Two weeks had passed with nothing. No leads. No information. No taunts.
Nothing.
Mycroft Holmes felt exhausted as he looked at his brother. Sherlock was sleeping due to the fact that Mycroft had injected him with a sedative.
A very powerful one.
He had an IV in him now too. He was skin and bones and just a mess. It was almost as bad, if not worse, than when he had been on drugs. Mycroft hated it.
And this time, he couldn't exactly fault his brother.
Because Mycroft knew first hand, one did anything for those they loved. Sherlock would throw himself into death's door gladly for precious few people, but his brother knew who those few people were, though Sherlock would deny it.
And one of those few people was Doctor John Watson.
Still missing. Still gone. Still with Moriarty.
Now that the criminal finally had gotten a way to get Mycroft's attention, it seemed the man didn't want to be bother.
Frustrating.
"Sir?" Anthea entered the room, looking at the 'sleeping' Sherlock before turning her attention to her boss. "We... I'll let you look at it." She held up a file and handed it to him.
"Thank you."
"Would you like anything to eat?"
He was sure he didn't look much better than Sherlock, only cleaner, but he shook his head. He wasn't very hungry. "No. Thank you."
Anthea nodded, looking worried before her professional mask slipped back on and she left.
The man that many called "The British Government" was looking intently at the information he had just received. It was such a shot in the dark... but they had nothing. Nothing else to go on at all and Sherlock was not doing well. And yet Mycroft couldn't trust anyone else except his brother.
But...
Wait.
There was a way. He looked at the information once more, about someone matching the description Sherlock had given him of Moriarty so long ago using a cleaning service, and back at Sherlock.
For his brother. This was all for his brother. And damn it all, Mycroft just hoped no one else found out. Sighing, the man stood and left the room, leaving the file. He had preparations to worry about. And though this could be a little humiliating, if it helped find John Watson, then it was worth it.
In another area of the city, the one that so many were hunting for, John Watson, was the only one in a rather small house. Jim was out on business, his cronies gone as well. Even in a house alone, John did not look like the normal doctor so many knew and expected, having graying dark hair to help with a disguise along with contacts and glasses, not to mention the style of dressing wasn't his usual comfortable style.
He had been told to expect a maid from an organization the group owned. John didn't really understand why they couldn't clean up after themselves, like he did, but he wasn't going to argue.
Once upon a time, there was a boy with sandy hair and a teenager with dark hair who met on a beach. They became friends because their families would hurt them all the time and they just wanted it to stop. So they put their parents into early graves. But that wasn't the end, oh no, because who could take care of them now? So the teenager had an idea, to solve problems for people. And the boy thought it was fine and it worked for a long time, paying bills and tuition that way.
John shook his head, sighing. He was spending too much time with Jim, it was obvious. He was even thinking odd like him. But at least he could clear his mind. He walked to a table and remembered one of the first things he had learned as a young man. Prepare your work area. He did so, cleaning it and took out his gun.
Engage your safeties. The gun was unloaded.
Field strip the gun. John prepared to do so when knocking interrupted the calming ritual of weapon cleaning. Ah. The maid. He walked to the door and blinked a few times.
An... well, she was... er... She wasn't John's type of woman, with a pixie cut and bleached blond hair (yet her eyebrows were brown, why...?) stood there, holding a bag of cleaning supplies. She wore a black and white sweater with pink tights and an cleaning apron over it all. But this woman looked oddly... familiar. John didn't know why.
Remembering Jim's various lectures and acting lessons, John chose to imitate the older man, the criminal who was assisting him, and asked in a voice unlike his own, "Hello. You must be the maid?"
"Yes," the woman said, beaming at John and making him feel a bit uncomfortable.
"Right then, come on." John indicated the first room, which was the one they were in. "Natural habitat of idiots that can't clean. Have at it. Hope you don't mind me here."
"Oh, it's fine," the woman said, fluttering her eyes at him and making John acutely uncomfortable. "I'm Iris."
"Right then." John returned to his work area, shutting his eyes. Field strip the gun. Done. Clean the bore of the barrel. He attached a bore brush to the cleaning rod and was applying solvent to the brush.
"So who are you?" The woman, Iris, asked, as she cleaned.
John looked over. "What?" It was a snarl of irritation.
And he stopped, looking at the woman from the side. She was busy folding clothes but he couldn't help it. He knew that side profile, recognized it instantly.
Mycroft?
What the... why was Mycroft pretending to be a maid? Why was he here! Where was Sherlock? Was he somewhere around?
John couldn't help it. His cell phone was in his hand and he began to take a video of Mycroft freaking Holmes dressed as Iris the Maid, cleaning. Now he was trying desperately not to laugh.
"Sorry," Iris/Mycroft said, with a giggle. "Just wondering, don't usually have people here to talk to."
"I bet," John said, keeping his amusement as hidden as possible. "I'm just the doctor."
"The doctor?"
"No TARDIS jokes please," John said tiredly. "How long have you worked as a maid?"
"Oh, ages," came the reply with a wave of the hand and more cleaning. "And you? How long have you worked here?"
"I've been around, just here for a bit," John answered. "Any brothers or sisters?"
The door opened before he received his answer, and he quickly turned off the phone recording, seeing a few of Jim's people. "Doc," one said. "The boss dunnae know it, we gotta man down."
John nodded and quickly finished cleaning his gun before standing up. "What happened?"
"Who's the bird?" One man leered over the maid, who managed to press against the wall.
"The maid."
A few more of them were looking over now, some raising eyebrows and others... well, looking interested. John felt a bit queasy at the thought of that.
He could see it flash on Mycroft's face as well, not even a second, but it was enough. The few men surrounding the British Government turned maid all jumped when a shot rang out.
"That was a blank," John said calmly. "You think I'd let anyone here while I'm on duty?" He walked over and gave everyone a look. "Lay off."
"Sorry Doc," the looks were all nervous ones.
"Right. Let's go." He left without looking at Mycroft, but he could feel the eyes burning a hole through his back.
Why the heck had Mycroft picked to go as a maid? Why didn't he get one of his cronies to spy?
And why was it Mycroft that was looking for him and not Sherlock?
Unless he deleted the mental file on John H. Watson already... John knew that wasn't true. He had been keeping tabs on Sherlock. The detective blamed himself. He had even dialed that old number that 'Jim from IT' had given him. Sherlock's health had deteriorated so fast that John had forced himself to not go to his friend's side. Why didn't anyone try to help him? Lecturing him didn't do anything, sneak food into him!
At the same time, John didn't know what to do. He knew first-hand that violent crime had gone down a bit in two weeks.
Conscience would come later; right now, John had someone's life to save. And all too soon, he was practically elbow deep in someone's intestines, wondering how these idiots managed to survive without a proper doctor for so long.
In the house, a certain maid was still cleaning but wondering. The doctor.
But that man hadn't looked or acted like John Watson, hadn't sounded like him and had had both hands. But a doctor... who could handle a gun with a soldier's ease...
No. It couldn't be.
Could it?
The door opened and a few other different people entered, sparing the cleaning person a glance before someone with a rifle slung over his shoulder spoke. "Sir, with all due respect, he's an asset we don't want them to have."
"And?" The man had a similar accent to the one that the doctor who had just left had. "Do you have a way to get rid of that imbecile without making it look like I was involved, Sebastian? Because I'm all ears. I think his point's been made and he knows it. He'll be leaving soon."
The man, Sebastian, laughed, "Are you serious? He can't just leave-"
The man, obviously the one in charge... obviously this was James Moriarty, the mastermind of crime... looked at him with an amused look. "He'll do what he thinks is right and believe me, you don't want to get in his way." He strode past, dropping a blood-soaked bag onto the newly-cleaned floor. "He knows people. Oh, I can observe and guess, but he's so much more dangerous than that. He knows his enemies. The problem with that is he thinks like them, understands them. He has very high morals."
The dubious look was really the only answer that could be given.
Moriarty looked sad for a brief moment, "He's taken down entire gangs with just my assistance when he was a boy. Don't underestimate him. He left... the last time he worked for me, I had him take down a place with bombs. I told him that it was only the target inside, that the family was away." The criminal mastermind looked around. "I lied. I wanted to make a statement. I wanted to make a point. They died. When he realized what had happened, when he realized I had known... that was the last I saw of him until my little game." Moriarty turned and left, saying no more.
Sebastian looked around at the others.
"We can't lose the doc, Colonel," one of the men said, shaking his head. "You've seen how things have changed. He doesn't kill everyone for a mistake anymore. He doesn't freak out as much, lets us train more."
"And we have a medic," Sebastian muttered. "I know. We can't lose him. And we won't. Get rid of the head." He indicated the bloody bag.
"Yes sir."
"And... the doc?"
"Find that damned detective and plant one in his forehead. Whoever does it first gets a few rounds on me." Sebastian looked around and the men laughed. "Don't tell the boss and do not tell the doc."
"And that bloke's brother?"
Sebastian drummed his fingers, "Let the doc handle him. Between him and the boss, they'll manage. Move out. Find that detective ASAP."
The men moved out, ignoring the person cleaning.
Which had been the plan.
A/N: If you're curious, the lovely disguise for Mr. Holmes came from another part Mark Gatiss has played. I happen to be a fan of the show "The League of Gentlemen." The show is completely insane, which ought to say something about me, I'm sure.
Well, enough from me. Thank you all for reading. Let me know what you think and I'll be updating whenever I can catch a break. Life is hectic, but reviews do make me feel better ;)
And so in the words of our favorite detective: "Laterz!"