NOTE: This fic is a gift for the beautiful Grace, whose friendship and talented writing have been some of the best gifts I've ever had the privilege of receiving. Merry Christmas!
Mycroft Holmes stood on a jagged cliff in Afghanistan, watching a dusty skirmish unfold in the distance. His countenance bore the detached indifference that was common to his kind—the sort of indifference that came with centuries of watching humans slaughtering each other in increasingly creative ways. Human nature no longer surprised him. His job, however, as with the job of every other angel in existence, was not to intervene with human history but to protect God's creation from demonic influence and harm.
His current appointed task was conducive towards that goal. Whispers of a powerful demon weaving trouble like a spider web over the whole of Earth had reached heavenly ears. His network was vast by all accounts. Whoever was assigned the mission would be spending quite a bit of time stationed on Earth—London, specifically—with the possibility of a permanent stay. Mycroft already had an angel in mind.
"Have you told Sherlock?" Naomi, the angel standing beside him in regal silence, spoke with her usual musicality. "You're to be brothers again for this operation."
"I've told him," Mycroft confirmed. "He enjoys the cover story. It means he can be his usual irreverent self and I have to hold my tongue."
"When do you ever hold your tongue? I rather think you enjoy the cover yourself," she retorted without looking his way. "You're attached to him, are you not? You have been since his creation."
Mycroft didn't need to confirm for her to know she was right. Superior intellect was one of the many things they had in common. Very little escaped her notice. He'd often thought perhaps that was the reason their connection was so harmonious and balanced. They were two of a kind.
"What of Natalia?" He prompted after a short pause. In the distance events were quickly coming to a close. He could hear voices and gunfire, but he was zeroed in on one particular blonde-haired human with considerable promise. He was skidding next to a downed soldier and kneeling to put pressure on a bullet wound. John Watson would do nicely for his purposes.
"I've cleared her schedule per your request and have informed her she is to be at your disposal. Your covers have already been established as well. I implanted the necessary memories in strategically chosen humans myself. Sherlock is to be a consulting detective and you, his brother, are to work for the government. Living arrangements are still pending." Naomi lapsed into thoughtful silence. "Are you concerned?"
"No more than usual. It's not the first time we've dealt with a threat of this magnitude."
"Then I'm confident the mission will be fulfilled to everyone's satisfaction," Naomi replied with the faintest of smiles. "Is it time? You've yet to let me in on the details."
Mycroft squinted his eyes the moment John Watson's shoulder was torn through with a bullet, and nodded once in reply. "I will in a moment," he assured her.
Together they flew straight into the sandy warzone, wings outstretched in their entire heavenly splendor. Mycroft was especially fond of Naomi's, their luminescent gray so incredibly soft to the touch. He brushed the memory aside to kneel beside the downed body of John Watson, seeping copious amounts of blood into the sand beneath already.
"Please, God, let me live," John breathed.
Mycroft put two fingers to his forehead while Naomi stood with her eyes closed, sensing the nearest military checkpoint. "John Hamish Watson, it is not yet your time to die," he spoke quietly.
"I've found it," she informed him. "Help is already on the way. Are you ready?"
"Just a moment." Mycroft nudged John into unconsciousness and slowed his bleeding, making sure to leave as little evidence of his tampering as possible. He stood when he was finished and after only a subtle nod of his head, flew back to their perch atop the cliff.
The silence stretched between them until eventually Mycroft saw fit to speak. "Sherlock is tired of the political battles in heaven," he explained. "They hold no interest for him. He's bored and he... struggles."
"He's become destructive," Naomi concluded solemnly.
"Yes," Mycroft confirmed at length. "He needs a challenge. Something that'll engage the full spectrum of his talents."
"And you are going to create one for him?"
"Earth has no shortage of demonic challenges already, I'm simply placing one of them in his path," he said. "It should keep him busy. And if all goes according to plan his stay on Earth will be permanent."
Naomi turned bright blue eyes his way, keen and observant. "What of the human?"
"A counterweight of sorts," he further explained. "I've been watching him a long time to make sure he's a proper fit."
Naomi's tone came through as curious and faintly amused. "You've found Sherlock a friend?"
"Well," Mycroft hesitated, "yes, I suppose I have. A temporary one, at least."
He turned to meet her eyes and between them there was the pure and untainted understanding of two beings bound to each other in ways very few could comprehend. Humans would call them soul mates but such a concept, by the very smallness of its definition, did not apply. Naomi's fingers grazed his cheek and he closed his eyes.
"You never fail to surprise me," she said softly.
"You know better than anyone that my reputation as the 'Ice Man' only goes so far." He reopened his eyes and she withdrew her hand, once again unreadable and composed. He smoothed the front of three-piece suit. "Shall we?"
And with a flutter of feathers, they left little more than dusty tendrils in their wake.