I have a Supernatural Fanfic up for anyone who's interested. Just to complete my SuperWhoLock :)
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Mycroft sat on the floor, wiping his lip casually, checking to see if there was blood. Sherlock held his hand out to him and helped him off the floor, wiping his hand against his coat afterwards as if his brother could contaminate him.
"Feel better?" Mycroft asked him and Sherlock swung for him again, hitting him in the other side of the face and the British Government fell to the floor once again. This time Sherlock did not help him up.
"You were supposed to keep her safe." Sherlock snapped. Mycroft moved over to check himself in the mirror over the fire, a few hundred excuses flying through his mind to explain the bruises away to the European Union.
"You are always so predictable, Sherlock." Mycroft replied lightly, "Please calm down, playing fisticuffs isn't going to find her any faster."
"This was not part of the deal, Mycroft." He snarled, overly emotional as his younger brother always seemed to be, "There was always going to be someone who didn't believe the lie, you knew that."
"And I put proper precautions in place." Mycroft pointed out, "I even factored in the incompetence of the general masses, but my staff seemed to have outshone even my expectations." He turned back around to look at his brother, "Moran is being foolish, she won't be hard to track down."
"That isn't good enough." Sherlock exclaimed, "You were supposed to be looking after her. That was the deal..."
"Yes, Sherlock..." Mycroft sighed, but Sherlock wasn't finished his rant.
"You were supposed to keep her safe and I wouldn't take her with me." He continued, "I broke Mary's heart for you to keep her watched and away from mad men like Moran! This all could have been stopped if you'd just kept him under hand."
"Do not misunderstand me, dear brother." Mycroft snapped, uncharacteristically angry, "We will find her, then Moran will get what is coming to him. Until then, however, you have to stay calm. Emotions never helped anyone, you know that."
"If that was true, dear brother," Sherlock mocked, "then you would have ducked when I punched you. You're feeling guilty for, once again, letting your friend down and feel that taking whatever physical punishments are coming your way will ease your conscience." He smirked, "Did it work?" Mycroft didn't reply and Sherlock turned, heading towards the bathroom.
~0~0~0~
He was sure Bella had started to notice something was wrong. It had been three days since Faye had been taken and both Mycroft and the police had yet to find her. The only reason John believed she was still alive was because her body hadn't been found yet, but with Mycroft no longer answering his phone and Greg repeating the the same reassurance that they would find her, he was beginning to lose what little hope he had left.
All that he could do was try and comfort the poor little girl who had started to look for her mother when she realised she hadn't gone home in a while. She alternated between being clingy, holding onto him for dear life even if she was laughing and playing along with him, or crying with great ferocity. He bounced her on his hip and she wailed, confused and hurt by the apparent abandonment by her mother.
"Please don't cry." He begged her, walking up and down the living room. It was late, too late and he was so tired. She hadn't cried this much when she'd been a newborn, "Mummy will be home soon."
"Ma ma ma da ma da!" She screamed, flailing in his arms. He sighed in frustrated hopelessness and sat down on his sofa, hugging the little girl close.
"I know, you're scared." He told her, "So am I, but she'll be back and she'll be fine." He nodded once as she started to calm down, as if reassured by his words. He wished he could feel the same, "But she loves you very much, no matter what happens." He placed a kiss into her hair, chuckling hollowly to himself.
He remembered a time when Faye hated her brown hair, did everything she could to keep it out of her mind because it reminded her too much of the little girl she had been at school. Then there was the time she dyed it the same colour as Irene Adler's. He still hadn't told her she was alive, he hadn't dared to, especially after Sherlock died. But she seemed to be better than ever lately, commenting on how she loved the fact her daughter had her hair, even though she'd always hated it.
"John." He was jolted out his thoughts by the very forceful pronunciation of his name. He looked down at the little girl in awe as she sat in his lap, staring up at him in mild annoyance.
"Did... did you just say John?" He asked her. She tilted her head and babbled some, almost making some words and he decided he must of just imagined it. Maybe it had been Mary calling from the bedroom.
"Gah ma fah fah." The little girl continued, "Ba ba John." There it was again as she stared at him expectantly. He knew she wanted a drink, but he couldn't focus on that.
"You did." He declared, his excitement overwriting the worry he had just be feeling, "Oh my god, you did!" He jumped up off the sofa, bouncing the little girl and making her giggle, "You said John! I knew I was your favourite uncle!" He rushed into the bedroom, over to the sleeping Mary. Usually very mindful of her, he reached down and shook her awake.
"What is it?" She groaned in annoyance.
"She said John." He told her and Mary blinked, looking at her phone.
"John, it's 3.30!" She exclaimed.
"She said John!" He repeated, sitting on the bed next to his girlfriend, "She said my name. Do it again, Bella. Say John."
"Ba ba!" Bella cried again, this time angrily and he nodded.
"After you say it again." He promised.
"Ba ba!" She shouted, her fists balling up and Mary turned over in the bed, attempting to pull the cover over her face.
"John, I love you, but go away." She told him firmly.
"Ba ba!" Bella sobbed, "Ba ba, ba ba John!" Mary shot up and John shot her a smug look.
"Ba ba John." He repeated pointedly, standing up, "I shall get you a drink, Bella. And anything else you want, you gorgeous thing." Mary rolled her eyes, smiling softly to herself as John left with the little girl. He was so good with Bella, it was heart-warming to see.
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Deep in the dark streets of London, down back alleys and into the shadows, a homeless teenage girl hid behind a dumpster wrapped up in a dirty blanket to keep the icy air off her skin. She'd run away from an abusive home life, and even on cold nights like tonight, she was still glad she had left when she'd had the chance. Nothing she had come up against would make her turn around and go home. She knew it would be a struggle, but she'd get there. She'd raise herself up from the ground, and her chance was coming towards her now.
Coat billowing behind him, the ghost of a dead man appeared in an alley he'd not graced in over two years. She'd scrambled up, eyes wide as the realised the rumours were true, that this had to be the detective that had helped others like her in the past, who had supposedly jumped off a building and had been buried by his grieving partner and girlfriend.
"I need your help." He told her as she scrambled off the floor, pushing herself against the wall, "What do you know about the Homeless Network?"
"It... It was set up by Sherlock Holmes as was disbanded when he died, sir." She explained quietly. His hands were in his pockets, which made her nervous. Just because she wouldn't go home didn't mean she was naïve about what could happen to her.
"It was." He agreed, "You're going to help me put it back together again." Her eyebrows shot up, "It's easy enough, I'm sure your teenage brain can handle it." She frowned, going on the defensive, "All you have to do is spread the word. The Homeless Network is back online."
"Why should I?" She snapped. He pulled his hand out of his pocket and she flinched pre-emptively. Instead of a weapon, he held out a piece of card to her.
"Go to this address." He commanded, "They won't be able to house you, but they'll get you started on the path that can. Stop you having to go home to your sexually abusive father and passive-aggressive mother." She was rendered silent but took the card, not recognising the address as any of the homeless charities she'd encountered before.
"Thanks." She replied dumbly.
"Just spread the word." He turned and started to walk away.
"My name's Jane!" She called after him, for some reason feeling compelled to tell him who she was.
"Don't care!" Was his reply.
