It had started six months ago. A shock result in an election here, a disagreement in government there, national debt crippling the economy, making people more and more desperate, and more and more cruel. A change in rules seemed to happen overnight with people only looking out for themselves, caring little for rules. Society fell apart as more people were left to starve.
And then China pressed the big red button.
Nuclear attacks shocked the civilised world, if that even existed anymore. China's rule breaking caused America to snap, threatening them with blockards, China retaliated. No Western country was going to tell it how to run itself. The missiles were launched. America retaliated.
The results were devastating for the world, and devastating for the United Kingdom. Everywhere north of Derby was destroyed, killing millions. Scotland was completely wiped out, and very few people survived in the north of England. Anarchy took over, people got worse than they'd been before the, very short, nuclear war. Something needed to be done.
It was Mycroft Holmes who rose to the challenge. His history of practically running the country was a great advantage when it came to taking charge of the ultimate chaos. Within a week, Mycroft had things more or less functioning back to normal in the south, while the north was left as a barren wasteland to which no one dared venture for fear of radiation poisoning. For a month, the country ran like clockwork. Businesses slowly began to open again and, though food was now rationed, people were feeling positive for the first time in a good while. Until the testing started.
Mycroft Holmes realised quickly that there was potential for internal damage from the radiation, that many of the country may now be infertile, resulting in the ultimate collapse of the human race. This couldn't do, he decided, and began a compulsory testing system that would ensure the fertility of the country. Once he knew what sort of numbers he was dealing with, he could decide the best course of action.
"Sherlock, you have to go.." John groaned, pulling on his coat and looking down at his flatmate. The change in the situation hadn't done much to help Sherlock. People didn't want to pay him for cases anymore, they had other priorities and Sherlock's brain was getting more and more bored. His experiments were getting worse, especially now that he had radioactive things to play with. John wasn't particularly pleased but then, he was a lot more thankful for Sherlock these days, since the 18 months he'd lived thinking he was dead.
"Why?" the Consulting Detective looked up at his flatmate, his eyebrow raised defiantly. "It's stupid"
"It's the law"
"Mycroft's law. Hardly counts."
"Sherlock!" John growled, frustrated. He threw the detective's trademark coat at him. "Get it on, and get up. You know what will happen. Besides, it will take 5 minutes..." Sherlock looked defiant once more. John rolled his eyes, pressing his lips to the other man's. "If you come, I'll make it worth your while.."
The taller man stood up, pulling on his coat and slipping his scarf around his neck. Mycroft was an idiot, this fertility thing was pointless, but nevertheless, Sherlock moved towards the front door, his hand taking hold of John's.
It was better that they didn't know their results, Mycroft decided, at least not yet. He sat at his desk, his eyes scanning over the pieces of paper in front of him, his brain working over time, calculating. The radiation had caused two thirds of the population to become infertile. There was no other option, the government was going to have to make sure that fertile people were paired up with other fertile people. It was going to take a lot of work.
"Only 33% of people are still fertile.." John told Sherlock over breakfast, looking up over the newspaper. Sherlock shrugged. "Only 10% are female.. Mycroft is going to end up doing something stupid.."
"Probably.. But he is an idiot." Sherlock pointed out. Possibly for the sixth time that week, John noted. John pulled his eyes back to the newspaper, reading on.
"He's doing a press conference this afternoon.."
"Then I hope his diet is going well. The camera adds ten pounds.."
Mycroft Holmes sat in front of the television camera, his fingers brushing over the piece of paper before him. The solution was drastic, but it would work, he was sure. The red light began to flash, the director nodded, and Mycroft began to speak.
"People of Britain. I'm sorry to tell you that we are in trouble. The entire human race will be in danger of extinction if we don't fix this now, and so, as of today, every marriage in the country is legally dissolved. Things are going to change, and drastically. Tomorrow, you will all receive letters to inform you of your fertility status. The 66% of you who are infertile can carry on as normal. The rest, well, that's where things change.." Mycroft took a deep breath. This was where things got complicated. "We need to ensure the human race is allowed to continue.. And so fertile people will be paired up. The letters you will receive tomorrow will explain further. Thank you."
"Did your letter arrive?" John asked Sherlock, his eyes scanning the table for anything that could possibly be the government letters.
"I threw them out.."
"Oh Sherlock!" John rolled his eyes, moving to the wastepaper bin and picking the envelopes out. He tore his open, scanning it quickly before opening Sherlock's and doing the same. "Don't you want to know?" he asked, looking at the tall man sat at the computer.
"Not particularly, no."
"Tough. We're both part of that 33%. We're fertile, Sherlock.." John quickly scanned both letters before frowning.
"What is it?"
"They're different."
"How do you mean?"
"The letters.. Mine just says 'further information will follow', while yours says you have to be at The Diogenes Club tomorrow morning"
"I'm not going"
"You don't have a choice.." The voice caused them both to turn, Sherlock instantly glaring at his brother
"Oh? Going to force me, are you?"
"Sherlock this is about more than just YOU" Mycroft moved into the room, sitting in the armchair opposite his brother. John rolled his eyes, moving to sit on the sofa. "You will be there, Sherlock."
"Whatever for?"
"Because.. As the second smartest man in the country" Sherlock snorted. Mycroft ignored him. "your DNA is exactly the sort that needs passing down to future generations. Sherlock, the country is in crisis. The birth rate is practically at zero. You will be there, or I will drag you by the ear, do you understand me." Sherlock shrugged in reply. Mycroft rose, satisfied, and made his way from the flat.
Sherlock and John made their way into the Diogenes Club behind Mycroft. The atmosphere between the three was tense, Mycroft irritated that Sherlock had brought John, Sherlock smug that Mycroft had given in to his demand - Let me bring John, or I don't come. John was merely curious about what the hell was going on. Mycroft lead them into the large room at the back, a room saved for functions, in which minimal talking was permitted. Around the walls of the room, pressed together were a gathering of different woman, all looking a little uncomfortable, no one knowing what was going on. The centre of the room contained rows of chairs, which slowly began to fill with men until all but one was taken.
Mycroft moved to the front of the room and began to speak.
"Gentlemen. Welcome to the 'New World', if you will. Around the room you will see a selection of the only fertile women that remain in the country today. As the more intelligent and most influential fertile men left, you have the pick of the litter. If no women catch your eye, you will be invited back for the next three days, and a different selection provided for you to browse." Sherlock frowned as he looked around. Mycroft had already begun to talk about the women as though they were objects. He could see what was about to happen. "The women you choose will become your property. You will be completely responsible for their wellbeing and health. They will be forced to give up work, and continue to bear children until the birth rate rises. Those who aren't picked will be sent elsewhere where the rest of the fertile population will be able to 'play' with them. Now.. Take your pick, gentlemen."
"This is horrific.." John whispered to Sherlock, but his lover's eyes were elsewhere, fixed on a particular woman he'd not recognised when he came into the room. Without a single word, he headed towards his brother. John watched as their discussion seemed to get a bit heated. John had lived with Sherlock long enough now, he knew how to read him 8 times out of 10. He could see the anger Sherlock was feeling by the tension in his shoulders and the fist he had made with his left hand. Eventually, Mycroft smiled, almost cruelly John thought, and tore a piece of paper in half, handing one half to John and the other to the man at his left. The man instantly moved towards the woman Sherlock had noticed and took her from the line, into the next room.
"Come on, we're done here." Sherlock said softly, picking up his coat from the back of the chair he'd been sitting upon. John frowned, confused, but his requests for information went ignored by Sherlock. They walked into the next room where Sherlock handed his piece of paper to Anthea, who barely looked up from her blackberry as she lead Sherlock into the next room. As John moved to follow, he was stopped by a rather large bouncer and, not wanting to be thrown from the building, he moved to sit in a chair opposite the door.
"I'm not signing those, Mycroft" Sherlock glared up at his older brother from across the desk. "She's a person, not an object"
"She's a pet now, Sherlock"
"She's a person"
"No, she's a pet"
"No, she's a forensic pathologist. One of the sweetest, cleverest women in the country and you'd do well to remember that.."
"And you'd do well to remember what will happen to her if you don't follow the rules, now sign the paper."
Defeated, and not wanting Molly to be sent away to whatever hell Mycroft had in store for the women who weren't chosen, Sherlock reluctantly signed the 'ownership papers'. Once he was done, he left the room and sat in the chair next to John, waiting.
The woman who followed Anthea out of the opposite door had her eyes fixed on the floor. She was holding herself awkwardly, her long dark hair almost covering her face, her eyes red from crying.
"Molly?" John frowned, looking over the pathologist, instantly understanding how Sherlock had managed to choose his 'pet' so quickly. Around her neck, they'd fixed a thick leather collar, something Sherlock spotted immediately. Rising from his feet, he growled
"Remove that"
"But S-"
"REMOVE IT" his eyes narrowed as he stepped forward, taking Molly's hand and pulling her towards him. He quickly unbuckled the collar and dropped it to the floor. "We won't be needing that, thank you. Now, if you'll excuse us.." he gave John a meaningful look and the doctor stood up, following Sherlock as he lead Molly from the building, and into a waiting cab.
