Magic One Shots (Sherlock BBC Fic)
AN – this is basically a dumping point for all the one shot cracktastic stuff that the magic verse threw up but didn't fit into the two fics. Also, it's an excuse to torture Mycroft.
Warning – slash, established relationship. This holds for all the chapters.
Disclaimer – characters and settings as depicted in BBC series (or any other established setting) are not mine. No money being made. Plot is mine.
Brotherly Concern (Or why Mycroft hates Magic)
If it hadn't been raining hard enough to wash the markings off the road, Sherlock would never have agreed to get into the car. Mycroft was a pain at the best of times, but the last thing Sherlock needed today was to be lectured by his brother on his latest refusal to take his latest case. It was boring anyway, no matter how important Mycroft thought the missing politician might be.
Sherlock had turned ignoring his brother into a fine art, which meant he was looking out of the car window when the bolt of lightning struck the car without warning. Eyes stinging from the flash, Sherlock threw his arms up to protect his face, vaguely aware of the dark shapes flying at the car and the shout of the driver as his door burst open. Sherlock had a fist in Mycroft's jacket and his brother on the floor in seconds, where they both crouched, waiting for the next attack.
"The wheels have been ripped off," Mycroft reported after a moment, "And we're in a 'black spot' for the CCTV – the driver is unconscious on the ground aproximately seven feet away and the car appears to be floating."
Sherlock blinked hard, forcing the after images away and sighed, reaching for his brothers arm again. He could feel Magic crawling malevolently all over the vehicle and didn't want his brother contaminated with it. His touch would extend the protection that John had woven into his coat – literally woven, a fascintating process that Sherlock had been allowed to watch – to his brother.
"Don't touch the metal," Sherlock warned Mycroft, "John will be here soon."
He knew that because he could feel it – his Mage was headed their way. How he could tell that John was coming was not something that could be explained or quantified in any coherent fashion. Sherlock had never even been tempted to try.
"This is why I hate Magic," Mycroft muttered, "It's ridiculous – there is no policing of it, and very little that can be done to confine the chaos it causes."
Sherlock shot his brother an impatient look, rolling his eyes. John policed the community very effectively – he just wasn't dictatorial about it, which was what Mycroft would doubtless have preferred. The magical community was a big believer in self discipline – relying on its members to know right from wrong and apply a certain standard to their conduct. The Mage only got involved when that failed.
"I'm telling you, Sherlock – you don't understand the full dangers that are facing you," Mycroft continued, "Three days ago I had to process permission for the burial of one of our top scientific minds. A man who was truly brilliant and would have contributed great advances to our world, had he only been given the chance. Instead, he and three others have spent the last twenty years in a government run hospice, drooling and babbling like infants. They're lucky to be able to speak coherently once a day, let alone hold an intelligent discussion with a five year old."
The condition of the three men in question was not news to Sherlock. He approved of it whole heartedly – in fact, he thought they'd gotten off lightly.
"Mycroft," Sherlock snapped, sickened to hear his brother defend the men that had hurt John's family and therefore John, "You're talking about three scientists that kidnapped three people and experimented on them. You're talking about a man that administered a slew of drugs to a teenage girl and burnt her magic out of her. Harry Watson is an alcoholic to this day because of that man."
"He was brilliant, Sherlock – as brilliant as you. What will happen on the day that you discover something about this world of John Watson's that he doesn't want you to know? What will he do to your brilliant mind then?" Mycroft insisted and Sherlock was strongly tempted to let go of his brother and leave him to the magic that was even now sparkling and crackling aroudn the frame of the car they were trapped in.
"John loves me, Mycroft," Sherlock sighed, tired of trying to make his brother see that the Mage was not a threat, "He'd never hurt me. No matter what I had discovered."
Mycroft did not look convinced. In fact he looked as if he was going to argue the point further. Sherlock gave him a warning look and flexed his fingers – it didn't take a genius to understand his threat to withdraw John's protection from his brother.
"Sherlock!" the man in question shouted from outside the car, "Hold on!"
Sherlock braced his long limbs as best he could and the car shuddered. Mycroft squawked in a very undignified fashion as he struggled to stay still in the turbulance. Sherlock didn't bother to hide his amusement.
The car fell to the ground with a very uncomfortable thud and the door nearest Mycroft popped open.
"Don't touch the metal," John's voice ordered and Mycroft wriggled out of the car with almost no dignity at all. He refused John's offer of a helping hand and stalked off to one side looking like a ruffled cat. Sherlock smirked and flung his long legs out, catching John's hands and standing into a thorough hug, accepting John's kiss happily. Behind them, the car still sparked occasionally, as if it was releasing the last of the magic contained in the frame.
"Alright?" John asked when they broke for breath. Sherlock nodded and John turned to look at Mycroft.
"Are you hurt, Mycroft?" the Mage asked and the British Government shook his head, wariness shining in his eyes.
"Bruises only. What have you done to my driver?"
Sherlock turned to look at where his brother was pointing and gaped. The driver was frozen in mid-step, a piece of packing crate held aloft in one hand like a club. John turned to look too, sighing in resignation.
"I'll let him go, but if he hits me all bets are off, Mycroft, so stand him down," John warned and made a complicated signal with his left hand. The driver stumbled forward two steps and then dropped his club at Mycroft's barked order.
"You'd best secure transport," Mycroft decided at length, sending the other man away with a flick of his hand. Once the confused driver was out of sight he turned to look at John.
"I assume you can explain what has happened?" Mycroft demanded, and John shook his head. Sherlock's lover was amused beneath his concern for them, an unusual reaction. Normally if there was a magical malfunction near Sherlock, John was a lot more worried and protective.
"You ran over a minor demon," John replied, "It wouldn't have been very big, nor very strong. The car killed it, and the discharge of its magic killed the car. You were caught in the backlash. I'll come back later and have a look around to see if I can find where it came from."
"Can I come too?" Sherlock asked eagerly. He'd been after John to let him see more magical creatures ever since Lestrade had gotten a Pet. John considered it, despite Mycroft's bristling disapproval in the corner.
"We'll see," John promised. Sherlock pouted and was kissed soundly for it. He smirked as they broke for air – that was one of John's many 'management' techniques that Sherlock didn't mind.
"We'll be off then," Sherlock announced, "I'd say 'nice to see you, Mycroft' only it wasn't. Do try to teach your drivers to watch where they're going."
Mycroft spluttered, which was an excellent reaction as far as Sherlock was concerned and John shook his head. He slipped an hand into Sherlock's coat pocket as they left his brother behind, though, twining their fingers together.
"Home, I think," John mused, "I have some supplies to collect and a partner to shag."
"Excellent," Sherlock approved.
End (for now…)
&%&%&%&&%&%&%&