I struggled a bit with trying to improve this one, unfortunately. You can tell by the amount if time it's taken. It's probably still crap. I apologise.
Ah. So thats what MiB was. Sherlock sorted through his mind for anything about them. A half-crazed conspiracy theorist had come to him with a boring and practically non-existent case a few years ago. Claiming to have been abducted by aliens when he was on holiday in America. Said that his mind had been altered. Like he'd had days erased. Thought it was the work of some top secret organisation. Sherlock had just thought he was another idiot dying for attention, possibly with some kind of mental problems. At the time he'd told the man to get a brain scan. In retrospect, he probably should have paid more attention.
"You police alien activity in the USA and make sure civilians don't know about it."
The agent looked at him again. "You're smart, kid."
Sherlock tilted his head slightly in an innocently curious way. "Does everyone here state the obvious too? I was thought that was left to the police."
The agent turned and glared at Sherlock before continuing to walk down the corridor.
"So who are you?"
"Agent K."
"And that's some kind of code name."
K ignored him and kept walking down the corridor until they reached another door, seemingly identical to the rest.
"I'm going to get coffee, do you want coffee?" he said apparently following some kind of routine or script.
Sherlock remembered the horrible tea he'd had yesterday and wondered if it would be any better here. "Do you have any tea?"
K shrugged and opened the door.
Stood on the table next to the coffee machine, laughing, were creatures. That was the only way to describe them. Not even vaguely humanoid.
"Hi K!" they all said simultaneously in a drunken tone .
Sherlock's eyes widened and he having to stop his jaw dropping at the last minute. He stayed silent for a few seconds, lost for words for the first time in years before quickly re-composing himself.
Alien activity, he'd said it himself. And if these weren't aliens, the bugs over here really were as big as the annoying tourists he occasionally saw in London complained about.
"Agent K mentioned something about tea?"
One of the creatures nodded and the others put a couple of mugs on a machine.
K sniffed suspiciously at his mug.
"Is this decaf?"
The creatures all laughed, more than slightly hysterical, and K glared at them, slamming the mug down on the side and cursing them.
Sherlock stared at the tea suspiciously. He didn't trust the weird little creatures sat on the side but eventually his curiosity, not to mention the intense craving for a decent cup of tea he'd had for the whole time he'd been 'dead', got the better of him. Surprisingly, the tea was actually quite nice, obviously not as good as anything he'd had back in England but better than anything else he'd had in his time in America.
When K had finally stopped swearing at the insects and persuaded them to get him a 'real' coffee, the old agent stepped back out into the corridor. Sherlock followed him and he started to explain, in a rehearsed sort of way how important secrecy was to the Men In Black.
"...But since you're dead anyway, I don't see why you need to change your name." He continued, taking a sip of coffee.
"You knew that?" Sherlock was slightly shocked. He didn't think that anyone outside the UK, who he hadn't at some point pissed off, cared about his so-called suicide. Then again, of course they knew, why would they hire a man they knew almost nothing about. They'd done their research.
K raised an eyebrow, his equivalent of Sherlock's uses of 'obvious' and calling people idiots.
"I spoke to Zed about it. You're still going to have to have your fingerprints removed."
"What?" Sherlock said quickly, stopping walking through the labyrinth.
"Your fingerprints. Can't have people finding them at crash sites."
"Fingerprints can't be effectively removed." Sherlock knew that for a fact. He'd researched the possibilities, for a case, of course, and seen what happened to the idiots that had tried to do it to themselves. Mostly they used acid and ended up with hands burnt beyond the point of them being recognisable as human. There had been one man who'd injected several substances into his fingertips which had almost worked but Sherlock doubted that this organisation, whatever it actually may be, would have the patience to do that to anyone.
"Really?" K said, face showing nothing.
He opened the door to yet another room; there seemed to be far more than could logically fit in a building the size of the one Sherlock had entered. In the centre of the room was a ball on a stick which looked somewhat like a Van Der Graaf generator but with slight, hand-shaped indentations. On the side of the room nearest the door was a small control panel. K walked over to the panel then nodded to the ball. Sherlock placed his hands on it slightly sheepishly. K pressed a button and the ball heated up rapidly. Sherlock cursed and tried to move his hands away from the red-hot spots of metal forming around his fingers but they were stuck. Finally, after a long, painful second, K pressed another button and it cooled down just as quickly. Sherlock quickly pulled his hands away. He stared at the now smooth fingertips, another part of his identity lost for the sake of convenience and looked at K, who shrugged and opened the door, motioning to leave.
On the bright side, Sherlock mused as he followed the older man into an elevator, if he did ever get home and his life got back to what he had considered 'normal', this would be extremely useful for breaking into crime scenes. All the better for learning information nobody could possibly have told him and confusing idiots like Anderson and Donovan. He wouldn't mention that to anyone here. He got the distinct impression that working here was supposed a life sentence, not a job he could simply walk out of. Then again, Sherlock had been in quite a few situations he wasn't supposed to walk out of recently.