Sorry, this update took longer than anticipated. Anyway, this story has the most follows and favourites out of all my stories so far.
Thank you to everyone who reviews, reads, follows or favourites this story!
Review Responses:
Saavikam69- Sorry for not responding to your first review, I must have released the second chapter before you reviewed and the 30 minute update delay must have meant that the chapter did not show up. I am so glad that you are enjoying this, there is more of Mycroft's tendency to take revenge for his little brother. Please enjoy Anderson's experience.
Biku-sensei-sez-meow-I am extremely pleased that you like this fanfiction. Thank goodness that this came out original and that you found it funny. I have never been particularly good at writing humour. Molly's experience showed a different side of Anthea, and Mycroft getting shown up by his younger brother is always a bonus. I hope you enjoy Anderson's experience. I, unfortunately, must plead guilty for the Matrix references this chapter.
Guest-Thank you, I am really happy that you enjoyed this. I hope you like this chapter!
maryemarye- Thank goodness that this story is perceived as original and as funny! As I mentioned before, humour is not my strong suit... Please Enjoy Anderson's humiliation!
FluffyLunaTick-I am really happy that you enjoyed the second chapter. To be honest, the friendship was not in my original plans. It just happened, and then I realised that I could write a different side of Anthea! I hope that you like this next chapter!
Guest-I am glad that you want to read more of my work, your review gave me inspiration to finally write this chapter. Please enjoy!
Anderson
or
The 'Arch-Enemy' Meet-and-Greet
"Regular Speech"
"Over the Phone"
'Text Message'
April 5th-Day 3
A ridiculous looking figure ducked under the police tape. It was covered by a light blue one-piece, which would not have looked out of place in a surgery.
The man was lanky and tall. His short hair was straight and greasy, framing a pale face with sunken grey eyes.
The man, in the ludicrous blue sack, then turned around to face the crime scene, which he had just abandoned, and sighed with exasperation.
This man was part of the forensics division of New Scotland Yard, and his name was Anderson. Just Anderson, no one called him by his first name except his family.
Anderson had, once again, just been thrown out of a crime scene, which just happened to be an addition to 'The Falafel Case', by his 'arch-enemy'.
Anderson's so called 'arch-enemy' was the-one-and-only Consulting Detective, Sherlock Holmes.
O how Anderson hated Sherlock Holmes.
The feeling was most definitely mutual.
What many forgot, however, was that Sherlock had not struck the first blow with his accurate deductions. He had not even struck the second, or the third.
In fact it was somewhere around the fifteenth blow that Sherlock struck back.
Anderson had been left reeling. The Detective's blows always hit their mark. Anderson's always seemed to hit an impenetrable shield, jarring Anderson when his attack failed.
Anderson often wondered why Sherlock had struck back; Sherlock would have won if he had not finally retaliated. Anderson tried to stretch his mind back to the insult that set Sherlock off. Had he struck an emotional chord in Sherlock Holmes?
No he could not have. It was well known that Sherlock had no feelings, except maybe morbid happiness and boredom.
Despite his continuous prying, Anderson could still not remember what provoked Sherlock's reaction.
Anderson's face twisted into an ugly scowl. Then he took a deep breath to calm himself. Why, oh why, did Lestrade have to call the Freak in? They had been doing fine, absolutely fine, and this latest murder would have given them the final piece of evidence.
Then Sherlock texted Lestrade and interrupted the Detective Inspector right in the middle of a press conference. Apparently they had gotten it all wrong.
Lestrade gave in and invited the Freak into the crime scene. Anderson's dark expression now promised death as he thought about how Sherlock Holmes would steal all the glory.
Sure enough, Anderson could see the Consulting Detective himself bound happily out of the crime scene with an exasperated John Watson on his tail.
Anderson stepped forward, trying to head back to the crime scene to begin to work on finding the now non-existent forensic evidence.
Then his mobile began to ring.
Anderson growled and answered the phone. He did not even glance at his reception bar; if he had he would have seen the clearly absent mobile reception.
"Get into the car, Mr Anderson." An authoritative male voice ordered.
Anderson was suddenly struck with how amusing that sounded. He half expected nearly identical men in black suits and sunglasses to come and wrestle him into a black car.
"Are you insane? Of course I am not going to get into the car!" Now anyone with a decent set of brain cells would hang up on the mysterious man. However, Anderson was said to lower the IQ of the entire street when he talked.
He had also had a report on this man from Sally Donovan just the other day, when she was late to work due to her car being clamped.
"Either you get into the car, Mr Anderson, or we make you get into the car."
"What car?" Anderson asked angrily.
Anderson felt a sharp prick in his neck. His vision swam and Anderson saw the two men standing above him. Their faces were similar and both work plain, black suits.
The men grabbed Anderson by his arms and heaved him into the back seat of a sleek black shape.
'Oh that car.' Was Anderson's last thought before darkness claimed him.
Line Break
Anderson groaned and his eyelids fluttered. The sedative was only just wearing off and, not that Anderson knew it, he had been unconscious for at least half an hour.
"Good to see that you have finally graced the land of the living with your presence, Mr Anderson." A female voice floated to Anderson's ears as he struggled to fully wake up.
If he had to guess, he would have said that the voice belonged to the woman that Sargent Donovan described. Anthea, was it not?
Anderson managed to sit up straight in his seat, preparing himself to ask a truck-full of indignant questions.
Then he got a good look at the woman in the seat beside him, and the words evaporated soundlessly.
Anthea, in the eyes of many, was beautiful. Anderson was no exception and he gazed at the BlackBerry obsessed woman, dumbstruck.
It was incredibly obvious as to why Donovan had neglected to mention Anthea's appearance. Fortunately, for Donovan, Anderson became extremely aware that Anthea was way out of his league.
Anderson, unlike John Watson, could not even muster up the courage to ask. So he decided to stare out of the tinted window instead of wishing the impossible.
The black car sped through London. It had only just entered the city fifteen minutes before Anderson had woken up.
The forensics expert began to wonder why a man would go to the trouble of kidnapping him from the outskirts of London to drive him back into the city for a hostile meet-and-greet.
Would it not have been easier to kidnap Anderson before work?
Did the man take pleasure it forcing people to ask abnormal questions?
Anderson was caught up in watching the scenery pass by and oblivious to what the scenery actually was. He did not notice when they pulled up in a weathered warehouse, which seemed to have a new wall, until he had stared at the stone wall for a minute and realised that they were not moving.
Fortunately, for him, Anthea had decided that the sedative may not have quite worn off and had walked slowly around to the car door.
Anderson strolled to the front of the warehouse. His befuddlement was gone now that Anthea was more than a meter away and no longer in his line of sight.
The normal, irritated and prickly Anderson was back, and he was not giving way to embarrassment, even though he was wearing a blue bag.
"Mr Phillip Anderson, forensics division of New Scotland Yard and self-proclaimed Arch-Enemy of Sherlock Holmes." The man at the front of the warehouse stated as he read from a small, black journal. "Please take a seat."
The man was almost exactly as Donovan had described him. From his short, raven hair, to his polished, black shoes, the man was definitely Donovan's kidnapper.
One detail, however, was out of place. Donovan had described his umbrella as 'plain and black'; the umbrella he wielded in Anderson's presence was neither.
Clutched, possessively, in the kidnapper's hand was a pinstriped umbrella. It was as dark navy with thin strips of royal blue running vertically down it.
"Ah, yes, Mr Anderson," Agent-Smith-the-Kidnapper , as Anderson had decided to dub him, explained upon seeing Anderson's confusion at the umbrella. "Your colleague, Sargent Donovan, must have seen me with a black umbrella. Sherlock stole it."
Anderson raised an eyebrow, standing straight as he ignored the black chair. "Really? What for? I would have thought that you two were on good terms." Anderson questioned sharply.
"Whatever gave you that impression?" Agent-Smith-the-Kidnapper asked. "He considers me his arch-enemy, you know. Such drama, thank goodness that I am above all that."
Anderson snorted as he glanced pointedly around the building before rolling his eyes. "Thank goodness." He stated sarcastically. "Remind me, why am I here? Not that I am not enjoying it."
Agent-Smith-the-Kidnapper just raised an eyebrow. "I just wish to know your opinion on Sherlock Holmes that is all, Mr Anderson." He answered calmly.
"He's a lime-light stealing psychopath." Anderson responded with his voice full of irritation. "Oh, wait, sorry. He's a lime-light stealing high-functioning sociopath. My mistake. Can I leave now?"
"Of course Mr Anderson, you may leave now." Agent-Smith-the-Kidnapper corrected with a slight smirk.
Matthew Anderson stormed back to the car, all the while muttering angrily about 'know-it-all kidnappers', 'out-of-date jokes' and 'the Matrix'.
Anderson returned to the car in a sulk, and Agent-Smith-the-Kidnapper quickly texted Anthea.
'He is getting on my nerves; do you remember the exact location you collected him from?'-MH
'No, sir, and I doubt the driver does. We seem to have run out of competent chauffeurs.'-A
'What a shame. Drop off Mr Anderson as close to the crime-scene as you can.'-MH
With his covert orders relayed, Mycroft Holmes watched the black car exit the warehouse. He snapped his fingers and a suit-clad figure retrieved the chair.
With one last content smirk, Mycroft exited the warehouse, with the suit-clad man hot on his heels.
Forty to Fifty Minutes Later…
After an uneventful drive a black-car pulled up on a country lane, just before a fork in the road. A dark-haired woman got out and opened the opposite car door. A figure stepped out.
After a quick explanation, which consisted of blatant lies, the figure was left fuming as the black car drove away.
The figure, who was wearing what appeared to be a sky-blue sack, fished a phone out of his breast pocket.
After discovering that he had two missed calls from his boss and one from his colleague, the man read his new texts.
'Anderson, Sherlock is gone. You can get back to work'-GL
'The Freak's gone, you can come back now.'-SD
'Anderson, where are you? Get back to the crime-scene!'-GL
'Has the weirdo kidnapped you? I'll keep Lestrade off your back. If you weren't kidnapped you owe me!'-SD
The fifth text message was sinister and, after today's events, Anderson was inclined to comply with its instructions.
'Stop your pointless feud with Sherlock Holmes, it will only end in worse than tears.'-M
After twirling around on the spot, which made him look even more ridiculous, Anderson began the long trek up the hill towards the farmhouse.
Anderson knew two things. He was definitely filing a complaint, and not even the government could stop him arresting the mysterious 'M'.
With far too much time on his hands (or maybe it was the spinning that did it?), Anderson remembered exactly which comment had set Sherlock Holmes off.
Never insult the Holmes' Mother.
Thank You for reading!
Next Time: The Falafel Case and Anderson's Complaint.
*Note: Anderson's first name changed from Matthew to Phillip.*