Rated M for language and adult themes.
CNC stands for Command and Control.
A/N This is a short chapter with a long A/N. Hmm, something is not quite right with this picture.
Anyway, A couple of readers have stressed the need for the following warning:
Ancillary Warning… Drinking beverages while reading fanfic may be hazardous to the health of your high tech gadgetry. Laptops and cell phones aka mobile phones (for those you over the pond) do not take kindly to getting sprayed with said beverages, when the reader begins to snort, chuckle or guffaw while reading fanfic.
It may also cause some embarrassment if this sort of beverage spraying incident occurs in public, especially at work, especially in front of your boss, who probably doesn't even know what fan fiction is and would disapprove of it in principle. (Honestly, can you imagine sharing fan fic with your boss? The very idea gives me the willies [that's the hebbie-jeebies for those of you who don't like the willies].) :P
Speaking of embarrassment, I was informed, in a recent review, that fanfics with sexy content should also not be read in public or around family due to excessive blushing. Now, while this should not lead to health issues or damaged belongings (as is the case with untoward beverage spray), it is still an issue (similar to the note above).
For example, what exactly does one say when a family member or friend asks, "What are you reading?". One really can't say, "Oh, John Watson is kissing Sherlock's c-ck." or "Oh, well, Sherlock just bent John over the table and is shagging his brains out." Personally, I quickly mutter that I'm checking the weather report. I mention the current temperature and occasionally report on the barometric pressure. I suppose people wonder why I blush when I read the weather forecasts. They probably wonder why I smirk at the doppler radar too.
I suppose, I could put NSFW (Not Safe For Work) at the top of some of my fics but then I'd have to add NSFF (Not Safe For Families) or NSFS (Not Safe For School). I could put RTIYC (Read This In Your Closet) but then closets are usually crammed full of stuff and not very comfortable for reading fanfic, and then of course, there is no room for a beverage in most closets. Which you shouldn't be drinking a beverage while reading fanfic anyway, whether in or out of a closet, but we all do it, don't we? I mean drinking beverages while reading fanfic, except we're not usually in a closet. I'm so confused now. *sighs*
Oh yeah, so on to Chapter 43, which in addition to being short, is a smashing chapter because it incorporates elements of The Great Game (property of the BBC). I am indebted to the fantastic transcript of The Great Game provided by Ariane DeVere at live journal.
So I hope you enjoy reading Chapter 43 with or without a beverage and whether you are in a closet or not. When you have finished reading, please feel obligated to review.*
***Chapter 43***
"Johnnn," drawled Mycroft Holmes, with a facsimile of a smile drawn on his face. "And Oscar Morrison. Or, may I call you Oscar? Yes? Lovely. Do come in."
The government official, wearing an impeccably tailored, grey pinstriped suit, waved the two men into his office. Both wore dust-covered, black fatigues. In John's case, the fatigues were a bit singed in spots but no longer smoldering. Needless to say, John and Oscar felt a bit out-of-place in the finely appointed office. In particular, John glanced worriedly at his shoes, concerned about getting soot and dust on the expensive Persian rug.
"Please, both of you, make yourselves comfortable," said Mr. Holmes, his sharp eyes belied his welcoming voice. "Have a seat, and perhaps some Scotch? This is a particularly fine bottle given to me by…well, you don't need to know that, do you?" he purred.
Wearing a small frown of befuddlement, Oscar perched carefully on a too-small Queen Anne chair, his back remaining ramrod straight. Mycroft handed the large man a Waterford crystal glass with two fingers of amber liquor. Oscar's beefy hand enveloped the glass. Instead of drinking it, he balanced it on his knee. He waited to follow Captain Watson's lead on the proper protocol for this situation.
John Watson also sat stiffly at attention (a talent he developed early in his army career) on an expensive chair. Part of his mind was concerned about staining the upholstery; the rest of his mind wondering what Mycroft Holmes was up to now. Keeping his narrowed eyes on the man he called the Commandant, John slipped off his black watch cap and sniffed his Scotch whiskey suspiciously before taking a cautious sip.
"Well, isn't this nice?" said Mycroft taking a fortifying sip of his drink and leaning on the edge of his desk. He was attempting to look casual, just one of the boys. It wasn't working for him. Oscar Morrison just looked straight ahead, and the creases between John's brows deepened with mistrust.
As the blond marksman wrinkled the aforementioned brow in thought, he chanced another swallow of the fine liquor. For a moment he enjoyed the smooth burn as it went down. Then John's blue eyes widened, and he bolted up out of his chair.
"Something's wrong," his said accusingly, his voice skirling upwards. "You wouldn't call us here just to complain about the live fire exercise. No, for that, you would have sent that pretty lady who has no name; besides, the gunshots and that explosion would have been barely audible here in your office. No, no… Oh God. Oh my God! It's Sherlock! Something's happened to Sherlock, hasn't it?"
On the verge of panic, John glared accusations at the British Government. Oscar stood uncertainly, looking from the pale, aghast blond to the tall auburn politician.
"No, Sherlock is fine…" reassured the politician.
"Nooo," interrupted the former soldier. "You brought in Oscar as moral support; provision of moral support is standard operating procedure when informing friends and loved ones of major injury or loss. Oh my God, he's been hurt. Or kidnapped. Or, or…"
"He's fine!" snapped Mycroft. "In an apparently vain attempt to circumvent this sort of emotional outburst, I saw fit to inform you about a minor explosion across the street from 221 Baker Street. I though it best to do so personally, before you saw the news reports on the television and overreacted. It seemed wise to have your friend Oscar as, oh how do you put it, back-up?"
"Explosion!" yelled John. "Explosion!?"
"I see that my foresight was correct as usual," continued the British Government. He looked significantly at the towering bodyguard, who placed a large, reassuring hand on his short friend's shoulder, thus providing the requisite moral support
"You did say Sherlock wasn't hurt, right?" asked Oscar, reaffirming the obvious.
"Yes. Thank goodness one of you is capable of paying attention," said Mycroft. "Perhaps the recent barely audible explosion damaged John's hearing or maybe it further damaged his brain?"
"And was anyone else hurt?" asked Oscar, ignoring the insult to his little friend and providing more moral support.
"No," said Mycroft with a tight, supercilious smile at the huge bodyguard. "Fortunately the building that blew up was empty. There were no injuries. The official explanation is that it was a gas leak. A few window's in Sherlock's flat suffered minor damage. Sherlock suffered not at all…"
"How is a building blowing up a minor explosion? What about Mrs. Hudson?" demanded John, having breathed through his initial panic. "I thought she was back from her travels. Was she injured? Or that Mrs. Turner? Or her married ones or…"
"I repeat, no one. No one was injured. At all."
"There's more," decided John, throwing back the rest of his expensive Scotch without savoring it. "No...You wouldn't have brought us here just to tell me about a minor explosion. Tell me the rest. It's Moriarty isn't it? Not a gas leak, it's Moriarty." John pursed his lips and nodded, agreeing with himself.
"Look, John. Just stay calm," said his moral support, "Mr. Holmes said…"
"Mycroft, just call me Mycroft...please."
Oscar frowned slightly at the request, apparently civilians, even high-ranked civilians, did not understand proper protocol.
"Mr. Holmes said Sherlock was alright; that's the important thing, right?" continued Oscar. "And there's no reason to assume that it's Moriarty."
"Except that it is Moriarty, isn't it, Mycroft?" insisted John, quivering from his adrenaline surge.
"Listen to your friend, John, and try to remain calm. Why don't you have a seat?" instructed Mycroft, with a sharp nod to Oscar Morrison.
The large man tried to pull his friend back towards the chairs, but John shrugged his shoulder out of the bodyguard's grasp.
"I am calm," snapped John, with a fixed, feral grin and clenched fists. "You be calm! There's something fishy about a minor explosion right across the street from…"
"Fine. We do in fact think it may have been Moriarty's work…"
"I knew it!" said the former army doctor, slamming his empty Waterford glass onto the desk. Mycroft winced at the desecration of both the crystal glass and the mahogany desk. John scowled.
"If you would refrain from interrupting, Doctor Watson," said the British Government, raising his brows disapprovingly.
John lowered his brows and chin, only to glare mutinously up at Mycroft.
"As I was attempting to explain," continued Mycroft, "We think that the explosion may be the work of James Moriarty, because a package was left anonymously for Sherlock Holmes. It contained a phone, a pink phone."
Mycroft made a moue of disapproval at the very idea of a pink phone. "Regardless, via this phone, Sherlock was given a puzzle concerning some rather large, used trainers. Unfortunately, the puzzle also involves a hostage whose life is in danger…"
"That's Moriarty alright. Some twisted, convoluted game where someone will end up dead," said John nodding grimly. "And God forbid if the blood gets on the upholstery. Well. Well. This is it." John fairly bounced on his heels. "He's officially going after your brother, and sooner or later Jim'll get tired of his little game, and then, then he'll kill Sherlock. I have to go." John turned as if to leave immediately. "I have to protect Sherlock. I'll need a gun, preferably two guns. Or maybe I should…"
"You should remain here, as agreed," ordered the iron-willed British Government. "To be on the safe side, I am sending Mrs. Hudson and one of her friends on yet another vacation. She's delighted of course, as is the friend. I'm also increasing surveillance on my brother and Gregory-just erring on the side of caution as I'm sure you'll appreciate. Of course, Oscar, the intensified surveillance will require the services of your fellow team members who have been stationed here at the bunker, which is the other reason I asked you in here."
"Yes, Sir," agreed the bodyguard.
"You'll need to sit down with my PA and Greg Lestrade, if he's available. You will need to reschedule personnel so that there is adequate coverage here, while ensuring the safety of my brother and the detective inspector. Clearly, your agents will be coming and going on assignments now, but I expect you to ensure that they remain…discreet. "
"Well if they can come and go," interrupted John, "then I see no reason why I can't come and go too…maybe in disguise or something."
"You are not fully recovered from your last run-in with Moriarty," said Mycroft, shaking his head with false sympathy. "In addition, you would be a distraction to Sherlock and an irresistible target for Moriarty. Instead, you can be of use, providing defense here; I can even put you on the payroll."
"No. I don't want to be on your payroll. And you can't just leave me here to rot like…like…like Han Solo in carbonite!" exclaimed the furious ex-army doctor.
Mycroft frowned in confusion, missing a reference to popular culture yet again.
"No, Han wouldn't have rotted in carbonite," argued Oscar. "He was perfectly preserved in the carbonite, as long as he survived the freezing process. Remember? C3PO said so."
"Well, well…then…" sputtered the ex-soldier. "Then I can't be expected to ignore the danger that my friends are in. I'm like Luke; I have to go face the dark Sith lords in order to save my friends," said John, earnestly.
Mycroft's frown deepened.
"Yeah, that's a better analogy," agreed the hulking bodyguard. "But that would make Mr. Holmes here, Obi Wan or Yoda."
"No," said John with a scowl."That's not possible."
"What?" snapped the British Government.
"Yes," said Oscar. "And he says you should wait here, just like the Jedi wanted Luke to wait…"
"Well, Luke was right in the end, and he saved his friends, and he destroyed the evil emperor Palpatine, which in this case is Moriarty, obviously."
"Yeah,obviously. But remember Luke almost fell to the dark side, and then he almost died at the hands of the Sith. If you leave here, the same thing could happen to you."
"No," John shook his head, "No, I would never give in to the dark side…"
"Enough of this nonsense!" snapped Mycroft. "I little know who this Luke or Obiwaan is, and I care even less! John Watson, you will remain here. This is not a matter that is open to discussion. If you wish, you may join the roster for duties here in this facility. Of course, you will be allowed to continue your so-called readiness exercises, because apparently they are helping my staff to improve their skills. Indeed, I have been given to understand that their moral has also improved a bit."
"Oh, no Sir," interrupted Oscar, glowing with pride, "It's improved by leaps and bounds. Moral is at an all time high." then he added more diffidently, "Sir."
"No," said John, "I insist on…"
"You will remain here," ordered Mycroft irritably. "If you try to escape, you will be remanded to solitary confinement with your wretched ball from that ridiculous Escape from Alcatraz movie."
"It's from The Great Escape, not Escape from Alcatraz," muttered John sullenly.
Mycroft's face began to turn red as he shouted, "I do not care what ridiculous movie…"
"John won't try to escape, Sir," offered Oscar. "We'll all keep our eyes on him, and anyway he promised Sherlock not to try to escape." The hovering bodyguard offered his glass of Scotch to the shorter blond who just looked at it angrily.
"Mmmm," hummed Mycroft. "See that he doesn't."
"Sherlock needs a bodyguard even when he's at Baker Street. And there should be a sniper posted nearby too," said John. He put on his fake, negotiating smile. "And if I agree not to try to escape I want…I would like to have frequent updates on the progress of the case, and whatever the hell Sherlock is up to and…"
"Agreed," said the politician, smoothing his tailored vest. "I agree to all of your suggestions, John. Now, speaking of updates, I have some additional information on the mystery of the trainers that I would be happy to share with you. Also, I require Sherlock's assistance in locating some missing plans for a top-secret missile defense system, although so far he has refused to comply with my request. I believe that you and Oscar should take a look at these files, before I send them to Sherlock. Perhaps your involvement will help to motivate him. Besides, it's even remotely possible that you can be of some assistance with their recovery."
It was clear that Mycroft did not think that either John or Oscar would be of any use in solving the case of the missing missile defense plans. It was an obvious diversion to keep John from trying to escape. Nevertheless, John reluctantly took the files and absently took a sip of Oscar's Scotch.
"This is all moving along swimmingly now," said Mycroft faux-happily. "Now, won't you both return to your a seats? And we can review all the available data concerning the explosion and Sherlock's little puzzle."
Sherlock bent over his microscope studying flakes of dried skin, which he had removed from the laces of poor Carl's large trainers.
"Your phone is going off again," said PJ or whatever this minion's name was. PJ picked up Sherlock's phone.
"It's nobody important," said Sherlock. "Just a minor government official nagging me about something dull, when I have this delightfully interesting case to work on." Sherlock only responded to the minion to keep the wretched man from fidgeting, which was distracting and highly annoying.
The consulting detective did not like interacting with this unintelligent and boring henchman (Parents from Jamaica, poor student, but excelled in the army and…surprisingly, a skilled hacker. This on top of his reputation as an expert in demolition. A string of girlfriends. Currently single…)
"It's from an Unidentified Number," persisted the lanky and annoying agent, who rubbed his dark, closely cut hair. "and it just says, 'Any Developments on Battersea Case?' There's no name neither."
Sherlock winced at the inappropriate grammar. "As I said, nothing important to me," murmured the consulting detective.
Mrs. Hudson entered the kitchen, carrying a tray with two mugs and a plate of biscuits. "I thought you and your new friend, might like some tea Sherlock." She shot both men a little glare, then sighed. "Poor John, the grass hasn't even grown over his grave yet, and here you both are." She sighed again.
"John always complimented my tea... and my biscuits too," she shook her head sadly and then, looked askance at the tall agent, who wore his requisite yet conspicuous black suit. Undeterred by the older woman's disapproval, the tall, dark-skinned agent helped himself to a biscuit with a friendly smile. He liked people who liked John Watson, so he liked this housekeeper.
"John," she explained for his benefit. "He was the poor boy who lived here with our Sherlock before you. John was such a nice boy, so polite and kind and such a handsome…"
"Mrs. Hudson! Aren't you supposed to be on your way to the airport or train station or something?" asked the consulting detective.
"I'm just waiting for Mrs. Turner, young man," said the landlady slash housekeeper sternly. "Her married ones are driving us to the airport and…"
"Poison," said Sherlock decisively.
"What are you going on about?" said Mrs. Hudson looking disturbed.
The consulting detective slammed his hands down onto the table, "Clostridium botulinum!" he yelled.
"Ohhh," said Mrs. Hudson in distress, as she scurried out of the flat.
BJ raised his dark eyebrows questioningly.
"Carl Powers!" said Sherlock.
"Who? The kid what you said died in the pool?" asked the agent yawning. "Wait, are you saying he was murdered?"
"Remember the shoe laces?"
"Umm, yeah. Or no, why?" said BJ, scratching his head again.
When all he got from the detective was an evil death glare, the agent yawned. It was going to be a long night.
"Yeeah well, I gotta check in with CNC," he muttered, wandering out of the kitchen with one of the mugs of tea and another biscuit.
Sherlock watched him leave with thinly veiled contempt, and then stalked around the table to where his computer waited. A window was already open to Sherlock's blog, The Science of Deduction. The consulting detective typed:
FOUND. Pair of trainers belonging to Carl Powers (1978-1989)
Botulinum toxin still present. Apply 221b Baker St.
The tearful hostage soon called on the pink phone, and Sherlock was able to text her location to Lestrade. Sherlock's victory was seemed hollow and unsatisfying, but he couldn't identify what was missing. After pacing about the flat; he found himself texting John.
Solved the case. SH
Yes. I saw the entry on your web page. Botulinum toxin? Really? JW
Yes. The boy suffered from eczema. The poison was easily introduced into his medication. Carl comes up to London, the poison takes effect, paralyses the muscles and he drowns. SH
That's brilliant. JhW
Yes, of course. SH
And that's why the shoes had to go. SH
To hide the evidence. JWH
Obviously. Although PJ didn't understand my deductions at all. Even worse, he didn't care about them. SH
His nickname is BJ. And the hostage? JHW
The bomber sent me the address. Lestrade is taking care of retrieving her. SH
This isn't over yet, is it? JOhn
No, I expect four more. At least I know I won't be bored. SH
That's all you can say about this? You won't be bored? JHW
This is new. This is interesting. It isn't boring. Understand? SH
But the hostage, she could have died. JW
Think of all the people dying in hospital. Why don't you go and cry by their bedside, and see what good it does them. SH
John? SH
John? Don't be dull. SH
You are being dull, John. At least Moriarty isn't dull. SH
Sherlock sighed. That boring PJ was watching some dull telly. John was being dull and not answering Sherlock's texts which was extremely dull. The conversation had started out so well. John had said that Sherlock was brilliant, which was gratifying, and then John got weird just because Sherlock said…well, actually John got weird for no reason whatsoever, which was boring.
Sherlock glared at the wretched PJ watching some inane show about cars. Dull. Dull. Dull.
Three hours later Sherlock burst out of his hateful (boring without John) bed and began pacing in his dark bedroom. He angrily snatched up his phone and texted the stubborn soldier.
John. I am sorry about the Moriarty comment. He isn't dull, but I should not have said so. SH
John. I apologized. Social convention dictates that you accept my apology. SH
Now you are dull and rude. SH
Two hours later the consulting detective tried again.
I can't help it if I find puzzles interesting. SH
I should not have said that you are dull nor implied that Moriarty is interesting. Especially after he stalked you and kidnapped you. SH
Well, I realize now that I shouldn't have said it. I texted it actually. I asked PJ about this. PJ said I was an insensitive arse and that you are probably seeking comfort in the arms of the ox. SH
I AM an insensitive arse. Everyone knows that. I thought that you knew that. I thought you accepted me even though I am an insensitive arse. SH
Are you seeking comfort with the ox? SH
Of course I understand about the puzzles. But you were more than a bit insensitive SHerlock. Am I supposed to just roll over and let you rub my face in Moriarty's genius or my PTSD and
No I dint mean to send that. Who cares anyway. It doesn't matter what I think. You know what, never mind. And, no I am not with Oscar. I'm alone. I'm throwink my ball against the wall even through I'm not locked in the cooler because it's either that or
John? SH
John? I am sorry. SH
John. SH
You know what? I didn't mean to send that last bit either. Iwas trying to delete it and hit send instead. Never mind. Just forget the hole thing. Jhw
Just don't go fallinh into Moriaty's trap Sherlock. I know he's brilliant and clever, and the rest of us aren't. I can see thatyou find him attractive. I can accept that. But he'sgoing to kill you just as certainly as a black widow spider kills her mate. I can't accept that. So stick that into your pipe and smoke it. John H. Watson
I don't smoke pipes. Only cigarettes. SH
Is that supposed to be a joke? John H. Watson
I thought it would break the ice. SH
Doesn't really work for you. John Watson
John. Please do not stay angry. You are my only friend. SH
And you are much more than my friend. You know this. And you are not dull most of the time. Also, if you stay angry with me, then PJ may try to kill me before JM does. He said he would. SH
PJ will never kill you. BJ might. But PJ never will. JhW
Very clever, John. See, not dull. I shall COL. SH
You'll what? JW
COL. Chuckle out loud. It is text speak. It's all the rage now. SH
LOL. JW
What? SH
Never mind. I hate you very much Sherlock Holmes, except when I love you. John Watson
Thank you, John. SH
A/N * Of course you aren't obligated to review. That's just silly. But I would love to hear from you. :D
I want to say how much I appreciated the comments on the last chapter, particularly since it was a departure from what I usually like to write. I confess that it was not my favorite chapter, basically because I have trouble, seeing John on top. As one reviewer wrote, it's not my cup of tea. There, I've said it. The truth is out, I really see Sherlock as the domineering partner. But I wanted to try something different, and the comments both for and against were very helpful to me.
Actually, I take all comments very seriously and love con-crit and suggestions as much as I love compliments. So if you have any con-crit or suggestions please review or send me a PM! :D
Thank you
Thank you to everyone who continues to read this fic and also to new readers. Thank you those who follow and favorite my story. :D
Special thanks go out to everyone who reviewed The Marksman. Thank you for the recent reviews from Wicked Winter, 107602, Quiet Time, Quest, Sammilovesyoo, Biomess, EJ12212012, GeekOfAwesome, and Kinkylittlewolf and 11jane11. :D
Disclaimer I do not own the rights to Sherlock or Star Wars-obviously.
