"Ugh…." 

London was pretty sure it was him making a painful groan as his body reboots. With a pounding inside his head that makes even his teeth ache, he slowly begins to blink open his eyes.

Dim light soothes his vision as it blurs and focuses. All he can do is roll his gaze around. His body is heavy and sluggish and he can feel that he's on something solid and flat, but that's about all.

The dank walls are peeling, blooms of green mold making a patchwork across the grey. Cobwebs, dust, and ivy hang like some kind of eerie bunting from the ceiling. The cracked, dirt-caked windows are partly sealed off by planks of rotting wood, though he manages to just see that it's dark outside.

Rain hammers on the metal corrugated roof above, but it's hard to distinguish that from the drumming of his headache.

Looks like an abandoned warehouse. At least he was kind of on the right track with the "1895 Warehouse". The thought gives less comfort than he'd hoped. And he was beginning to wish all his senses weren't suddenly returning. The musty, damp smell invades his nose and makes him attempt a weak cough.

London groans lightly again, trying to roll off whatever he was on. But his arms don't budge, and neither do his ankles. Glancing down in a sudden panic, he finds leather straps binding limbs in place. The thick metal buckles pinch into his skin, the cold iron biting like ice.

"You're finally awake."

London gritted his teeth, anger surging through his body, fighting against the bonds with the sudden fire that's stirred within. The straps don't budge but he continues anyway, letting out a yell with the effort.

"Please don't strain yourself." 

London cranes his head towards the voice. A blurry yet somewhat familiar face slowly comes into focus. 

Dr Murray. And he used the term "Doctor" very loosely. The man was anything but that. Murray was a parasite plain and simple. A parasite that was hell-bent on taking down Alexander for whatever he may or may not have done to Murray. London on more than one occasion had Murray locked away but the man was like a rat. He always managed to find his way back out into the world and right back into London's path.

"You'll still be recovering from the drug I gave you to keep you quiet."

Shoes squeaking against the floor as he walks around the medical table London suddenly realizes he's on.

Exhaustion claws at London's arms and legs but he keeps going, struggling and pulling at the bonds. Whatever  Dr Murray used on him still blurs the edges of his mind as he pushes on, trying to force himself from the straps.

After a few minutes, while Murray just watches with crossed arms, London finally collapses back on the table. His chest rises steeply with heavy breaths.

"Feel better?" 

Murray asks with a smirk. London glares at him. 

"Now that's out of your system, we can get on to the real task." 

He approaches closer, the light catching his face. His clammy skin glistens with perspiration. He notices where London's gaze has fallen and gives a heavy shrug. 

"Excuse my appearance. You are rather hard to keep down. You are tougher than you look. I am impressed."

He raises a hand to tug back his strands of lank, sweat-soaked hair, his fingers shaking. London rests further onto the table, letting out a long breath. 

"You know, I've been told that a lot lately."

Murray replies, with a half-formed smile.

"I'm sure you have."

His words and the drawn-out way he says them make London tense.

He makes to step away and London let's his attention follow, head rolling to one side. As he does, he spies a polished metal tray by the side of the bed. A selection of vicious-looking medical tools he can only imagine they're designed to inflict pain rather than heal, lay like a row of shark's teeth on its surface.

"Oh, don't worry about those."

Murray says with a smile. 

"They're just for show…unless you misbehave, of course. Then they'll be most useful." 

He winks, sending a shudder rattling down London's back that adds to the aches already there.

London's gaze flashes from the ceiling, to the metal tray and then finally back to Murray. He swallows down uncertainty and steadies his voice. 

"You know, I remember this not working out so well the other times you've tried it."

Murray's face contorts into an angry sneer. 

"I don't need the reminder, Detective."

London laughed to himself. Murray always referred to him as 'Detective' and normally he would brush it off but whenever it was said by Murray, it made London's skin crawl.

"Well, considering you're going to try this on me, again, I really think you do."

The sneer turns to a frown. 

"The other times I've tried this may have been failures, but I finally understand what I was doing wrong."

London keeps his hands steady at his sides, trying to keep his composure as he glances away from the instruments of torture. 

"You know what happens to bad guys who reveal all of their plans, right?"

Murray sneers. 

"I'm not a bad guy, Detective. Just desperate and now I'm insulted."

London, this time, laughs out loud.

"I'm so sorry for hurting your feelings."

Murray's sneer twists into true anger at London's continued sarcasm even in the face of impending torture. London's sarcasm turns to a stinging sensation as the Doctor jabs the needle into his arm with violent force that not even London has inflicted upon himself with his "7 Percent Solution". Murray doesn't apologize. Afterwards, he walks to the other side, burying another needle into London's other arm.

"I wonder if that spirit of yours will remain so strong after this?" 

It's a couple of seconds before the Doctor pushes down on the needles while London watched in fascination, when suddenly...

Pain erupts like acid searing through his veins.

White-hot agony explodes around his body.

His back arches.

He screams.

Darkness. It's all that consumes London for a long while. Although he's not sure how long, but it certainly feels like an eternity.

Then light flutters at the edge of his senses. There's a noise too. Something familiar. A sound that makes his skin crawl….

"Detective? Come on. You have to be alive."

London's eyes peel open slowly, and he instantly squeezes them shut again as the dim light pierces into his head. 

"Ow…."

"Oh! You're alive! You're really alive!" 

A hand shoves back the matted hair from London's sweat-lined face, the gesture almost as heavy as a slap. The excitement in the voice sends a ripple of pain through his head and body. There's a definite taste of metallic blood on his tongue.

Finally, London forces his eyes open again and get a sickening sense of déjà vu. The same dilapidated room greets him. Peeling walls, wood-blocked windows, moldy furniture…and Murray.

The tray and needles are gone, at least.

"It worked! Can you believe it?"

With no energy to respond, London is thankful when a sudden clatter echoes from outside the room and interrupts Murray's very loud celebration.

Murray spins on his heel, glaring at the door, before returning his gaze to London. 

"Excuse me, Detective, I shall be but a minute. I want to make sure we are enjoying this moment alone. Don't, uh, go anywhere."

And with a chuckle at his own joke, he heads out of the room, snapping the door shut behind him.

Silence settles over the room, the lack of sound soothing to the Consulting Criminals pain-racked body.

He's alone. Alone is what he has. Alone protects him.

His gaze flops to the door, not hearing footsteps.

Knowing he probably won't get another chance like this if he was to escape. But even the idea makes him hurt at the thought of moving; his energy is currently running near empty.

Dammit, Holmes. You've had training in this…you know what to do.

His limbs are painfully tense in the bonds. He just needs to relax them. Maybe with all the thrashing he did during whatever Murray had injected into him, they may have loosened…. The memories make his chest ache, but he pushes them away to concentrate on the task.

Letting out a deep breath, he closes his eyes and forces his body to relax. It takes a moment, but eventually his arms begins to slack against the table.

And he realizes there's room in the straps. It'll be a tight squeeze, but he can do it.

Keeping half an eye on the door, London quickly but carefully begins wiggling his wrists around in the bonds. Inch by painfully slow inch, his hands start to slip through the leather.

Gritting his teeth against the added pain, he gives a final yank and pulls his arms free. Not wasting any time, he sets about undoing the other straps.

When all his limbs are finally free, he slowly swings around, gritting his teeth as pain tears through his body at the movement. He then rises from the table.

As soon as his feet hit the floor, his knees buckle. He can barely contain the yelp of pain as his kneecaps crash onto the cracked tile ground.

Exhaustion threatens to keep him pinned. But he pushes through, breaths short and labored. He forces himself onto his feet. Using whatever furniture is nearby for support, he stumble towards the door.

There's no sound from outside as London cracks the door open, and shuffles out. His legs almost give out once again, causing him to fall against the wall to keep himself upright.

With pain continuing to feel like it's tearing at every muscle, he begins heading down the corridor at a slow pace. His hands rest on the soggy wall to guide him through the murky darkness.

The corridors are almost impossible to navigate. A stray shaft of moonlight streaking through a hole in the metal ceiling is the only thing to guide his way.

Cracked, fallen beams feel like hundred-foot hurdles as he tries to stagger over them, only to end up slipping in the rust-colored puddles on the other side. Rain beats against the roof, and dribbles of it trickle down the walls. His hands are chill and slick as he runs them along the wet surface to guide his way.

London's bare feet might be cut from the sharp debris lining the floor like a sadistic rug. But he's in so much agony, he can't really tell.

His breath fogs the air in front of him, making it even harder to see. He has to keep blinking his eyes rapidly just to stop them from closing altogether.

His fingers are numb. His legs are throbbing. His mouth is dry and cracked. His skin is scratched and bruised from the beating he took before Murray finally decided to inject him. And his hope is seemingly crushed with every dragged step.

After a few more paces, London's body slides down the wall. He crumples onto the ground in a heap. The pain and fatigue are too much, almost paralyzing him as he tries to catch his breath.

He's exhausted. Alone. Injured. And still really doesn't know what Murray has done to him.

He could just sit there and let the darkness take him.

It would be so much easier...

No! London almost shouts in his head. He can't let those thoughts consume him. He can do this! He will do this!

With a sudden albeit tired surge of optimism, he slaps his hands to the floor and begins to force himself onto his feet.

Gradually crawling upwards against the damp wall, he manages to stand. And with a deep breath to stem the aches, he presses onward, limping down the barely moon-brightened corridor. Drips of rain seep down his back.

A little clearer-headed but a lot more exhausted, he rounds a corner into a large empty factory room. Then he manages to almost stumble into someone coming around the other way.

His heart pounds to a stop.

Murray….

But the voice that says his name makes his entire body relax.

"London? You're alive!"

Elliot?

For a moment, London does not actually believe it, wondering if hes reached the point where he's hallucinating. Yet when his hand comes to grip his arm, the grasp firm, as though he's worried he might suddenly disappear, London knows he's real.

London dares a glance at Elliot, his expression taut with fear. He steps closer.

"You know you nearly gave me, gave us, heart attacks, right?"

His breath turns heavy, and even in London's exhaustion, he shivers at the warmth of it over his skin. For a moment, it looks as though he might envelop him in a hug.

But then footsteps echo around. London looks to the side to see Alexander staring at him in sheer relief.

Elliot shuffles a little away at Alexanders arrival.

London stumbles at the sudden weight lifted from his shoulders to see them here. Alexander, in a rare display of affection and protection, instantly steps up beside London, his body pressed against his to keep him standing.

"Where's Murray?"

London shrugs.

"I don't know. He took off when he heard, I assume, you two make your grand entrance. So I decided to make my grand exit."

Alexander tightened his grip around London's waist.

"We need to get you out of here before we can deal with Murray."

Elliot raised an eyebrow at the "we" comment. What in the hell would and could Alexander do? He was just about to voice that when another voice made its presence known. A voice that made London stand straighter.

"Deal with me? Just what are either of you planning to do with me?"

Murray appears from behind a cracked metal column on the far side from where London, Elliot and Alexander stand. In another show of protection, Alexander lets go of London, causing Elliot to take his weight as Alexander stands in front of his baby brother.

"Oh isn't this precious? The Brothers Holmes. A rare sight indeed."

Beams creak under the strain of the silent tension between everyone. Alexander breaks the silence.

"You really want to take us on?

Murray looks at Elliot, Alexander and London, who's doing his best to remain standing and defiant. Murray smirks.

"I'll take my chances."

Alexander slowly unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt cuffs.

"Are you sure about that?"

Murray stares at London, Alexander and Elliot.

"Like taking candy from a baby."

Alexander finishes unbuttoning his waistcoat and cuffs.

The tension finally cracks.

Elliot speeds forward, once again just a blur of motion before London's eyes. There's a heavy thump. London watches as Murray is catapulted across the room, slamming into one of the metal beams. It buckles and bends under the impact.

Elliot smirks…until Murray staggers back onto his feet and brushes himself off.

"You shouldn't have done that."

He hurls himself towards Elliot, who barely has time to realize what's happening before Murray is on him. Seeing that Elliot is in trouble, Alexander with a speed London never knew he had, moved forward to join in. One minute they blur into action, groans and thuds the only thing London can keep up with, and a moment later they pause to catch a breath, only to begin all over again the moment they caught it.

London presses his body to straighten a little. His face twists from the aches storming through him at the motion. Whatever Murray had injected him with was, if possible, going into overdrive and it took everything the Consulting Criminal had to stay conscious.

With Murray distracted, London stumbles over to an old piece of machinery, leaning against it to take some of the strain off of his cramping legs.

It's then he can turn his focus to the fight. Elliot, Alexander and Murray all blur in and out of sight as they attack and as hard as he tries, London just can't keep up with the speed and strength of it all. When a new headache begins to add to the old one, he finally looks away, letting out a groan. But after a few minutes, the punches and thumps suddenly silence. London returned his focus to the fight.

Murray is stumbling back from Elliot and Alexander, heavy breaths puffing out of them all and backs arched like hackles on a pack of wolves.

Murray slowly holds up his hands, and a smile cracks through his bruised face.

"It appears I'm fighting a losing battle."

London stands from his resting place and shuffles a little closer to hear. The echoes of Murray's words are almost lost beneath the continual pounding of the rain on the corrugated metal roof.

"Then just give up!" 

Elliot calls, his words strained with obvious fatigue. Murray's smile grows.

"Oh, but you don't understand. I said I can't beat you like this. It's lucky I have a backup plan."

Before anyone can process it, Murray appears right in front of London, eyes glaring into his.

"Time to test your worth, Detective."

He sneers, snapping a hand out towards London, who swings away from him as quickly as he can. But exhaustion and pain make the movement slow and barely balanced. Murray suddenly moves behind London, clamping a hand to the side of his face. The Consulting Criminal grits his teeth, trying to move, but his hand doesn't shift.

"This wasn't how I wanted this moment to go."

He jerks London's head to one side and plunges another needle into his neck followed up by a knife to his side.

London's yell echoes and pounds inside his head. Elliot and Alexander halt their rush to his side at the sight. Whatever pain he was in before explodes through him. His lungs tighten, and his breath suffocates in his throat. Deep red blood pools, seeping down his right side from the knife deeply embedded and cruelly ripped from him and a burning sensation that starts in his neck rapidly spreads through his body.

In a weak, instinctual move, London draws up a arm and snaps his elbow back into Murray's stomach. Amazingly, he stumbles away at the blow. London drops to his knees, clutching a hand to the searing wound in his side. Blood seeps through his fingers.

Elliot and Alexander suddenly close in around London, and they all watch as Murray begins to laugh.

"Shall we try this again?"

Elliot frowns and doesn't even wait a moment before rushing towards him.

Murray simply holds out a palm, and Elliot crashes into it like a concrete barrier. He flies back, crashing into the wall with an impact so hard a crater forms where he's smashed into it. Pieces of concrete crumble around him as he slumps to the ground.

London stares wide-eyed as Elliot manages to crawl onto all fours, a line of blood pooling over his bottom lip. He takes a strangled, gasping breath.

"Good god."

But Elliot clambers up again and heads for Murray. This time he's joined by Alexander who was showing a side of himself not even London could've deduced he had. They're all pummeled back with ease, landing in a spread of heaped, moaning bodies.

Murray smiles again, raising his hands in front of his face and flexing his fingers.

"Oh, this is even better than I could have imagined!"

The tag team of Elliot and Alexander force themselves up and try again. London's mind is beginning to spin at the amount of blood oozing from his wound.

"We've got to do something and bloody fast."

London reaches a shaky and bloodied hand into his trousers pocket. A small syringe sits on his palm. He has no idea what's inside, but it's obviously the only option they haven't tried. Fight fire with fire.

London glances at Murray still trying to deduce the man and form a plan, despite being half-blinded by the rain which pours from the roof. Alexander hisses in a whisper when he sees what his brother is attempting to do.

"What are you doing?"

Even now his brother was questioning. Now of all times?

"Besides being minutes away from collapsing and dying from blood loss? Giving you two a chance. Murray rather stupidly hasn't been paying attention to me. If I can wound or slow him down with what I am certain is the same thing hes used on me, you two can move in and finish the job."

Elliot and Alexander's face twists into uncertainty. London meets their eyes. 

"Trust me."

It's a few long seconds before Alexander's expression softens, while Elliot reluctantly nods.

"Keep him busy."

London says with less confidence than he'd care to admit.

And not a moment too soon, as Murray once more barrels towards them. He's ignoring London once again, as he has done throughout most of the fight.

Human error.

Flinging himself out of the way, London digs down deep and rolls to one side and instantly begin foraging through the rusted equipment strewn about the ground. For a long while there's nothing that might be useful. Desperation makes him grab the first thing he can find: a short piece of bent metal that looks like it might exert the same amount of damage as a dessert spoon.

But it's all he's got.

The signal for him to act comes when Alexander yells out, throwing his foot out at Murray's chest. Murray obviously not expecting such an attack from Alexander, tumbles backwards.

London moves.

Understanding widens Murray's eyes as the Consulting Criminal lunge forwards. But the expression is wiped away as quickly as his hand comes shoots out, knocking the bent metal out of London's hand and that's the opening he needed. He somehow stabs Murray in the neck and presses down on the needle. Murray quickly removes the syringe and swings his arm out again, this time London's sent skipping over the floor like a stone over water. London cries out, not thinking the pain could get any worse but suddenly proved very wrong. He clasps his right hand to the stab wound in his right side, trying to breathe through the pain scratching at every nerve in his body.

Murray clicks his tongue as he calmly stands back on his feet. Rolling his neck from side to side with a sickening crack.

"You should be more careful, Detective."

He barely has time to chuckle before Alexander and Elliot are once more on their feet as well and glaring at Murray.

The British Government and The Psychopath have their backs turned to London as he lays spread on the ground, once again forming a protective barrier. London knows he has to get back up….

Get up!

But as much as he tries he can't.

Shadow crawls from the edges of the room and begin to engulf him. He chokes against the weight of it, unconsciousness clawing and gripping at his mind. The warm flow of blood from his side and the burning sensation in his body is finally stopping, and he realizes it's not because shock has found him. Far from it.

He's dying.

That thought almost makes him shudder with a laugh and his eyes close to the sight of a shard of night sky through a jagged hole in the roof. The warehouse fills with silence, enough to drown everyone in it. Alexander lost in the role of a protective sibling takes a step forward.

"You will stop this, Murray. You've got no chance."

He laughs in reply.

"Are you serious? Your brother is as good as dead in a matter of minutes, if he isn't already and I'm about to defeat you two with a flick of my wrist. In fact..."

His monologue halts as he suddenly grabs his neck, a look of fear spreading across his face. Elliot grins in satisfaction and Alexander just stares. Murray falls to his knees, his hand never leaving his neck as if keeping it there would stop whatever London injected him with from spreading.

"Son of a... he did it."

Elliot turns around to congratulate London when suddenly the words die on his tongue at the sight he sees. Alexander turns around at Elliot's sudden silence and quickly sees the reason.

London lays spread on the ground with no sound or movement, only a trail of blood pooling around him in a macabre frame. Elliot watches as Alexander's breath seems to stop, his eyes widening with a fear Elliot has never seen from the ice man.

Alexander shakes his head as though it's not real.

"No!"

The blood pools deeper around London's body as Alexander drops to his knees beside him.

"London?"

His voice is almost drowned by panic. The Consulting Criminals bottom lip is split, his nose bleeding, the dark circles heavy beneath his closed eyes and for the first time Alexander notices wounds that mar nearly every part of his exposed skin, the obvious being the deep stab wound in his right side. Elliot also drops to his knees on the opposite side of Alexander and tries to ignore the panic that seeing London in such a way puts on him. Alexander places his shaky hands either side of London's head to lean even closer.

"Wake up brother mine. Come on, wake up. Please…."

A groan whispers from London's lips, and the eyes of Alexander and Elliot flutter shut for a moment in sheer relief. Then they snap them open to gaze down at him.

"You had me worried for a minute there, Holmes."

Elliot says, resisting the urge to grab and hold him. He tries to grin instead, but the expression is tight, strained with obvious distress. Alexander keeps his gaze focused on London as he manages a smirk. It's weak, but it's there. Still, it seems to be all he can manage before his eyes shut once more but this time not opening again.

The sound of London's heartbeat rings in Alexander and Elliot's ears, but it is slow and worryingly unsteady. A knot forms in Alexander's throat, his eyes widening. He bends his head down to London's chest, for once not caring about the blood and the mess it would make of him, as he places his ear to his brothers chest before pulling him up onto his lap, cradling his head. 

"No! Do not do this to me. Not again. Wake up!"

Elliot looked away, suddenly feeling like he was invading a private and very rare moment between the brothers, one that was happening for all the wrong reasons. He wanted to pull Alexander off London so they could go get him help but he didn't dare move, instead he turned his attention to Murray's body, whatever London had injected into him had a far greater effect than it did the Consulting Criminal who was a walking chemical experiment and who knows how much longer he would've held out if Murray hadn't stabbed him with such precision.

Turning his attention from Murray's body, Elliot looked over at the brothers again. As much as he hated Alexander and as much as Alexander hated him and did everything in his power to keep London from him, he couldn't deny that deep down Alexander truly cared and in his own unique way, London cared as well.

Elliot was pulled from his inner musings by a quiet voice.

"Thank you."

Alexander was thanking him? Was he hearing that correct?

"Ah, you're welcome?"

It sounded lame to his own ears but it was all he could come up with. It wasn't something he expected to hear from the older Holmes especially given their history. Elliot walked over to the brothers once more and came to a stop at Alexander's side. He was just about to ask Alexander what to do next when...

Cars rev loudly, tyres screeching in the mud outside and the sounds of opening doors and feet hitting the ground and running echoed throughout the warehouse and a voice rang out louder than it all. A voice that forced Alexander to stiffen and stand up to face the voice but not before gently placing London's head gently back on the ground and Elliot swore he heard London let out a groan of agony. He was still holding on.

"Alexander!" 

Alexander and Elliot turn on the spot to watch as a older man, wearing a picture perfect suit, expensive shoes, a strong chin, sharp cheekbones that London also had, slicked back slightly graying hair, an aura of total control and power, walked towards them, feet seemingly not touching the ground and was standing in front of them before they even realized it. It was then Elliot noticed a resemblance between Alexander, London and the man who was now with them.

"Hello, father."

Father?

"You were supposed to protect him!"

Elliot didn't think it was possible but Alexander actually appeared to slightly cower just like a scolded child did. The man looked behind Alexander at London's body, made a gesture with his hand and immediately 2 men in black suits came rushing over and headed for London's near lifeless body while another 2 went to Murray's body, picking him up none too gently, handcuffing him and more or less dragging him to a car and pushing him into the back seat then speeding off into the night and to god knows where. Elliot made a move to stop the 2 men who were apparently told to help the Consulting Criminal, to protect London against men he didn't know, but Alexander reached out a hand and stopped him. Elliot raised an eyebrow but for some reason found himself obeying and standing still. The 2 men in black went about moving London's body, rolling him onto a stretcher that a 3rd men in black had brought over.

"Be careful with him unless you want a bullet in the head."

The 3 men, not liking the thought of a bullet, nodded in agreement and loaded London carefully onto the stretcher and carried him away. Alexander, Elliot and the oldest Holmes watched every step until London was placed inside a vehicle and taken away. Once that was done,  the oldest Holmes turned back to his oldest son and Elliot, whom he outstretched a hand.

"Forgive my rudeness, sir. I'm Carlton Holmes. The father of Alexander and London. And you're?"

Elliot wearily accepted the outstretched hand and shook it.

"Just call me Elliot."

Carlton nodded and turned his attention to Alexander, taking in his appearance. Despite being tired, bloodied, beaten, mentally and psychically drained, he still managed to look the part of the British Government.

"Alexander, I expect a debriefing as soon as possible. Understood?"

Alexander nodded his understanding.

"Good. Now lets not waste anymore time. If you two care to join me, we shall make our way over to the hospital and wait for word on London's condition."

Without waiting for Elliot or his son to answer, Carlton made his way towards the car that had brought him here. The driver was standing by the back of the car, holding the back door open and waiting for further instruction. Alexander straightened his tie, waistcoat and jacket before following his fathers footsteps. Elliot let out a breath, rolling his neck from side to side and also made his way over to the car. Things were getting stranger and stranger. Carlton Holmes certainly held control and power over Alexander but could the same be said for London?

Once Carlton was sure that London wasn't going to die any time soon, he left his youngest son in the care of Alexander, Elliot and the Doctors but not before he made several threats to everyone and anyone who would come near London while unconscious and recovering from surgery. With this threats hanging in the air, he then left to presumably deal with Murray wherever he was.

Elliot leaned back in the chair he was seated while which was placed by the door. Alexander sat by London's bedside, studying, almost confused to see his brother so still, so vulnerable when he was anything but that. His eyes may be closed but he knew that his mind would be going into overdrive. He would be kicking down every door of his Mind Palace in a panic, trying to find the room that would hold all the answers to what happened, how long his body would lay lifeless and what he would face once he awoke.

"You know I still can't believe it. Carlton Holmes, huh? What a well kept secret that was."

Alexander briefly closed his eyes and took a deep breath. There was a reason why Carlton Holmes was kept a secret. The man was a ghost. He was the boogeyman. Carlton Holmes didn't have "children" he had weapons and his greatest was laying unconscious.

"There's a very good reason why he was kept a secret and when London, and he will, finds out that he was here, it shall not be the happy family reunion you or our father is going to wish it to be."

Elliot's curiosity was awoken. He leaned further back in his chair, crossing his ankles and folding his arms behind his head, resting against the wall.

"Is that so? Got some skeletons in the hallway closet?"

Alexander rose from his chair, walking over to the door of the private room, of course it was, to make sure the door was shut and locked, causing Elliot to raise an eyebrow. Then he made his way back over to London's bed side.

"Carlton Holmes doesn't have children, oh no, quite the opposite in fact. He has two weapons and one mistake. His greatest weapon and mistake is currently and rather frantically kicking the door down of every room in his Mind Palace so he can no longer be trapped. From the day he was born, it was obvious London was different, he was special, he would need to be protected and it he chose it, he would be a lethal weapon. My father saw that and it not only scared him, it excited him. Tell me, Elliot... have you ever seen a 8 year old boy after years of non stop manipulation and training, awoken in the middle of the night, taken to an abandoned warehouse and placed in front of a beaten and bound man and told  'This bad man is hiding a secret and what do we do when someone hides something from us?', because I have, I've been there. That's right, London was that little boy and I was there that night, but for a different reason, when he stood in a warehouse and due to the manipulation of our dear father, he did the only thing he could, he wouldn't dare defy him. He found every single so called 'secret' and when he was done, our father, without even trying to hide it, had the man shot in the head because he had outlived his usefulness. From that day on London was no longer his child, he was his greatest and most dangerous weapon....until London had enough and fought back. The weapon reprogrammed itself into what you see today."

If it was anyone but Alexander telling him what he just did, Elliot wouldn't believe it and would swiftly and rather brutally beat them to death for even daring to spill such lies about the Consulting Criminal but for the first time he could hear the honesty and hurt in the voice of 'The Ice-Man' even if he refused to show it. The longer Elliot let Alexander's words sink in, the more he didn't know what to do with the knowledge, he wasn't even sure he could speak. Luckily Alexander chose to save him the struggle.

"London wasn't the only one safe from the mind games of Carlton Holmes. His own 'wife' fell victim. She was a drug addict and our father used that to his advantage more often than not, especially when London found himself an addict as well. He held her responsible for that. Whenever she attempted to stand up to him, question his actions or try to save, keep London from him because she could see what he was doing to him, he'd drug and then commit her. It was her word against THE Carlton Holmes. Who were people going to believe? The drug addicted and clearly unstable woman who would say and do anything to tarnish the 'Holmes' name or England's most trusted, most respected and loyal member of the Government, Carlton Holmes?"

Unluckily for London, Alexander and their mother, people chose Carlton. Always.

"My 18th birthday was the day after that fateful night in the warehouse and then it was my turn. I was apart of the 'family business' and I was the one that would be my brothers keeper, it was up to me to use him as I saw fit because Queen and country. It was up to us to keep England at the top of the food chain. I had a name and a reputation to uphold because if I did not, I would find myself swimming in the Thames along with hundreds of others."

Up until now Elliot had always thought of himself as a lost cause. A psychopath who was good for nothing accept death and destruction. Carlton Holmes, like his sons, was on an entire different level. A level created by and for him.

"I'm not proud of the things I had to do but I did them to keep London out of our fathers clutches. If playing the bad guy, becoming the 'ice man' and having London hate me because of it, well then so be it. I am still better and more caring than our father will ever be."

The Brothers Holmes in their own ways had been forced to adapt, evolve and become. They had to rise against. A true survival of the strongest.

"So what you're saying is, your father, for lack of a better term, wants his 'weapon' back. For what?"

Redesign. Rebuild. Reclaim.

"To break Murray. He wants a front row seat."