marysutherland: (Mark Gatiss)
BBC Sherlock

Rating: PG

Summary: Mycroft gets a nasty surprise when he visits John and Sherlock in Sussex.

Crack fic written for archea2's Not-Porn Porn Fest



John had expected the bees when they retired to Sussex. He hadn't expected the compost. Though Sherlock had always been fascinated by decomposition, and the scientific analysis of rotting vegetation was surely better than having disintegrating thumbs in the fridge.

Sherlock was out in the garden now, carefully sorting yesterday's leftovers. John knew better than to interfere; he still hadn't been forgiven for putting orange peel in the wormery. So when the door-bell rang, it was him faced with Mycroft.

He wished yet again that the Secret Service had let Mycroft go after William V's little accident, but no-one in the public sector was allowed to retire before eighty now. So here was Mycroft boring on about the latest defence disaster: someone had walked off with a vital part of Britain's latest submarine.

"It was a chip," Mycroft said. "They swallowed it." John's eyebrows rose. "A silicon chip. My experts assure me some information may be recoverable by the thief even after throughput."

"Sherlock won't take the case," John told him. "You know he's retired for good."

"I'm sure I can persuade him," Mycroft said smugly, heading out into the garden.

John watched and waited, smiling. A smile that turned into a grin as he saw Mycroft retreating shortly afterwards, beaten back by an accurately thrown volley of slightly-used tea bags.

marysutherland: (Mark Gatiss)
BBC Sherlock

Rating: 12 (passing references to femslash and violence)

Spoilers: for Scandal in Belgravia

Summary: Mycroft and Irene have a little discussion after Sherlock has left.

Betaed by the extremely precise Kalypso_V



AZ to MH: Transcript as requested: one hard copy, no other files or tapes remaining. )

marysutherland: (Mark Gatiss)
BBC Sherlock

Rating 12 (implicit shady goings-on and violence)

Spoilers: minor for Tinker, Tailor, Soldier Spy

"They don't want a repeat of nineteen seventy-two" -- Mycroft Holmes on the Diogenes Club.


Mycroft didn't know what the big building was or why it was called the Digger-Knees. He just knew it had the best buns he'd tasted in all his five years. On every trip to London, he pestered his parents to be allowed to go back there. Till the day that Father came home with a bloody nose and a swollen lip, and announced:

"Had to resign from the club. Sorry, Mycroft, old chap, no more buns for you when we go to Town."

Mycroft pretended to read his Enid Blyton, secretly listening to Father's quiet, angry explanations to Mummy.

"Lot of argy-bargy there recently about the Troubles and the Reds. Then today a crowd from the Circus turned up." Mycroft's ears pricked up, but the next thing Father said was odd. "Including a new scalphunter: some thug called Ricki Tarr. I don't know why, but halfway through a conversation someone took a swing at him."

"Really, Siger," Mummy said. "And you got involved in this brawl?"

"Seemed a chance to give Bill Haydon a little lesson," Father replied in a flat voice, and Mummy's face went red, and she told Mycroft to go upstairs.

It wasn't till next summer that Mycroft thought to ask Mummy why he and she were no longer getting their special little visits from his Uncle Bill.

marysutherland: (Wallpaper)

BBC Sherlock

Rating PG

Spoilers for The Reichenbach Fall


"Why would Sherlock Holmes invent a master criminal?" the reporter asked.

"So he could defeat me and prove he was a genius," Moriarty said confidently.

"But he is a genius, isn't he?" she replied, smiling. "It wasn't you who planned the Crown Jewels raid, because you're just a hired actor, it was him. That's pretty impressive."

"His idea was that I was such an incredible master criminal that I could get away with crimes even when I was clearly guilty."

"So Mr Holmes rigged the jury?"

"Yeah, like he promised me."

"But presumably, he was going to catch you in the end: Moriarty, the bomber, the child abductor. Crimes that he'd carried out, but you would be blamed for. And you'd have to be found guilty this time, for him to win."

"I suppose so."

"You'd get a long sentence then, wouldn't you?"

"He said he'd get me out. Remember, he can open up Pentonville."

"And whose word could you possibly trust more than that of a fantasising homicidal genius? Or who would it be safer for you to tell a reporter about? You know," Hildy Johnson added. "I don't think our readers are going to swallow this one, to be honest. But don't worry, I'll give you the number of a reporter on the Sun, if you like, Mr Brook."



Note: Hildy Johnson is from His Girl Friday

marysutherland: (Mark Gatiss)

BBC Sherlock

Rating: PG

Spoilers: For Scandal in Belgravia

Summary: Mycroft and Irene have a little chat



"There's nothing here," Mycroft told Irene Adler, six hours after her phone had been unlocked. "So where is the information?"

"When you say nothing-"

"Nothing of security importance. Oh, I see now why the newspapers gave you such mealy-mouthed obituaries, but the intelligence material is all low-level."

"How many spies have a Twitter account? Security matters aren't my field. It's why I needed to call in a specialist to handle my MoD find."

"Moriarty?"

"He knew who to sell to. And Sherlock, of course, knew how to decipher the message. I knew that he wouldn't care about his country, just about showing off."

"But wrong about his family attachments," Mycroft said, smirking. "He gave the unlocked phone to me, not you."

"But I had you fooled," Irene replied. "So now I'll settle for £100,000 and a fake passport."

"Why should I give you anything?"

Irene smiled. "Almost all intelligence is time-sensitive. Yet you were prepared to pay, sight unseen, for a phone that had been out of my hands for six months. What would your masters say about that lapse of judgement? Or your other mistakes concerning your brother? I know one of your superiors to talk to. Well, to scold."

He'd let Sherlock overhear about "Coventry", Mycroft thought guiltily. Now was not the time to call Ms Adler's bluff.

marysutherland: (Sherlock and John)

BBC Sherlock

No spoilers for Series 2

Rating 12 (implicit slash)

My characters tend to talk too much: I though it was time for a speechless fic.



They never talk about it. They never talk during it. But they've known since the night John ran after Sherlock through the streets of London and their hands touched afterwards. Only a matter of time before another touch that went on for far too long. Sherlock's hand on John's neck, and the piercing stare that promised to eat John up, crack open his very bones to the marrow. And John's defiant glare back, as his hands started to tug at Sherlock's shirt tails and met no resistance.

Words would complicate things, entangle them in complex emotions, decisions. They rely even now on touches and glances. Talking would only slow down the lust that kicks into John when Sherlock's hips move just so. And Sherlock knows exactly what it means when John licks his lips and looks him up and down. No need to announce the obvious deduction.

And so it goes on, wordlessly, if not silently. There are groans, of course, slurred sounds that could be interpreted as words, when they invade each other's bed at night. Deliberate bed-sharing would require a conversation, a regularisation of the position, overweight the fragile structure between them. What goes on must be kept secret even from their own lips, lips kept busy elsewhere. Better, surely, to keep quiet, ensure their silence is never broken.

marysutherland: (Mark Gatiss)

BBC Sherlock

Rating: 12

Spoilers: none for Series 2

Summary: Mycroft's recruitment techniques are non-standard.

Inspired by Pavanne by Richard and Linda Thompson, which kalypso_v introduced me to.


"You can kill me of course," the man with the umbrella said, almost conversationally. "But you won't get out of the hotel alive if you do. Look out of the window."

She could just see the marksmen on the roof opposite, in the position she'd have chosen herself. She wasn't dealing with amateurs, then.

"I know who you are," the man went on. "And your background. But don't worry, Pavanne, I don't intend to reveal either to anyone else."

"I'm not for hire," she said.

"You kill for pleasure, the police think." He was tall and smartly dressed, with the same smooth air as some of the diplomats she'd shot. "They're wrong. You kill because you're trying to change the world. But you don't know yet the right way to do that."

"What do you want?"

"To offer you a position."

"In your bed?" she sneered.

"As a minor civil servant," he said, smiling. "The pay's not good, but I know that money doesn't interest you."

"I'm not working for any man."

"You wouldn't be. You'd be working for Her Britannic Majesty. She needs a woman like you. I'm authorised to offer you a new identity, a new life. The details are all down here. Look at them, and think about it," the man said, as he handed her the BlackBerry.

marysutherland: (Default)

BBC Sherlock

Rating:  12 (implicit violence and domestic abuse)

Note: inspired by Arthur Conan Doyle's continuity error about Professor Moriarty's first name.


 

 

It's not surprising that in a city as big as London there are two James Moriarties. )

 

marysutherland: (Default)

BBC Sherlock

Rating: PG

Note: Sid Paget first appeared in Sacrifices.


Sid Paget believed in truth and beauty. His employers – MI5 – were intermittently interested in truth, but beauty meant nothing to them. They'd praised him for the clarity of his surveillance pictures of Hugo Oberstein and Colonel Valentine Walter meeting. They hadn't cared about the way Walter's left foot tapped out a rhythm as he betrayed his country's secrets.

But Mr Holmes was different, understood about film. So Sid was always happy to do extra jobs – unusual jobs - for him. Whatever they involved.

I need you to film a funeral in Eastbourne. One of the mourners was responsible for the death. I want the tapes to show me whom.

Mr Newstead went on the run in Brazil in 2005. Here are some videos of his grandchildren. Give me a five minute compilation that will have him return voluntarily to Britain.

There's something strange happening in Portmeirion. Find out what and film it. If you need any extra equipment, that can be arranged.

Mr Holmes watched everything and everyone, and he appreciated Sid's work. Best just to accept whatever came, not ask any awkward questions when the posh brunette assistant drifted in with Sid's latest assignment. After all, Sid told himself, there was sure to be a good reason why Mr Holmes needed a detailed video analysis of one particular policeman's backside.

marysutherland: (JHW B&W)

BBC Sherlock fic

Rating 12 (implied sexual activity). NOTE: this is the rating of the text itself. I'm not responsible for the rating in your mind.

Spoilers: set a few weeks after a Study in Pink, spoilers for that

Summary: some people have been looking for John/Mycroft stuff, but I couldn't visualise it. Then I realised I didn't need to.

 

"Is this the same warehouse as last month, Mycroft? If so, I think I will have a chair this time."

"Do you know why I've brought you here, Dr Watson?"

"Because your office is being redecorated? This place doesn't have quite the same air of menace now I know you're not an arch-criminal."

"I wanted to discuss Sherlock with you. I'm worried about him."

"The thing is, a normal bloke, if they wanted to have a quiet word with their brother's flatmate, would invite him to the pub, or have a chat on the phone. Not drive him in an unmarked car halfway across London."

"Some things aren't really suitable for chatting about in pubs. I'm worried that my brother's associating with killers."

"Bit of an occupational hazard for a consulting detective, I'd say."

"Sharing a flat with one."

"I was a soldier, yes, but a medic as well. I've saved the lives of a lot more people than I've killed."

"I'm sure you have, but in civilian life we have rather stricter rules about when you're allowed to shoot people."

"I didn't think those kind of rules applied in London."

"Let's not be stupid - brave - here, Dr Watson. You killed that cabbie, didn't you?"

"Lestrade doesn't seem to think so."

"Bullets can be uniquely matched to a particular gun, you know."

"Yep. If the Met don't have a mix-up and lose the evidence, that is. You'd be amazed what goes missing from your average police station."

"Dr Watson, I have the bullet."

"But they're not going to press charges, are they? The CPS don't take on cases where the odds of conviction are low. A serial killer was threatening his next victim with a gun. I had to do something, you must see that."

"It was a fake gun."

"I couldn't tell that from where I was."

"You still might not like the publicity of a trial. Or rather, other people might not like it. Worries about whether an ex-soldier with PTSD should still have a firearms certificate. And I don't know what the General Medical Council's policy on gun control is."

"So you've brought me here to try and blackmail me into spying on Sherlock for you?"

"No, I've brought you here to blackmail Sherlock into co-operating with me. Dr Watson, what are you doing?"

"Taking my jumper off. And after that I'm going to take the rest of my clothes off. But do you think we could go somewhere a bit less chilly than this warehouse before I get down to my Y-fronts?"

***

"It's not a very nice hotel, is it? Doesn't your expense account run to something better than this, Mycroft?"

"The warehouse isn't in a very salubrious area, and I didn't want you outside for too long without a shirt on, wouldn't be healthy. Now what exactly is it that you think your stripping will accomplish?"

"Give you a thrill?"

 "I am not that way inclined."

"Put you one up on Sherlock, because he hasn't seen me naked yet?"

"I suppose if you choose to strip, I can hardly prevent your exhibitionism. There are no cameras in this room, by the way."

"Just as well. A man likes a bit of privacy for seduction."

"Are you trying to seduce me, Dr Watson?"

"Yep. So do you think you could co-operate a bit and call me John?"

"Dr Watson, John. I really have no idea what you're trying to do, and I suspect nor have you. Do you think even for the sake of getting an advantage over Sherlock I'd be prepared to get...intimate with you?"

"Well, I'm here if you're interested. Take a good look, Mycroft, my body's not bad, is it?"

"Small."

"But perfectly formed."

"Only if you get a thrill from scar tissue. Should I get Anthea to take you home now, John? After you've got dressed again, obviously. I think we've demonstrated once and for all that this isn't going to work."

"You haven't seen what I'm going to do next."

"Oh, dear. Do you really think I'm finding this a turn on?"

"No, but as you can see, I am."

"You're not going to...do they normally do this kind of thing in the army?"

"All the time. Meet a pal, sit around talking for a bit, have a quick...wank. Of course, there's normally more beer and porn involved in between, but you're probably in a hurry, Mycroft, so I thought we'd skip that bit. What's your taste in dirty videos, so I'll know next time?"

"Nothing involving...fluids. That is absolutely disgusting, you're...dripping on the carpet. If the hotel charges extra, you're paying for it."

"Bloody hard to get all traces of that off, I suspect."

"I really have no idea."

"Which is why, you're now screwed. Metaphorically that is. My DNA in this room, you photographed leaving the hotel with me. Or photographed in the hotel with me, if you prefer to stay. If we're still here tomorrow morning, Sherlock will be dropping by, along with the receptionist."

"Not even Sherlock could have worked out where we are in time to be outside with a camera yet."

"He didn't need to work it out. You can get these really nifty tracking devices nowadays."

"Anthea searched you when you arrived at the warehouse."

"Not that thorough a search, for obvious reasons."

"Ugh. That must have hurt."

"Third most painful thing I've done in my life."

"And all this...effort to no avail. My dear John, this is the twenty first century, you realise? Who cares if I'm having gay encounters, however squalid?"

"MI6?"

"They're surprisingly understanding about one's personal life."

"But it's not your personal life, is it? Because you were careless and paid for this room just now with a credit card. And I bet it's not your personal credit card, because you wouldn't want Mummy to see this kind of hotel on your statement, would you?"

"The credit card is in someone else's name."

"But the money comes from an official account, doesn't it? Spending taxpayer's money on personal business. Not a good move in the current financial climate."

"Who says it was personal business in this room? I was trying to seduce you for the good of the state, John. And judging by the physical evidence remaining, it looks like I was successful."

"Mycroft Hari. very impressive. And what unusual techniques you have. Your colleagues will be amazed to hear how inventive you are sexually."

"Inventive?"

"Sherlock spent this afternoon writing the e-mails we sent to one another earlier. I've left that all up to him, because he can write those kind of conversations so much better than I can. You'd be amazed the things he's prepared to put in our mouths."

"All right. Tell me what you want, you and Sherlock. Money, honours, drugs? Or employment perhaps? The service always has positions open for men prepared to play the kind of games you do."

"Just back off the surveillance."

"It's for your own good, John."

"It's winding Sherlock up. The last time your lot searched the flat they swiped half his supplies. The time before that was worse."

"Really?"

"They tidied some of Sherlock's papers up, mucked up his train of thought for days. And we, I'd like some days off from surveillance, please."

"On the grounds that master criminals don't work at weekends?"

"On the grounds that knowing I'm being watched cramps my style dating."

"You seemed remarkably unconcerned about your private life being on display tonight. Not very advanced surveillance techniques required."

"Tonight was business, the weekend's pleasure. Do we have a deal, Mycroft, or are you ready for your close-up?"

"Text me when you want the watchers called off, but it's on your own head if things go wrong. Do you know, Dr Watson, when I first met you I thought you might be the making of my brother. I was completely wrong about that, I see now."

"You're completely wrong about a lot of things. I'll head off now and find Sherlock. Good night."

"Good night."

"And I suggest you remember for next time, Mycroft, that if you fuck with Sherlock now, you're also fucking with me."

***

"298, 299, 300. I think we can assume that Dr Watson is now outside the hotel. So if you hold on for a minute, I'll get my ear piece in and we can talk."

"Can you hear me OK, sir?"

"Loud and clear, Anthea. Did you manage to record everything? I never trust these transmitter thingies to work properly, especially since we had to relocate."

"Patchy coverage between the warehouse and the hotel, but fine once you were in the room itself. Good sound levels for both of you, you obviously kept him close enough."

"Yes. I'm sorry you had to hear some of that conversation, Anthea. I hadn't expected Dr Watson to be so crude."

"Did he really, I mean, while you were watching?"

"I'm afraid so. Awfully coarsening effect the army has on a man."

"So what's the next step, sir? How many copies of the recording do you want? One for 221B and one for the files obviously, but is there anyone else who should be having a copy at this stage?"

"I...think not. I'm afraid there's nothing usable on the recording, so you might just as well delete it."

"Very good."

"Oh, but maybe keep a transcript for our own files. In case I have to justify the meeting as being on official business. But a transcript's enough, just the words down in black and white, show it was a professionally run operation."

"I'll get Tina on it tonight, sir."

"I'd prefer if you did the transcribing yourself, actually, Anthea. No use getting other people involved in a failed  operation."

"Right you are. Any further instructions?"

"Just that when you do the transcripts, you needn't worry about trying to put in any unintelligible material or extraneous noises. Doesn't really add anything, it's the words that matter."

 "I understand, sir. Do you need me to do the transcript tonight?"

"No, tomorrow's fine. I'll finish up here and then head home."

"OK, sir. And if I might suggest, you should probably remove the wire at this point."

"I'll be sure to do that. Good night, Anthea."

"Good night, sir. Take care."

[End of official transcript: SIS/DPG/26095-A. Additional material version – f.a.o. "C" only]


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