Danny ladled a spoonful of soup into his mouth, then gagged. I can’t eat. I won’t eat. God, I’ve lost.
Mycroft tapped on the door, then eased his way in, looking at Danny. “Isn’t the soup to your liking?”
“Mycroft, I’m done.”
“What do you mean, done?”
“Done, as in finished. I thought I wanted revenge, but now I don’t know, I’m just numb.”
Mycroft looked at him in alarm. He had seen that look before and it boded ill. Danny was giving up. Though he attempted to convince himself that he just needed the cipher Alex had hidden, he wanted Danny to…to live. He sat down on the bed next to him. “Danny…I…”
He looked up at Mycroft. “I destroyed the cipher. I’m of no use to you.”
Mycroft’s heart pounded in his chest. If what Danny said were true, then Sherlock and John were lost, and Danny was the living cipher. I will be given orders to do what it takes to get the information they want and if I don’t comply, then I will be forced to hand him over to someone that will torture him. He shuddered, regretting the approval of such methods. They passed his desk and he had given the go ahead without a thought.
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