I need a distraction, and this is the result. It was initially supposed to be a single chapter because, well, a certain fanfiction author has to study for her A-Levels, but it is not... and nor can it ever be.
First story for BBC's Sherlock and I'd be lying if I said I'm not excited to see where this would go.
"There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact."
― Arthur Conan Doyle (The Boscombe Valley Mystery)
221B BAKER STREET,
LONDON
There was something unduly disconcerting about the email that his brother had sent. Something… that made Sherlock Holmes sit back in his favourite chair, intertwine his fingers and press them against his chin.
MI7 did not enlist the assistance of civilians. And for them to do it now, meant going against everything they worked hard to maintain… or at least what Mycroft did.
It was always beyond Sherlock as to why, despite their relationship and his brother's massive intellect, they wished to seek him out. His brother never shied away from international travel. And while yes, they wanted to get involved before Interpol did. But why him?
Cases were fine. But when offered by his brother, Sherlock always wondered why. Unless, as his improbability theory would suggest, Mycroft Holmes needed him to do the job he couldn't manage himself.
And wasn't that a wonderful thought.
He faced his laptop, stationed on the coffee table and read, for what was the third time:
Dear Mr. S. Holmes
A matter of international importance has just come to the attention of MI7. While we are generally against speaking to civilians on these matters, your name has been selected for consideration as you are the one of the only person able to investigate at this time.
At your earliest convenience, please come to Buckingham Palace for a de-briefing. Which is to say, now, little brother.
Yours sincerely,
Mycroft Holmes
"The British Government" as you so kindly put it.
Was that Mycroft trying to make a joke? Urgh. When would he realize that these social habits simply didn't suit him.
Sherlock turned away from the screen, numerous possibilities flashing through his mind.
A matter of international importance, he mused, would not be something in the news as yet. MI7 thrived on secrecy, and keeping things away from the public eye. This was information he had to find for himself… Intriguing.
He stood, brushing the non-existent crumbs off of his jacket.
"I'm going out," he called to no one in particular, wrapping his scarf around his neck, and striding out the door with such careless ease, anyone watching would think he was off for a spot of coffee at the nearby café.
…
BUCKINGHAM PALACE,
LONDON
"Sherlock."
"Mycroft. Pray tell me you have an excellent reason to call me out of Baker Street when I was previously occupied."
"Occupied," his elder brother scoffed. "Please. If you had a case going on, you would've sent John. I've gotten you interested, haven't I?"
"I'm here now, aren't I?"
"No need for the rudeness, baby brother. There are cameras everywhere."
"And yet you insisted that I come here to see you. Our family reunions never go well, as per my memory."
Mycroft sighed. "It's only because this is a formal debriefing."
…
Sherlock was taken to a room, escorted by his brother and what seemed the Queen's armada. His careless glances told him what he already knew: The obsession with cleanliness… perfection… No wonder Mycroft enjoyed working for them.
Long tables circled the room, leaving the centre with a space large enough for a speaker to pace, while he delivered his speech. A large chandelier hung from the ceiling (maple, by the look of the gleam of the wood).
"Here, Mr. Holmes," one of the guards said, indicating a seat where an observer could miss nothing.
"Mine," Sherlock called, taking it, before his brother even had time to react.
…
Old men filed into the room, and Sherlock risked a bored look to his brother. Mycroft ignored him studiously, which, given the nature of their brotherly love, was a smart move.
A balding man strode to the centre of the room- unsmiling (grim news, perhaps?), brown eyes (common in a big proportion of the world's population), cane (friend of Mycroft's?) and a flash drive in hand (digital data… so not as big an idiot as he thought).
"Good morning, everyone. I come forward this morning with data from our colleagues from America. And, if the attack on the SHIELD base was bad, I suppose the incidents following that incident give a grim proposition on the fate of the world."
"Care to elaborate?" Sherlock asked, "The introduction is scarcely of importance to the matter at hand."
"Ah yes. Mr… Sherlock Holmes," he said, glancing at Mycroft, who put his face in his hands. "We invited you here on the premise that you be of assistance."
"As long as you capture of attention, in which area, dare I say it, you have been lapse."
The man was turning red now. "Please continue," someone in the crowd called out.
Steeling himself, Sherlock realized (watching his clenched knuckles as he removed the cover), the man plugged the drive in a small part of the wall.
Images filled the wall- people in uniform fleeing, carting large boxes with the logo of the American eagle displayed prominently… An implosion…. The base destroyed…
A movie too was playing in tandem with the photo view. A car chase, no doubt, judging from the shakiness of the film.
There was a figure that the person seemed to be attempting to focus on. A man with a large scepter in his hand, glowing blue at the middle. He was crouched at the back of a pick-up truck, but there was no mistaking the the green cape, nor the black garb that fit around his torso like armour.
The room burst into nervous chattering, but only Sherlock voiced his thoughts to the moderator.
"Who is that?"
"They call him Loki… and as far as we know, he's an extraterrestrial… Not from Earth," he clarified, noticing Sherlock's confused expression.
"I KNOW what it is."
"Thus far, he is responsible for the death of dozens of lives, and has in his possession the American's answer for the renewable energy problem."
"And where do I fit in?"
"We need your help to find him before the Americans do."
"Why me?"
"Because you're the only person in London who's able to find him without raising international suspicion…"
"And what about…"
"John Watson cannot accompany you, Sherlock," Mycroft replied, " But don't worry about your friend. You'd be back before Inspector Lestrade decides to take him seriously."
