I just had to recreate these scenes. They're done in my own fashion, obviously, because first of all, it's AU so I have to switch things up at least a bit, and because of my 1000-word limit for every tenth chapter, I have to condense and rebuild.

We're going to encounter (at long last) an admission of trust (sort of) by John, who misses the war zone too much to pass up the battlefield Sherlock's offering him, within the next ten or so chapters (I know it seems far away, but don't forget how short my chapters are).

There was no one better for Mycroft than Mark Gatiss. The man is a genius and, just like Mr. Cumberbatch, a ginger. Ever since I was little, I've had a thing for red hair. It must be genetic; my dad only dated gingers.

Note on the chapter title: "Spirited Away" is not only a movie, it's actually a phrase: "kamikakushi" meaning "hidden by the gods" and it's used to explain the mysterious and often unexplained disappearance of a person. John gets spirited away by Mycroft, the god of the British government and the British Secret Service and the CIA (but only on a freelance basis).

I'll stop talking now. Enjoy.

Spirited Away

John didn't often overreact; if he did, it was for good reason, like finding out that a madman was seeking to employ him as an assistant and had for him a list of guidelines (demands) that had to be met in order to work with him.

But when he was confronted by two men clad in black suits and ushered out of his genetics class (to the wide-eyed stares of his professor and classmates), he was surprised to find that this was not an overreaction-worthy situation.

He didn't know much about cars but was able to tell that the one he was escorted (forcefully) into was worth a fortune. In the seat next to him was a young woman wearing a three-piece suit and thumbing madly away at her phone.

John watched her for a bit before saying, "Hello."

She glanced at him and smiled. "Hi."

"Care to tell me what's going on?"

She smiled a little more and shook her head. "Not at all."

XxXxXxXxXxX

"Sit."

"I prefer to stand."

"...Sit."

John sat slowly, delicately on the plush seat the man had prodded with his umbrella. They were in the very posh-looking hotel on the very top floor in an impossibly swanky penthouse decorated in the Rococo style (Harry was an interior decorator and years of helping her study had ingrained such useless information in his mind).

The man before him was tall (making him acutely aware of his own 172 centimeters) and dressed in a smart black suit. He was swinging a black umbrella lazily with one hand and drinking tea from a Wedgwood cup in the other, assessing John with keen blue eyes. There was something familiar about those eyes and the way they pierced John. It made him quite uneasy.

"Do you know why you're here?" asked the Umbrella Man. John shook his head and was answered: "Your association with Sherlock Holmes."

John's eyes flicked toward the door before slewing back to Umbrella Man.

"What do you mean? You can't...I mean, you couldn't be his...friend. So what are you to him?"

"An enemy. No, an arch-enemy, he likes to call me. He's always had a bit of a dramatic streak."

John thought back on the swishy coat Sherlock wore despite it still being quite warm and mentally agreed.

"You had your first contact with him approximately two days ago and your first conversation with him yesterday in the kitchen of the coffee shop Bean There Done That, where he offered to make you his assistant. Something you did has piqued his interest...I assume you two shall be finding an apartment together by the end of the week?"

"I never agreed to be his-"

"I'm here to offer you a certain sum of money."

John stopped mid sentence and his ears perked, albeit guiltily and hesitantly. Medical school was rather difficult to pay for and what with his mum being retired, Harry out of a job, and his father being deceased, money was hard to come by. "In exchange for...what?"

"Information, but not any you'd be guilty about giving. I'd just you to tell me what Sherlock is up to."

"Why?"

"I worry about him...constantly."

At that moment, John's phone beeped. After a glance at Umbrella Man, he took it out and read the text.

I'm at Bean There. If convenient, come at once. SH

SH? Who the hell is that- SHERLOCK HOLMES. How the hell...oh, Mike, I'll slaughter you.

"Am I interrupting something?" asked Umbrella Man. John shook his hand.

"Might be nice," he continued, staring at John. "Paying for school...helping get your sister out of debt...supporting your mother...but if you got rid of your useless therapist you'd save a bit more."

"How the hell would you know about that?"

"Really, John, she doesn't know a thing about you. The shake in your left hand isn't from stress. It's from desire. You miss the war; you aren't haunted by it."

John stared, every sense on high alert. He nearly leapt out of his skin when his phone beeped again.

"So how about it?"

John didn't answer, staring at his phone.

If inconvenient, come anyway. SH

And with that stupid, pretentious text from Sherlock, he made his choice.

"No," he said simply.

XxXxXxXxXxX

John made it back to Bean There only ten minutes late for his shift, feeling shaken and slightly annoyed by his surprise attack.

Sherlock was waiting at his usual seat and looked up when John entered. John walked over and waited expectantly, which caused Sherlock to give him a quizzical look. Sighing, John supplied, "You asked me to come, I'm assuming it's important?"

"Ah, yes," said Sherlock, his face brightening. "I need you to make me that delicious beverage you made me this morning."

John's mind came screeching to a halt. "...Mike has a shift right now, he could have made you one."

"I wanted it the way you make it."

"You brought me here...to make you a mochaccino. ...I was on the other side of London-"

"No hurry, it wasn't important."

"-meeting a friend of yours."

"A friend?" Sherlock looked puzzled.

"An enemy."

"Oh." He looked visibly more...relieved? "Which one?"

"Your archenemy, according to him. Do people have archenemies?"

"Did he offer you money to spy on me?"

John hesitated. "Yes."

"Did you take it?"

"...No."

"Pity, we could have split the fee. Think it through next time."

John, despite his irritation, allowed a small smile. "Who is he?"

"The most dangerous man you'll ever meet...and not my problem right now. Mochaccino?"

"Just my coffee and not my lovely company?" asked John sarcastically.

"I suppose so," Sherlock allowed. "The anatomy department confiscated my skull."

XxXxXxXxXxX

I'm trying to hire him. I'd appreciate it if you didn't scare him off by abducting him, Mycroft. SH

I'm quite impressed. He didn't take the money and wasn't frightened. MH

You're not very frightening. SH

Keep this one, Sherlock. MH

Obviously. SH

Prompt was #22: Wedgwood (also spelled "wedgewood") which is a gorgeous type of china typically in a light blue color, but they're also commonly recognized for being white with blue painted drawings. My mom has some Wedgwood china that she's quite attached to.

I like stalking (erm...taking a glance at) all the profiles of the people who favorite/subscribe/comment on my stories. Its always a massive disappointment when they don't have anything in their profiles, hahaha. I dunno, it just makes me excited; there are real people enjoying my work. It's exhilarating; I really get off on it. Readers are better than drugs.