Author's Note: Alright then folks, here we have it. My gift to the EyeofMazikeen. I'm going to go ahead and explain a few things.
1) This story is completely unaffiliated with the Circle series or any other series in the future.
2) This is an M fic for a reason. That's right folks. Sex, and of the bondage variety. Let the faint of heart (or, you know, anyone who isn't into that sort of thing) leave this place now.
3) Moriarty. As in I SPEAK in EVERY POSSIBLE vocal combination.
BOLD is for stress words. If it's capitalized, it's super important.
If its JUST capitalized, then he's accentuating the word, but not shouting it.
If its italicized, he's mocking or using general sarcasm. If THAT'S capitalized, he's shouting it as well.
Here they were once more.
Another round of the dance.
Choro de potentes viri.
the opening of a door.
The dance of powerful men.
Th voice entered the room in his usual brass manner, his umbrella rapping on the concrete floor.
He heard him walk around the table.
Felt the scrape of burlap over damaged skin as he wrenched the bag from his face.
Blinked into the now blinding light of the room, his head spinning from the disorienting change.
"Glad to see that you're still with us."
Moriarty yanked at his cuffed hands involuntarily, wincing as the steel bit into his bruised wrists.
"Care to speak with me today?"
He turned his head to glare at the man before him.
The British Government.
"Or not, the silence really doesn't suit you, you know. It's quite stifling really. Honestly I had been led to believe that you were quite the chatty sort."
He shrugged, seating himself on the edge of the table nearest the consulting criminal.
"It's a pity, truly."
He picked at a bit of lint on his collar.
"I nearly find myself wondering what your voice really sounds like."
Moriarty simply stared at him, his impossibly large brown eyes boring into the British Government.
Without any preamble his hand lashed out, grasping Moriarty's chin in a vice like grip.
He leaned in, hot breath scalding bruised skin.
"You know that all you have to do to end this is to speak. Just one word and I can make the pain stop."
Moriarty smirked, his cuffed hand snagging the cloth of Mycroft's trousers.
He tilted his head up fractionally, his smirk blossoming into a full blown grin.
More than a month in captivity, and not a word spoken.
"Maybe I don't want it to stop."
His voice was broken, rough from disuse, the words little more than a cracked whisper.
Yet he still managed a lyrical quality.
Mycroft sat back, releasing the man's face.
If he was surprised by Moriarty's sudden outburst, it didn't show.
Instead he simply and stood, walking behind the chair before stopping.
"See there? That wasn't so difficult was it?"
Moriarty tilted his head to the side, his gaze still resting firmly forward at the steel door.
Now came the question.
The one that was the center point to every encounter.
"What is your scheme James? What is your plan?"
The man shuddered, his next words spoken softly, near monotone.
"Why do you care?"
Moriarty's head straitened, his voice turning hard, a shout.
"Why. Do. You. Care."
He slammed his hands against the metal arms of his chair, the chains of his cuffs rattling noisily.
"It's integral to insuring the safety of-"
"The peoples of the nation. I KNOW. YOUR FUCKING. SPIEL."
Silence filled the room as Moriarty fought to contain his emotions, and Mycroft waited.
"That is not what I asked. I asked why you care. YOU. Mycroft fucking Holmes. It's a one word answer. We both know this one. Say it with me."
He opened his mouth, but sensed that the politician was making no move too comply.
The grin that split the psychopath's features could only be described as delighted.
"See there? That wasn't so HARD was it?"
Mycroft sighed, removing his jacket while walking around the table.
He hung it carefully over the back of the opposite chair, before rolling up his sleeves.
"Do you intend to mock me now that you've found your voice? That seems dreadfully dull, does it not?"
Moriarty rolled his eyes, disgust contorting his features.
"What seems awfully dull, Mycroft, is your, well let's call them antiquated methods of information gathering."
He shrugged, cocking his head drastically to the side.
"I mean everyone uses the old, bruise and beat method. You rough 'em up-"
He punched his hands in the air.
"-forget to feed and water them occasionally."
He twitched his nose.
"Deny them personal hygiene until it's unbearable to share a room with them."
"Then you clean 'em up, dress them real nice, and truss them up in a quaint little cell while you PESTER THE HELL OUT OF THEM."
Moriarty sighed, hanging his head.
"And here I was under the impression that the British Government himself was interrogating me. How depressing to discover that it's little more that an over grown cupcake in a suit. My GOD could you be anymore BORING!"
Mycroft smirked, just the faintest of twitches at the corner of his mouth.
Without another word he stood and flung open the door stepping out side and slammng it behind him.
That's a change pace.