London - 2009

Mycroft Holmes was not a man given to intense or prolonged bouts of fear. His work, while dangerous, was secret, and because of it, there were numerous safeguards in place to ensure both his safety and that of his family. There was also no true personal life to speak of. No partners or lovers he could inadvertently leak important information to, or who would choose to kill him in the middle of the night. No friends that would one day become too curious about what he did and seek to know more through any means, or sell what they did to the highest bidder. His parents too were mostly kept in the dark, and even his brother, whom he occasionally sought out for fieldwork, was given limited information.

When it came right down to it, Mycroft Holmes was not only the most important and dangerous man in Britain, but also the most well protected. The British Prime Minister came a close second in terms of security, followed by the Royal Family, but Mycroft was a well of sensitive knowledge and as such was at the center of a massive web of security. He had no reason to fear and even when he did, there was little use for it.

That was until South Korean elections went from two years to one year away, and he found himself waking up beneath the flickering lights of an abandoned house's basement to the sound of a woman's voice in his ear. "Nice of you to join us, Mr. Holmes," she said in perfect English. "You know why we're here."

"I don't." Mycroft shook his head to clear it and lifted his eyes to scan his companions. Three in total, if he included the woman behind him. "Why should I?"

"Because you've had a look around." The woman straightened and he turned his head. "If you're as good as they say you are, you should know who we are, where we come from, and what we want by now."

Mycroft waited two beats before he replied. "I don't have it."

Female laughter erupted from behind him and he felt a hand land on his shoulder. "Come now, Mr. Holmes," she replied as if they were old friends and he was making a joke. "You don't expect us to believe you don't have that information pigeonholed in there somewhere," her hands moved to gently tap his head, "just waiting for you to reach in and grab it?"

"I assure you," Mycroft began, "I have no interest in interfering with your organization's attempts to, shall we say influence, the coming elections." He paused. "If it is information you seek, I can provide you with the number of someone with access to it. My personal assistant, the only other person besides me with access to the vault hidden away in my study. There's a flash drive."

Silence followed his declaration and he very nearly thought that perhaps they weren't convinced. Then the woman spoke again. "Phone," she ordered from behind him. "Let's make this quick, shall we?"

Sherlock Holmes was sleeping. It wasn't particularly late in the night, but he'd just finished a week-long case with New Scotland Yard (triple homicide, earned itself a nine on his scale). So his body had needed it, and he'd crashed about four hours previous. The ringing phone woke him though, and he was coherent quickly, thinking it could be another case. Unfortunately, it wasn't Lestrade, but his brother's own personal servant, and he made a face as he answered the phone. "This better be important." He said, forgoing a greeting as he sat up in bed.

"Sherlock, we have a situation." The woman who'd chosen and kept the name Anthea, among others, spoke quickly. Her voice wasn't the usual distracted, but rather insistent. "Mycroft's been taken."

"What?" Sherlock blinked a couple times, throwing the covers off of himself. That could mean any number of things, but Anthea wouldn't have called him if it hadn't been life and death. Mycroft was in danger.

"You heard me, look, I need you to go to his estate as soon as possible. I'm sending a car. ETA five minutes."

"Fine. What happened?" Sherlock asked, putting the phone on speaker as he got out of bed and started putting clothes on. Dark jeans and a dark dress shirt instead of his usual suit. It was summer, but London in the evening still required his coat. At least that was his excuse for wanting to wear it.

Anthea spoke quickly, relaying the information. "Mr. Holmes was taken an hour ago by a small group, Koreans. We lost three people in the process. We have little knowledge about these people in general, however the woman on the phone wanted information on the South Korean elections. Information that is supposedly on a flash drive." She paused. "I spoke to him, he is alive for the moment. But they did reiterate they were planning on killing him if I did not come through with the information."

"And you need me to make the exchange?" Sherlock concluded, picking up the phone and bringing it to his ear. "It's not the real information though, that's why I'm going in to get him out."

"Yes." She replied impassively. "This information is dangerous, as well as valuable to many people, entire nations. The drive I have is a dummy drive. Falsified information, details wrong, good enough to pass initial examination. You're familiar."

"Yeah, got it." Sherlock said, grabbing his Belstaff and then heading outside, just in time to get in the car. It was empty except for the driver, who didn't say anything as they took him back off for Mycroft Holmes' estate home. He continued on the phone instead. "I assume they'll contact you again to secure the drop off location."

"Yes. They've also said that involving anyone else will result in his immediate execution. Apparently they have a source that would know and tip them off. I'll be looking into the personal files later, but for now, we have to get him out."

"How wonderful." Sherlock quipped.

"That's all I have for now, Sherlock, I'll see you shortly." The call ended and Sherlock put the phone back in his pocket. Inhaling deeply as he sorted through the facts, his mind worked quickly in an attempt to file through all the eventualities and possible outcomes. But one thing he knew for certain. He'd get his brother back whatever it took.