#bamf!mycroft

[aufanficfanatic]

I want a fic where Mycroft is secretly a total badass, or at least started out as a total badass ... like MI6—James Bond-y—Lara Croft shit.  And his brother had no idea until one day the two brothers get into some shit and Mycroft surprises the hell out of him by totally kicking ass.  Black-Widow's the shit out of all the bad guys.

Does this fic exist?  Can someone make this fic exist? I don't wanna write it I wanna READ IT.  HEY YOU, READING THIS RIGHT NOW.  I'M PROMPTING YOU.  GO. 

[lexxxwasniahc]

Sudden powerful need for Mycroft, sans jacket... using his umbrella on some criminal element or spy or something... and just... full evil genius mode on the guy (as in the scene with Jim later in RF)

[blauerkeks]

A Grave Mistake

Title: A grave mistake

Summary: They took his brother's life, he took theirs in revenge. And now, they are taking his.

Warning: Character Death

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“I would never have thought that you of all people would sit here one day.”

The room was cold, empty. Unfurnished except for one chair in the middle, a little one made of wood, one you could find in every kitchen of any poor household. Nothing else, only a chair, a door, and two people looking at each other with cold, calm eyes. One was smiling, blood dripping from his chin, hair, and clothes.

It wasn’t his.

The other person, a tall, but old man with tiny eyes shooting daggers at the other, would normally have everyone shivering in fear. His eyes would burn holes in the flesh and soul of the damned creature sitting in this room, guards outside listening to every word, cameras recording the events from every corner. All hidden from the eyes of the prisoner, but this tied man saw everything. Knew it by heart because he had been the one who had created this room.

“You’ve been our best man and now… this? Highly inappropriate, don’t you think?”

The answer was nothing but an amused smile, eyebrows raised. The fabric of the man’s suit was completely soaked and darkened by blood. It seemed to cover his whole skin, only tiny spots revealing the pale, almost white skin underneath the red liquid, mostly already dried.

Outside, they began to burn the corpses, more than fifty dead men and women. Their blood on his clothes was the only evidence of the events that had just happened, no recordings in order to keep this hidden from the public’s eyes. No one would ever know what had happened inside this building somewhere in Britain, hidden underneath the grass of a park, the entrance nothing more than a little house camouflaged as the cottage of the caretaker.

Right above them, little children and parents would never know that beneath their feet, a single man killed more than fifty people in a few minutes with nothing more than a rifle, a sword, and his bare hands.

“Fifty people, they all have families waiting for them to return. Children, wives, and husbands. Don’t you feel guilty?”

No answer. Just that cold, calm smile with the knowledge that this would end soon. Most men would fear death, but the chained man didn’t fear it, he wished for it to come. He didn’t feel guilty, why should he? Had they felt guilty, yesterday, as they killed the only person keeping him alive? The pictures of the bullet rushing through the head still made him angry, but an empty version of the emotion. He wasn’t able to feel anything.

Nothing at all.

“Answer me, do you feel guilty, Holmes?”

“Did you feel guilty taking him away from me?”

His voice was smooth as usual, calm, charming, and yet cold and emotionless. The standing man shivered slightly, looking surprised and angry at the same time. Mycroft Holmes didn’t avoid the glance trying to tear him apart, didn’t feel fear or anger. He’d had his revenge.

“You want me to believe you did this because we killed one man? One man who endangered the entire nation and almost made top-secret information available for not only the public and the reporters, but also one of the most dangerous terror cells in Europe?”

Mycroft titled his head slightly, not confused, but creepy, knowing it would render his superior more upset than he was now. “Of course, sir.”

“Why?”

The politician looked up to his superior, his expression blank and his voice icy as he spoke. “You took his life, sir, so I took the lives of your employees in revenge.”

The slap hit him hard, causing his head to turn to the side, a loud sound echoing. A red mark slowly got visible on the cheek, a strong contrast to the pale, white skin. There was a loud crack as Mycroft turned his head back, facing his superior with a calm, creepy smile. The other man was furious beyond his normal, typical British self-control, a vein pulsating on his temple. It all amused Mycroft.

“Don’t give me that speech, Holmes. You killed fifty people. Fifty. Don’t you realise what that means?”

“I do, sir,” Mycroft answered, his eyes not leaving his superior’s for a second, not blinking, like a corpse. His eyes were dead. “But do you realise what you did by killing him?”

There was silence. Neither of them said anything, Mycroft waiting for an answer, his superior trying not to kill him already. The gun was hidden underneath the fabric of the other man’s waistcoat. It would end soon. Mycroft was already counted the seconds.

“You destroyed the most brilliant mind in the whole world. You shot a bullet through his skull, watched as his blood and brain splattered on the ground beneath him as his lifeless body fell down. The most intelligent human-being in the world.” Mycroft leant forward, his expression suddenly icy and deadly. His eyes were dead. The anger only visible because of his lips, corners curled up to a grimace of anger. “My brother, sir. My brother.”

“He sold information. He stole your ID more than once to break into our labs and you still support him? Don’t tell me your love for him was stronger than your loyalty to Britain.”

Titling his head, Mycroft tutted. “It wasn’t stronger, sir. It is.”

The other man took the gun out. Mycroft leant back, letting his neck crack for the last time. He wasn’t able to hear them, but he knew in the watching room, they were all cheering. Kill that bastard, kill the man who killed so many of our agents. No, he didn’t care. He had no reason to. All he wanted to do was die, and join his brother wherever he was right now.

“You even managed to kill the assassin who shot your brother, I can’t deny I am impressed by your ability to find everything out, Holmes. That’s why I hate doing this, you were one of our best, probably the best. A shame.

“You took my brother’s life,” Mycroft said as the gun aimed for his head, not bothering to answer directly to his boss who smirked, “I took yours in revenge.”

The safety was released.

“Now you’re taking mine.”

The man let his finger rest on the trigger, his eyes cold and full of satisfaction, angry at Mycroft and his calmness even while looking in death’s eye.

“Can you see me smile, sir, can you?”

His superior looked at him coldly, his finger twitching, ready to pull the trigger. Mycroft smiled, his eyes burning holes into the other man’s soul. The grin of the devil, a demon welcoming death with a warm embrace.

“Any last words, Holmes?”

“Fuck off.”