A/N: hello dearests! Here is the first chapter of a potential story, a little different from anything I've done before, but I would love to know if you guys think I should continue. It is of course going to contain Holmes brotherly love with some Mycroft Whump! and possible hints at MorMor, but not a major focus on the latter. I hope you like my interpretation of Sebastian! I'm deeply sorry for issues incharacterisation, but I hope you enjoy :)

If you have the time do feel free to review xx

It crept slowly around him at first, like death's shadowy blanket coming to take him by surprise. He wondered where the sudden chill was coming from, the one which was slowly trickling down his spine like the beginning of an icicle web.

Mycroft Holmes slowly returned back to consciousness as his cheek which was pressed against the floor burned not by fire, but by ice. It took a lot of will for him to get his eyelids to cooperate and cautiously start to open. His surroundings were considerably blurred; Mycroft vaguely noted this probably meant he had suffered a blow to the head at some point.

In his barley lucid state Mycroft was internally ashamed of how his awareness of the situation and thought patterns were so fragmented. He had no idea where he was or how he got there, all he did remember was returning home that evening and never making it to the front door. His security team where going to have to face some harsh consequences, that was for sure.

Mycroft rolled his head slightly to give some relief to his crushed cheek, and as his vision began to clear he realised how dull his surroundings truly were. There was nothing covering the small walls that entrapped him; in fact the whole place was completely bare. He was at the back of the confined space, facing the heavy metal door which was taunting him with the possibility of escape, but Mycroft knew that it would be locked.

The elder Holmes' head was telling him to get up and deduce the situation properly, but his body was taking the opposite approach and telling him to stay curled up on the floor no matter how ridiculous he looked. Mycroft wanted to sleep, unusual since he could normally fight the basic need well but right then he wanted nothing more than to drift. However, he knew this was a very bad idea if he was in fact concussed, and Mycroft listened to his head above all else.

With that, Mycroft struggled to push himself up as only then did he realise just how much his hands were shaking, but it was not just his hands, it was his hold body trembling like a leaf in the wind;if there was one thing Mycroft Holmes hated more than anything it was to be seen as weak and frail, but it was so god damn cold.

And that's when he realised why he was so cold as he propped his upper body up on frozen palms, still on shaky knees. Mycroft let out a trembling breath and watched it swirl in front of him, relishing the freedom before disappearing completely. He had been locked in a freezer.

It appeared that the cold was already taking its toll on Mycroft's highly established mind; it would usually never have taken him so long to come to such a simple conclusion.

He finally stood up, legs trembling like never before. Although he initially brushed down his still intact suit, he then wrapped his arms firmly around his chest and started rubbing his arms furiously. Sense told him that this would not bring up his body temperature at all, but Mycroft wanted to try and battle the bite and sense was perhaps already leaving him; one of his biggest fears in the world, other than watching his little brother perish. Yes, Mycroft Holmes has fears; he is human after all.

Mycroft managed to slowly drag his eyes around the room, but there was really nothing to deduce in the frustrating emptiness. No windows, just the door. He slowly made his way over to the structure, his feet almost dragging across the floor. He placed a hand on the door when he reached it, but then immediately snapped back as it was unbearably cold - he feared his fingers might become attached.

Quickly rapping his knuckles on the door and listening, Mycroft deduced the thickness of the metal - far too thick to bother calling for help. He then studied the lock, again, it seemed impenetrable and he did not even have anything to try and break it or even pick it with.

Giving up with that part, Mycroft started to move - with painfully slow and shaky steps - around the rest of the freezer. The walls were all solid as expected. Eventually, he came across the faintest red smear on one of the walls - blood. He bent down to sniff it cautiously -not human, pig, likely from some cut meat, perhaps the freezer was in an old restaurant used the store the food.

Mycroft sighed with despair and watched as his breath spiralled and disappeared again. That had pretty useless. Other than that, Mycroft could guess the temperature was at or below -23 degrees Celsius, and he had been in there long enough to start developing mild symptoms of hypothermia. Whoever had kidnapped him clearly did not want him dead. Yet. But Mycroft had too many enemies to even begin to guess who was behind this and he refused to accept the obvious choice.

Although Mycroft had little to go on concerning where he was, the question of who had brought him there seemed it could soon be answered as the sound of the door being unlocked brought Mycroft to his full attention - well, the attention he was capable of with a cold riddled brain.

The elder Holmes stood strong, his arms folded in a rather impatient manner and an eyebrow raised to signal he was severely unimpressed. However, he had to show great control and suppression of the shivers wracking his normally well held frame.

"Oh, well this is a surprise" Mycroft's voice dripped with sarcasm as the door opened and his captor came into view.

The way the man held himself like a solider, the all black attire like the uniform of a killer, but more importantly the instantly recognisable scar which ran across the man's left eye. Ex-solider, dishonourably discharged for going AWOL, on the run for years now and on Britain's most wanted list, Moriarty's right-hand man; Sebastian Moran.

"The boss is sorry he can't be here..." If people thought Mycroft sounded emotionless, then Sebastian was a machine. "But he has more important people to attend to" he smirked.

"What exactly is the point in me being here if he cannot grace me with his presence?" Mycroft asked, only hoping his voice would not betray him yet.

"Don't need him, I'm in charge" Sebastian affirmed.

Mycroft scoffed with derision "please, you're his pet"

"People care for their pets" Sebastian shrugged "which is more than can be said for you. Does anyone really care for the great Mycroft Holmes?" He asked with openly malicious intent.

Mycroft's expression deepened into a frown and he was suddenly more aware of the cold than before.

"Caring is n-not an a-advantage" Mycroft silently cursed himself for the way his words trembled but his expression remained as firm as possible.

Sebastian, however, appeared to revel in Mycroft's suffering and smirked gleefully.

"We'll see if your dear little brother agrees" the madman teased "If he actually takes your words of wisdom and they come back to bite you in the..."

"That's why you're doing this?" Mycroft interrupted "To get to Sherlock?" He asked incredulously. "Well I really was the wrong choice. It will never work"

Sebastian let out a cold-hearted laugh "oh yeah, your own brother doesn't love you enough to come and save you, the jokes really on us" he said sarcastically.

Mycroft went to bite back with a retort, but by his own shame he closed his mouth again and looked at the floor. Surely Sherlock did not hate him that much that he would just leave him to die? Mycroft accepted that they had their differences, but he did not know what he would do if anything happened to Sherlock. There was a difference between not liking someone and not loving them.

"People will already realise I'm gone" Mycroft spoke lowly, almost in a mumble now.

"And I'll be ready for them if they come" Sebastian said with danger and aggression in his voice "you take on a madman you get what you deserve"

"W-why here?" Mycroft asked.

Sebastian looked surprised before spreading his arms wide in dramatic gesture - very much in Moriarty's style. "You are the iceman, this is your castle. You thrive here" he stated.

"How v-very clev-ver" Mycroft attempted to mock but all he really wanted to do was collapse, sleep and not ever get up.

"James sees it as a sort of experiment" Sebastian explained "You see, you're the iceman because your emotions are numb. So, in theory, this shouldn't be a problem for you if you are as numb as they say. But, which will make you go numb first? the cold, or the fear of being left here to die" Sebastian smiled gleefully then.

"You w-won't..."Mycroft stammered, but he could not take it anymore and fell the ground. His legs were shaking too much to support his weight and his breathing was becoming erratic.

"Won't what? Get away with it?" Sebastian leered. "I think we will just by your own admission. Sherlock's not coming for you" With that, the henchman turned and opened the door, stepping outside. He paused and turned back to Mycroft. "Interesting, this must be the start of hell actually freezing over" he smiled, before striding out and slamming the door shut.

Mycroft - not quite caring how pathetic he looked now - practically crawled his way over to the far corner of the frozen box. Taking off his jacket with trembling fingers, he curled up and threw the garment over himself like a blanket. He knew it would have very little effect, but all he could do was fight to survive in anyway he could. He would not leave Sherlock on his own again. He had promised.

No, Sherlock would not leave him here to die. The younger Holmes could be an annoying brat, but he was not malicious. Mycroft believed in his brother.

He believed in Sherlock Holmes.