OH my gosh, a new thingy for all you patient readers. So sorry it took so long, but this isn't actually what i was working on, i'm working on something bigger for this series but i felt bad taking so long so here you go.
"Sherlock!" Joan called as she came down from her room. It was amazing how quickly Mycroft had been able to get her things together and moved in to 221b Baker Street. That is to say, it was alarming and a bit creepy.
Not even three days had passed since moving in with Sherlock. One week after the horrible ordeal with Hope, spent in isolation at the hospital to make sure she wasn't going to keel over and die at a moment's notice.
"Mycroft was here while we were out." Sherlock says; already ahead of her question, from the kitchen table. Bent over whatever experiment he had going at the moment.
"I don't remember giving him my address." She says coming to stand next to him at the table. Currently covered in beakers and vials of strange and foul smelling liquids. She hoped nothing was poisonous.
"He doesn't need it, he's the British government, when he's not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis, getting your address is the least of his feats."
A sigh sounds from behind startling Joan.
"Spreading lies about me brother, you need a new hobby." Mycroft says from the doorway, looking dressed up as always, umbrella hooked to his wrist.
"Good evening, Mycroft." Joan greets the same time as Sherlock spits out "No wars to start this evening?"
"For goodness' sake. I occupy a minor position in the British government."
"So you say, now why are you here?" Sherlock asks still buried in his experiment.
"I came to ask Miss Watson to tea."
It seems like a normal request so Joan isn't sure why Sherlock looks up sharply from his microscope. His expression dark.
"No!" He snaps.
"I'm sure she can make her own decisions." Unfazed by his brothers sudden dark mood swing.
"No, no, no, no, absolutely not Mycroft, I will not have you dragging her off to scare her-"
"It's not scaring her if she isn't afraid."
"I swear, you fat pompous-"
"Language Sherlock, you don't want mummy to hear about this. She gets ever so upset."
"I upset her?! You're the one that lit the table on fire last Christmas!"
Joan stands back, unsure what was going on. It had to do with her she knew that much, before they dissolved into their childish feud.
Dragging me off and scaring me? What was he on about?
Whatever it was Sherlock didn't want it to happen. So she would decline for now. She didn't want to get in the middle of whatever was going on but it seemed she had no choice.
"OI!"
Both boys fall silent, their piercing eyes snapping to her face. The feeling of not one but two penetrating gazes on her makes her squirm.
"I am going to have to decline the invitation of tea for now, much too busy getting settled in." She says, throwing in the hint at a later agreement. She could already feel dread about it in the pit of her stomach.
"I understand, another time then." He nods, ignoring the smug expression on his brother's face as he walks to the door. "Good evening Joan, Sherlock."
Joan wait's till he's gone to ask "Lit the table on fire?"
"He threw a fire spell at me after I threw custard at his head."
"Ah, so the tea thing?"
"His way of 'watching over me', the fool does it to everyone I meet."
That's the last she hears of it until a week later.
Walking home from getting snack foods from a nearby Tesco (they amazingly had none in the house) she passes a telephone box, inside the phone begins to ring. It stops when she passes. She ignores it and continues walking home. She can't ignore it when it happens six more times. Finally she stops shuffles the two bags in her left hand to her right and picks up the phone.
"Hello?"
"Hello, Doctor Watson." A woman's voice greets her. "In five minutes a car will arrive to pick you up. Get in that car."
"Who is this?"
A click signals the woman has hung up on her.
Get in the car? Who does she think I am? An idiot?
She was not going to get in any car, she was going home. Annoyed she shifted the bags back to her left hand and begins down the street again. Exactly five minutes late a black car pulls up beside her. She's determined to continue walking until two beefy men in suits step out and stand in her way.
"Doctor Watson, please get in the car." A woman asks her from the open door.
"Do I have a choice?" She snaps.
"No."
Angrily she tosses in her bags full of crisps, biscuits and popcorn (she'd been planning a movie night) and slides in.
She sits next to a woman dressed in a tight black suit.
The car pulls from the curb and she realizes she has just gotten into a car with complete strangers.
"So you are?" She asks glancing over at the woman next to her.
The woman seems to ponder the question before answering.
"Anthea."
"That's not your real name." Joan states.
"No." She says cheerily.
"Right."
Soon they come to an empty warehouse
"This is your stop Doctor." Not-Anthea says. Not bothering to look up from her blackberry.
When she gets out of the car she can't believe her eyes.
"Are you serious?" She growls.
"Good evening Joan." Mycroft Holmes says from his seat at a small table. Atop it are two steaming tea cups and several sandwiches.
"No, no." She marches toward him angrily. "Don't you 'Good evening Joan' me after abducting me off the street Mycroft Holmes!"
"Have a seat, Joan." He says pointing to the empty chair with his own tea cup.
She licks her lips slightly, trying to hold off an angry rant. She didn't want to piss off the British government after all.
"You know, I've got a phone." She says when she's calmed herself down.
She looks round the warehouse. nOtes the mne she san sense moving around, hidden from view just in case.
"I mean, very clever and all that, but... you could just phone me. On my phone."
She walks up next to the chair and stops, refusing to take a seat.
"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet, especially when he is doing his best effort to keep this from happening, hence this place."
His voice, which has had a pleasant smile in it so far, now becomes a little more stern towards the end of the next phrase. He raises an eyebrow and gestures again to the empty chair next to her.
"The leg must be hurting you. Sit down."
It is, be she won't let it show on her face. She can play this little game too.
"I don't wanna sit down." She knows what's going on here. He's trying to intimidate her.
The man looks at her curiously.
"You don't seem very afraid."
"You aren't very frightening."
Mycroft laughs. It's not a very nice laugh.
"Ah, yes. The bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think?"
He looks at Joan sternly.
"Are we almost done? I'd like to go home." She snaps at him.
He looks away thoughtfully.
"Mmm, as of last week you've moved in with a complete stranger. Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?" His smile's tight as he takes a sip of his tea.
"What are you doing Mycroft?"
"An interested party would like to be kept updated on my brothers happenings."
"Interested in Sherlock? Why? I'm guessing they're not friends or they would just ask themselves."
"You've met him. How many 'friends' do you imagine he has? I am the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having."
"I'm his friend. At least… I consider him mine. I assume he thinks of you as 'Big Brother'?" Shes says, complete with air quoats.
"Unfortunately I am seen as the enemy." Mycroft admits with a put upon sigh.
"The enemy?"
"In his mind, certainly. If you were to ask him, he'd probably say his arch-enemy. He does love to be dramatic."
Joan looks pointedly around the abandoned warehouse with a raised eyebrow.
Sarcastically she mutters "Well, thank God you're above all that."
Her phone vibrates in her pocket.
Baker Street.
Come at once
if convenient.
SH
"I hope I'm not boring you." There's a subtle change in his voice that tells Joan he's irritated.
"Not boring me at all." She reply's casually. Taking her time looking up from the phone before she pockets it. See she can play the game too.
"How long do you plan to continue your association with my brother?"
"I could be wrong ... but I think that's none of your business Mycroft."
"It could be." He says ominously, playing with his umbrella like he really could care less.
"It really couldn't."
Mycroft takes a notebook from his inside pocket, then opens it and consults it as he speaks.
"I'd be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way."
He closes the notebook and puts it away again.
"Why?" She's suspicious now. Why would Mycroft Holmes offer her money?
"Because you're not a wealthy woman."
"In exchange for what?" She clarifies.
" Information. Nothing indiscreet. Nothing you'd feel ... uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he's up to."
"Why?"
"I worry about him. Constantly."
"That's nice of you."
"I would prefer for various reasons that this deal go unmentioned. We have what you might call a ... difficult relationship."
"I wonder why." She deadpans.
Joan's phone sounds another text alert. Again she immediately fishes the phone out and looks at the message.
If inconvenient,
come anyway.
SH
"No." She says looking up at him from her phone.
He looks surprised. "No?"
"Yeah, no, hire someone else."
He scowls. "You're very loyal very quickly."
She laughs humorlessly. "No, I'm really not."
He pulls out the same small notebook as before and reads from it.
"Says here you have trust issues, It's strange that you've become loyal to someone like my brother, even though you know what he is, also says you have PTSD, from the war. You have a tremor in your left hand."
"Your point?"
"It's not shaking now, in fact you're not even truly using your cane, you don't struggle because of the battlefield Doctor Watson. You miss it."
Joan grits her teeth. "Are we done here?" she's a few seconds from punching him in his smug face. She wonders if she could do it and make it out of here alive. Probably not. Then again… She's done crazier.
"For now."
Joan turns and strides for the car as fast as she can with the cane.
"One more thing," Mycroft calls behind her "if you change your mind, call me."
When hell freezes over!
She flips him off as she gets in the car.
"Your brother is an ass!" Joan cries, slamming the door behind her and limping up the stairs.
In the living room Sherlock is tucked into the couch, wrapped in his house coat, ignoring the world.
"Rough day?" Ms. Hudson asks from Joan's chair. She has tea placed on the coffee table and biscuits on a plate.
"Don't know the half of it." Joan mutters dropping her bag of snacks in the kitchen before making her way to the sitting room.
"Biscuit?"
"Oh thank you, what a life saver Ms. Hudson." She sighs, stealing Sherlock's chair and a biscuit.
"Just for today dear, I had extra."
"I was abducted today." She says casually when she finishes her biscuit to get Sherlock's attention.
"Oh My!" Ms. Hudson exclaims, her hand fluttering over her heart.
"Oh but I'm fine! Really. It was just a… tea party?"
"Mycroft!" Sherlock's snarl is muffled by the couch cushions.
"Yes, Mycroft. I didn't realize he loved theatrics."
Sherlock squirms and wiggles until he's turned to face them.
"Abandoned warehouse?"
"Yup."
"He's done that one already, he's getting dull."
"Wait he's had tea with other people in abandoned warehouses before?"
"Tea? No."
"Okay…"
"You didn't drink the tea did you?" He asks suddenly.
"No, I didn't even take the chair." Her leg throbs vindictively at the thought.
"What did he offer you?"
"Money to spy on you."
"Oh, he offered you the money, nicer than what he offered the last one."
"What did he offer the last one?"
He looks at her grimly.
"A quiet execution."
"Well… it's a good thing I decided not to punch him then."
What the hell have I gotten myself into?!