Title: Burning Hearts
Fandom: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock
Gene: Crossover, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Mystery, Fluff
Character/s: Sherlock, Martin, Mycroft, John, Douglas, Carolyn, Arthur, Lestrade, Moriarty, OCs and other minor Sherlock characters
Summary: Round Two. Only this time, the stakes have changed... and so have the players.
Warnings: Violence. Bit of foul language. Spoiler for The Great Game.
Notes: Sequel to Thicker than Water. Reading that first will help understanding this fic.
Sorry for the delay. Don't hate me.
Thanks to Elvendork for her betaing.
Five minutes ago
Martin hadn’t realised he had fallen asleep. Thus it was a shock when a pair of hands clapped before his face. His eyes shot open and Moriarty was standing right there, a manic grin on his face.
Martin recoiled, banging his head on the wall behind him in his haste.
Moriarty didn’t seem to care. He ran a gentle hand down Martin’s cheekbone and lifted his chin to force their eyes to meet.
“You’re boring.” He whispered. “You’re ordinary. What, then, are you hiding?”
Martin was shaking and didn’t reply. Moriarty placed his free hand beneath Martin’s right eye and bent down to whisper in Martin’s ear.
“You have the same eyes as your brother. I wonder, how would he react if I had them sent to him?”
“Now for business. Hush boys, Daddy’s working.” Moriarty stood and faced Mycroft, who had watched the scene before him impassively. He pulled a phone out of his pocket and showed it to Mycroft, whose eyes flickered as he recognised his phone.
“I must thank you for the gift, Mycroft. Your PIN code was such a puzzle! Hours of fun.” He pressed a speed dialled number and held the phone to his ear. There was a pause, as the person on the other end spoke.
“Oh so it is out of his way? I had wondered... I had plans you know, to get him. But then he went and made it so easy.”Moriarty’s voice was sing-song and Mycroft quickly deduced to whom he was speaking. While Sherlock had been sparring with the details of his encounter with Moriarty, John had not. It hadn’t been hard to convince Lestrade to tell him how John had described the criminal mastermind.
“No you didn’t.” Mycroft closed his eyes, in the hopes of catching what his brother was saying. He detested hearing only one side of a conversation, something Moriarty was obviously utilising.
Suddenly Moriarty’s voice turned hard. “And perhaps your brother needs broken legs. I’ll see to it if you’re not careful, Sherly.”
Mycroft’s eyes opened quickly, expecting to see Moriarty looking at him. However he was examining Martin’s legs. Mycroft felt something shift inside him and the temperature of the room must have dropped a few degrees. Suddenly, he could clearly see Martin’s broken body lying before him, a devastated Sherlock and-
“WRONG! Don’t lie Sherlock. Don’t even try. I’ll know and he will suffer for it.” Mycroft almost couldn’t hide the jump at Moriarty’s suddenly raised voice or his displeasure at having missed parts of the conversation.
“He’s a friend. Of mine.” Sherlock’s voice rang out in the quiet room and Moriarty must have hit speaker, but why?
“See! That wasn’t hard.” With a smile Moriarty nodded at a man suddenly standing in the doorway with a piece of wood.
The man crossed the room swiftly and brought the wood down on Martin’s left arm with a loud crack. Martin screamed.
The man, whom Mycroft recognised as being Moriarty’s second, Sebastian Moran, raised the piece of wood again.
“Stop!” It took Mycroft a second to realise it was not Sherlock who had said that but himself. Moriarty turned to look at him. His face was half curious, half delighted.
“Mycroft?” Sherlock’s voice was confused and Mycroft found his eyes closing because what have I done?
“Oh dear Sherlock. All your work for nothing. Big Brother has just confirmed everything. Was it your Mummy? Or your Daddy? Were you mad when they told you about the itty bitty secret screaming in their closet?” Mycroft’s eyes were forced open when Moriarty grabbed his chin and stared at him while he spoke.
“Ciao, Sherlock. I’ll be in touch.”
Sherlock threw his phone across the room as Moriarty hung up. Only luck had it landing somewhat safely on the sofa and not smashing against the wall.
“Damn it!” Sherlock yelled, following it with a string of swear words that John was sure Sherlock had picked up from him.
“What just happened?” Carolyn said, the first to get their voice back after Sherlock’s outburst.
“Mycroft happened, that’s what. He interfered and stuffed everything up.” Sherlock deflated as the anger suddenly left him and he sank into his chair.
“Are you saying there’s no way to find Skipper now?” Arthur asked in a small voice.
Before Sherlock had even opened his mouth, Carolyn answered her son. “No he’s not. Because I refuse to let that be the case. If he can’t help, that’s fine. We’ll leave him here to grieve or celebrate and find Martin even if I have to search every building in the country!”
She was breathing heavily by the end of her speech and for a moment the room was silent. Then Sherlock slowly rose and moved to stand before Carolyn.
“Every building in the country is a tall order. Would you permit me to eliminate some?” He asked softly.
“Perhaps.” She said, meeting his eyes.
“Excellent.” Sherlock grinned, a smile John recognised from countless cases if a bit dimmer than the usual one. He jumped when Sherlock addressed him.
“John! Contact my homeless network; give them orders to start searching for sightings of Martin or Mycroft. And for sightings of any of the men on the list in the breadbox. Their photos are by the toaster. Give the same information to Lestrade and Dimmock. See what they make of it.”
John nodded, and then paused as a thought occurred to him. “I’ll give it to Gregson as well.” Sherlock went to protest but John, for once, cut him off. “Trust me, Sherlock.”
There was a brief pause then Sherlock gave a slight tilt of his head in agreement. John gave his friend a small smile then left the room. Sherlock turned to the MJN crew.
“Douglas, how are your contacts in London?”
Douglas’ eyes narrowed. “Reasonable. None criminal.”
“There’s a map on the shelf, under the knife. See what your “friends” know about those locations and any businesses marked in red.” Sherlock started to pace. “Arthur, make coffee. Black, two sugars.”
“Oh wow. Just like Skip’s! Just not as sugar filled.” Sherlock hid his smile as Arthur bounced into the kitchen.
Carolyn suddenly moved into his path. “What about me? I’m not staying here or doing nothing while Martin is in danger.”
Sherlock eyed her critically, then gave her a conspiring smile. “How good are you at intimidating government officials?”