plan B and a plan C and a plan D, and even you can't get in the way of all of them."

"Taught by whom?"

Moriarty chuckled. "The best, of course. Someday you'll meet my alpha, Mr. Holmes, but not yet. These are all still the preliminary stages."

"What do you want from me in exchange for Gregory?"

"I want you to launch an investigation. As the head of the omega taskforce, that's your job, isn't it?"

"What kind of investigation?"

"The best kind. One against the betas."

That took Mycroft completely aback. "What?"

"I know you know about the pills, Mycroft. Your beta friend was extremely forthcoming about that, once I'd coaxed him a little."

Mycroft drew in a quick breath. "I want to see him. Now."

"If you do as I say, you shall. I know you know about the pills, and I want you to launch a public investigation into them. Leave no stone unturned."

"Why? It will start a panic."

"Because it will start a panic."

"Why would you want that?"

Moriarty sighed. "It wasn't supposed to be like this, you know. The police were supposed to find out about the pills. Their labs would confirm the pentachlorobiphenyl, and they were supposed to try to find the culprits. They would have incredible pressure put on them from higher-ups to get to the bottom of it. I'm sure they would've spared no expense. It would've started with the Met and spread to every other enforcement agency. It would have consumed the country. It would've been beautiful. That was plan A, and we'd put a lot of time and effort into it. Of course, you and your brother got in the way of that, didn't you? I should've realized he would. Sherlock is very talented."

"Why would you want to do any of this?" Mycroft asked, mystified.

"You don't actually expect me to tell you, do you? Luckily, there is still time to salvage some of it. I know you've started asking questions surreptitiously. All you have to do is make it all public."

"People will get hurt."

"No one important."

"What is your interest in my brother?"

Moriarty laughed. "My intentions are honorable, I assure you. He and I are going to bond, eventually."

Mycroft stared at him as if he were mad. At the moment, he wondered. "I highly doubt that. Sherlock has no interest in bonding."

"Then don't you think a second bonding would be perfect for him? No demands on him at all, yet he'll never have to be alone again. I think he would appreciate that."

"Why would Sherlock agree to that?"

"He will once I make him an offer he can't refuse."

"And what sort of offer would that be? If he doesn't bond, you'll kill him?"

"Easier to recruit than to fight against, don't you think? As this incident has shown, if I don't counter your brother's activities he's very likely to get in the way of mine. That's only fun for so long, you know. Fortunately you can help fix this mess."

"With my investigation. I assume you'll be directing this through me?"

"I may have some ideas about how you should proceed from time to time, yes."

"I want to see Gregory."

"You know that's not particularly likely, I'm sure. Not until after you've done as I've asked."

Mycroft crossed his arms over his chest in a way that reminded himself bizarrely of Sherlock. "I would need confirmation that he's all right before I do anything at all."

That only made Moriarty smirk harder, of course, as he tossed Mycroft a cell phone.

Mycroft caught it, examining it quickly and holding it to his ear. "Greg?"

"Hello," Greg's unmistakable voice answered. Mycroft's relief was so profound that he staggered on his feet.

"Are you all right? Moriarty said you were shot."

"I was shot," Greg confirmed. His voice was softer than Mycroft had ever heard it. "In the thigh. I'll be all right, I think. We got the bullet out, and the bleeding's mostly stopped. It's okay, for now."

"Are you sure?"

"I was taught some basic first aid, you know," he said, with a hint of protest. "I never thought I'd have to use it on myself, but it didn't turn out too badly."

"If you do say so yourself," Mycroft said. He couldn't help the fond smile that took over most of his face. "I'm going to get you home soon. I promise."

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you this, but don't do anything stupid, all right? Considering the circumstances, it could be far worse. I'll manage."

"I'm sure you will. I should say the same to you."

"I don't think I could do much, with a gunshot wound."

"Still."

"Stop worrying. And keep Sherlock from whatever half-buggered plan he cooks up. I'll be fine, more or less."

"You'd better be."

"Or else?" Mycroft could imagine Greg's cocked eyebrow and grin, if they'd been having this conversation under normal circumstances. Considering the circumstances were far from normal, he doubted Greg was grinning.

Moriarty held out his hand for the phone. Mycroft sighed. "I have to go. I'll see you soon."

"Promise?"

"Yes."

He listened until Greg disconnected, then dropped the phone into Moriarty's hand. He didn't think he could stand to touch the man, even accidentally.

"What, you're not going to tell him you love him? I suppose the rumors I've heard about your emotional capabilities were actually true. From the way you treated that omega, I'd thought they had to be lying." Moriarty cocked his head. "Or perhaps you just like omegas more than betas? It would only be natural."

"Are we done here?"

"Launch your investigation, and be sure to keep the press in the loop. People need to be informed, don't they? I'll give you 48 hours to turn it into the biggest story this year, and then it will undoubtedly be out of your hands. The head of the omega Taskforce is somewhat important, but it won't take long before this thing spirals out of your control."

"That's what you want?"

"Loss of control, chaos? Yes. That's what I want. For now." He smiled. "I'll be in touch, Mycroft."

Chapter Text

Mycroft let himself into the Taskforce's building just off Thayer Street. The location had been kept somewhat secret for years, especially after the repeated bomb threats called into their original location during the 80s and 90s. Mycroft tended to doubt that the internet had left it actually secret at all, but that was the least of his problems at the moment. Security was tight, with advanced imagine scanners and more guards than actual Taskforce members reporting each day.

It was one of the longstanding ironies of the Taskforce that alphas made all the decisions about omegas. While betas were encouraged to apply and promoted frequently, only alphas had ever headed the organization, and it was understood that they were the only ones who ever would. Mycroft knew he owed his position as much to his parents' social circle as to the people he had known at Cambridge, but once he got it he was determined to prove that he was, in fact, suited to it. He had so many plans, both for the Taskforce and his own career, and the thought of losing all of it in the blink of an eye was nauseating.

It wasn't something he dwelt upon, even though he knew there were many inside the Taskforce that were waiting for him to make a misstep so they could rush to take his place. That was true in any posting, and every alpha had their own reasons for wanting to be involved in omega affairs. He mostly ignored the pointed gossip of the people directly under him, Sebastian Moran and Irene Adler, unless it was helpful. He wasn't an idiot.

It put Mycroft in a unique position in regards to how much power he could officially wield vs. how much he could actually wield, which he had always been careful not to exploit. He had no doubt at all that the full military powers of the United Kingdom were his to call upon, if he needed them to protect the country's omegas.

He hoped he wouldn't need them.

His beta assistant Anthea was waiting in his office, looking fresh and put together and not at all as if it were coming on three in the morning. Mycroft nodded curtly to her as he sat down at his desk, not that she noticed over her frenetic typing. On the ride over from the meeting with Moriarty he'd already commanded the tactical teams to stand down; now he sent several messages to their heads to be ready for mid-morning raids of several doctor's offices. He could only hope that at least one of them would turn up a supply of pills that could be used to launch a wider investigation. He wasn't overly worried about having to account for the raids; Parliament wouldn't question it too much even if it didn't turn up anything useful.

****

By dawn he had planned both the initial raids, the secondary raids and the establishment of the larger investigation, once it was required. He could only hope Moriarty's involvement would be minimal, though he rather doubted that would be the case. While the plans were necessarily flexible, the fact that he couldn't predict what Moriarty might want made him extremely nervous. Moriarty was the one person that he had ever met who Mycroft couldn't predict at all.

It made dealing with Sherlock seem almost pleasant.

****

It was nearly eight when he let himself into the house. He'd half-expected a stream of texts from Sherlock with constant demands for status updates from midnight on, but there had been nothing.

He wondered if John had actually drugged him.

He found them both in the sitting room, Sherlock perched on one end of the sofa reading, John's head pillowed on his lap. As soon as Mycroft came in, Sherlock jumped to his feet, startling John awake and nearly toppling him onto the floor.

"What's his plan?" Sherlock asked. "What happened?"

"Greg isn't with you?" John asked, rubbing his eyes as he sat up.

"Obviously not. Moriarty will hold him hostage until Mycroft does what he wants," Sherlock explained impatiently. "There's no point in having him otherwise." He looked at Mycroft expectantly.

"He wants an investigation of the pills. A public investigation."

Sherlock's brow furrowed. "Why…" his voice trailed off.

"And you're going to do it?" John asked.

"I find I have no choice. He's already shot Gregory once."

John inhaled sharply. "Is he all right?"

"According to Gregory himself, he is. Chances are he doesn't want me to worry and would tell me anything right now, but without more to go on I will take his word for it."

John nodded. "We'll get him back," he said firmly.

Mycroft gave him a faint smile. "Thank you." He glanced at Sherlock. "I don't expect we can plan on him being mobile for whatever rescue attempts you're currently scheming up."

Sherlock pursed his lips. "You didn't actually see him?"

"Of course not."

"He could be held practically anywhere, but it's far more likely that he's still in London or within a reasonable driving distance. No more than an hour."

"Obviously. I've considered all this already, Sherlock," Mycroft told him tiredly. "We're not going to do anything that will risk Gregory."

Sherlock frowned. "If it comes down to a choice between –"

"I will choose saving Gregory," Mycroft told him decisively.

"Even if –"

"Even if," Mycroft confirmed.

Sherlock studied him. "You knew that going in."

Mycroft met his brother's eyes unflinchingly. "Yes."

"Moriarty is counting on it."

"I'm aware."

Sherlock slowly shook his head. "You can't possibly actually love him," he declared. "He's only a beta."

"Shut up, Sherlock," John hissed. "That doesn't have anything to do with it."

"It matters," Sherlock insisted. "Obviously they both thought so, which is why they didn't even tell anyone they were dating."

"That will be one of the things that changes when Gregory comes home. A certain amount of discretion seemed necessary before, but it hardly matters now." Mycroft looked at John apologetically. "We should have discussed this before now. There were… reasons that we decided to keep our relationship a secret, but I don't want you to feel troubled that your needs would ever be neglected."

Mycroft didn't miss the way his brother's gaze whipped to John with something almost like concern.

John looked at him a bit disbelievingly. "Of all the things to fret about," he muttered. "The last thing you need to worry about right now is me. I'm happy for you. He's a nice bloke and you both deserve to be happy. We'll do everything we can to get him home." He looked at Sherlock. "Right?"

"I need Lestrade to give me cases. Of course I want him released."

John looked surprised at that, but then shook his head. "Don't. Don't try to pretend this is all about the cases, Sherlock. People care about other people; it's the whole point."

Sherlock scowled at him but didn't deny it.

"Well, that's… good enough, I suppose," John sighed. "We won't have to stage a daring rescue, will we? What does Moriarty want with all this, anyway?"

"He's going to try to frame the Beta Majority for the pills," Sherlock said confidently.

John blinked. "But there's no proof."

"That hardly matters," Mycroft explained. "They're the obvious culprit, so much so that I expect their leaders to be taken into custody within three hours of the pills' ingredients being made public. The press will cover it, and they'll be condemned in the mind of the public before tomorrow night."

"What could Moriarty possibly gain from that?"

"Apart from crippling the Beta Majority at a time when our government is going to be extremely vulnerable? I'm not entirely sure," Mycroft admitted. "I have several theories, but the most likely is one I'd rather not contemplate."

"If you were willing to sacrifice Lestrade," Sherlock started.

"I'm not. We're not having this discussion, Sherlock."

John looked back and forth between them. "How bad could it be? Your theory, I mean."

Mycroft shook his head. "He's still planning to use our bonding, probably to create a power vacuum that he will then fill. However, that is a bridge we'll have to cross at a later date. He's also planning to bond with you, Sherlock. Or so he says."

Sherlock snorted and looked almost amused.

"What? That's not very likely, is it?" John asked, perplexed. "Why would he want that?"

"Presumably Moriarty hasn't spent much time with him. In the short term he's trying to distract me, divide my loyalties. In the long term I think he's perfectly serious. As a criminal, Sherlock would do very nicely."

"I would hardly be controlled by someone who forces bonds at gunpoint," Sherlock spat. "As well as everything else."

"That's what he doesn't understand about you. Yet, anyway. Unfortunately, I believe he knows your weakness as well as he knows mine. Would you be willing to sacrifice anyone?"

Sherlock looked slightly less confident at that.

"What do we know about him? We can stop him, right?"

"I've had people searching for any trace of him or his alpha for weeks now, and none of them have turned up anything. Moriarty, or whatever his real name is, knows how to hide himself. Killing him before we get Gregory back is not an option. Killing him afterward will also undoubtedly be something he's planned for. At the moment, he holds all the cards."

"What do we do, then?" John asked.

"I'm going upstairs to shower, and then I'm going to be present while Taskforce teams raid doctor's offices, looking for pills. You are going to have breakfast and pack a few thing – you're going to stay at Taskforce headquarters for a little while, until things are sorted out."

"We're coming with you," Sherlock stated.

"Absolutely not." Mycroft said firmly, headed toward the stairs.

"Well," John started.

Mycroft turned to look at him, eyes narrowing.

John looked at Mycroft contritely. "I'm sorry, but –"

"John promised that if I stayed in last night we could go with you this morning and help with whatever else needed to be done."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at John, who shrugged.

"I didn't know what else to say. He was set on going to the meeting, and I knew that would be too dangerous, so this seemed… better."

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly. "I'm afraid that is simply impossible. It would be not only dangerous but entirely unprofessional. Even a bonded omega would be too much of a distraction in the middle of a tactical raid, not to mention what Sherlock could get up to. Furthermore, Moriarty's interest in Sherlock needs to be factored in. I don't want you going anywhere near him, or this investigation. They can get on perfectly well without you, whatever you may think, Sherlock."

"No," Sherlock said flatly. "We're not just going to sit around and wait. If Moriarty is truly interested in using me in the future then he won't hurt me now, and he won't hurt John, either."

"You're going to sit around and wait and be safe until Moriarty calls with his demands – and he will call." Mycroft took a deep breath, calculating. There was only one way to actually get Sherlock to do something he didn't want to do, and the most important part was to be subtle about it. "Besides, if something should go wrong, either with the raids or anything else, I'll need you on hand to help work out our best move, Sherlock, and you can't do that if you're out in the field instead of in a centralized location. At headquarters you'll be right in the middle of central command."

Sherlock scoffed, but Mycroft didn't miss the way his shoulders went back slightly and his chin tilted up. Of all of his brother's faults, pride was possibly the most obvious and exploitable.

"This morning I thought it best to dispatch a car to pick up your sister and bring her to stay for a bit as well, John, just for her own safety. I could call and have them bring your father, too, if you like."

John shook his head. "I'm sure my father will be fine at home. Moriarty won't bother him."

"Probably not," Mycroft agreed. "Was there anyone else that you are close to?"

"Just some mates at school. My old school, I mean. Molly Hopper, she's my social care worker. No one else, really."

"Good. It's just a precaution, of course. We already know Moriarty has no compunction at all about hurting innocent people to accomplish his goals." Mycroft turned back to the stairs. "The car will be here at 9. Be ready by then."

Chapter Text

Mycroft let himself into the Taskforce's building just off Thayer Street. The location had been kept somewhat secret for years, especially after the repeated bomb threats called into their original location during the 80s and 90s. Mycroft tended to doubt that the internet had left it actually secret at all, but that was the least of his problems at the moment. Security was tight, with advanced imagine scanners and more guards than actual Taskforce members reporting each day.

It was one of the longstanding ironies of the Taskforce that alphas made all the decisions about omegas. While betas were encouraged to apply and promoted frequently, only alphas had ever headed the organization, and it was understood that they were the only ones who ever would. Mycroft knew he owed his position as much to his parents' social circle as to the people he had known at Cambridge, but once he got it he was determined to prove that he was, in fact, suited to it. He had so many plans, both for the Taskforce and his own career, and the thought of losing all of it in the blink of an eye was nauseating.

It wasn't something he dwelt upon, even though he knew there were many inside the Taskforce that were waiting for him to make a misstep so they could rush to take his place. That was true in any posting, and every alpha had their own reasons for wanting to be involved in omega affairs. He mostly ignored the pointed gossip of the people directly under him, Sebastian Moran and Irene Adler, unless it was helpful. He wasn't an idiot.

It put Mycroft in a unique position in regards to how much power he could officially wield vs. how much he could actually wield, which he had always been careful not to exploit. He had no doubt at all that the full military powers of the United Kingdom were his to call upon, if he needed them to protect the country's omegas.

He hoped he wouldn't need them.

His beta assistant Anthea was waiting in his office, looking fresh and put together and not at all as if it were coming on three in the morning. Mycroft nodded curtly to her as he sat down at his desk, not that she noticed over her frenetic typing. On the ride over from the meeting with Moriarty he'd already commanded the tactical teams to stand down; now he sent several messages to their heads to be ready for mid-morning raids of several doctor's offices. He could only hope that at least one of them would turn up a supply of pills that could be used to launch a wider investigation. He wasn't overly worried about having to account for the raids; Parliament wouldn't question it too much even if it didn't turn up anything useful.

****

By dawn he had planned both the initial raids, the secondary raids and the establishment of the larger investigation, once it was required. He could only hope Moriarty's involvement would be minimal, though he rather doubted that would be the case. While the plans were necessarily flexible, the fact that he couldn't predict what Moriarty might want made him extremely nervous. Moriarty was the one person that he had ever met who Mycroft couldn't predict at all.

It made dealing with Sherlock seem almost pleasant.

****

It was nearly eight when he let himself into the house. He'd half-expected a stream of texts from Sherlock with constant demands for status updates from midnight on, but there had been nothing.

He wondered if John had actually drugged him.

He found them both in the sitting room, Sherlock perched on one end of the sofa reading, John's head pillowed on his lap. As soon as Mycroft came in, Sherlock jumped to his feet, startling John awake and nearly toppling him onto the floor.

"What's his plan?" Sherlock asked. "What happened?"

"Greg isn't with you?" John asked, rubbing his eyes as he sat up.

"Obviously not. Moriarty will hold him hostage until Mycroft does what he wants," Sherlock explained impatiently. "There's no point in having him otherwise." He looked at Mycroft expectantly.

"He wants an investigation of the pills. A public investigation."

Sherlock's brow furrowed. "Why…" his voice trailed off.

"And you're going to do it?" John asked.

"I find I have no choice. He's already shot Gregory once."

John inhaled sharply. "Is he all right?"

"According to Gregory himself, he is. Chances are he doesn't want me to worry and would tell me anything right now, but without more to go on I will take his word for it."

John nodded. "We'll get him back," he said firmly.

Mycroft gave him a faint smile. "Thank you." He glanced at Sherlock. "I don't expect we can plan on him being mobile for whatever rescue attempts you're currently scheming up."

Sherlock pursed his lips. "You didn't actually see him?"

"Of course not."

"He could be held practically anywhere, but it's far more likely that he's still in London or within a reasonable driving distance. No more than an hour."

"Obviously. I've considered all this already, Sherlock," Mycroft told him tiredly. "We're not going to do anything that will risk Gregory."

Sherlock frowned. "If it comes down to a choice between –"

"I will choose saving Gregory," Mycroft told him decisively.

"Even if –"

"Even if," Mycroft confirmed.

Sherlock studied him. "You knew that going in."

Mycroft met his brother's eyes unflinchingly. "Yes."

"Moriarty is counting on it."

"I'm aware."

Sherlock slowly shook his head. "You can't possibly actually love him," he declared. "He's only a beta."

"Shut up, Sherlock," John hissed. "That doesn't have anything to do with it."

"It matters," Sherlock insisted. "Obviously they both thought so, which is why they didn't even tell anyone they were dating."

"That will be one of the things that changes when Gregory comes home. A certain amount of discretion seemed necessary before, but it hardly matters now." Mycroft looked at John apologetically. "We should have discussed this before now. There were… reasons that we decided to keep our relationship a secret, but I don't want you to feel troubled that your needs would ever be neglected."

Mycroft didn't miss the way his brother's gaze whipped to John with something almost like concern.

John looked at him a bit disbelievingly. "Of all the things to fret about," he muttered. "The last thing you need to worry about right now is me. I'm happy for you. He's a nice bloke and you both deserve to be happy. We'll do everything we can to get him home." He looked at Sherlock. "Right?"

"I need Lestrade to give me cases. Of course I want him released."

John looked surprised at that, but then shook his head. "Don't. Don't try to pretend this is all about the cases, Sherlock. People care about other people; it's the whole point."

Sherlock scowled at him but didn't deny it.

"Well, that's… good enough, I suppose," John sighed. "We won't have to stage a daring rescue, will we? What does Moriarty want with all this, anyway?"

"He's going to try to frame the Beta Majority for the pills," Sherlock said confidently.

John blinked. "But there's no proof."

"That hardly matters," Mycroft explained. "They're the obvious culprit, so much so that I expect their leaders to be taken into custody within three hours of the pills' ingredients being made public. The press will cover it, and they'll be condemned in the mind of the public before tomorrow night."

"What could Moriarty possibly gain from that?"

"Apart from crippling the Beta Majority at a time when our government is going to be extremely vulnerable? I'm not entirely sure," Mycroft admitted. "I have several theories, but the most likely is one I'd rather not contemplate."

"If you were willing to sacrifice Lestrade," Sherlock started.

"I'm not. We're not having this discussion, Sherlock."

John looked back and forth between them. "How bad could it be? Your theory, I mean."

Mycroft shook his head. "He's still planning to use our bonding, probably to create a power vacuum that he will then fill. However, that is a bridge we'll have to cross at a later date. He's also planning to bond with you, Sherlock. Or so he says."

Sherlock snorted and looked almost amused.

"What? That's not very likely, is it?" John asked, perplexed. "Why would he want that?"

"Presumably Moriarty hasn't spent much time with him. In the short term he's trying to distract me, divide my loyalties. In the long term I think he's perfectly serious. As a criminal, Sherlock would do very nicely."

"I would hardly be controlled by someone who forces bonds at gunpoint," Sherlock spat. "As well as everything else."

"That's what he doesn't understand about you. Yet, anyway. Unfortunately, I believe he knows your weakness as well as he knows mine. Would you be willing to sacrifice anyone?"

Sherlock looked slightly less confident at that.

"What do we know about him? We can stop him, right?"

"I've had people searching for any trace of him or his alpha for weeks now, and none of them have turned up anything. Moriarty, or whatever his real name is, knows how to hide himself. Killing him before we get Gregory back is not an option. Killing him afterward will also undoubtedly be something he's planned for. At the moment, he holds all the cards."

"What do we do, then?" John asked.

"I'm going upstairs to shower, and then I'm going to be present while Taskforce teams raid doctor's offices, looking for pills. You are going to have breakfast and pack a few thing – you're going to stay at Taskforce headquarters for a little while, until things are sorted out."

"We're coming with you," Sherlock stated.

"Absolutely not." Mycroft said firmly, headed toward the stairs.

"Well," John started.

Mycroft turned to look at him, eyes narrowing.

John looked at Mycroft contritely. "I'm sorry, but –"

"John promised that if I stayed in last night we could go with you this morning and help with whatever else needed to be done."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at John, who shrugged.

"I didn't know what else to say. He was set on going to the meeting, and I knew that would be too dangerous, so this seemed… better."

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly. "I'm afraid that is simply impossible. It would be not only dangerous but entirely unprofessional. Even a bonded omega would be too much of a distraction in the middle of a tactical raid, not to mention what Sherlock could get up to. Furthermore, Moriarty's interest in Sherlock needs to be factored in. I don't want you going anywhere near him, or this investigation. They can get on perfectly well without you, whatever you may think, Sherlock."

"No," Sherlock said flatly. "We're not just going to sit around and wait. If Moriarty is truly interested in using me in the future then he won't hurt me now, and he won't hurt John, either."

"You're going to sit around and wait and be safe until Moriarty calls with his demands – and he will call." Mycroft took a deep breath, calculating. There was only one way to actually get Sherlock to do something he didn't want to do, and the most important part was to be subtle about it. "Besides, if something should go wrong, either with the raids or anything else, I'll need you on hand to help work out our best move, Sherlock, and you can't do that if you're out in the field instead of in a centralized location. At headquarters you'll be right in the middle of central command."

Sherlock scoffed, but Mycroft didn't miss the way his shoulders went back slightly and his chin tilted up. Of all of his brother's faults, pride was possibly the most obvious and exploitable.

"This morning I thought it best to dispatch a car to pick up your sister and bring her to stay for a bit as well, John, just for her own safety. I could call and have them bring your father, too, if you like."

John shook his head. "I'm sure my father will be fine at home. Moriarty won't bother him."

"Probably not," Mycroft agreed. "Was there anyone else that you are close to?"

"Just some mates at school. My old school, I mean. Molly Hopper, she's my social care worker. No one else, really."

"Good. It's just a precaution, of course. We already know Moriarty has no compunction at all about hurting innocent people to accomplish his goals." Mycroft turned back to the stairs. "The car will be here at 9. Be ready by then."

 

When Mycroft was eleven, Sherlock had disappeared for three days. Since Sherlock had been born, there had been the unspoken understanding that he was Mycroft's responsibility to look after, helped by the fact that since he could walk Sherlock had more or less appointed himself Mycroft's shadow, toddling after his brother and smiling hugely whenever Mycroft paid him the slightest bit of attention. Which he did, of course. Which he always did.

He was Mycroft's only friend, and Mycroft was the one who could trace Sherlock's vanishing down to the minute.

Their parents called in the police, convinced he'd been kidnapped by beta militants. Mycroft knew better. Mycroft knew Sherlock.

He'd found him, finally, dirty and alone in the London Bridge catacombs. Mycroft had been telling Sherlock about them a week before; he'd probably embellished more than he should, but he'd never seen his brother so fascinated. For some reason it had never occurred to him that Sherlock would have to see them for himself. Even years later he wondered about that. He should have known.

When Mycroft had finally found him, Sherlock had been so disappointed, grabbing Mycroft's hand and leading him everywhere. "You've got to see this," he'd said, pointing. "It's nothing like you said. I was hoping it would be remarkable." He was heartbroken that there weren't fresh bodies lying about. It didn't matter that their parents were worrying themselves ill over Sherlock's disappearance, or that a four year old had managed to get halfway across London by himself. Mycroft had squeezed his brother's hand and understood: he and Sherlock weren't like their parents, or like anyone else Mycroft had ever met, but they were like each other.

It was nice, not to be alone.

****

Mycroft hadn't been lying when he said Moriarty held all the cards, but that certainly didn't mean that would always be the case. Moriarty was intelligent; that was obvious. He was also devious and extremely good at reading people – he'd sussed out the dynamics between all the players in his little games before they'd ever met face-to-face. That was also his weakness: everything so far was going his way, and that had made him overconfident. For all that he might have taken the measure of Mycroft, Moriarty was severely underestimating Sherlock, both in his capacity to do good and his ability to love. What Moriarty was really counting on with the ridiculous idea that Sherlock would ever bond with him was that Sherlock's curiosity would be piqued enough to make him go through with it, just to see what would happen. Especially if Mycroft were against it; his smoldering resentment for his brother would make the offer appealing enough for Sherlock to want to bond despite the obvious fact that there was nothing for him in doing it. Even Mycroft had to admit that six months ago such a scheme would have had a good chance of working; but now he wasn't so certain. Sherlock was changing.

Mycroft had to believe that.

****

Taskforce teams had been conducting raids on doctor's offices since the pharmaceutical companies had perfected the formulas for heat suppressants. The trick, Mycroft had come to understand before he'd ever been appointed as the Taskforce's head, was to stir up enough media fanfare so it looked as if they were severely cracking down on heat suppressants at every level, while quietly supplying those same suppressants to prominent alphas. That was simply how it was done.

There was tremendous pressure, given the ever-dropping omega numbers, to actually ban all suppressants. That pressure all came from alphas, of course, most of them unbonded. The issue was a powder keg waiting to happen, and had been for years. No matter how rosy a spin the Ministers attempted to put on it, most alphas and omegas knew how tenuous everything actually was. Mycroft often felt like their entire society was balanced on a precipice that was ready to give way at any moment, and into that Moriarty was throwing in the incendiary bomb of the poison-laced pills.

And Mycroft was helping him.

Sherlock was right, of course. If he were willing to sacrifice Greg he could possibly avoid much of the fallout. Not all of it; Moriarty still held the ace of Mycroft's bonding, and that would be its own shockwave – but a manageable one. The pills were different.

He knew that, and for the first time in his life he didn't care about choosing the rational, good choice. Gregory alive was worth more than Mycroft's position, more than his freedom… possibly even more than his country, should it come to that. He was utterly ashamed of himself for feeling that, but that was how he felt nevertheless. In its own way it was liberating to know how easily everything in his life could be prioritized.

He had certainly never meant for it to happen, but he couldn't say he was entirely against the fact that he cared for Greg. He supposed in his own way, Greg was influencing him as much as (he hoped) John was influencing Sherlock. He had never considered himself as someone who needed any sort of "fixing" before, but events had rather changed his mind about that.

Ironically enough, he thought the Beta Majority might be rather pleased if it knew.

****

The raids were staged simultaneously at small offices across the city, and they happened more or less as raids on doctor's offices for illegal suppressants tended to. Pills were turned up at five of the eight offices, which was more than enough to be getting on with. The pills were immediately taken back to the labs to be analyzed over the next few hours; Mycroft had placed these raids on the very top of the pile for everyone. The doctors and their employees were taken in to be interrogated by the Taskforce's top people; if there was any information about Moriarty or his network to be gained, Mycroft was going to make sure they got it.

He doubted there would be anything.

He watched from a safe distance as Taskforce agents overran the small, dingy office of an older female beta doctor, aware that press was already turning up as cameras were propped into place to catch a glimpse of the doctor herself being led into the back of an unmarked Taskforce car. Spectacle, as always.

Afterward they came to him for comment, as he'd known they would. He was always described in the press as "youthful," or "unproven," although once or twice had there had been "handsome," which Sherlock had needled him about for weeks, or even "charming," which Mycroft was completely at a loss to explain. He hated the press, generally, but they were a tool that was easy to use predictably.

He screwed up his features into the proper outrage for the cameras. "When will people learn that illegal suppressants are a blight on our society? We at the Omega Taskforce will not tolerate these criminal activities and the lying and deceit they embody. If any citizens know of this sort of thing happening, they are urged to call CrimeStoppers to report any and all incidents. Thank you."

It wasn't until he'd got back to the car that the first text came in.

You look very commanding. Nice show.

I can't tell you what your approval means to me. Mycroft assumed Moriarty would hear the sarcasm. It was the main reason he hated texting – the delicate moods of tone could never quite be replicated. He was always surprised that Sherlock liked it so much; Sherlock who was as exacting as Mycroft himself. But perhaps it wasn't so much a surprise: Sherlock did like any platform that he could pronounce from endlessly without having to listen to a reply.

I'm sure it means something to your beta. You know, Mycroft, I just don't think eight raids are very many. I would strongly advise you to do more. The public needs to understand exactly how widespread this problem is. It's important they understand all of the implications. Omegas need to be concerned for their welfare, after all.

Mycroft was uneasy about the mention of Greg, but hardly surprised. An increase in raids meant an increase in forces to carry them out. The Taskforce was hard-pressed to gather enough agents – eight raids had used every available employee, and many of those had to return with the doctors and their staff to headquarters to file the reports. Mycroft didn't like emptying out headquarters, not with Sherlock and John there, but he hardly had a choice. He didn't know exactly what Moriarty had in mind, but he could guess that it definitely wasn't good.

Taskforce staff were already setting up a temporary command center in an empty storefront on the West side of Holland Park. Mycroft retreated there and began pulling up addresses of additional doctors to raid from the list he and Greg had compiled. Feeling like Moriarty's puppet was not a good thing, but he did at least have the feeling that everything he was doing was bringing Gregory one step closer to coming home.

****

He was in the command center just after noon when the first confidential report from the lab came in. The tech who phoned was breathless with the news, and swore to Mycroft three or four times that he and his staff understood the need for confidentiality.

It was under an hour before the reports started circulating on the BBC's website and made Mycroft smile tightly as "unnamed sources" confirmed the trace ingredients in the pills. It was even sooner then he'd expected.

At five, Irene brought him a cup of tea.

"Thanks very much," Mycroft said absently, drinking the tea without even looking up from his phone. They'd never spoken much; Mycroft had always assumed that she and the other higher-ups at the Taskforce resented his being promoted above them, considering his relative youth and inexperience.

"Busy?" she asked cheerfully, ignoring the chaos surrounding them both.

"Not at the moment," he responded, giving her a bland smile.

She returned it swiftly, escalating the blandness by an order of magnitude.

His phone rang before he could ask her what she wanted. He frowned at the screen. "Anthea? What's Sherlock done?"

"They're gone. I'm sorry, sir. I was out of the room for five minutes and when I came back –"

"It's not your fault," Mycroft said quickly, cursing inwardly. Oh, he knew perfectly well whose fault it was.

"You don't think they were taken, sir? There have been odd reports of betas skulking about outside."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure exactly, just things you hear in the halls. With the new security procedures we had to call the Met – they're sending people now."

Mycroft sighed. "I'm certain my brother wasn't taken by any betas. I'm also certain there's not much point in trying to track him down now. You might as well join me here for the duration."

Anthea didn't sound particularly thrilled about that, but it had to be better than trying to babysit three teenagers who resented the effort. Mycroft reminded himself to give her another raise.

"Problem?" Irene asked as soon as he'd put his phone back in his pocket.

"Just family issues," Mycroft replied curtly.

"Family can be that way. Is there anything I can do?"

"No, thank you." Mycroft finished his tea in a single gulp.

"We're running short of people," she told him. "I would strongly advise –"

"Yes, it's time to call in other enforcement agencies," Mycroft acknowledged. "I suppose it's a good thing. If people see the Met involved, maybe they'll be less likely to be alarmed, anyway."

"Maybe," Irene agreed. "Though I think this might just be getting too big for the Taskforce. There has been talk about Ministers getting involved, setting up temporary forces to suppress any unrest." She shrugged. "It's easy to imagine unrest resulting from all this, don't you think?"

"Perhaps," Mycroft said cautiously. The last thing he wanted to consider at the moment was Sherlock, John and Harry out in the middle of civil unrest, doing God knew what.

Irene seemed to understand his distraction and smiled. "I'd like to go back to headquarters, if you don't mind, and see what they've come up with myself."

"Certainly."

She paused at the doorway and looked back at him with an expression he couldn't read. "I'm sure your brother will be fine."

Mycroft nodded automatically. "Thank you. I am, too," he lied.

****

It was nearly twenty minutes later when they got the first reports of the explosion at headquarters. It took out nearly the entire block.