*** Author's Note ***
Towel Day prompt: "In moments of great stress, every life form that exists gives out a tiny subliminal signal." ― Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
I'm just going to be straightforward here. If I could, I'd give this a "major character death" tag because we finally get an explanation as to how both John and Arthur's minds are in one body. There's only so many ways that can happen. Also, there are some truths revealed about other catastrophic events.
This is *that* installment... The one with all the explanations and not much action. The action comes next.
Any other questions, just ask.
The interview about the bees is over and long forgotten by everyone but Mycroft. It's not a coincidence the program aired when it did. Nor that Sherlock is passionately obsessed with bees. Obsessed enough to have recorded the terrible interview.
He's known a number of Sherlocks from a variety of different Earths. They all had their obsessions. This one is not the only one who had an interest in bees. But he is the only one with the focus required to see the signal
Mycroft cues up the video of the bees in their dance. He knows the room is deathly silent and recognizes that it's because of the information he's just shared. An extinction level event will have that effect on people.
He starts talking before he even turns around to face the others in the room. "What you all must understand is that the Vogons never actually hated Earthlings. They simply believed them to be unnecessary and a waste of space. That is why, Mr. Dent, your Earth of origin was slated for destruction in order to build an intergalactic hyperspace expressway."
"They're bureaucrats annoyed into desperate measures by two men who should have just accepted their fate and carried on." Mycroft looks at Ford, who is glaring back at him, then at John, and he is startled at the transformation. The man still looks like John Watson, at least the John Watson he has known for the past several years, but his demeanor, the line of his mouth, something in his eyes, reveals to him that he is actually talking to Arthur Dent. It's unsettling, and he focuses back on Ford.
"By stowing away on the Vogon ship, you caused an intergalactic incident which ultimately led us here. To the Grebulons using Vogon technology in an attempt to destroy every possible variation of earth." Mycroft pulls a folder from his briefcase. "They agreed to allow us to populate this Earth, under one condition, as outlined here." He holds up a document labelled Treaty GWP 653.290.
"What do you mean populate it?" Sherlock is staring at him as if Mycroft is the alien, instead of the man with two heads and three arms.
"This Earth, at the time of the extinction level event, was classified prehistoric. Unpopulated. Untouched by man. We, myself and the carefully selected panel of world and intergalactic leaders, were given a limited amount of time to select what era and the level of development we thought appropriate to maintain a minimum of human existence. The intergalactic members of the panel encouraged replication of the Earth you remember, Mr. Dent, late twentieth century, as that Earth had, at the time of its destruction, earned the designation 'mostly harmless' in The Guide. We Earthlings were hardly in a position to argue with the logic."
"Using technologies borrowed from other, more advanced, sectors, we ended up with completely developed, yet still prehistoric, Earth devoid of human life. We were then tasked with choosing the population." Mycroft exhales slowly.
"Wait, you had to…" Random shakes her head as the thought is too terrible. "No."
"Indeed." Mycroft nods.
"What? What did they have to do, da?" Rosie tugs on John's hand, and there is a moment the man looks in utter agony as the proper personality takes dominance. When he glances back at Mycroft, it's with John Watson's eyes.
"Rosie, love," John pulls her close to hold her on his lap. "A lot of people were going to die, so Mycroft and the others had to pick the ones who lived." He looks at Mycroft to make sure that's acceptable. Mycroft nods.
"Oh. Oh no." Rosie frowns. "That's…" She buries her face in John's shoulder.
"Do we know which Earth population you chose?" Sherlock asks. There's no emotion to it. There is no appropriate emotion. Besides perhaps nausea, and that seems to have settled on the room quite completely.
"Not one single Earth. There were nearly limitless possibilities. We made selections from each. We tried to pick the optimal version of each individual to transplant. Logistically, it was a nightmare." Mycroft shrugs, and offers a small smile. He is met with glares of horror and rage.
"Mycroft, I need… you have to be honest now." Sherlock stands from his spot kneeling next to John. "Am I… are you and I from the same Earth?"
"We are not." No use prolonging the inevitable.
The weight of that truth knocks Sherlock back to his knees. In a matter of just a few hours he's learned of the existence of aliens, that his flatmate possesses the personalities of two men, and that he and his brother, while genetically linked, yes, are not actually birth siblings. Not to mention the impending potential destruction of Earth. He's actually handling it remarkably well, all things considered. Mycroft only wishes that were the extent of the bad news. Especially when Sherlock jumps up with a roar and hits him once, hard enough to stun him.
"I suppose, in some way, I deserve that." Mycroft nods.
"I could never make sense of it. How one day I had, if not a close relationship, at least an amicable one, with my brother, and then the next day…" Words fail him and Sherlock motions between them. He looks destroyed. "You killed my brother! You…" He stumbles back and sits down hard next to John. "You killed your brother too. And the John from my Earth. And…" He's hyperventilating.
Ordinarily John would try to help him, but his arms are full of distraught Rosie and he's clearly warring with which personality to let speak next. He doesn't get a chance as Ford rushes Mycroft and punches him as well.
"Where's my Arthur, then?"
"Your Mr. Dent is here, as he is the cause of all of this." Mycroft motions to John and watches in terrible fascination as Arthur takes over. He looks extremely uncomfortable with Rosie clinging to him, but he doesn't push her away.
"What does that even mean?" Arthur demands.
"Because you were one of only two humans to escape that destruction of that Earth, and seemingly inexplicably other similar attempts that followed, it was assumed you alone possessed the secret of The Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything." It pains Mycroft to even mention the ridiculous question. But it is the ultimate answer to their current predicament.
"I'll tell you what I've told anyone who asks… I have no bloody idea!" Arthur yells. He seems incapable of not.
"Unfortunately, the Vogons do not care. In exchange for the technology they lent the Grebulons, they requested the possessor of the knowledge as payment. The Grebulons are on their way now to collect you and turn you over."
There is a collective outcry of rage.
"What did you do? What did you fucking do?" Ford takes a swing at Zaphod, who ducks one head but not the other. "Why would you agree to that? He's your friend."
"Ehhh," Zaphod wrinkles one of his noses. Random hits him in the other.
"Mycroft, why? Why John? What does he have to do with this?" Sherlock is still huddled on the floor, tugging at his hair.
"John Watson is our contingency plan." Mycroft flips through the folder he's been holding. "We give them Arthur Dent, they get John Watson. It seemed prudent to send a soldier, someone with tactical training, to end this constant threat."
"Explain." Suddenly Sherlock's focus is back. He's on his feet ready to snatch the folder away.
"It's technology we've been developing for ages. He's the first it's actually worked successfully on." Mycroft looks up and takes in the looks of horror. "The day the population was transplanted, John was placed in an active battlefield, just as he'd been extracted from. When Arthur was transplanted, he ended up on the same battlefield, rather than in the secure facility we'd intended. Both men suffered near fatal injuries that day, Arthur from the explosion of his own Earth, and John from an enemy attack."
"Fuck… What the… Christ... " John is murmuring. He starts mumbling gibberish, and it's clear he's stuck in his mind halfway between John and Arthur.
"Arthur's body was damaged but salvageable. They lost John on the table twice. Using technology I'm not at liberty divulge, surgeons and scientists were able to transfer John's consciousness, using his own brain, to Arthur's body. For the final intent, it was decided the more advanced of the two minds should be dominant. With John's medical and military training, the choice was clear. Arthur's consciousness was then transferred to a literal memory drive, and installed back into the body in a dormant state. The drive is advanced biotech, changing and evolving, able to be programmed and grafted directly into the nervous system. It has thrived well, as with the organs and skin grafts used from John's old body. You would never know the damage done to the right leg after the repairs, but they recreated John's bullet wound cosmetically. That's where they installed the drive."
"Am I dead then?" John, yes he's fully John, has gone deathly pale. "You said 'John's old body.' Where is it? Hmm, Mycroft? Was I… Am I… Dead?"
"I am sorry you had to find out this way. It was not my intention…" Mycroft sniffs. "The remains were disposed of, and..."
John passes Rosie, to Sherlock and stumbles to the loo to be sick. Random sits with the little girl so Sherlock can run after John.
"The drive is also a beacon, isn't it?" Ford is staring at the still image of the bees on the telly. He's shaking. His hands are balled into tight fists.
"Indeed." Mycroft nods. He waits as Sherlock half carries, half drags John back into the room. He honestly can't decide which of the two of them looks more devastated. Though John - or is it Arthur? Perhaps both - looks like he's in agony, both emotional and physical. There isn't time to dwell.
"These bees are fascinating. Sensitive to the tiniest cues and signals. They knew the Grebulons were approaching before we did. We anticipated it, though, and set the beacon to start transmitting in advance. When the signal started, it began to slowly awaken Arthur as well. Our hope was that it would draw you here, with Galactic President Beeblebrox."
"Well, it worked." Ford wipes his eyes with his towel. He looks like he might be sick himself. "This is… Do you know how wrong this is?" He snarls.
"Is it wrong to sacrifice one or two lives if it preserves the last of an entire endangered species?" Mycroft is resigned to the fact that he will ever be devil's advocate.
"If the ones making the sacrifice have no choice in the matter," Random whispers as she holds Rosie tight.
Ford suddenly steps up to the telly. "The bee dance, look at it, it's a star map."
"It is." Mycroft confirms with a nod and presses play. "That is where the Grebulons and Vogons will rendezvous. Where Galactic President Beeblebrox will deliver Arthur. And with the combination of Arthur's knowledge of the Vogon ship and John's military skill, he should be able to destroy both ships at once. The incendiary device built into the biotech implanted in his body is undetectable and fiercely destructive."
Sherlock and Ford are both immediately in his face, cursing and shouting. Random and Rosie both follow John back to the loo.
"Whoaa, wait. What?" Zaphod holds up all three of his hands. "I do not think I agreed to that. I don't want any part of it."
"It's too late. The plan is already in motion. The Grebulons are expecting the two of you."
"Mycroft, John is family. He's… It's John." Sherlock grabs him by the shoulders. "Don't do this. You can't."
"Brother, the fate of humanity depends on it. If he doesn't go, the Grebulons will destroy the Earth. If he doesn't destroy them, these threats will remain. He have this one opportunity to rid ourselves of our two greatest enemies."
"Then let us go too. I've been on the Vogon ship too. I can help!" Ford is near begging.
"And if John goes, I'm going." Sherlock states bluntly.
"No." It's Arthur who steps into the sitting room, Random holding one hand, Rosie the other. All three have been crying. "No," he looks from Ford to Sherlock. He closes his eyes and sighs. When he opens them again, it's John looking back at them. "I'm doing it. And I'm going alone."