A Whole World Between.
The Mutant-Human War has reached its tipping point and one side will have to perish. The lines are drawn, but are they really clear for Sherlock and Molly. A Sherlolly Mutant AU.
This is a work of fiction purely for the purpose of entertainment. I own nothing. The characters of Sherlock are property of people much greater than me.
Chapter 1.
Ever since he was a little boy, Sherlock knew that his big brother was a liar. He always said that caring is not an advantage, but time and again he failed to follow his own advice. Mycroft has always cared. About their parents, his younger brothers, his nation, and now the human race. The human race that didn't have the X-gene, that is. Sure some people may argue that it was his hunger for power ("Stupid bloody power complex" as said by John.) that made his entry into the affairs of government seem like a logical move. However Sherlock knew better. If it was as simple as gaining power then it would have been far more satisfying being a criminal mastermind. After all getting away is so much more fun than fixing things. And Mycroft loved fixing. Fixing their parents' comfortable retirement, fixing his brother's sobriety, even fixing the world on the verge of cataclysm. Although it wasn't some naive saccharine notion (His brother is far too smart for that), but Mycroft was hell bent on doing his part in making this rotting world a better place.
The first cracks appeared when the United States of America started to enforce the Mutant Registration Act on a worldwide level, which immediately followed a violent backlash by the mutant communities everywhere. For a while it seemed wise to not poke that particular beast. Many countries even then were purposefully too ignorant and chose to believe that their invisible mutant population was negligible enough to be left alone. That was until a trigger happy American colonel ruined everything. His giant telepathic contraption exposed every single mutant on the planet. For scant minutes each, the humans and mutants knew nothing but pain. Both factions felt the same intensity, the same helplessness, the same screams Afterwards it seemed as if a blanket of stillness had descended upon the world.
But soon everyone realised the truth. Anyone who suffered the First Wave was a mutant. In offices, in universities, in government buildings, in playgrounds, in peoples' homes. Everywhere. Friends, spouses, neighbours, colleagues, strangers, fathers, daughters, mothers, even brothers. Everyone. The world had changed, and the ties of the old world were broken. It was much more basic now. Us and them. Them and us. The nations lost their identity. The governments had no basis. Ministers, presidents, judges. Mutants were everywhere. No one could say which was more scary, that they had managed to be so indiscernible or that they have access to nuclear launch codes.
Conclusion, pure pandemonium.
Afterwards there was so much running. Away from each other, after each other. The world had to change its face for the next five years over and over before a shoddy version of detente was finally reached. On the the surface that is. There were several zones designated for humans and mutants, which had initially started out as refugee centres amidst the bloodshed. But were in reality rapidly growing power hubs for both sides. Some being more powerful than others. In England, on the outskirts of what used to be London, the most powerful human zone on this side of the Atlantic was under the command of Mycroft Holmes, no longer having a minor position in the British government but being the British government in its entirety. As Sherlock had been saying all along. And on the other side of Isle of Man, in Ireland was the most powerful mutant zone, under the command of a mutant named James Moriarty.
Years before the Waves hit, Moriarty was already a name whispered in fear even by the underbelly of the international criminal world. And afterwards his sadistic influence only seemed to grow leaps and bounds. No one has been able to get close to him, no one ever does. And those who tried were never heard from again. Even finding any information about his past seemed like impossible. Not surprising, since his brother insists on hiring absolute idiots. Perhaps their presence makes the fatty feel smarter.
But it seems that even the idiots had managed to find something after all this time, since he was brought in. Mycroft knows better than to drag his little brother in goverment matters, unless it's not boring.
And Moriarty is never boring. Or so he hears.
The flow of good quality cases was very bleak. Before the Waves Sherlock would work with the NSY on a consulting basis, but nowadays with humans cowering in fear and anticipation for the other shoe to drop, petty theft was as good as it got. It seemed that the only better class of criminals were on a different island altogether. And if he were truly lucky, he might just get to meet them.
After he gets Mycroft to beg of course. Can't make things too simple for big brother.
However the eldest of the Holmes boys knew his brother too well and was definitely not going to give him the satisfaction. Which is how the good doctor found the brothers when he finally managed to join them. He was meant to come with Sherlock but his duties as a doctor called him away. As you see, desperate times means overworked doctors. He was completely spent and he didn't regret missing the theatrics that followed anyone whose last name was Holmes. Upon entering the office he found that today's special was silent stares and snarky smirks.
"Seriously you two can give any high school mean girl a run for their money." John muttered to himself.
"Well Sherlock, now that your wrangler is here perhaps now you can stop being a child and we could begin."
John wondered why he bothered to come anyway.
"I wasn't waiting for John, big brother. I was only waiting for your stomach to stop digesting the biscuits that you hide in your drawer-"
When he heard the word 'biscuit' John saw the tea kettle between the drama queens and remembered that Mycroft's office was perhaps one of the last place in England to still have proper tea. Which more than made up for any tantrum these two could throw. Almost.
"-But you're right let's begin by you using the elocutions that you needed as a child because mummy was worried you were developing a lisp."
At that moment, looking upon Mycroft's face, John was sure that the Sahara desert could have frozen over. "I only needed those dreadful lessons because you somehow found a way to rub numbing cream on my lips.. The problem was that I just couldn't prove how you did it."
"And yet you have the audacity to call yourself the smarter brother." Mumbled Sherlock.
But whatever clever (or childish, depending on who is telling the story) remark that was about to sprout out of Mycroft's no longer numb lips was never to be heard. As John couldn't take it anymore and demanded that the reason for their summons be explained quickly as possible. Or the very least order a fresh pot of tea. Because desperate times also means no telly, and John Watson was a soap opera addict in need of a fix (Thank you Mrs. Hudson). However too much Holmesian drama makes Johnny want to rip his last non-gray hairs out.
"The reason I had both of you brought here was because after all this time we finally have a way to get Moriarty."
At that moment, looking upon Sherlock's face, John was sure that the Wicked Witch and the Big Bad Wolf would need to take ominous predatory smirking lessons from his best friend. "Excellent. Finally something worthy." Up jumped the consulting detective from his chair and did his little happy pouncey dance across the room. 'Oh he hasn't done the happy pouncey dance in such a long time. Last time he did that it was because of a locked door triple homicide case' Though he would never really say that to his face. John still shudders thinking about the conditions of his jumpers when he mentioned the collar flip for cool effect thing.
"We'll take the case. John and I will leave at the crack of dawn. I assume you've already made the arrangements."
"But of course Sherlock. I'm not the British government for nothing."
"Sorry. Hold on a minute. Excuse me. Sorry. Wha- Wait. What? No, where? Where exactly are you sending the two of us."
Cue the customary Holmes eye-roll. At times like these John really regrets leaving his gun and only bringing his bag from work.
"Goldfish" sighed the brothers in a sudden bout of camaraderie.
Although he was pretty sure that he could choke at least one of them with his stethoscope.
"Oh come on John. Isn't it obvious? We are going to Ireland and infiltrate Moriarty's base." John could sense all of the blood drain from his face. "Why are you making that face? An adrenaline junkie like you should be happy that you can finally break the mediocrity."
"Mediocrity? Are you insane? Oh god, Sherlock. There's adventure seeking and then there's suicide mission. Unless you're a mutant, you can't set foot on Ireland. And last I checked neither you nor I are mutants mate." He ran his hands through his hair. A classic reaction when dealing with the git. 'Goodbye my last non-gray hair.' "So tell me how are we going to infiltrate something when we will most likely be murdered long before that? Or did you find a way back from the astral plain and thought that we can accomplish that as ghosts, eh?" But he received no reply from his friend, as he seems to have already departed without even a swish of the coat, as John found out when he finally lowered his hand. The git.
"He's probably gone to make preparations for the mission. So should you as you'll be leaving in less than eight hours. As for the answer to your question, you'll be able to do all that while still retaining all your mortal coil because we have a mutant on the inside, who has been feeding us information for the past year." He pointed at the heavy dossier lying on the table. "My brother already left with his. I suggest you try to memorise as much as you can in the time being." Even the very apparent dismissal was not going to deter the soldier.
"No. That's impossible"
"What is impossible John?" asked an already distracted Mycroft, who was now going over some files that Anthea had presented before him. Seriously how does the woman do that? If John didn't know Mycroft's aversion to anything mutant, he would have said that Anthea was a teleporter.
"What is impossible that you couldn't possibly have 'a mutant on the inside'" His imitation of Mycroft's posh accent might actually have been good, as he would swear that Anthea smiled just a fraction. Which anyone who knows her, is really a lot in context of the super secretary. "Because A. You would never work with mutants. And B. No mutant would betray their own kind."
Mycroft smiled after hearing that. He might have meant it to be a soothing and encouraging one, but it only managed to do more damage to John's already fragile nerves. "Very good John. I knew I was right in choosing you over a team of agents to accompany my brother in this mission. Because you are absolutely right. But A. The only way we were ever getting in Ireland was with the help of a mutant so I had to compromise. And B. Of course no natural born mutant would help us even under the threat of torture. Believe me when I say that all methods and ideas were long exhausted before we reached the simple solution. We simply cooked up a mutant for our use. She's the one who has collected all the information and will also help you in Ireland."
"I don't understand."
The soothing smile disappeared again. Not that John was going to miss it. And the normal condescending look was back.
"It's all in there" Pointing towards the dossier again. "Just take it and you'll understand everything."
"I still don't understand what we'll be doing over there."
Mycroft only let out a sigh as if he held the burdens of the entire world on his shoulders. Which was actually true in a way. "My brother is going to get close with the high players like Moriarty and your job is what it always has been. Making sure that he doesn't get in over his head and if he does you'll make sure that he makes his way back home. In one piece mind you."
"Brilliant. And how do you think he'll be able to do that? Or can any random person off the street can get close to this Moriarty and his council of mutant evilness? Or even better. How about the fact that he is not a mutant. Don't you think that the council of mutant evilness will test that out the first chance they get, hmm?"
"Well of course not any random person can do that. But you forget that Sherlock Holmes can't possibly be random. How he manages to do that is up to him. As far as the matter of mutant powers goes, while my brother may not be a mutant, he'll be able to get in close with them because he does have the X-gene. Now good day and bon voyage John."
So as you might have guessed, this story is inspired by the events of X2 movie, particularly what happens after, if things went to shit that is. However this is not a crossover as no characters from the movie or comics will be seen. And I don't claim any right over them either. But some of the Sherlock characters will have powers based on some of the X-Men characters. And that is when the fun begins.