Title: A Story Unfolds: His Heart
World: Sherlock (Set after Series 3, no 'Moriarty returns', disregards Series 4 for now)
Main POV: Mycroft Holmes, may sometimes vary.
Rating: M for Blood, Gore, Adult Themes and Strong Language
Beta: Myself (I do triple check for mistakes but if any, point them out :))
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, but I do own Elizabeth.
Author's Note: Honestly guys, I really shouldn't start a new story, but I have. I've been on a Sherlock kick lately (how could one not be on a Sherlock kick) and this idea popped into my head. Crazy really, but it wouldn't leave me alone and I figured I'd share my idea with everyone else. So here it is, A Story Unfolds: His Heart, I hope I've got everyone in character, fingers crossed. This starts after Series 3 but disregards Moriarty's return and Series 4, Sherlock was banished for around five minutes before being brought back (Like in the special episode). Without further adieu, I give you this. Enjoy!
The day was like any other in Mycroft's opinion, dull. Utterly dull. North Korea had its typically semiannually tantrum which had taken him no more than three hours to smooth out. But then a rather important MP seemed to run into a touch of trouble with a sex scandal landing on his desk. Mycroft, of course, had been assigned to clear his name and he had. Reasonably quickly and all before lunchtime.
Some would say that's a job well done, a war averted, and a high profile scandal swept away before it could get out. Mycroft called it a Wednesday. Boring, dull and so typically ordinary.
The portrait of her Majesty the Queen looked down on Mycroft as he sipped from his teacup. His finger ran over the keypad on his laptop, his mouse moved over the half-finished secure email providing Top Secret Intel to the CIA. With a sigh, Mycroft set his cup down with a faint clink and resumed his typing.
I don't need to inform you, Director, that this information needs to handled with the utmost care. I've done what was discussed at our meeting prior to this email. Attached is a fifteen paged document, in there you will find all the information you need. It would seem, Director, you should be more careful of those you hire under suspicious 'recommendations.'
Hope this finds you in the best of health,
Mycroft Holmes
As soon as he pressed the send button, Anthea, all but burst into the room.
"Excuse me Mr. Holmes, but we seem to have a slight problem." She spoke with a tint of worry.
Mycroft raised a brow and shut the lid of his laptop down and laced his fingers together. His look telling her to continue and she did, "There's been a bomb explosion near central London sir," she looked down at her phone before speaking again "At Westminster Station. No terrorist organization has confirmed it was them as of yet, sir."
Mycroft leaned back in his chair, picked up his cup of tea and grimaced at the coldness of it. Setting it down he looked at his secretary, "Has the TRT responded?"
"Not of yet sir, they're still two minutes out. But ambulances and Scotland Yard are on enroute."
"Hmm," Mycroft stood up and walked around his desk, grabbing his signature black umbrella on his way out the door, "I want a list of all casualties, ensure that no MPs or any other high profile people were caught in it. This is much too close to Big Ben and Downing Street for it to be a random bombing, their target is someone of high status."
"Yes sir," came the response.
As they left the building a sleek black BMW waited for them, Mycroft slid into the car, the door being held open by a man who then got into the passenger seat "To Buckingham Palace, and do step on it." He told the driver before looking to Anthea "Arranged to have Elizabeth picked up from school and brought to Buckingham."
"Of course sir, may I ask why?" Anthea asked as she clicked away on her phone, ordering a man to go and pick up her boss' daughter.
Mycroft looked out his car window "I did say their target is someone of high status, it's better to be safe than sorry my dear."
"Ms. Elizabeth Holmes," a pair of blue eyes looked up and towards the door where a man in a black suit stood, clearly he worked for her father but what on earth was he doing here? School ended in exactly two hours and forty-six minutes and ten seconds. Her teacher and the class turned to look at Elizabeth, who was still staring at the man, her brow raised, the man spoke: "I've been ordered to collect you, Ms. Holmes, by your father."
Elizabeth sighed, her father sure loved to make things dramatic, but she suppose it ran in the family, her uncle being the very same way. She stood up, grabbed her bookbag and moved to leave the room, the stares and whispers of her fellow classmates echoing in her ears. When they left the school building the man, she deduced to be the driver opened the back seat door for her. As she settled in her seat, bookbag next to her, Elizabeth's phone chimed.
A message from her father. Odd, he detests texting, not if he could speak. Perhaps he had another toothache? Although he seemed fine when she left the house this morning for school.
There's been a bombing, you should arrive at Buckingham Palace in forty minutes to an hour. MH
Ah, too busy to talk then. Her phone chimed again almost immediately after.
I do apologize, darling, for interrupting you during school hours. MH
Elizabeth rolled her eyes, she hardly cared about that, secondary school was dull, the teachers, idiotic, and her fellow classmates, imbeciles. Her father knew this. She recalled the conversation they had when she told him her teacher was rather, for lack of better words, stupid, and why couldn't she just skip school, she hardly needed it.
He, of course, rebuked that: "If you want to work for the British Government darling, then you'll need an education. No child of mine is going to get a position they did not earn."
"But daddy, it's so boring."
They had come to an agreement if she continued her schooling then twice a week her father would take her into his work and 'show her the ropes' as some would say. But a bombing, that sounded fun.
Can I help? EH
I could hardly keep you away, but I do believe you've only come into work with me once this week. MH
Elizabeth smiled, that was his way of saying yes. How exciting though, a bombing! They hardly had enough of those in London. Usually, when she went with him, there was nothing to do, just high profile scandals or the CIA needing her father's help. Although there was that time roughly six months ago, where North Korea had their 'semiannually tantrum' as her father called it. She remembered that Russia and China had gotten involved, which lead to the Americans sticking their noses in. Now, that had been fun. Her father had allowed her to sit in on the talks between the four countries. He even asked for her input, once the meeting had finished of course.
She wondered if next week she could convince her uncle Sherlock to take her on one of his cases. He still had yet to introduce her to John Watson, a man she knew all about, thanks to her father but had not yet met.
A loud honk pulled Elizabeth from her plans of meeting one Dr. Watson, "Sorry Ms, there seems to have been a crash ahead. I'll have to take another route."
As the car did a u-turn, Elizabeth frowned, honestly couldn't people drive right? Now they were going to have the take the long way round. Sighing the twelve-year-old opened a reading app on her phone, Treasure Island, being one of her favorite books to read as a time passer.
Roughly twenty minutes later they were crossing over Waterloo bridge before an ear piercing sound exploded to the left of her, the car flipped and rolled twice before coming to an upside-down stop. Elizabeth blinked liquid out of her eyes twice, the sounds of ringing echoed throughout her ears. With a groan, Elizabeth managed to unbuckle her seat belt, but the let out a low whine as she slammed hard onto the car roof, glass cutting into her arms and legs. Her head hurt, but she managed to wipe away the liquid that kept getting into her eyes, a glance at her left hand showed her it was blood.
A quick movement of her eyes towards her driver showed him to be unmoving, alive but unconscious. Most likely from the blow suffered to his head. Tears fell from her eyes as she tried to move her right arm, broken and a concussion her mind deduced for her.
Where was her phone? She should contact her father, let him know that she was going to be longer than an hour now.
Glass laid under her left cheek, even turning her head brought forth pain and the sound of it scraping as it scratched against the roof. She managed to lift herself up with her left arm, she tried biting back a cry of pain, but a whimper still left her as glass embedded itself deeper into her knees. Her phone laid shattered a foot in front of her, her bookbag had spilled all over, papers and books lay scattered about. Tears still fell from her eyes, right now all she wanted was her father.
The sound of footsteps reached her ears and then the prying of the door, the metal bent and screeched as the men –from the low rough voices she could make out– continued to try and open it. She heard a man shout for them to "Hurry the hell up!" Another cursed loudly as the door refused to open.
"H-Hello?" she called out, voice hoarse.
The shuffling and prying of the door stopped but then started up again, faster this time. Finally not a minute later the door was ripped off, Elizabeth looked up with teary hopeful eyes, thinking it was search and rescue, only for them to widen in pure horror.
Well...? Are they in character? BTW, for those who don't know, TRT means Tactical Response Team.
Try not to use a flamethrower on me please! Constructive criticism is welcome though.
Let me know what you think in the reviews and like always, Fav and all that jazz ;)