A/N: Sorry for waiting so long, here's the new chapter. Enjoy!


Chapter 12: The River Dominatrix 2


"So you finally worked up the courage to face me in person. I should feel flattered."

"What a narcissistic point of view you have, my friend-"

"-Don't call me by such meagerly detestable familiar terms. I'm rather fond of formalities, if you'd take that to consideration."

"Mycroft then?"

"Mr. Holmes. Can we move this along? I'm afraid I have important things to attend to, and schooling uprising political rivals isn't one of them."

"You should definitely loosen up. I'll admit, I'd be exhausted after regurgitating all that rubbish posh and rich talk-"

"Is there a point to this?" Mycroft Holmes tipped his head in stiff annoyance. He was growing tired of this testing of boundaries. All politicians do it on the latter up to the high seats. Poking sticks at your opponents allowed you to further understand how much it would take to win against them. One who couldn't take trash talk wouldn't be a good person for elections, where literary knives and wordplay sharp as daggers thrived in the office place.

Mycroft was above that. Not an opinion, but an indisputable fact. He didn't need flimsy words to knock down his opponent when a few well-placed threats or bribes could do the trick. All off the record, of course. Humans were so ignorant and predictable, it didn't take much to know how an opponent ticked, and what strings to pull to get the to dance the way you needed them to.

Until five thirty early that morning, he could read every stranger like a book. This one though, was a bit difficult. If Mycroft was honest, what he thought would be delight at being faced with such an unpredictable rivaling character which he'd been keeping rather unsuccessful tabs on, turned out to be a rather large helping of disdain coated with a politely guarded layer of contempt. The obvious kindling of insanity in this person's repertoire did not go unnoticed by Mycroft's keen observations.

The object of his scrutiny had a marble head shaped book-stopper in his hands as he leaned against one of the bookshelves lining Mycroft's office. The man turned around with a careless sway to his movements, his fingers idly poking around at the figure-head's eye sockets.

"My reason for calling this meeting of ours wasn't just to feel you up. No, this meeting was for the chance to turn the tables, like you people say."

"I'm not people." Mycroft Holmes replied in a deadpan tone as he shifted in his chair at the head of his mahogany crafted desk. The smell of poisonous gas rolling under the wood from a planted device he discovered earlier that day. "I am, however, very perceptive...and made myself rather immune to common poisons of the solid, liquid and aerosol form when I was in my young, monotonous, teenage years. So you can think again on your methods to drop me out of the elections, Mr. Saxon...if you be so kind."

"Huh..." Mr. Saxon nodded, an exaggerated and comical frown creasing his face momentarily. "That usually works. Oh well Iceman. As you said, plan B!"

A life-threatening insane psychopath. Well if Sherlock's police pawns really wanted to know the difference between that an a high functioning sociopath, all they had to do was see this guy's crazy, bare teethed, stretched smile. It practically SCREAMED insanity.

What Mycroft didn't see, was the blue glow of windswept hair tendrils behind him. His face fell to confusion at the sight of Mr. Saxon dropping his act, leaving a cold stony face and a serious personage.

Then the insane politician nodded to that someone behind Mycroft. "Do it."

The older Holmes brother turned around to fend off his attacker, but was too late. Not the one to scream under assault, Mycroft could only let out a stifled gasp before he felt the piercing intrusion on his mind and the inexplicable 'blue being' ready his limbs like a puppet, pulling strings in a way that left Mycroft speechless.

And the man found within him an ability that had evaded him his whole life.

Mycroft screamed.


"You don't know it's her, Doctor. It could be anyone." Rory said from where he sat on the couch; watching the timelord pacing away in the messy living room of 221B.

Amy went to salvage food from the kitchen, but at the sight of a mad science lab on the kitchen table involving human fingers from the morgue, she made a three-sixty back to the living room with a spin of her heel. Getting back into the living room she noticed Sherlock entering from the bathroom in a bathrobe with his hair wet from the wash and a white towel draped over his shoulders.

Rory continued, "River is back in our world. There's no way she can cross into this one, and make a phone call to THE Sherlock Holmes."

Amy didn't miss the smile curl at the corner of Sherlock's lips as he strode over to slump into his chair, a piece of furniture that might as well have his name written on it in a silver plaque.

"And Sherlock's number is on the blog." John quipped. "That's how we get our clients."

"Yes, yes, yes... but don't you see?" The Doctor interrupted in a quick pace. "It's River's signature, a thumbprint she can't help pressing against all the major plot points of the universe. It took all I had to convince her not to carve it into the pyramids. Now she's here, and what is the most significant landmark she can possibly leave a message for me?" The Doctor turned around and pointed theatrically at the accusatory device. "Sherlock's mobile."

Just as the Doctor named it, the phone went off again with another text alert. John picked it up from the table and flipped open the lock screen.

"It's from your brother."

"Leave it."

"He says it's important. 'Of national security' are his words actually-"

"Leeeave it." Sherlock kicked his feet up on the leg of the chair; a hand waving away at John. "Let the arrogant man fix his own damn problems."

"He says some men are already on their way-"

Downstairs, the front door to the street was heard as a solid knock rapped against it three times.

"Don't get that, Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock scrambled out of his chair.

"Honesty, if you didn't have friends over at the moment I'd say you should stop being so anti-social." The woman called up from downstairs.

"They're not my friends." Sherlock shouted back.

"Sure they aren't, dear." The sound could be heard from downstairs of Mrs. Hudson opening the door to invite the people in.

Pinching the bridge of his nose in an antagonized fashion, Sherlock took to his comforter once more as he waited for the visitors to make their way up.

"Why not meet them downstairs?" Amy shrugged her inquiry.

Sherlock grinned, but the smile did not reach his eyes. "And miss out on them coming to me? I hardly doubt a few stairs will hurt them."

The door to the flat opened and in walked two men in blazer uniforms.

"Sorry, Mr. Holmes. You're coming with us."

Sherlock sat back as his eyes scanned every detail of the person before him.

Suit £700

Unarmed

Manicured

Office worker

Right handed

Indoor worker

Small dog, two dogs, three small dogs.

Sherlock let the grin reach up to crinkle the corners of his eyes as he smiled. "I know exactly where we're going."


"We're in Buckingham Palace." Rory stuttered, his voice choking up. "A waiting room different from where the Sherlock brothers are, but still. The Buckingham Palace."

"You can cry, I won't judge you." Amy said in an airy, detached manner as she stood in front of a painting and stared in unfiltered wonder at the original painting 'When a Princess' depicting Elizabeth the First in a dress of marvelous red.

The Doctor threw his hands up in the air. "What am I? Chopped liver? Other planets and Venice in the eighteen hundreds anyone?"

"Yes, but you never took us to the Buckingham Palace." Rory admitted. "There's a difference."

"I'll remember that." The Doctor vowed as he shook his finger at Rory.

"What do you suppose they're on about?" Amy threw in as she started picking at the painting's ornate frame.

"According to the original timeline, Sherlock is being filled in about the Dominatrix and laughing over the fact that he has no pants." The Doctor clapped his hands together.

"That, I would love to see."

"Hey!" Rory cried out indignantly.

"Oh, come on." Amy turned around to look at Rory. "You laughed during that episode too."

"Yeah, yeah I did." Rory scratched the back of his neck in defeat.

The Doctor paced, impatience driving at him. "Nothing's changed. But that can't be right. We've taken Sherlock from the equation so the output must have...its supposed to come out to a different conclusion don't you see?"

"No, not quite." Rory said slowly, looking confused.

"He means that by us being here things should have changed, not going along the same path as it's supposed to." Amy said, getting the gist.

"Yeah, so?" Rory sputtered.

"So everything!" The Doctor exclaimed. "The main timeline in this universe is governed by what? Who are this universe's guardians?"

"The seers." Amy's eyes grew wide.

"They're here." The doctor nodded. "And they are controlling everything."