The Consequences of Sacrifice-Crime Scene at Baker Street (Part Four)
The conclusion of the "Crime Scene at Baker Street."
Some boring discussions, a return to "Post-Reichenbach" angst, and some devious episodes of sibling battles at its finest!
Enjoy!
"So we can never play 'Cluedo' again?" Sheridan asked meekly.
"No, Sheridan! In fact, if I could, I would forbid you from ever playing any board games again, for fear that you will turn it into an international incident!" John proclaimed as he sat in his arm chair, overseeing the clean-up of 221 B.
Sheridan sniffed theatrically, and her bottom lip trembled slightly as she looked up at John with pitiful eyes.
John rolled his eyes. "Forget it, Sheridan! I have lived with your father for a long time! I am immune to the infamous 'Holmes' look!"
Sheridan sighed. "You can't blame me for trying!"
"I still say you are over-reacting, John." Sherlock mentioned causally as he put the flannel into the bucket to ring it out before proceeding to clean up several small "blood stains" on the floor. "You are impeding Sheridan's creativity! She is a genius, and restrictions will only stunt her ability!"
"Don't give me that 'impeding Sheridan's creativity' nonsense again, Sherlock!" John gave Sherlock a pointed glare. "Thanks to you, poor Greg is now in need of a long vacation!"
"Do you think Uncle Mycroft will take him to Venice?" Sheridan joked, her silvery eyes twinkling mischievously. "I know that it is beautiful this time of the year!"
"Ha! I would say I would be more worried about what Mycroft is going to do to the two of you!" John grumbled half-heartedly.
"Well, at least the rest of the Yarders found humor in the situation, unlike a certain ex-Army captain who shall remain nameless." Sherlock shot back.
Sheridan broke out into muffled giggles as she continued to clean up a few stray spots that they missed while John tried and failed to keep a straight face.
"How would you feel if someone made you a character in a board game and had you kill off the main victim because of 'unrequited love?'" John finally asked.
Sheridan seemed to ponder this. "It was a game of chance, Uncle John. We can't control which cards get grouped together. It could have been you who killed Uncle Mycroft because of unrequited love!"
John shuddered at the thought as he vividly recalled the moments immediately following the reveal of the "Motive" card.
After Clarky reluctantly read the last card, Donovan, Anderson, and Hopkins collapsed in laughter as they saw Lestrade's horrified face transfixed on Clarky's, who returned the look with a sheepish grin.
Mycroft, on the other hand, simply turned his icy blue eyes to view his younger brother and his niece huddled together on the couch. His face showed no emotion whatsoever, but his posture probably promised some form of dire retribution, evidenced by Sherlock edging slowly to the far end of the couch and Sheridan trying to curl up and disappear under the afghan that was draped on the other end.
John, for his part, was vastly amused by this unexpected turn of events, even though he had the sense not to show it at the time.
"How many times did you two play this game, anyway?" John said, holding up the improvised Cluedo box, which would soon be added to the wall with a knife wedged into it.
"We played it a total of three times, John." Sherlock replied.
"Three times." John repeated softly. "Then how did you two manage to stay clean, and turned the sitting room into a serial killing?"
"It's obvious, John. We didn't!" Sherlock muttered. "We cleaned up and changed before we went out, of course."
"Are you telling me that you, Sherlock Holmes, actually cleaned up instead of walking through London's streets, covered in blood…"
"It's not real blood, Uncle John!" Sheridan interrupted, glaring up at him.
"Fake blood, then! Are you telling me that you cleaned yourself up so you wouldn't scare the fine citizens of London?" John persisted, turning back to Sherlock.
Sherlock shrugged as he stood up from his position on the floor. "We were in a hurry, John. It is doubtful that any cab would have allowed us to travel in them if we were covered in falsified hemoglobin."
John smirked at that comment. "At least you didn't leave here in a sheet!"
"Already done. And besides, I was making a point to Mycroft."
"Oh, yes! Nothing says brotherly love like making your brother a victim in a fictionalized who-done-it game!"
"I wonder if we should write the creators of 'Cluedo.'" Sheridan pondered as she wiped up the last of the fake blood from the coffee table. "Maybe they can make a collector's edition out of it!"
"No, no, and for the last time, no!" John ordered. "It's bad enough that you two insured that Lestrade will be the laughing stock at the Met for many years to come!"
"Not my fault." Sherlock muttered. "Besides, that is what he deserves for all the times he broke into the flat on one of his fake drug busts! If he does not want to appreciate the creativity of a child genius, then he should not come!"
"Which child genius are we talking about?" John asked politely. "You or Sheridan?"
Sherlock glared up at John while Sheridan giggled softly in the corner. "There is no reason to be like that, John! Just because you overreacted…"
"Overreacted?!" John huffed. "How would you feel if you came home and your best friend's flat was a reenactment of a crime scene!? Bloody hell, Holmes! I almost had a heart attack!"
Sherlock glared at John. "Did I not do as you had requested? I ate! Well, enough, anyway. I didn't get hurt, and I didn't scare the mindless populous…and no, the Met do not count in this situation!"
John sighed, gently messaging his temples. "Just…please, Sherlock! I panicked when I came in and saw all of this!" John gestured towards the room, which thankfully was void of almost all of the fake blood by this point.
Sherlock looked down pensively. After several seconds of silence, he looked back at John. "It was never my intent to remind you of that, John. I certainly didn't intend to make you suffer that again."
John stared at Sherlock, aware that the consulting detective was not acting. He was genuinely remorseful about faking his death, even though it was necessary at the time.
And despite what some people believed, Sherlock was not a cruel person. What happened in the flat today was an accident, brought about by two bored Holmes and bad timing on his part.
"I'm sorry too, Uncle John." Sheridan confessed, looking up at him. "And we promise we won't play Cluedo ever again, if it upsets you so much."
John smiled gently and ruffled Sheridan's hair. "I may hold you to that. If I never see another Cluedo game again, I can die a happy man! In fact, I think board games are forbidden around you two!"
"Really?" Sheridan asked innocently. "Because I had some great ideas for 'Operation!'"
John sighed heavily. "Please, no! I think I suffered enough! You probably plan on getting some poor cadaver..."
"How did you deduce that, John?" Sherlock smirked as he causally rubbed at some blood on the ceiling, not even straining.
Well, damn him and his ridiculous height anyway!
"We can't all be tall, John." Sherlock noted quietly, giving John a knowing smile.
"How did you...oh, forget it!" John muttered irritably. "No doubt you read my expression or the way my eye twitched or something!"
"It's ok, Uncle John." Sheridan said sympathetically. "I'm short, too!"
"But you are still growing, whereas 'Uncle John' will only grow around his waistline from now on." Sherlock pointed out calmly.
"So now you are calling me fat!?" John growled warningly.
"Oh, don't be ridiculous, John! But if you are really worried about your physique, you can call Lestrade up and ask him to give me more cases, so that you can help me chase down the perpetrators! Exercise, John!"
"So you would use me to get back in Greg's good graces again?" John complained as he crossed his arms in front of him in a petulant manner. "Nice try, Sherlock. Personally, I think you should worry about your brother first!"
"True. I wonder what the bane of my existence is planning?" Sherlock wondered absently as he finished washing the last remaining spot off the wall. "Knowing Mycroft, it will be something immature, I am sure."
"Which means the two of you will spend the next few months at each others' throats! Well, whatever it is, you can leave me out of it!" John answered. "I absolutely refuse to get involved in the petty wars you and your brother engage in on a weekly basis! So this time, I am staying completely out of it!"
A few weeks later, much to everyone's surprise and chagrin, a new limited version of "Cluedo" was actually introduced, featuring Sherlock as one of the main characters.
There were a couple of minor changes, of course. Mycroft was no longer the victim of the game, as his role was taken by an unnamed individual without any identification, known only as "Mr. Body."
The Motive cards, for some unexplained reason, were taken out, as were most of the "improvements" and "additions" that Sherlock and Sheridan had incorporated into the game several weeks prior.
And, of course, there was no role-playing or acting out the murder scenes.
But Sherlock was distinctly unhappy by the introduction of the game, and not only because of the changes to it.
It probably had to do with the fact that the game designers decided to feature a picture of him on the Cluedo box.
And it was the picture of him wearing that damned hat!
John laughed himself hoarse as he brought home one of the infamous Cluedo games, enjoying watching Sherlock fume like a volcano as he plotted revenge against his brother.
Sherlock's bad mood was such that John didn't even raise a fuss when Sherlock attached the game to the wall with a dagger and use it for target practice.
"Mycroft will pay for this, John!" Sherlock growled furiously as he stomped off to his bedroom to enter his mind palace in order to formulate plans to retribution for his elder sibling. "This means war!"
John sighed, lifted his eyes to Heaven, and silently prayed for the strength to stay out of the battle this time.
It turned out that John didn't have long to wait.
Still, it felt like a long time. After all, anyone who dealt with Sherlock and Mycroft at all knew that the two brothers often engaged in juvenile antics to prove their mental superiority against the other. So waiting for either brother to make the next move was surprisingly similar to the lull in between battles in Afghanistan.
Everything finally came to a head about three weeks after the introduction of the special edition Cluedo game. Unlike the previous days, Sherlock was unbelievably smug as he lounged around in his dressing gown and played a cheerful tune on his violin.
And then Mycroft came by and demanded Sherlock's presence.
Well, not exactly. He actually sent several dark-clad figures in ski masks to kidnap Sherlock. Which, given how the brothers interacted with one another, wasn't all that difficult to believe.
Mycroft's men would have succeeded too, had they not incurred the wrath of dear Ms. Hudson (their bodyguard not housekeeper, thank you very much!)
John couldn't really blame Ms. Hudson for overreacting.
After all, if you saw several men in ninja outfits manhandle your two tenants, wouldn't you retrieve your iron skillet from the kitchen and proceed to chase them around the flat until they deserted en masse?
Still, it probably would have been better in the long run if Mrs. Hudson hadn't gotten involved. At least for Sherlock and Mycroft. Once John told her the whole story, Mrs. Hudson proceeded to contact a higher power.
(aka-Ophelia Holmes)
(aka-the only person in the world who had the power to stop Sherlock and Mycroft from continuing their war and potentially saving civilization as we know it)
(aka-"Mummy")
Once "Mummy" got involved, tensions between the two Holmes came to an abrupt halt.
Within hours of the meeting she arranged for herself and her sons, Sherlock found himself obligated to do five cases for Mycroft. Also, the Cluedo game was mysteriously pulled from the stores, despite the fact that the limited addition game had reached record sells around England and the world.
Personally, John breathed a sigh of relief once word got out that the brothers were forced into a temporary "cease fire" before London was burned to the ground. He was starting a blog campaign on how he felt that Ophelia Holmes, a.k.a. "Mummy," should have be canonized by the Vatican decades ago, considering the trials her sons have surely subjected her to over the years.
He didn't know how successful he would be, seeing as his earlier proposal to the Vatican that Mrs. Hudson should also be elevated to sainthood due to dealing with Sherlock has still not received a response from the Church.
It was later on that John finally discovered that it was the total destruction of Mycroft's beloved Porsche that finally resulted in the heightening of hostilities that resulted in the "ninja" attack, thus requiring Mummy's divine intervention.
But it was still a mystery on how Sherlock was able to pull it off.
Whenever John tried to (discretely) ask Sherlock about it, Sherlock smugly reminded him that John had promised not to get involved, so he was not entitled to learn what exactly transpired.
It was one of the few times in his life that John bemoaned that fact that he was a man of his word.
If he wasn't, then he would have been able to ask Sherlock exactly how he managed to steal a helicopter, attach Mycroft's Porsche to it, and then dropped it right into the Thames without getting caught.
Author's Note:
Ah, karma's bad, isn't it? If Mycroft had, as John had once suggested, "nicked Sherlock's smurfs," then he is obviously paying for it now.
Well, I hope you all liked my first drabble series. I tried to make it interesting. And hopefully it brought a few smiles to everyone. I can't say I am happy with the ending on this, because it feels so rushed to me, but I am currently traveling out of state right now, and am desperate to get this posted before my computer dies. My sincere apologies!
I'm going to be gone for a few days too, so I won't be able to post a new drabble series until the end of next week at the earliest.
Assuming there is enough interest, of course!
I would like to take this time to give special thanks to Scottish Bluebell, my loyal reviewer and the only person who has reviewed all of my chapters so far!
If anyone else has read this drabble series and have any thoughts (love it, hate it, critique it, tell me to stop pretending to be a writer, etc.) please post your thoughts.
But as long as there is enough interest, I will continue to add stories.
Either that or I will be locked up forever!
OC Chase Douglas-"Ahhh! That's mean! We are nice to you, Peaceful Defender!"
Peaceful Defender (gestures towards chains on her wrists)-"This? Is nice?"
OC Chase Douglas (pouting)-"Hey! This is my first kidnapping! I can't be perfect like the DMP!"
Peaceful Defender-"You know, I always wanted to ask you something, Chase. Why do you like Mycroft?"
OC Chase Douglas-"What's not to like? He runs a country, he gives me access to the latest state-of-the-art software, gives me all the coffee I want, and he surrounds himself with beautiful women! I mean, haven't you seen Anthea, the Goddess of Love?"
Peaceful Defender-"Anything else?"
OC Chase Douglas-"Well, he did bond me out after my unfortunate incarceration!"
Peaceful Defender-"Oh yeah! The time you were with the 'Sherlockians' and were busted leading a group in song. What were you singing, anyway?"
OC Chase Douglas-"'God Save The Queen.' What else do you sing in England?"
Peaceful Defender-"So you basically adopt whatever culture you are in, am I right?"
OC Chase Douglas-"Well, when in Rome, do as the Romans do!"
Peaceful Defender-And because Mycroft kidnaps people, you thought that doing it to me is a good idea?"
OC Chase Douglas-You mean it isn't?
Peaceful Defender (sighing)-"I am never going to be released, am I? Someone, convince Chase to let me go! Please review!"