Sherlock and the Little People

By Doctor Napalm

Chapter 12

As they exited the lift, Sally Donovan paused and turned to Anderson. "Don't forget the shift briefing is in thirty minutes," she said.

Anderson lightly touched her arm and smiled. "Save me a seat."

He gently tapped the bobble-head dinosaur on the corner of his desk for luck before sitting down in his cubicle. Adjusting the chair, he reached out and pressed the power button on his computer. A blue light on the tower flickered and green ones on the keyboard blinked as the machine started up. He picked up a stack of papers and flipped through them while the computer completed its boot sequence and displayed a password prompt. Carefully he tapped in "4n6gui" and clicked enter. He then noticed the leather bag sitting on the corner of his desk. "Huh," Anderson grunted, "hope he didn't break it."

Opening the bag he pulled out the UV goggles and examined them closely. Everything seemed to be in order. Placing them on his head and adjusting the eyepieces, he flipped the power switch and looked about the room. "Looks normal," he thought to himself. Pulling a test card from the bag he examined it. Invisible under normal light, he could see the word "TEST" clearly printed on the card. He smiled, turned off the goggles, and carefully replaced them to the bag along with the card.

ɸ

Mycroft Holmes held up the glass and turned it slowly, absently watching how it's deeply etched surface sparkled and reflected the afternoon light. He sighed softly, thinking about the piles of paperwork waiting for him on his desk. He really should be working and not relaxing at the Diogenes Club, but rank hath its privileges. An occasional respite from the stress of the many critical decisions he had to make on a daily basis was well deserved. Putting the glass to his lips, he savored the last few drops of Peated Single Malt.

Although he sat with his back to the door, he nevertheless sensed that someone had entered the room. Perhaps it was how one of the other members gently rustled their newspaper, or maybe it was a subtle shift in the lighting. A few moments later the black-suited majordomo of the club quietly appeared beside his chair carrying a small silver tray upon which rested a small engraved calling card.

Mycroft blinked and pursed his lips. He nodded his head, acknowledging the steward's silent message that someone had arrived who wished to speak with him. He did not bother to glance at the card, he had seen the same one too many times before to need wonder who was disturbing his reverie.

ɸ

Anderson noticed that Hopkins looked at him and poked Bradstreet in the ribs as he entered the room. The two were always making fun of him over something or other. Bradstreet stroked his scruffy beard thoughtfully as Hopkins whispered something in his ear. Both men smiled then turned their heads towards the front of the room.

The seating area was nearly full, but Anderson noticed that Sally had saved him a place as he had asked. It was between her and Porky Johnson. Porky snorted as the forensics technician sat down beside him. "What?" Anderson said with a slight bit of annoyance.

"Nothing," Porky replied and snorted again, "it's nothing at all." Porky turned his head towards the front of the room and Anderson could hear him stifle a laugh.

Sally Donovan was listening as D.I. Lestrade begin the briefing at the front of the room and paid little attention to Anderson as he scooted his seat a bit closer to her. He noticed she had changed her perfume. He made a mental note to say something about it to her after the briefing; he would tell her that he liked it even though he actually thought the scent was a bit too fruity.

"No new leads on the hit and run on Horseferry Road yesterday," Lestrade announced. "CCTV footage shows it was a late model yellow Volkswagen, so keep your eyes open for any yellow bugs with damage on the bonnet. Also we have a suspicious death overnight on Pearman Street. An elderly gent took a tumble down the stairs, but the investigating officer thinks he might have had some help. I need forensics to check it out. Anderson, would you…"

Lestrade paused for a long moment in mid-sentence as he looked up from his notes and gazed at Anderson. "Ahhhh…Phillip…" Lestrade cleared his throat with a small cough. "Um…would you handle that one?" He paused again, continuing to look at Anderson. Finally he looked down at his notes and mumbled, "Be sure to wash your face before you go."

The room erupted with laughter as everyone turned to look at Anderson. His mouth dropped open a bit in surprise. What was on his face? Lipstick smudges? Remnants of lunch? He quickly wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and turned to look at Sally who was looking directly into his eyes in horror. "Lipstick?" he asked.

"No…go wash your face," she answered, "Now."

ɸ

Sherlock was gazing out the window of the Strangers Room as Mycroft entered. "Dear brother," the elder Holmes said, "to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

Sherlock turned to face his sibling as he pulled a large brown envelope from inside his coat. "This should explain it," he said with a frown as he held it out.

Taking the envelope, Mycroft opened the flap and pulled out a large grainy photo and glanced at it. He raised his eyebrows slightly.

"You cannot deny that is you pushing a laundry cart down the hallway at Barts," Sherlock whispered. "Even though you are wearing scrubs and are trying to hide your face from the camera, there is no mistaking that it is you and your personal assistant."

Mycroft smiled slightly and muttered "I knew we should have worn masks."

"It's not funny, Mycroft. You stole a body from the morgue at Barts. Why?"

"That's classified information."

"Classified?"

"Top secret."

"I know what classified means. Why would the body of this…this…this dwarf be classified?"

"All you have is a very grainy photo that might…or might not…show me pushing a laundry cart. This is all quite circumstantial. There is no evidence of a crime being committed."

"You stole a dead body."

"There is no official record of any bodies missing."

"Tell that to Lestrade."

"I have. Greg owes me a few favors, I called one in," Mycroft smiled. "He was somewhat reluctant to purge the records, but agreed to my request when I mentioned a few embarrassing incidents that might come to light were he not to comply."

"The security videos…" Sherlock began.

"The hospital received a grant to install some additional security cameras about year ago but they failed to file a map of the changes with the proper government authorities. As a result, I didn't know this particular camera was there until it was too late to avoid it. In any case, as of tomorrow morning, the photo will no longer exist. An unexplained gap of several minutes is all the tapes will reveal. All very Watergate-ish, don't you think?"

Sherlock looked away for a moment. "He was one of your operatives," he said quietly. "A covert operative hiding in plain sight. Who in their right mind would suspect a midget dressed like a leprechaun would be a secret agent? That's why his identification papers all led to dead ends, Patrick Kavanagh was just a ghost identity."

"Yes. In a covert sting operation gone bad, I'm afraid," Mycroft sighed. "This conversation is off the record. I will deny telling you any of this. Is that agreed?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Kavanagh's real name was Murray Ames, he was our inside man. Unfortunately he got caught in the act of collecting some physical evidence, a shillelagh we suspected contained a hidden memory stick. O'Reilly was laundering money for a terrorist organization as well as trafficking illegal weapons. I posed as a corrupt government official, helping him get the various licenses he needed to start up his business cover. Regrettably, Murray's death followed by your poorly timed visit effectively sealed the operation. All the suspects have since fled the country."

"And the green pixie dust?"

"Oh yes, the reason for your current complexion, an experimental replacement for pepper spray that was developed at Baskerville. Although your UV treatments will reduce the effects somewhat, once you stop them, the green will come back. It's a short term virus that actually alters your DNA." Mycroft reached in his jacket and withdrew a small vial. "Without the antidote, you'll remain forever green."

Sherlock reached out to take the vial but Mycroft pulled it away.

"Ah-ah-ah," Mycroft teased, "only if you agree to drop your investigation and convince your flat-mate to do the same."

Sherlock stared at him for a long moment. Sighing, he reluctantly said "Agreed," and took the vial, placing it in the pocket of his coat.

"Lie down and be sure you don't have anything to do for twenty-four hours before you take it."

ɸ

Standing outside the Diogenes Club, Sherlock took the ringing mobile out of his coat pocket, and looked at the caller ID. He tapped the screen and placed the phone to his ear. "Hello Anderson," he answered, "how may I assist you?" He smiled as he listened to the screaming voice on the other end. "You look like a raccoon? Yes, I suppose that's about right. Yes, from the UV goggle eye cups. No, it's my own formula…it's quite indelible...yes…organic dyes, mostly. No, I'd estimate two to three weeks for it to fade…yes...about the same length of time I've been green." Sherlock terminated the call, returned the mobile to his pocket alongside the vial, and hailed a cab.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE:

It's been almost a year since I started this and I've been stewing on how to best bring it to an end for quite a while. I knew how I wanted it to end, I just had some trouble expressing it. Hope you enjoyed the tale.