Yes, here it is! The hopefully-not-too-long awaited sequel to 'A Sherlock Carol'. Now it's time to figure out how in the world John pulled it off. For realistic purposes I've set this story a few days before Christmas. Enjoy!
Note: Must read 'A Sherlock Carol' first to understand my genius.
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As John walked down the streets of London the ideas swirling around his head made him smile oh-so deviously. Sherlock had no idea he could be so scheming. He was just a replacement for the skull.
As the details of what he wanted to do started to become clear he knew he couldn't do it alone. Luckily he had excellent connections.
His first call was to Sarah, letting her know he wouldn't be able to come over because Sherlock had happened. She understood completely. In fact, she offered her assistance if it was needed. Boy did he love her! He couldn't think of anything at the moment but he would let her know if he came up with anything.
His next call was to Mycroft.
"Yes, John. What can I do for you?"
"How willing are you to help me play a trick on your brother?" He could almost hear Mycroft grinning like a Cheshire Cat.
"I'm listening."
John explained what Sherlock had done and pitched his idea. "Now, what does Sherlock know about A Christmas Carol?"
"I see where you're going. Yes, Sherlock is like Ebenezer Scrooge now isn't he? At one time I'm sure he at least knew about it in passing. But I expect he's deleted it by now. What assistance can I provide for your little…escapade? Actually, stay where you are. My driver's on his way. Let's talk in person."
John looked at the nearest CCTV camera and nodded. "Alright. I'll be on the bench…not that I need to tell you." He heard the phone hang up and walked over to the buss stop bench. Not ten minutes later a sleek black car pulled up in front of him. The driver came out and opened his door like he had the first time. However, unlike the first time, he was alone in the back seat. No Anthea. So he was left to ride in silence; not like Anthea had been much of a talker anyway.
About fifteen minutes later, John entered Mycroft's plush office and sat opposite him at the large oak table.
"John! So good to see you again. Now, what can I do for you?"
"Well, Sherlock's gone overboard with trying to desecrate Christmas. I guess I can understand his general dislike for it, but it seems as if he's trying his hardest to sabotage everything."
"Yes, I saw that little incident with the charity ringer."
"And not only that, he set our Christmas tree on fire with a bubbling pot of oil!"
"Oh dear. Christmas has always been a trying time for our family, John."
"Ya, those Christmas dinners you mentioned."
"Precisely. So what do you have in mind to teach my brother a lesson? I'm all for it, believe me. You mentioned A Christmas Carol earlier on the phone. Are you planning a reenactment with Sherlock Scrooge?"
John smirked at the play on names. "Yes, actually, and I figure you could help me figure out what could work on him as well as giving me the means to pull off some of my ideas."
He proceeded to tell Mycroft his plan while Mycroft smiled at the prospects, occasionally giving suggestions and jotting down notes.
"You're more devious than I first though, John. It's a pleasant surprise. I take it my brother isn't expecting you back any time soon?"
"No. I said I was going over to Sarah's."
"Then let me just make a few calls while you call Detective Inspector Lestrade and that Anderson fellow and we can get started."
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Christmas Eve
Sherlock had gone to bed early that night. Of course the sedative John had put in his food did help. John had persisted on Sherlock eating something that night due to the fact that it was Christmas Eve. Sherlock had begrudgingly done so. It was about time for him to eat, anyway.
At 11:30 pm John had started to get ready for his part. The paint on his face and hands itched incredibly and he had to use all his determination not to scratch at it. It made his grim appearance more realistic, in fact. He hadn't given Sherlock a large dose of the sedative, so the rattling of chains was enough to wake him up. And his mind would still be a little fuzzy which could only help.
After John left, he waited for a couple of minutes, cleaned the junk off his face, and changed back into his usual cloths before returning to Sherlock's room and quickly and painlessly administered a stronger sedative right at the base of his hairline in the back of his neck. Sherlock didn't feel it and wouldn't be able to see it, even if he looked. He wouldn't be awake for an hour. Perfect.
And now for the awkward part. He had to change Sherlock's cloths. He steeled himself for what he was about to do. He was a doctor. There was nothing he hadn't seen before. He had even had to change patients into hospital gowns before, and some of them had been women! He tried to imagine Sherlock as just another patient but it was just too weird. But thank heaven he was wearing boxers! John thanked the Powers that be for that! He finished quickly and then called some of Mycroft's henchmen up to help him carry Sherlock down to the vfan they were using to transport him.
They dumped him unceremoniously in the back and John climbed in after him. The two goons hopped into the front and sped off, heading west. That was the great thing about government plates: you could go as fast as you needed. And they needed to go fast to get to Cardiff in an hour. They made it in 45 minutes, never encountering a red light. Another perk for working with a man who is the government.
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ONE
They pulled up in front of a large house, fenced off from the rest of the city. The front door opened and a woman ran out to greet them as they lugged Sherlock up to the house. It was Sarah. John had found something she could help with after all: helping Mrs. Holmes making breakfast-dinner. Plus, she could give him some company other than Mycroft.
She passed the two goons as they carried Sherlock by the shoulders and knees up the steps and into the house. She met John with a hug and a kiss; John liking the second part very much.
"How's everything going?" he asked.
"Just fine. She's almost done with the ham. You know, I never would have imagined Mrs. Holmes to be so charming, especially considering how her sons are."
"So what do you think of Mycroft?"
"Well, he's different from his brother; a little more socially adept. But the way he knows everything about me is very unnerving."
"Yea, it's almost as if he can see right through you."
"Exactly. Now come on. The video feed is set up in Sherlock's old bedroom." She started to lead him into the house.
"Sherlock's old bedroom? Now this I have to see." They stopped by the dining room where Sherlock had been propped up in a chair, still unconscious.
"Everything went well I trust?" Mycroft inquired.
"No problem at all."
Mrs. Holmes walked into the room, hearing their voices.
"Hello again, dear," she said. "Would you like me to get you something to eat?"
"Thanks, but no. I don't want Sherlock to have any clue I was here."
She wagged a finger at him. "You're a smart one, luv. But the offer still stands. Now hurry out. It's almost one." She rushed back into the kitchen and John and Sarah turned off the lights and rushed up the stairs and into the second door on the right.
The room that held multiple screens looked like a regular bedroom: a neatly made bed, a closet, desk, a few dressers, and a bookshelf. Of course there were no cloths in the closet or dressers, the desk was practically bare, and the shelves were devoid of books. Sherlock had taken them with him when he had moved. It still seemed strange that Sherlock's room was so normal. Where were all the experiments and body parts supposed to go? Best not to think about it.
The digital clock gave a chime as it struck one and John pressed the button that had been wired to turn on the light in the dining room. The screens suddenly showed their different views of the room from their hiding places. Hopefully in Sherlock's slightly drugged state he wouldn't notice them.
They watched the scene unfold. John marveled at how well Mrs. Holmes played her part. He was surprised at how willingly she had agreed to the whole thing. Would a mother really do this to her son? But she was no ordinary mother and Sherlock was by no means an ordinary son.
John watched Sherlock's face soften as his mother came into the room and as she said Grace. He had a soft spot in his heart for this woman. So there was an ounce of human in him after all. The toast was made and they all took a sip of their wine. But Sherlock's glass held more than wine. Another sedative had been mixed in. It was slow acting but he was soon unconscious again after a few bites of smashed potatoes. After his head lolled to the side, John turned off the screens and stood up.
"Well that was quick. I guess we should start getting ready for the party. People should already be arriving."
Sarah stood up and followed him out of the room. "Too bad we can't actually go to the party," she said.
"Well, there's always the New Years Eve party."
"Is that an invitation?" she asked, hanging on his arm and smiling up at him.
He smiled back at her. "Only if you say yes."
"It's a date, then."
They stepped out of the way as Goon 1 and Goon 2 carried Sherlock to the van. Mycroft and Mrs. Holmes came after them, stopping as they came to John and Sarah.
"Well John, Christmas Past is done. I guess it's time to head to the Present."
"Everything go well in there? There wasn't any audio."
"Oh yes. Everything went just fine. But I don't remember the last time I was him so…"
"Nice?" Mycroft offered.
"You could be like that yourself, Mycroft," Mrs. Holmes digged.
John raised his eyebrows in surprise. I guess she's not all sweet and grandmotherly after all, he thought. And Mycroft actually relented! It took a very special person to have that affect on the Holmes brothers and it appeared that that person was their mother. It made sense, but John was still impressed.
"Thank you again, Mrs. Holmes, for helping with this. And I'm sorry it had to be so early."
"Well I'm just glad that someone had this idea. And besides, this isn't the first time I've had to stay up all night. This one here," she indicated Mycroft, "thought that all creatures should be nocturnal. All that screaming!" John saw the color rise in Mycroft's face. Yes, a very special type of woman. She turned to Sarah and grabbed her hands. "It's so good to have met you, my dear. You're very good in the kitchen, you know?"
"I'm usually no good at this sort of thing. You must have brought out the chef in me. I hope to see you again."
"Come over any time. Actually, if you wouldn't mind, would you help me bring all this food to the homeless center? It would be such a shame to leave all this food to waste. Unless you're too busy?" She looked between Sarah and John.
Sarah turned to him. "I'll see you in the third hour, then?"
John nodded. "Alright. I'll save a seat for you." He gave her a peck on the cheek and climbed into the van.
"It was a pleasure to meet you Mr. Holmes," Sarah said, turning to Mycroft.
"Please, call my Mycroft," He took her outstretched hand and kissed the back of it, causing her to blush.
"A-alright," she stammered, a little unnerved.
He bent down to kiss his mother and got into the backseat of the van. "Drive on," he commanded the driver. With a nod, Goon 1 obliged.
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TWO
Again, they drove like a bat out of hell as they raced towards Scotland Yard. They spent the time primarily in silence. But upon occasion Sherlock would talk in this sleep.
"Fat, arrogant pig. Conniving devil…" the insults went on, growing in color as the kilometers passed. John glanced at Mycroft but he just smiled, more like a grimace, and ignored the descriptions his brother game him.
Traffic was better coming back in to London. It was very early Christmas morning after all. No one in their right mind would be out at this time and John realized that dealing with the Holmes family had put him in this category.
They made good time, shaving fifteen minutes off of their first travel time. As they all climbed out of the van, the two henchmen carried Sherlock like they had before, Lestrade pulled up and walked out besides them.
"You know, if I saw Sherlock like that in any other situation I might be concerned. But right now I'm as gitty as a school boy."
"Glad you could help us, Detective Inspector."
He turned to Mycroft. "Well I just want to mess with Sherlock and then go back to bed."
"Yea, sorry, but you understand the timing and all," John apologized.
"Well let's just get this over with, eh?"
They got into the elevator and climbed the floors until they arrived at the offices. Most everyone had gotten there. The decorations and food were all set out and people were already milling around and talking. Most of them worked the night shift so they would already be there.
They placed Sherlock in a chair by the wall. He grumbled a bit but didn't wake up. John handed Lestrade a brightly wrapped box, which he promptly put in his pocket.
"Alright everyone, take your places. Just act normal," Lestrade ordered. Most everyone was already in position. They had nothing better to do than stand around and talk. However, the conversation did change from how much they hated Sherlock to how much they loved Christmas and spending time with their families. It was al very normal. Very boring.
The sedative was starting to ware off and Sherlock stirred. "We'd better get out of here, then," John said, following Mycroft out the door. Thing 1 and Thing 2 were waiting outside.
"Lock the door. Make sure he doesn't get out," Mycroft ordered. The two men nodded. "Come John. The surveillance room is just down the hall."
There wasn't much set up needed. The room they were in was already designed for surveillance. All that had to be done was reroute the cameras in the offices to this room. And unlike at the Holmes' house, this time there was sound. As they sat down in front of the screens the officers shouted, "Happy Christmas!"
The camera on Sherlock showed him jolting awake, looking around. Even though the quality of the feed wasn't excellent, they could see the contempt and exasperation on his face as he walked towards the door. Luckily Lestrade sneaked into the chair Sherlock previously occupied, adding the mystique.
"Remind me to give him a raise," Mycroft commented. This surprised John a little, but he supposed Lestrade deserved it. They continued to watch as Lestrade called him back and gave him the box. But he just sat there with the blasted thing, not opening it, just looking at everyone.
"Come on, come on." John was impatient. "He has ten minutes to touch the watch so we can get to the flat."
"Patients, Doctor Watson. I know my brother and his curiosity will win out shortly. There, you see?" He pointed at the screen with his ever-present umbrella. Sure enough, Sherlock had started to unwrap the box. The camera zoomed in on his face as the pocket watch was revealed and John swore that he saw surprise and general liking for the object he now held in his hand.
"A good choice in gifts, John. Something small and unobtrusive that won't aid him in his…experiments. But with just the right touch of sentimentality."
"Thanks." Again, John was surprised by the praise Mycroft was dishing out tonight. But he wasn't complaining. Maybe he would be threatened with a knighthood. "So how long does it take for the sedative…" but his question was answered as Sherlock's head started to loll back and forth.
"Topical sedatives tend to work fast, maybe not as fast as an injection, but fast enough for our purposes." And that was true. The sedative-laced pocket watch had done its job within a matter of minutes.
"Hang on," John said as he rewound the footage. "Was he actually humming before he passed out?" Indeed, John heard the notes of 'Silent Night' escaping Sherlock's nose.
"Sedatives do tend to have an affect on the brain sometimes as I'm sure you're aware."
"Yes, I know, but still…It's Sherlock!"
Mycroft smiled as they watched his men on the screen as they entered the room and started to heave Sherlock out of the chair. "You can cherish Sherlock's momentary laps of, well, Sherlock in the van." He got up. "Come on John. Stage three awaits."
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THREE
The ride from the Yard to the abandoned and rundown flat building was much shorter, both places being in London. However, it was the most rambunctious thus far.
It was hard to imagine that Sherlock was unconscious. He yelled and turned and twisted in the back of the van.
"Sherlock! Shut up!" John yelled in vain.
Mycroft remained passive. "One of the side effects I'm afraid. It shouldn't last for very long." He made a small smile that John heard more than saw. "It will get worse before it gets better, though."
"Then why on earth did we use it?" He dogged Sherlock's flailing limbs.
"As I've already told you, it was the only sedative that would work in this situation." There was that maleficent smile again.
Inevitably, one of Sherlock's feet kicked John in the stomach. The air escaped him with an "Ooof!"
"That's it!" he yelled, finally reaching his limit. It was hard to find a good target among a writhing mass of body parts but John managed. Swatting aside arms and legs, he reached Sherlock's stomach with a solid fist. The affect went two ways: Sherlock's movements did lessen somewhat, but now his verbal attacks were aimed more at John, as if he somehow knew John was the one who hit him.
"Bloody idiot. Useless blogger…"
"Control yourself, Doctor Watson," Mycroft advised calmly. Did he never get flustered? John guessed that growing up with Sherlock had taught him patience. "When he wakes up with a bruise on his stomach, what do you think he'll deduce?"
"At this moment I don't really care. Sherlock's turning out to be more of a hassle unconscious than awake."
"Well it's almost over. We've arrived." And right at that moment the van stopped. His timing was uncanny.
The routine was pretty much the same. The hired help carried Sherlock inside the demolition site and into a small, empty janitorial closet. A crime scene light had been set up in the corner, much like the one that was used in the flat with the fourth serial-suicide victim in the Study in Pink case John had written about. It wasn't working at its highest setting, but then again, it wouldn't do any good to let Sherlock get a close view of his double that was on the floor beside him.
John stared at the body and a chill crept up his back. It really was rather unsettling to be honest. This was the one part he didn't know how to pull off. But with Mycroft Holmes anything was possible.
The double was made mostly of wax and ballistics jell, the latter having the same consistency as human flesh. It was actually how the dead body of Jacques Saunière was done at the beginning of 'The Da Vinci Code'. However, real human skin was used to cover the hands and face. John still didn't know how Mycroft managed that one and frankly he didn't want to know.
When John had pitched his idea to Mycroft a few days ago, the elder Holmes had taken him to a morgue of sorts. There he showed him Sherlock's double.
"I have a double for myself as well. And yours is coming along quite nicely, actually," Mycroft had said.
John stared at him in barely-containable horror, mouth agape. "What? Why? How did you….?" His eyes turned to 'Sherlock'.
"You never know when a doppelganger might come in handy, especially in our lines of work. And as for the how, are you really sure you want to know?"
"No," John responded quickly. "No, I'm alright being in the dark about his one."
"Good. Because you don't have the clearance to know." He gave John one of his unsettling smiles.
And now that body was lying on the ground looking to all the world like the real Sherlock Holmes.
Suddenly Mycroft's phone rang and he took the call, not saying a word, just listening. After hanging up he turned to John. "I must be going I'm afraid. There seems to be some trouble with the elections…" He stopped midsentence. "I must be going. Sorry to leave you for this part. I was personally looking forward to this hour. Anyway, that Anderson fellow should be here shortly, although he's not one for company, is he? Happy Christmas." He raised his ever-present umbrella in farewell and walked out the door.
"Happy Christmas, John called after him.
It wasn't long before Anderson showed up, which was just as well because the sedative was about to ware off. He wore a blue crime scene jumper and booties.
"Thanks for coming. You're just in time," John said.
"I've been waiting a long tie to best Sherlock. And doing it as a practical joke is the icing on the cake." He looked down at the two bodies. "So which is the real one?"
John smiled. "Why don't you try to figure it out yourself?"
Anderson stared hard at them, looking from one to the other. "The one facing up is the real one."
John laughed. "Nope! That's the fake."
Anderson frowned and bent down to touch the double's hand. "That's amazing," he breathed. "How did you get this?"
John smirked. "I have my sources." Sherlock stirred a little. "Okay. It's show time. I'll be in the next room." After John exited Anderson leaned up against the door frame.
There was a surprise waiting for John when he got to the observation room. "Sarah!"
"Hullo, John. How did the party go?"
"Just fine. Everything went according to plan. So how did it go with Mrs. Holmes?"
"Splendidly. She's a doll, John. How on earth did Mycroft and Sherlock turn out the way they did?"
"Beats the heck out of me." He glanced at the screens. "He's waking up." He sat down beside Sarah.
When Sherlock's eyes fell to the body on the floor, John saw the undisguised fear in his eyes, and the smirk on Anderson's face as he let his presence known. John was afraid that Sherlock would be able to deduce the fake. But with the combination of the sedatives and shock it appeared real to him. And he did not prod any more than finding the lack of pulse and looking at the clues they had left for him to find. He was too unnerved to dig any deeper.
But he was not too unnerved so as to not figure out the who, what, where, when, why, and how of the staged crime, all the while making snide remarks towards Anderson.
After Sherlock solved the case, Anderson left the room and locked the door. John and Sarah watched as Sherlock stared at his doppelganger. He stared at it intently, thinking hard. John could almost see the wheels turning in his brain. He decided that before Sherlock could pry any more and discover their ruse, they should end this hour. He activated the next sedative in the form of an odorless gas that seeped through the vents. They watched him sink to the floor and drift off to sleep again.
John sighed. It was almost over. They just had to get him back home and in bed. He hoped all of the time and effort that had been put into this night would be worth it. But how would Sherlock react when he woke up in the morning? John shrugged to himself. Just hope for the best, he guessed.
"So that's it then?" Sarah asked.
"Just about. I need to call Mycroft. Be right back." He got up and walked to the custodial closet and walked in, unlocking the door. Anderson came back in, too, but John said he could go home now if he wanted.
"Alright. I guess all the excitement's over now anyway." He walked out of the room. By now all the gas had dispersed so there was no fear of being knocked out.
John dialed Mycroft's phone. "Hope I'm not calling at an inconvenient time. I'm just calling to let you know that it's done. We just need to get him home, is all."
"Excellent. I'll send over a car to pick you up. All went according to plan I trust?"
"Yea. He didn't figure out about the dummy…at least as far as he let on."
"Believe me when I say that if he had figured it out he would have made a fuss. Anthea is on her way. I couldn't spare my two muscle men. They are on a different job at the moment I'm afraid. Anthea will be bringing the van but you'll have to unload my brother yourself."
"Oh, that shouldn't pose to be too much of a problem."
"Good, good. I'll see you later then. Good bye, and thank you for this wonderful evening." He hung up.
"You're welcome," John replied to no one. He returned to Sarah and explained the situation to her.
"Well I'll certainly help but I'll have to drive my own car, though. I don't want to just leave it here."
"Mind if I ride with you? I've spent too much time around Sherlock tonight. And Anthea isn't much of a talker anyway." He smiled and the waited outside for Anthea.
She wasn't long coming as Mycroft had said. John took the feet and Sarah and Anthea took an arm each. After he was loaded the two cars drove over to Baker Street. They trudged him upstairs and into his room.
"Well I'll be off then. Bye John." Anthea's eyes never left her cell phone screen and her thumbs never stopped typing.
"Alright, bye." After she left John turned to Sarah. "Well, you should head off home now. Get some sleep." He yawned. "Goodness knows I need some. But I need to get Sherlock dressed and in bed first."
"If you say so John," she said coyly. She stepped up to him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I'll leave you to it them."
"I'll see you tomorrow?" John asked.
"Absolutely." John gave her a kiss, this time on the lips.
Sherlock groaned. John laughed. "Better get started."
"Alright. See you tomorrow, then." She left and John was once again left alone with an unconscious Sherlock. Perfect.
He made quick work of putting him back into his night cloths. Then he plodded off to bed and blissful sleep.
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Christmas Morning
John woke up before Sherlock did, which wasn't hard considering his sleeping patterns and the traces of sedatives still in his system. Mrs. Hudson was already up, cooking some wonderful smelling food, bless her sweet old heart. Sherlock woke up a little while later, all groggy and disheveled.
He scared John for a moment when he mentioned how long it must have taken him to get all the paint off his face. And boy was he right! But John countered by accusing him of going to sleep drunk. He didn't let on about the truth.
To John's surprise, Sherlock left and wouldn't tell him where he was going. But John didn't much mind. The longer Sherlock was out the longer he could spend time with Sarah. But before he went over to her flat he had to wrap Sherlock's present. Or re-wrap as it was.
When he had finished arranging Sherlock in his bed the night before, John had washed off any excess sedative, which also washed off the cover on the 'JW' engraved on the back. He arranged it in the box, wrapped it, and put it under the tree Mrs. Hudson had given them.
After Sherlock came back from wherever he had gone, he opened his gift. Even though John was in the kitchen he could sense Sherlock's smile. He busied himself cleaning up the kitchen and occasionally snacking on some of Mrs. Hudson's food. He heard the telly turn on and felt a sort of dread when he heard the announcement of 'A Christmas Carol'. John knew there was no escaping. He would have to figure out some excuse to give Sherlock. But he couldn't think of anything. He wracked his brains for any explanation that would put Sherlock off of the truth…not that it would work anyway.
'Maybe I'll just say that his subconscious had drudged up his memories of the Christmas classic and had applied his life to it,' John thought. But before he could put the finishing touches on this thought he heard a scream from the living room.
"JOHN!"
So there you have it! Hope you liked it! And I should mention that the idea of John hitting Sherlock was given to me my lilyplusjamesistotallove, so that is dedicated to her! Thanks for reading!