Author's Note: Another humour. This one was requested by angelkathryn on lj as well. Why do people keep asking me for humour? This one kinda wrote itself as well… very odd, too. Apologies in advance for… oddness. I really do suck at humour.


"Your aim is way off, Skinner," Tom advised, and screwed up another small piece of paper. "You need to angle it more."

"I know how to aim, thank you very much," the thief grumbled, and tutted loudly, only making Tom Sawyer grin broadly. Rodney Skinner hadn't been able to hit the decanter for the last half an hour… probably because he had sampled its contents a few times, and too heavily. He wasn't drunk, mind you, but he had the beginnings of a slur to the ends of long words… not that Skinner said many long words.

Mina Harker stood by the window, looking out into London's busy streets, beyond the offices they sat in now. Captain Nemo and Henry Jekyll conversed near the fireplace, which burned calmly to heat the room they now occupied. Mycroft Holmes was, as usual, late. And not stylishly so, either.

Tom sighed, and aimed at the decanter, calculating his shot carefully, before flicking the paper with one finger, watching it soar across the table… and deflect off the glass. "Hah," he declared simply with triumph. "How many's that now? Thirteen to none?"

"I'll 'ave you know I've hit the bloody thing!" Skinner argued, wagging a finger at Tom almost chidingly. He shook his grease-painted head and grumbled, "I've hit it at least once."

"My mistake," Tom chuckled, and offered a piece of torn paper to the thief, who screwed it up into a little ball, and set it down. He curled back a finger, and Tom guessed he might have been poking his tongue out of his mouth in careful concentration, but obviously could not see it.

But just as Skinner let the paper ball fly, the door near to him opened, and his shot went drastically wide… into Holmes' head. The bureaucrat paused, looking down at the offending object, and then to the shooter, whose eyes were stock wide with surprise, and he laughed nervously.

"All right, Holmes? How's things?" He quickly shifted his trilby to hide his pale face, and looked to Tom irritably. The American of course, was having trouble containing his mirth, and put a hand over his mouth casually to cover the laugh that wanted to rise to the surface.

The rotund Mycroft Holmes cleared his throat, and the rest of the team turned their attention to him, awaiting their new assignment. "I have word for you," he said in his ever slow, ever punctuated voice.

A silence descended on the room then, and before long, Tom couldn't bear it. "Well?" he asked impatiently. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Holmes said almost smugly with the beginnings of a smirk. "In one word; nothing. We have no assignment for you. Everything's in hand, and there's nothing pressing on the agenda." He shrugged under his expensive suit.

"So what're we supposed to do with ourselves?" Tom asked, disappointed, looking to his team mates, and then to their liaison.

"You want my opinion?" Tom nodded, and Holmes continued, "Take a holiday. Go sightseeing, relax… read a good book… sew a pillowcase, I don't really care, Agent Sawyer, but we have nothing that needs to be done by you and your team." He smiled. "That is all. Thank you for waiting. You're dismissed."

As they were leaving the room, he called to them, "Enjoy your vacation!"

Mina closed the door, and the League looked to one another in utter bemusement. They blinked, and waited for someone to suggest something.

"Now what?" Skinner muttered, and wobbled. Tom caught him, and shrugged.

Just what would the League do with their days off?