The Umbrella man, they called him.
The soubriquet given by the low government workers who chances to see this mysterious gentleman who pops up every now and then by the Parliament, States Offices, or Embassies— or even at Buckingham Palace of the British Government without making himself known. He was the same as every other English gentleman you see in the government—plaid elegant suit, dark shoes with high end manner, neck tie in check, the atmosphere of somebody with no nonsense attitude and of course, his umbrella. He was not the kind of man that would stick to memory if you are not constant inside the government as he only comes and goes without a single acknowledgement of those he sees. He was like a tube in the railway—always has his steps on the same path pushing forth and stopping only at his destination, in his case and it was always— directly towards the highest offices of the British Government.
Yet nobody knows his trade; he wasn't a politician or any famous personality, definitely not anyone's secretary or agent.
But he was always called whenever there were high matters of state involved. When things were dire and decisions need to be made or laws to be passed—his name is uttered by the highest authority.
Mr. Holmes.
Nobody who is nobody need not know him; they just know him as the Umbrella man, the gentleman in the British Government but only just.
For them, he was just another gentleman.
A couple of years back...
"Sir, the Buckingham palace called." Came the secretary after a brief knock on Mycroft Holmes' office door. The man in his grey suit didn't even blink an eye from the folder he was holding while seated on his chair inside his dark and secluded office.
"Oh, surprise me." he muttered to himself as he flipped a page with a curt frown. "Does this J. Moriarty know no bounds? He even sent his own profile to me... childish... yet highly destructive."
"Excuse me sir, I believe they need you immediately for this one."
"Do they want me to fly a jet there or—?"
"Sir, it's about the E-Protocol."
Mycroft finally glanced up with a raised eyebrow. "Good lord, are they already planning to make a move on that one? After years of wait and thorough blockage of media?"
She merely stared at him. Mycroft pressed a smile at her lack of reply and put a finger on his forehead. After some thoughts he looked down at his pocket watch and looked up again.
"Fine. Get Darcy in line, will you?"
"Already on the page, sir." She left shortly just as Mycroft took the telephone and pressed number 2. A second breath next, somebody answered the other line. Mycroft raised his head. "Harry, it's me. I would have thought you'd call directly first before I hear from my secretary. Do you still want me there or you rather we have it here now? I realise you're already planning to make it public."
"It depends." came a swift answer of a man's voice, "Are there other pressing matters that require your immediate attention other than the royal engagement of a family member of mine?"
"I'm no fan of such occasions or its planning." Mycroft rolled his eyes as he threw the 's file on his desk, "But I do security measures so unless that is the concern you can save me the greetings to the lucky ones. And might I remind you, sir Harry, that we made codes so that messages remain coded. You can't just throw words 'royal' and 'engagement' like that—that's why we termed the E-Protocol for the people outside the prior intelligence. It's Ring Protocol in your family and relative's case so you better call it that. I thought we agreed?"
"My dear Mycroft, in my family we just call it the 'engagement'. You can imagine how excited everyone is when William confirm—"
"Stop mentioning names now." The British government man scowled, "I have a pretty good picture of the elation everyone in the family must be feeling but for goodness sake, use the codes!"
"You won't be calling me directly if you think this line is not secured now?"
"Obviously." Mycroft looked up as he heard a knock on his door. "But I rather you use the codes. If the wedding is to commence next year then that's where we drop the codes. Or maybe not. Wedding security measures will be called Bell Protocols for outsiders and Knot Pronto for within the family."
There always had to be a separate title for the same meaning. Security.
And of course the inevitable grandchildren will be called Tiny Protocols but Mycroft refrained from saying so. His secretary's head then appeared by the doorway.
"Sir?"
"Send me all the files you find about this man." He handed her the Moriarty file and blinked when she remained.
"Yes sir... and sir...?" she hesitated in an undertone as Mycroft turned on the phone again, "Your brother has just burned his flat down."
The man rolled his eyes in exasperation as she closed the door behind her.
"Harry? Excuse me, will you? Something came up and it needs my full attention. I can fly there soon as I finish this... give me details of the photo call. You always like your timetable. See you." He jammed down the phone receiver once the other line had hung up and dug for his mobile phone inside his chest pocket.
In the next second he was already in the middle of an argument with his younger sibling.
"No, Sherlock, I didn't set up any cameras on your previous flat so there was no need for you to intentionally burn it down. Do you want me to label you as an arsonist? What? Stop hallucinating, why would I do that? Now, the cameras outside the flat— that I can take responsibility of— I'm sorry?"
Sherlock seemed to be babbling again. Or was he mentioning numbers?
"221B." Sherlock's voice could be heard from the phone, "That's Baker Street address to save you the trouble of nosing around, that's the place I'm eyeing right now. Have my things delivered there today, will you?"
"221—B—Baker Street," Mycroft repeated slowly as he took his red notebook and started scribbling it down, "hang on a second, I'm jotting it down."
"Don't be boring, Mycroft! We both know you don't need that."
"Nonsense, you're not the only one who knows how to erase data, you know."
Mycroft pressed his eyes closed as he made a mental note to tell his secretary to start navigating to find information geographically and search about the neighbourhood of this 221B, the owner, the residents plus each and everyone's background to mark and wondered how long his brother would last in the address this time just as Sherlock went on—
"You don't erase anything! Now do something good for once and try not to scare away any flatmates I may have in the future with your boring way of just appearing again."
"That's preposterous! You can do that perfectly without my help. Who'd want you for a flatmate when you infest yourself with extraordinary things like dead bodies inside cabinets or their body parts lying on the bed; let alone tell your flatmate his previous whereabouts or whenabouts or whatabouts? I'd wager whoever can tolerate it is highly disturbing—"
"Hmm? Funny, I was just about to invite you—you fall right in the category—" he sneered-
"Tempting, really." Mycroft gritted his teeth forcefully, "But no, thank you. You just burned the last one—"
"That's my point."
The older Holmes made a face as there was a definitive sound of a matter-of-fact in his younger brother's voice that made the older Holmes shook his head in disbelief.
"Do you really need this… flatmate? Through the course of your flat hopping since you left home you've never seen the need of one. Gotten tired of your friendly skull?"
"Because you're not a healthy companion either—"
"Why not—?" his defiance was of outrage.
"And why wouldn't I need one? I need somebody to help me pay the rent—not cameras and a lone constant dangerous visitor who just comes to annoy me not minding if his enemies is on his tail directly on my doorstep—"
"That never happened. I never slip. And do you really think I'd let my enemies to come at your doorstep?"
"So you have enemies!" there was a jubilant tone in his voice that only made the older Holmes sigh.
"Acting like you just found out now—?"
"So? Did you try with the CIA again?"
"No—you're not supposed to ask questions like that! For goodness sake, do you want to be accused of treason? Now, it would be different if you, my brother, would just accept the occupation I offer you—to work for your country—make use of your given talents and not waste in petty crimes—"
"I feel sorry for myself already." Sherlock's voice had gotten hard. "Boasting are we?"
"You know that's not what I meant—this is not a competition!"
"I know that's why you need to keep your business away if you don't want me poking around your giant and global crisis; same way you leave my premises alone."
Mycroft heaved a sigh with fingers at the bridge of his nose.
"And this flatmate you're requiring?"
"None of your business—"
"It is too—I'm concerned Sherlock—"
"What? Fancy an interview?"
Mycroft chuckled. "If you can find one then lo and behold!"
"And just how hard looking for a flatmate can be? I'm not you— a misanthropic excuse—"
Mycroft have had enough. "I wish you luck with your future flatmate then, brothermine. Off my call then."
"Just leave my business alone, Mycroft." It was a warning that only made Mycroft smile. His secretary glided inside again and handed him a police report file.
"What business? You mean being a consulting detective? Sounds highly prolific, don't you think? The world's only consulting detective who cracks cases... You do love your drama?"
He heard Sherlock click his tongue impatiently and the older Holmes smiled in satisfaction.
"But you sure you can last long?"
"What do you mean last long?"
"Well, it needs quick mind and assessment doesn't it? Then why on your current case—" he glanced briefly at the last page before raising his head up and nodding at her, "how come you can't see the obvious mistake in alibi? What do you need to go to the morgue for when everything's in the police report? It's quite obvious, really. I don't know why you can't see it."
"Piss off, Mycroft!" Sherlock hung up in anger, making Mycroft smile yet again as he put his phone inside his coat.
"Always hot headed, my brother." he muttered as he raised an eyebrow and looked outside the window with indifference, "He won't be of any use if he keeps up with that atomic temperament of his."
"Is that why you always tease him?" a smile tugged at the corner of her lips as her boss looked at her.
"Why no." He shrugged in mock surprise, "I just happened to be his brother."
"What's he going to do at the morgue?"
"Probably to beat some poor corpse with a riding crop— what else do you have for me?"
She nodded and gave him another folder.
"Police report sir, the three victims with connection to the J.M files."
Mycroft took the folder and read it with eyebrows rising. Just then, his phone beeped with a text. He casually took it out from his breast pocket and read—
Your little brother's got a fan here. Hi- J. Moriarty
At that exact time Sherlock arrived at the morgue with a riding crop to release his anger towards his idiotic brother.
It hadn't been a few hours when Mycroft received a message from the palace. The royal couple was supposed to announce their engagement at the State Rooms of St. James's Palace and to be held next year. The British Head was already contemplating of the different codes they could use for security measures—it had always been a call for him to set different codes per person involved especially when it comes to the royal family; be it inside or out, people need to use different codes for the same purpose —when his secretary came in his office again without much as a knock.
He looked at her inquiringly. "Is it my brother?"
"Yes sir, it would seem he has found himself a flatmate."
"Miraculously? What he do—put an advertisement for potential human sacrifice?" he raised an eyebrow as he quickly took the folder handed to him. He then scanned down the unknown man's profile, all the while his back straightening up, and expression becoming severe by the moment.
"He has potential if he's from military background... they're sort of... durable. Early retirement from an injury... but, oh Lord... that could make it worst." He turned a page, his eyes narrowing. After a long moment of silence and page turns, the man put the folder down and eyed his secretary.
"Arrange our meeting this evening."
"Personally sir? The last time somebody bothered with your brother it was only a video letter—"
"No. This one requires full attention. No, I need to see him myself."
"Should he be invited directly or...?"
"No... no... let me show him what I can do. If it turns out he's like the rest of the world then we may have to eliminate him. Send him to the farthest corner of London if needed be."
Mycroft raised his head with a little curt, his face impassive as ever.
"Let's see what he's made of."
Present...
When he saw the former army doctor appear before his eyes in that anarchic scene made of guns and rebels, Mycroft knew his plan had to be enacted. It wasn't any sacrifice on his part, no. It was the best move he could make if he wanted to save that life that had gone and save his younger brother's life plenty of times in his place.
Mycroft had seen what John Watson was made of. From his stubbornness to follow his invitation to sit and comply to his offer, the older Holmes had known he might just be one of the doses that Sherlock needed. His younger brother had always been a bit spoiled by getting everything he wanted and act the way he does. Maybe a little cross and petulant person could teach Sherlock a thing or two.
And he wasn't wrong. John Watson was an imperative in Sherlock's life.
That's why he, Mycroft, will not lose him.
Not when everything at fault until this moment was centred around him.
Sacrifice? Don't be absurd. Protection. He owed that to John Watson.
So he went out of the van and stepped into the light in the middle of the darkened trees and presented himself to that person. He eyed John and wanted to know if his nine-day wonder was worth it but saw the tall leader of the opposing side smile at him.
"Mycroft Holmes."
"So it's you after all."
Those dark eyes glinted. "You remember?" there was a curious tone in his voice.
"*Bana hakaret ediyorsun." Mycroft raised a natural eyebrow as he spoke making Sherlock glance at him. "You were the only Turkish man I saw in that hideous interrogation cell... of course I'd remember."
The Turkish man smiled as he reached his hand on his ring again.
"*Etkileyici..."
Mycroft smiled too. "Much more than that, I know who sent you. You're one of the Fethullahists, a Turkish organization intent to divide its nation...I've read your file... and I can see your ring."
That wiped the smile off the Turkish man who slowly put his hands down.
"That's better." The older Holmes murmured to himself as he advanced himself forward with Sherlock slowly walking beside him with guns all pointed in their direction. Mycroft went on with a new vigour he mustered to achieve with body surprisingly numbing by the minute.
"I should be the one impressed with how you took advantage of the situation here... The fact that you knew when to act... that you have a man of mine in your hands was of no coincidence," he nodded at John, "and you here lying in wait like everything was falling in your hands...I wouldn't be surprised if you know about the Russian exchange and the force waiting to ambush them. It would be presumptuous of me to assume it's all part of your plan, that would give you too much credit. This was not premeditate..."
Mycroft's eyed narrowed as he glowered at his adversary.
"No—you followed the tide. But it wouldn't have worked without intelligence. Do tell me, how deep have you rooted in the PSNI force?"
Roylott threw a look at the British Head's direction. "What—"
"A classified op with plenty of things out. Do the math." The detective muttered under his breath.
"We can talk about this some other time." The Turkish man responded quietly after a short pause with eyes hinting interest as he eyed Mycroft Holmes with amusement. "You seem to really inspire people to want to find what else you know. It seems your file isn't overselling you. You are the true deal. You seem to know about everything in a short time."
"I wasn't born yesterday."
"Then you also know how we've heard of you and why we want you?"he raised his hand and John was nudged forward at a gun point. "We can exchange ideas later when we have time to ourselves but for now I need to make sure you come with me alive."
"You make it sound like I'm a suicide maniac."
"I saw you, Mr. Holmes, during your hours of interrogation. Tight lipped than most soldiers I've seen. Your loyalty is outstanding and very difficult to handle. We don't want you to lose your ability to speak before we can even use you in exchange to all the trouble we went."
"I'm sure you've seen better days."
"Then what are we waiting for?" the Turkish man's ever black eyes flashed.
Mycroft smiled shortly. "You tell me."
The tall man held his palm towards John who was looking at Mycroft hard before averting it to Sherlock. The detective returned the gaze firmly before turning to his brother with quite an intense look which was ignored as the older Holmes inclined his head to him and Roylott.
"They leave this place first." The British head looked at John and then looked back at his adversary. "You seem desperate for the trade so I'd say I have the advantage. You let them go and I come quietly."
"Of course, that's part of the plan." The militant leader smiled. Nodding his head, the guy holding John at gunpoint lowered his weapon and shoved the army doctor forward, leaving John to glare at them, before looking at Mycroft and Sherlock who both nodded at him. Slowly, he took steps forward.
Nobody made other movements. It might have felt a whole year to John but once he was beside the detective did he quickly hissed—
"What the hell are you both doing? What's Mycroft doing?"
"You ready for Vatican Cameos?" Sherlock inquired, making John frown at him but the detective motioned for him to stay silent with eyes turning at their enemies again. Silence fell in the air as the Turkish man watched the British Head with curiosity still deep in his glinting dark eyes.
"You seem awfully calm."
Mycroft sighed. "That's me."
"It's disquieting."
"It's a fact. Now, if you'd only allow them to leave peacefully... I want to make sure you keep them breathing."
"If you'd keep the end of the bargain then I'm sure we can finish this before your British troupe comes."
Mycroft took a step forward—
And then things began happening fast before Mycroft had realised what was going on—quick movements happened on his peripheral vision and the next thing somebody had gruffly suffocated him—an arm was wrapped so steadily by his neck, pulling him back brusquely—and then a familiar cold metal was pressed at his temple.
"You want this man?" said the voice of Assistant Commissioner Roylott who angrily pressed the gun on. There were various reactions from the people around while Mycroft himself tried not to choke on his own tongue at how forceful the officer was. "Well, you can't have him! I've heard enough to understand you want something from this man badly—and whatever he tells you will not benefit my country! You can have all your rubbish back in your mouth—nobody's having him! I'll kill him!"
Mycroft could not think—his back was aching like it was on fire—
"Roylott..." Sherlock's steady voice was coming from behind, "Don't you dare..."
"What?" the PSNI in charge stepped backwards, his grip on the older Holmes tightening as he glanced wildly at the guns pointed in his direction, "If we're going to die anyway then so be it! One or three men isn't worthy of the hundred deaths any information your brother will give them! To these terrorists! No ransom—that's always been the code in this situations! You'd agree too, Mr. Holmes, won't you?"
Mycroft licked his lips with eyes half closed.
"My... sentiments exactly."
Code
~To be continued~
*Bana hakaret ediyorsun- "You insult me"
*Etkileyici- "Impressive"
*GuestForToday*Chulija*
Thanks for reading! :)
