03. Personal Journal
The Diogenes Club, 10:30am, October 10th 2013
Mycroft Holmes disliked chaos.
Almost as much as he disliked the constant need to be understanding when it came to politicians being…well, politicians.
He appreciated a certain level of organic chance to life.
But on the whole he strived to attain order. The world worked like a well-oiled machine: inputs controllable; outputs predictable.
He eyed the leather-backed notebook on the table before him. Inset on the cover were the initials AH in faded gold, the rest of surface unadorned (devoid of further indication as to who owned it).
To the unobservant, it might have been called blank.
But Mycroft could almost hear the desert wind that had left such scouring marks. The sun that had faded it. It wasn't old, particularly, but it had been dragged through mud (remnants still faintly stained the edges) carried in a pocket for an extended period (the dents and scratches would remain for some time yet) and thrown aggressively at something (the damage to the top portion of the spine was distinctive).
This particular notebook represented the Chaos.
A thing outside the world's machine.
Oh, he could certainly see the potential in such technology – any five-year-old could have pointed out what one could do, after all – unfortunately what was happening currently was precisely why Mycroft didn't see the value in it. It was too dangerous. Too unpredictable. It introduced the Unknown Variable, and that was unacceptable.
– Message 1: ID, yD100102H Uu8rd121. SECURITY CODE 0002. [DATE STAMP: 13.07.34]. (Received by Home Office: 15.09.13). PACKAGE: 807g compressed bubble packing, 1 section 30cm2 cardboard (weight approx. 84g). CONTAINED WITHIN STRONG BOX: CARBON STEEL ALLOY (TBA). VALIDITY OF CONTENTS UNVERIFIED. MESSAGE IN PERMENANT MARKER ON CARDBOARD SECTION:
Good morning
Mycroft sighed. The initiation of this…incident had been both sporadical and intriguing. In fact, he had not paid the first package any mind at all. There had been considerably more pressing matters to attend to, not least of which was Sherlock's re-integration into society. So much to do – press suppression, confidentiality agreements, monitoring of his (many) enemies. All that paperwork…
– Message 2: ID, Qt100102nO V29LL164. SECURITY CODE 0002. [DATE STAMP: 29.08.34]. (Received by the Home Office: 01.10.13). PACKAGE: 809g compressed bubble packing, 1 section 30cm2 cardboard (weight approx. 85g). CONTAINED WITHING STRONG BOX: STEEL ALLOY DETERMINED 'C8'. CONTENTS' CARBON DATE CONFIRMED (TO BE RETESTED). MESSAGE IN PERMENANT MARKER ON CARBON SECTION:
If not morning, greetings anyway
Of course, after the appearance of the Yemeni terrorist, he began to think on the puzzling packages more seriously. The coincidence was simply too alarming. And Sherlock was certainly fascinated by the implications. He and Doctor Watson began investigating from another direction, as they were wont to do, and through many a double and triple check, the evidence mounted in favour of the…impossible.
– Message 3: ID, BKl100102X az3N1200. SECURITY CODE 0012. [DATE STAMP: 03.09.34]. (Received by the Home Office: 05.10.13). PACKAGE: 809.5g compressed bubble packing, 1 section 30cm2 cardboard (weight approx. 84g). CONTAINED WITHIN STRONG BOX (C8 ALLOY). CONTENTS CONFIRMED. MESSAGE IN PERMANENT MARKER ON CARDBOARD SECTION:
Perhaps it is afternoon?
– Message 4: ID, BkL100106Y rtR7G201. SECURITY CODE 0012. [DATE STAMP: 04.09.34]. (Received by the Home Office: 06.10.13). PACKAGE: 810g compressed bubble packing, 1 section 30cm2 cardboard (weight approx. 84g). CONTAINED WITHIN STRONG BOX (C8 ALLOY). CONTENTS CONFIRMED. MESSAGE IN PERMANENT MARKER ON CARDBOARD SECTION:
Link stable. Stand by
Several more messages were received the next day – a fact he kept carefully from his sibling (no need to complicate matters more than they were). Perhaps the most 'amusing' delivery (or so his secretary thought) was the package labelled: HANDLE WITH EXTREME CARE. Within were two live white mice, a small Arabidopsis plant under a white light, and a radio platform. On the radio platform were two buttons and a neatly folded note in the same handwriting as the other packages:
If mice still alive, press the green button. If dead, press the red button.
Naturally, this was examined for explosives. Or other such nefarious workings (I fact, just about everything they could think of) and, in finding none, Amelia, or so was the name of the week, requested Pressing the Green Button.
It was pressed.
They waited.
Then in the early hours of the next morning came, not a message in a bottle or test subjects in a box, but a phone call. From – of all places – a phone box at the Regent's Park station. It was a young man bearing a dozen journals, a personal security clearance, and (or so the man who picked him up claimed) a scowl that could 'cut rock'.
Mycroft elected to examine the journals first.
The terrorists were (evidently) merely opportunists, failing initially to even get the stolen technology working. Anna Harper had been the reconnaissance agent in charge of ensuring that the group did not succeed and had apparently left the notebooks in a repository near Lawdar (recovered six months into her captivity). At this point, she had been declared dead by his department in the future; a development made after recovering the body of her colleague, technician Nick Eric. A pity because the woman was quite clearly a very capable observer and strategist, as well as a remarkable chemist.
The technology was explained clearly in the journals as well. The time portal was itself created by merging two 'sets' of matter at the quantum level, causing each to cancel the other out. The original intention was for weaponry research, but when the scientists realised the process was stable, they investigated further, discovering that this could be done with only a portion of the 'set' (preserving both sets whilst eliminating the separation between them).
And that this 'set' could include all matter in a given universe.
Mycroft had snorted at seeing that, but it was as close to the truth as anything else. So, in fewer words, two universes could be jammed together and a hole knocked through. Simple. The trick was patently the identity of the 'universes' being linked and correctly making that link stable.
What one needed (or so he came under the impression) was the correct 'set code', containing both the universes' quantum signatures and the specific correlatory sequence. Then one could use the technology to link any place on earth with any other place in time and space.
SIS Building, 7:15am, October 8th 2013
"And this had been confirmed?"
"Obviously."
"Why has this not resulted in alien contact? Universal colonisation? The twenty-first century the public was expecting?"
"It is…complicated."
"Clearly."
"There's no need to sound so contemptuous! You've confirmed my own identity, have you not?"
"Yes…"
"Then I'll be spared the necessity of another odious interrogation as to whether it is or isn't possible to travel through time!" The young man ran a hand agitatedly through his dark hair, shutting his eyes briefly before fixing Mycroft with a glare. "And I stress that I say 'possible', not 'easy'. The process for refining the quantum variables and completing the procedure for aligning them is currently so unreliable it took two hundred attempts just to achieve this –" he gestured emphatically between them. "– when the great majority of the code was already completed!"
His anger drained suddenly away, leaving a sort of desolation in its place. The change was almost startling.
"We're shutting down the programme." He said quietly, face aged far beyond his years. "It's too dangerous. And impossible without…with– even if –"
The young man shuddered, trying to hold the emotion threatening to overwhelm him.
"We can't allow what's happened to happen again. Not while we're still stumbling round trying to rout these bastards."
"Yes," Mycroft couldn't quite hide his distaste. "I read the…report. Unfortunate."
There was a pause wherein the young man fixed him with a look like lightning in a storm.
"She's alive."
"I beg your pardon?"
"She's alive, Mycroft."
"Oh?"…interesting. "This is…relevant?"
"Of course it's fucking relevant!" His nostrils flared.
"She is important to you? Ah…she left you a message – from this time period particularly? I presume also that she is the one that provided you with this part of the code?"
"Once a specific place and time are…acquired…the link is relatively stable. We believe that the Yemenis opened a portal between here and there in order to do whatever the hell it is they think they can."
He swallowed.
"We're still unsure. We think she escaped through that portal before sending a message back through to…let us know. All we can confirm is that it was opened within four or five months of now."
"And you wish us to…find her? Collect her? But what shall we do once we have? I presume you will close the portal back to your own time once you have returned…"
"Yes."
The young man shut his eyes again.
"Well…"
"I don't know. I don't – just…find her. If you can. Employ her if you must, but…please."
"And prevent the incursion of time-travelling terrorists with unknown intentions while I'm at it?"
He shrugged hollowly.
"Something like that."
"Hmm…"
Mycroft heaved a sigh. Always it was he who was expected to mop up the mess…
The young man hesitated…then drew a last notebook from within the silk waistcoat he'd chosen to appear in, putting it on the desk squarely between them. He pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose, seemingly finding it difficult to leave the item to Mycroft's care, then stood decisively, moving towards the door.
"Good luck. And…it is relevant you find her. Just so you know."
"Oh?"
"She's my sister, Mycroft. Keep her safe."
And with that he left.
So…Mycroft Holmes (the world's getting-things-done chief apparent) was expected to rescue AH and stop the terrorist band with the stolen access to time-travelling technology who had, by all accounts, revealed their intentions in using said technology with bells and trumpets.
Moriarty…
He, of all people, would admit to having no emotions whatsoever.
They were indulgences he could not afford.
But the thought of Moriarty brought back made his blood run cold. It was not merely the chaos that had been caused; it was the resources that must have been called upon, the statement it was intended to make, the scale of operations. Nothing to be misconstrued.
He would want revenge.
He would want also to re-build his network, but vengeance on Sherlock would come first. That was certain. What else would a criminal mastermind, newly rescued from the inevitability of his own death by Sherlock's doing (how exactly this didn't affect the present wasn't explained clearly, but oh well) want from life?
It wasn't as if the question had ever been posed before.
AH.
Oh, yes. He ought to have seen it immediately.
Unfortunate.
Very unfortunate.
Yes.
He would find her.
If she was still alive. And if she was, he would ensure she stayed that way. It was better, however, if he kept that particular piece of information to himself. For the moment, at least. That and his meeting with the young man were things his brother and Doctor Watson had not needed to know when the subject was finally raised.
AH.
Mycroft continued to stare at the notebook. Unlike the others, this was written with care. Purposefully. On the flyleaf were the words: The Personal Memoirs of Anna Harper in elegant calligraphy. The diary itself was of quality enough that it was probably given as a gift one to two years prior.
Mycroft had read through it.
Looked at the occasional drawings.
Just when it seemed that the world was coming back to order…
A.N: Bloody hell this was tricky. I definitely thought this needed a) cleaning up and b) clarifying. Also I wanted to include a bit more of the stuff in my head. The reason it was tricky was because sorting out the dates is like planning on a calender - between October the 5th (the start as mentioned in the first chapter) and 12th there's a lot of stuff that has to happen in proper sequence. Additionally, paradoxes are a bitch. But, I think I have the cannon straightened out. Included the dates (did anyone read the date labels on the packages? haha) and hopefully this should gel together a bit better than the last time.
At the very least, I've managed to close a massive plot hole I had forming before it consumed the entire idea. So, like Senga, I have AH running round in my head being a baddass and demanding I write her story (must type up Senga's next one, come to think of it). So, um, reviews perhaps?