Title: Modal Tune
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Characters/Pairings: Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson/OFC (unnamed), Gregory Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Sgt. Donovan, Anderson
Rating: PG
Summary: Mycroft views some rather unusual surveillance.
Type: Humor
Rating: PG
Disclaimers: I do not own Sherlock and Co., nor do I own An Irish Ballad. My unconscious brain decided to join the two around 3 a.m. this morning, and I woke myself up giggling. This story is the result.
The British Government's P.A. walked into his office at tea-time bearing the usual tray. As she proceeded to distribute the tea accoutrements, she inquired, "Sir, shall I be mother?"
Mycroft smiled and replied, "Yes, please. Anything of interest today?"
Her lips twitched a bit as she poured, and she responded, "Yes, Sir. Sherlock's surveillance picked up something rather unusual about five minutes ago."
He considered her words and body language for a moment, then turned to his desktop computer and typed in some passwords. He then typed in the beginning time frame and began the surveillance footage. The monitor showed four views of Sherlock's flat: one in the stairwell leading from the front door, one in the main room of the flat, one in Sherlock's room, and one in Dr. Watson's room. For clarity's sake, Mycroft limited the sound feed to only the main room. The stairwell and main room showed rather a lot of Met officers flitting about.
"Ah. Another drugs bust. I wonder what he withheld this time," Mycroft mused. He watched the activity closely. He could see Sherlock standing at the window, looking out into the busy street, completely ignoring the frenetic activity of the drug squad, and the monologue of the man in charge of them. Lestrade was his name, remembered Mycroft.
His P.A. handed him his cup, saucer and spoon. He took a sip and smiled, then said, "Thank you, my dear. Perfection in a cup, as always." He took another sip, then leaned back in his chair a bit. His P.A. smiled back, then replied, "You're welcome, Sir. However, you may want to put your teacup down for this next bit."
He considered her rather unusual suggestion for a moment, then turned back to the monitor. He noticed that Sherlock's attention had become more focused on something that was happening outside the flat. Mycroft put his tea down on the desk next to the keyboard, then typed in some more commands and passwords. The current split screen froze, and a new window opened up. This window showed the two views of the street level, one view each of the north and south. Ah, Dr. Watson and a lady friend were approaching the flat from the north-west. It seems that they were both a bit the worse for wear. Dr. Watson was wavering a bit less than his companion. They both paused for a moment when they took in all of the police cars that were parked outside the flat. As they approached the first police car, an officer stopped them. Most likely, the officer was about to site them for disorderly conduct. Dr. Watson spoke quietly with the officer while doing his best to hold up his friend. He pointed at the doorway to 221 B, and spoke some more, then the officer waved them on. Dr. Watson's companion was either yawning or laughing behind her hand, as Dr. Watson laughed and walked with her towards the door. Mycroft turned to look at his P.A. with a raised eyebrow. "One pint too many, I'm afraid," Mycroft tutted.
His P.A. just smirked a bit, and kept sipping her tea.
So, it gets better, Mycroft thinks. He continues to watch, impressed in spite of himself, as Dr. Watson manages to find his keys, unlock the front door, and not allow his lady friend to fall down the front steps, all while laughing. Mycroft closes the street views and starts up the ones in the flat.
It seems that there is more information to be had with sound. What Mycroft had deduced as laughter was a bit more than that. The lady was actually laughing and singing at the same time. Dr. Watson was trying to help her up the stairs, and laughing at her song. Mycroft increased the volume for the stairwell feed, and decreased the volume from the main room.
"Sing rickety-tickety-tin," the lady sang.
Mycroft blinked.
"About a maid I'll sing a song,
Who didn't have her family long.
Not only did she do them wrong,
She did ev'ryone of them in, them in,
She did ev'ryone of them in."
Dr. Watson was not having much success with helping her up the stairs because he was laughing too hard. He only had one hand available to help her, as his other hand was unsuccessfully attempting to hold back the sound of his laughter, trying to hold back hers, or holding himself upright so he didn't fall backwards onto the landing.
"One morning in a fit of pique,
Sing rickety-tickety-tin," continued the lady, rather dementedly,
"One morning in a fit of pique,
She drowned her father in the creek.
The water tasted bad for a week,
And we had to make do with gin, with gin,
We had to make do with gin."
Mycroft's right eyebrow slowly started to climb. He looked at the footage from the main room. Sherlock's head was cocked a bit to the side, so he could hear what was going on in the stairwell a bit better over the racket going on in the kitchen. Lestrade was attempting to get Sherlock's attention, without success. Sherlock started to grin as the lady continued her disturbing ballad.
"Her mother she could never stand,
Sing rickety-tickety-tin,
Her mother she could never stand,
And so a cyanide soup she planned.
The mother died with a spoon in her hand," here the lady started laughing outright, continuing to sing through the laughter,
"And her face in a hideous grin, a grin,
Her face in a hideous grin."
By this point, Dr. Watson was giggling maniacally, and he had helped his lady friend halfway up the stairs. Sherlock could obviously hear them, because he started to laugh. Lestrade stopped his tirade and looked at him, then looked at the doorway. He could finally start to hear the ruckus coming up from below. The drugs squad each noticed the quiet from the main room and stopped what they were doing in the kitchen to look. They could hear the song too, as it continued to get closer.
"She set her sister's hair on fire,
Sing rickety-tickety-tin," she sang with unholy glee.
Mycroft's left eyebrow joined his right. He was trying not to smile.
"She set her sister's hair on fire,
And as the smoke and flame rose high'r,
Danced around the funeral pyre,
Playin' a violin, -olin,
Playin' a violin."
Dr. Watson and his balladeer were now two-thirds of the way up the stairs. Sherlock and Lestrade both heard the last line clearly. Sherlock turned and looked down at his chair where his violin and bow were resting. Lestrade, in a notable attempt at quick thinking, stepped in front of the chair to prevent Sherlock's putting thought into action and joining the approaching mayhem. Sherlock looked at Lestrade and raised an eyebrow in sardonic inquiry. Lestrade just smirked and shook his head.
"Obviously Lestrade has heard my brother play," said Mycroft to his P.A. She chuckled and shook her head.
"She weighted her brother down with stones,
Rickety-tickety-tin,
She weighted her brother down with stones,
And sent him off to Davy Jones.
All they ever found were some bones,
And occasional pieces of skin, of skin,
Occasional pieces of skin."
By this point in the proceedings, the insane lady was mimicking picking flakes of skin from off her arms as if she had reached the peeling stage of a bad sunburn. Dr. Watson was bent in half, leaning against the wall, out of breath with laughter when he noticed the door at the bottom of the landing, the door to 221A open and Mrs. Hudson's head popped into view and she said, "Hello, Dr. Watson." The look on the poor woman's face was unbelievably funny. Dr. Watson giggled madly and waved hello. He tugged on his lady friend's coat so she turned around. She looked at Mrs. Hudson and waved enthusiastically then started to sing again.
"One day when she had nothing to do,
Sing rickety-tickety-tin,
One day when she had nothing to do,
She cut her baby brother in two,
And served him up as an Irish stew,
And invited the neighbors in, -bors in,
Invited the neighbors in."
Mrs. Hudson waved back rather faintly, then withdrew back into her flat and closed the door. And locked it. Loudly. The miscreants on the stairs laughed harder, if that was even possible.
"What the hell is that racket?" asked a ferrety-faced man from the kitchen. He had stopped wiping down the counter surface. The rest of the squad had also stopped to listen. A dark, curly-haired woman listened for a moment, then looked at the ferrety-faced man and replied, "And here I thought Sherlock was the freak." Sherlock heard this and laughed louder.
Dr. Watson had reached the landing and the open doorway to the main room. He pointed his inebriated friend to the next set of stairs and helped her up the first few steps. Then, he turned around and approached the doorway. With an admirable attempt at a straight face Dr. Watson looked at Sherlock and Lestrade, then at the suddenly quiet collection of police in the kitchen who were poking their heads out of the doorway, then back at Sherlock and Lestrade. He said, "Ah. Another pretend drugs bust. Very good. My friend and I are going upstairs now." He then turned, caught up to his lady friend, held her by the arm, and escorted her up the next flight of stairs to his room. However, being temporarily abandoned did not give the lady sufficient cause to pause in her song.
"And when at last the police came by,
Sing rickety-tickety-tin,
And when at last the police came by,
Her little pranks she did not deny,
To do so she would have had to lie,
And lying, she knew, was a sin, a sin,
Lying, she knew, was a sin"
"Alright everyone, pack up, we're done here," yelled Lestrade, all the while avoiding everyone's eye. Mycroft laughed out loud at that, and deduced that Lestrade was about 3 seconds away from joining in the demented laughter emanating from the stairwell. Sherlock's grin was of epic proportions as he reached around Lestrade for his violin and bow. "A modal tune, but I can work around it," he muttered, rosining his bow.
As the lady troubador and her doctor reached his rooms, and the drug squad was making a quick exit, Sherlock put the violin under his chin, picked up his bow, and picked up the tune, giving a violin accompaniment to the retreating police officers. Everyone listened to the last of her song.
"My tragic tale, I won't prolong,
Rickety-tickety-tin,"
"Too late," yelled Lestrade as he left the flat and headed down the stairs. The couple were too busy laughing to hear him.
"My tragic tale I won't prolong,
And if you do not enjoy the song,
You've yourselves to blame if it's too long,
You should never have let me begin, begin,
You should never have let me begin."
Dr. Watson slammed the door shut, but Sherlock, and by way of the surveillance, Mycroft, could still hear their joyful laughter for a bit after the police left.
Mycroft closed the surveillance footage, and shut down his computer. Still chuckling, he picked up his tea and raised his cup in salute to his highly amused P.A. "Cheers, my dear."