Not only my first SH FF but I'm making it a crossover today.
I always thought- Mycroft's high up in the government- he must know about Alex. Wondered what he would do with that knowledge.
Warning –infrequent adult language. Alcohol. Barest hint of Johnlock. Violence.
DISCLAIMER- It breaks my heart but if you recognise something, I don't own it. All things Sherlock belong to Sir Conan Doyle and the BBC, and all things Alex to .
Please leave any and all comments! No excuse- it's so easy nowadays! ;)
There is no knowledge that is not power.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
It was a cold night. It was clear, and beautiful, but absolutely freezing. Mycroft regretted leaving his favourite coat at home but it was far too well made for these parts of London and he would have been mugged in an instant. No, instead, he was leaning against the wall of a nightclub in Brixton, searching for the cigar he was sure he has seen there this morning.
He found it and lit it. Much better. He felt himself relax and warm up and he allowed himself to dwell on his thoughts more.
Poor . He genuinely cared for Sherlock. And he thought that by declining Mycroft's offer of espionage, no-one would spy on them.
As if.
Really, it wasn't even an interesting challenge to find the man he was looking for. It took calling in three favours, 2 accounts of blackmail and one afternoon chatting up the postlady and he had his man.
His cigar was slowly burning out –Christ, how long had he been waiting? A quick glance at his watch. 00:17. Yes, the agent was definitely late.
'Not my fault. Was being tailed.' a silky voice slightly behind Mycroft said. Jesus! He hadn't even heard his come up behind him. These meetings had occurred at least 3 times before but he was still adjusting to the young agent's power and grace. Mycroft turned, and raised his eyebrows.
The contact was young but exuded a sort of power even Mycroft was wary of. He was lithe and muscled, his slim body well up to the task of removing any following. His blonde hair poked out of his raised hood.
'Don't look at me like that. I am wanted internationally. What's the price on my head now? 20 million? 30? Shall we enter?'
Alex led the way into the hustling and bustling nightclub and found them a small corner to sit at, at the bar.
He had long been a regular here- it was busy, yet everyone here was private and had links to the black-market; they wouldn't dare listen in on anyone else, as they were too concerned on keeping their activities quiet. Despite its completely threatening demeanour, once you were infamous and powerful enough, it really was a nice place. People tended to help each other against the cops, sharing tips and offering assistance.
Not to mention the barmaids were absolutely stunning. And all had a thing for the mysterious Rider…
'Did you want a drink ? I would recommend some of the house spirits. Yes, they really do help you to…unwind.'
At this Alex turned round at high-fived the bargirl who had been sat in front of them. Clearly, it was some kind of private joke.
'Mr .Rider-'
'Do you mind? We ARE in a public place. I thought you were knowledgeable about my field of expertise. If not, let me remind you – We are in one of London's leading black-market pubs. My capture is worth millions. Thus- a fair few people here will happily sell me out. So please-have some tact.'
Mycroft sighed. The man [teenager! He reminded himself] was impossible. He was almost grateful he had gone slightly rogue, selling his expertise to the highest bidder, purely because dealing with the havoc he always caused was a living nightmare.
" *, as I was about to say- do you really think I would accept alcohol from you, of all people? No thank you.
"Anyway, we are supposed to be here to discuss your employment, and for your report, so if you wouldn't mind putting down your bloody G&T, and behave like the agent you're supposed to be!"
"Agent? You consider me an agent? Still? Oh dear. No, I've taken a leaf out of Holmes Junior's book- Consulting Operations Director, I think, suits me far better. Pay, and you shalt receive and all that jazz."
"You're still on SIS's pay rota."
"That's because you're still hiring me for advice. Doesn't make me an agent."
"I refuse to refer to you as anything that starts with 'Consulting' or was inspired by my brother! Now put your drink down and give me this month's report!"
"Calm down, calm down. I was just trying to be polite. Anyway, if it prevents an aneurysm, I'll give you the godforsaken report.
"He's spending more time with , 60 hours a week with him. Keeps frequenting a local bar, and getting utterly smashed. Truth be told, it makes my job easier. It's quite funny. …Well, it would be. If he didn't keep coming onto me…"
Alex gazed into space, mentally reliving the awkward scene in the Gents bathroom.
"Focus, Mr Jinete, please!"
"He keeps mumbling about ...well, I can't really understand. Moriarty and IOUs. Hope that makes more sense to you, as I haven't a clue.
"That seems to be about it. Still doing experiments, still offending people, still extremely self-righteous, still seems to think he's the only one with a homeless network. Please.
"And, oh yeah. He kissed Watson 3 weeks ago-"
"What?!"
"Yeah... thank God for that. I was getting annoyed with his waiting myself."
" that would be an update I needed to know about immediately. I am most frustrated you waited a month to tell me."
Alex sighed. This Mycroft character was getting a bit out of hand. At first it had seemed like an easy job-put this Sherlock moron under surveillance, intercept emails etcetera. Wasn't hard at all; most of the time it was quite amusing; watching this self-proclaimed completely ignorant genius not be able to figure out he was being watched.
But this elder brother was starting to make it almost not worth his while, especially given his links to MI6. Well, with the way his intelligence service was targeting some of his best customers, there was always a good chance he wouldn't be around too much longer.
"Yeah, well. What you going to do, arrest me? I won't bother your sleep by telling you how many of your coppers owe me huge , you've been in this business long enough-you should know how important it is to lay down a basic contract. Jeez.
"Now, the money for next month, if you please."
Mycroft leant down and pulled up a large black rucksack and sat it on the bar. He remembered the first meeting-Alex had laughed for ten minutes when he saw the briefcase he had brought, before reminding Mycroft that he was a teenager. Teenagers…don't do briefcases. He had always ensured to bring more suitable bags after mortified by a teenage contract killer/consultant had been one of the worst moments of his career.
Alex briefly checked it for triggered explosives and opened it once satisfied. He never really bothered to count money, a cursory glance would suffice. People who tried to trick him… well. They got their penance.
"Well that seems to be in order. So good doing business with you . See you around. Word of advice…watch your step."
Then, with a wink and a pat on the head, he had gone.
Mycroft sighed a huge sigh of relief. He would take that offer of a drink now.
He ordered his glass –rum- and downed it easily. Meeting with Rider always made him feel completely unnerved and inexperienced. Interrogating Moriarty was a nicer experience.
He pushed his glass back towards the barmaid [who now looked like she was. … Reassembling a gun under the counter…surely not!] and got up to leave. Although he would never admit it, Rider's parting words had shaken him, and he wanted to go home. He had already texted his chauffeur, but there was no way he could meet him here, so he would have to walk a few streets so a more central area.
As he exited the pub into the dark night, he noted his legs were shaking slightly. Maybe he'd had more to drink than he'd thought? No doubt in nerves too. He'd never in a million years expected to stunt he'd pulled to actually work on Rider. Clearly, he wasn't as good as he claimed. Maybe he would pay him less next ti-
"You stupid bastard!"
Mycroft was grabbed and suddenly thrown into the wall of the alley he was walking down. He barely had a chance to blink away the blood dripping into his eyes, he received a vicious fist to the jaw.
fuck.
"It makes me laugh actually, that you would dare to do something like that.[kick to the ribcage]I always thought of you as smarter than to try and bug me, but it appears I overestimated you [stamp on ankle. Breaks sprained ribs.]
"Rider, it wasn't my fault, Blunt, when he found out he made me! I-"
"I should just kill you now."
Silence fell. Alex looked the incapacitated man up and down. "But then, I suppose your foolish brother will find me, and I'll have to kill him too, and his childish ways do amuse me.
"This is your final warning, Mycroft Ptolemy Holmes**. If I even hear a rumour of a rumour that you're planning something, I can make you hurt in ways that will have you begging for mercy in a matter of seconds. Or maybe I just give Jim a little dial and tell him all that you've kept hidden from him. He misses you, you know. He told me to say he does so miss your little catch-up.
"I've called your driver. And told him he might want an ambulance. Oh, don't give me that look; he knows exactly what you've been doing. You underestimate 'normal' people.
"Anyway, I'd better be off, again. Thanks for making me miss Family Guy, again. Oh! And I'm going to forward the bill for getting my hoodie clean to you. You don't mind do you? It is your blood, after all. And yeah, almost forgot-took the liberty of hacking into your laptop last night. Those operations look very juicy, don't they? No wonder your enlisting so many agents into the Moriarty case. Yes, these papers will sell nicely, thanks. See you around… hopefully, for you…will you last that long?"
He slipped off into the dark alleyway, leaving Mycroft alone with his pounding head and thoughts. No doubt the driver would be less than a minute away.
His body would ache tomorrow, but Mycroft Holmes was sure, this was now the very least of his considerable issues.
iPhone-memos-new-don't try to pull one over on Alex Rider. You will pay.
*Jinete = rider,in Spanish.
**Ptolemy-presume we never find out mycrofts middle name, and chose a suitably posh one ;) is a silent 'p'.
Please review! It took me an age to organise this, 20 seconds for you to type 'good job!/bad job..' then click submit :D