A/N: Sorry about short chapters :c I'm new to writing and trying to improve, easily distracted, blah, blah, etc. Honestly, I've never forced myself to write anything, ever. I'm going to attempt biweekly updates at the very least, but bare with me and send some love/critique :3
Sherlock was silent on the drive, letting Smith direct the car to wherever his dear brother desired. He felt no remorse, but he was not keen on what his brother's reaction would be. Obviously Mycroft's demands were beyond ridiculous. Not allowed to leave his own flat? It was childish, low even for his dear brother.
Sherlock didn't recognize the building when Smith finally pulled the car to a stop. He had been expecting perhaps Mycroft's office or one of those clubs he so enjoyed to socialize at, not a shabby looking dump on the outskirts of London. Curious, he could feel his heart rate escalate slightly. His brother had always had a certain flair for the dramatic but, this was too much. Sherlock suspected Mycroft was going to attempt to scare him, which wouldn't work. He suppressed an uncharacteristic giggle at the thought. He had already been within inches Moriarty, himself, and there wasn't anything much scarier than being face to face with that psychopath. Not that Sherlock had been scared of the man, he felt more of an obligation to rescue his comrade.
Smith parked the car and exited his seat, coming round to the right side of the car. He opened the door casually, but had an air about him that said, 'Try anything and you will instantly regret it.' The other man stood nearby, ready to pounce should the need arise. Sherlock got out of the car with as much grace as he could muster before being grabbed roughly by the arm and directed into the most likely insect-infested building.
Surprisingly, the inside did not look nearly so run-down as the outside did. Perhaps, he thought, Mycroft used this as some sort of secret base where he dragged petty criminals who committed minor crimes against the government. Sure enough, Smith led him down a flight of stairs to a door that looked to be made of iron. Smith pulled a badge from his pocket and slid it into the reader on the right of the ominous door. The light blinked green and Sherlock was pushed inside what was clearly a holding cell. Two chairs and a table sat in the middle of the room along with a two-way mirror on the wall and a medium sized television attached to the corner of the room.
"Wait here," said Smith, as if Sherlock could have done something else, as he closed the door. Sherlock stood perplexed, this was his favorite part in his brother's dramatic delusions. Was the holding cell meant to intimidate him? He could have laughed. Surely his brother knew better. He took the nearest chair facing the two-way mirror and leaned forward on his elbows, fingers steepled in a contemplative manner.
It didn't take long for Mycroft to slide into the room. He wore an expensive-looking, neat, grey suit and a worried expression on his face. He walked, cautiously, up to the table. "I suppose you thought I would make it easy for you, hmm?" He glanced down at Sherlock with disdain. "This man, Moriarty, I'm having a hard enough time trying to locate him, let alone deal with your arrogant pride. Why couldn't you have just listened and did as you were told for once in your life?" Mycroft placed both hands on the table as if to intimidate his younger brother.
Sherlock didn't answer, waiting for his brother to explain why he dragged him here if he was so busy. At Sherlock's silence, Mycroft withdrew a hand and ran his fingers through his hair. He sighed dramatically.
"Desperate measures are called for, I suppose..." Mycroft stared at his remaining hand and watched his fingers tap against the table.
"What are you getting at, Mycroft?" Sherlock gave his best apathetic look.
Mycroft looked up with a sneer. "I was hoping you would ask."
From his suit pocket, Mycroft pulled out a remote control and pointed it -without removing his gaze off of his brother- at the television, turning it on. It seemed to be surveillance footage of some sort, outside of a building. Sherlock watched, unable to look away, as a younger, more scraggly version of himself pulled a bat out of his shabby coat and smashed the window of the store. He came out moments later with a nervous air. He looked both ways before running off into the night.
Sherlock's face had a pale look of horror, as if he had seen a ghost. Keeping his voice steady, "What does that-" he gestured with disdain, "-have to do with anything?"
Mycroft smiled "Ah, I remember those good old days when you were as high as a kite as well. Thieving so you could fulfill your needs." He looked up thoughtfully, "I do sometimes wonder what would have happened if I hadn't found you, suffering from hypothermia and dying from an overdose. Your incessant drama was enough for a lifetime." He looked coolly back at Sherlock.
"Do you mean to bribe me with these? It won't work, Mycroft. I refuse to be bossed around by a self-righteous prick." He hardened his own gaze, challenging Mycroft.
"I was hoping you didn't mind if I showed these to your... roommate. I'm sure he'd appreciate knowing he lives with a former criminal."
"It was petty crime and it was years ago! It's irrelevant." Though there was protest in Sherlock's voice, the realization he was beat was beginning to creepy into his facial expression. He couldn't let John know. What if his one and only friend moved out because of his stupid brother blabbing about his past?
"I'm sure the straight-laced military man that John is, could easily forgive your track record." Mycroft donned a fake grimace and shook his head. "Surely this wouldn't make him want to turn tail and find another, more clean, flatmate..."
"Okay, fine!" he snapped, "Just don't show John." Sherlock's face was stern, but his eyes flashed a pathetic pleading to Mycroft before returning to a fiery hatred. "And try not to keep to that snail's pace of investigating that you're used to. Don't think you can keep me held up with blackmail forever."
"Oh I don't intend to, but everything would be so much easier if you were to stay in one place." Mycroft gestured to the door. "You're free to go now."
Eager to get out of this oppressive atmosphere, Sherlock stood and edged toward the door. Before Sherlock could turn the handle, Mycroft added one last jibe, "I find it rather humorous that you'll behave for your flatmate, but not your own mother."
Sherlock turned and stared at his brother. "She never put up with my experiments." In a blur of rage, Sherlock exited the room.
End! Also I realize that Mycroft would be too busy to deal with petty criminals, but think of it more as him dealing with internal affairs that the outside world doesn't need to know about.
AAANNNNDDD I realize I suck xD