Fic: The Spy's Retirement
Title: The Spy's Retirement
Author: Cat_13145C
Rating: PG-13
Note: I have no idea where to post this, so hoping others on my friends list who enjoy Sherlock may be able to suggest if they think it's good enough. I'm aware a million people will have already done this much better than me, but it's wouldn't leave me alone, so here it is.
I own nothing, not even the title, which is pinched from the BBC Fic of the same name
Summary: The real story behind a Study in Pink, or John H Watson's last assignment
“John.”
“Mycroft.” The younger man shifted his stick to the other hand, as he reached out to shake the older man’s hand, before lowering himself into a seat opposite him.
As he did so, his leg gave a slight twinge, which he tried not to show. But of course Mycroft noticed it.
“How’s the leg?”
“Fine, Fine.” He glanced across at the other man. “It’ll hold up in the next mission if that’s what you’re talking about.”
Mycroft’s banker face showed no change, as he said. “Well we can discuss that after tea. Shall I be mother?”
John Watson’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“I took the liberty of ordering before you arrived. I presume Darjeeling is still acceptable.”
The man gave a bitter laugh which belied his youth appearance. “After 6 months in Kabul, anything that’s not made in a samovar is fine.”
Mycroft didn’t reply and both men drunk their tea in a comfortable silence. After a pause, Mycroft placed his cup down and said, “About your application.” John Watson’s eyes were narrowed as Mycroft continued. “I’m afraid it’s being rejected.”
“What?”
“Concerns were expressed over your methods in the last method.”
“The man was threatening the lives of British Troops! I didn’t think I had to give him a hug.”
Mycroft permitted himself a small smile as he heard the careful university accent vanish from the other man’s voice in his frustration. His voice would have now done some of the roughest part of Reading proud.
“Never the less, concern was expressed over the incident with the frogs, especially as the subject was a foreign national.”
John’s reply might have being extremely insulting, if Mycroft had chosen to pay attention to it.
“So what I am supposed to do? Find a flat in London, see a shrink, live off my pension? Live with Harry?” The man’s face screwed up in disgust.
“If you chose to.” Mycroft shrugged, communicating that the thing was of no concern of his. “However, I do have a commission for you, if you’re interested. It’s private.”
John’s face creased. “What sort of commission?”
Mycroft paused, his face expressing his distaste for the words as he uttered. “A babysitting commission.”
John Snorted. “Harry is starting to sound better.”
“Don’t be so sure.” Mycroft smiled. “It’s my brother.”
“You have a brother?” John couldn’t help himself. The idea of Mycroft Holmes having a brother, hell having any family was a contradiction in terms. The other man springing from a pod seemed a much more natural pheromone.
Mycroft looked confused for a second and then continued. “He is seven years younger than me.” He paused, licking his lips slightly. “Sherlock has always being...a challenge. He is at least as intelligent as me, but shows no inclinations to use his gifts for anything useful. He has being in trouble in the past, it’s all in the file” he handed a plain brown A4 folder across to John, who frown at it for a moment as though it contained a bomb (and honestly that happened once). He watched, sipping at his tea, as the other man flicked through it.
As John Watson lowered the file, Mycroft knew he’d made the right decision.
“O.K. Why now? Seems he’s being doing alright on his own.”
“More or less.” Mycroft agreed, because he can’t deny that Sherlock has managed to remain out of trouble for nearly two years, a record for him. “However recently events have brought a certain person into both our spheres. This person hates Sherlock, for things that happened years ago.” For a moment, the minor government official looks very old and tired. “Sherlock does not remember the incident, he has deleted it from his mind, but I will state that this person has good cause to detest my family and has become...fascinated with my brother.” He sipped at his tea again, watching Watson run through this. “Sherlock hasn’t realise he is a target yet, but this state of affairs cannot continue. I need someone I can trust.”
John sighed. “Alright, when are you going to introduce us?”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible.” Mycroft sighed at John’s confusion. “Sherlock is unreasonable. If I were to introduce you, he would reject you on principal, just to spite me.” He shook his head. “No, the introduction must be made through a mutual third party.” He paused. “I believe you know a man called Mike Stamford.”
John looked surprised, but nodded. “Yeah, we were at St. Barts, that is St. Bartholomew’s together. Long before this of course.” He waved a hand covering himself, Mycroft and the other “diners” sitting at various tables and trying very hard not to look like members of the security forces and failing miserably with the exception of Mycroft’s PA.
“Excellent.” Mycroft beamed. “Tomorrow, you will meet Stamford at midday in the park. I suggest something soft, possibly a knitted jumper. You will tell him you are looking for a flat to share.” He paused, looking over John. “I would recommend that your cover is that you are an ex-army doctor newly returned from Afghanistan with a limp and a therapist. It’s near enough to the truth that Sherlock won’t pick up the subtle nuances.” He sipped his tea and continued. “We will meet, officially for the first time later on, my dear do make sure it’s before that rather tiresome dinner with the village community, Mummy would be so pleased if Sherlock would come and it will serve as a suitable distraction.” The PA (John thought her name was Anna today) gave a brief nod, her fingers tapping at the blackberry. “I will offer you money to spy on Sherlock, which you will refuse, removing from his mind any possibility that you might be a plant.”
John was staring as though he thought his superior had lost his mind. Only a long (and at points painful) experience of Mycroft Holmes kept him from voicing that opinion.
“Alright. Then how do I contact you, to let you know I’m in place?”
Mycroft smiled. “You’re a bright boy, and I’m sure you’ll think of something. Now I believe we have time for some of the chocolate cake everyone raves about here. The Chef is truly fantastic; you’d never know he was once a member of terrorist cell...”
/*/*/*/*/*/*/**//*/*
John H. Watson had being through a lot in the service of his country. He had being blown up, shot at, poisoned, worn a variety of disguises from beggar to the wife of a German Ambassador (and that had being an interesting few weeks). He had slept with a number of people of both sexes and one or two of neither.
In short, he had served under Mycroft Holmes for four years and pretty much thought he could deal with whatever a younger Holmes threw at him.
In the past two days, he had being chased half way across London, being involved in a drug’s burst, hid evidence from the police, and killed a man.
Not that any of that was out of the ordinary, even in London, but still... This younger Holmes, Sherlock he corrected his mental categorisation of the man, might even have his brother beat as a thank-god-they’re-on-our-side.
On the plus side, he had renewed a friendship with Inspector Lestrade and gained a very kind Landlady and a nice flat in Baker Street.
And Sherlock seemed to have accepted him, even if he could have done without the man finding out about Harry and her affair for a couple of months.
And he was surprised to find he genuinely liked the bloke. Just wished everyone would stop assuming they were a couple.
Sighing, he glanced at his laptop.
Strangely it was his therapist who’d given him the idea of how to keep in touch with Mycroft, without Sherlock every suspecting.
He gazed at the blank screen for a minute, and then began to type.
“Today I met Sherlock Holmes”
Author: Cat_13145C
Rating: PG-13
Note: I have no idea where to post this, so hoping others on my friends list who enjoy Sherlock may be able to suggest if they think it's good enough. I'm aware a million people will have already done this much better than me, but it's wouldn't leave me alone, so here it is.
I own nothing, not even the title, which is pinched from the BBC Fic of the same name
Summary: The real story behind a Study in Pink, or John H Watson's last assignment
“John.”
“Mycroft.” The younger man shifted his stick to the other hand, as he reached out to shake the older man’s hand, before lowering himself into a seat opposite him.
As he did so, his leg gave a slight twinge, which he tried not to show. But of course Mycroft noticed it.
“How’s the leg?”
“Fine, Fine.” He glanced across at the other man. “It’ll hold up in the next mission if that’s what you’re talking about.”
Mycroft’s banker face showed no change, as he said. “Well we can discuss that after tea. Shall I be mother?”
John Watson’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“I took the liberty of ordering before you arrived. I presume Darjeeling is still acceptable.”
The man gave a bitter laugh which belied his youth appearance. “After 6 months in Kabul, anything that’s not made in a samovar is fine.”
Mycroft didn’t reply and both men drunk their tea in a comfortable silence. After a pause, Mycroft placed his cup down and said, “About your application.” John Watson’s eyes were narrowed as Mycroft continued. “I’m afraid it’s being rejected.”
“What?”
“Concerns were expressed over your methods in the last method.”
“The man was threatening the lives of British Troops! I didn’t think I had to give him a hug.”
Mycroft permitted himself a small smile as he heard the careful university accent vanish from the other man’s voice in his frustration. His voice would have now done some of the roughest part of Reading proud.
“Never the less, concern was expressed over the incident with the frogs, especially as the subject was a foreign national.”
John’s reply might have being extremely insulting, if Mycroft had chosen to pay attention to it.
“So what I am supposed to do? Find a flat in London, see a shrink, live off my pension? Live with Harry?” The man’s face screwed up in disgust.
“If you chose to.” Mycroft shrugged, communicating that the thing was of no concern of his. “However, I do have a commission for you, if you’re interested. It’s private.”
John’s face creased. “What sort of commission?”
Mycroft paused, his face expressing his distaste for the words as he uttered. “A babysitting commission.”
John Snorted. “Harry is starting to sound better.”
“Don’t be so sure.” Mycroft smiled. “It’s my brother.”
“You have a brother?” John couldn’t help himself. The idea of Mycroft Holmes having a brother, hell having any family was a contradiction in terms. The other man springing from a pod seemed a much more natural pheromone.
Mycroft looked confused for a second and then continued. “He is seven years younger than me.” He paused, licking his lips slightly. “Sherlock has always being...a challenge. He is at least as intelligent as me, but shows no inclinations to use his gifts for anything useful. He has being in trouble in the past, it’s all in the file” he handed a plain brown A4 folder across to John, who frown at it for a moment as though it contained a bomb (and honestly that happened once). He watched, sipping at his tea, as the other man flicked through it.
As John Watson lowered the file, Mycroft knew he’d made the right decision.
“O.K. Why now? Seems he’s being doing alright on his own.”
“More or less.” Mycroft agreed, because he can’t deny that Sherlock has managed to remain out of trouble for nearly two years, a record for him. “However recently events have brought a certain person into both our spheres. This person hates Sherlock, for things that happened years ago.” For a moment, the minor government official looks very old and tired. “Sherlock does not remember the incident, he has deleted it from his mind, but I will state that this person has good cause to detest my family and has become...fascinated with my brother.” He sipped at his tea again, watching Watson run through this. “Sherlock hasn’t realise he is a target yet, but this state of affairs cannot continue. I need someone I can trust.”
John sighed. “Alright, when are you going to introduce us?”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible.” Mycroft sighed at John’s confusion. “Sherlock is unreasonable. If I were to introduce you, he would reject you on principal, just to spite me.” He shook his head. “No, the introduction must be made through a mutual third party.” He paused. “I believe you know a man called Mike Stamford.”
John looked surprised, but nodded. “Yeah, we were at St. Barts, that is St. Bartholomew’s together. Long before this of course.” He waved a hand covering himself, Mycroft and the other “diners” sitting at various tables and trying very hard not to look like members of the security forces and failing miserably with the exception of Mycroft’s PA.
“Excellent.” Mycroft beamed. “Tomorrow, you will meet Stamford at midday in the park. I suggest something soft, possibly a knitted jumper. You will tell him you are looking for a flat to share.” He paused, looking over John. “I would recommend that your cover is that you are an ex-army doctor newly returned from Afghanistan with a limp and a therapist. It’s near enough to the truth that Sherlock won’t pick up the subtle nuances.” He sipped his tea and continued. “We will meet, officially for the first time later on, my dear do make sure it’s before that rather tiresome dinner with the village community, Mummy would be so pleased if Sherlock would come and it will serve as a suitable distraction.” The PA (John thought her name was Anna today) gave a brief nod, her fingers tapping at the blackberry. “I will offer you money to spy on Sherlock, which you will refuse, removing from his mind any possibility that you might be a plant.”
John was staring as though he thought his superior had lost his mind. Only a long (and at points painful) experience of Mycroft Holmes kept him from voicing that opinion.
“Alright. Then how do I contact you, to let you know I’m in place?”
Mycroft smiled. “You’re a bright boy, and I’m sure you’ll think of something. Now I believe we have time for some of the chocolate cake everyone raves about here. The Chef is truly fantastic; you’d never know he was once a member of terrorist cell...”
/*/*/*/*/*/*/**//*/*
John H. Watson had being through a lot in the service of his country. He had being blown up, shot at, poisoned, worn a variety of disguises from beggar to the wife of a German Ambassador (and that had being an interesting few weeks). He had slept with a number of people of both sexes and one or two of neither.
In short, he had served under Mycroft Holmes for four years and pretty much thought he could deal with whatever a younger Holmes threw at him.
In the past two days, he had being chased half way across London, being involved in a drug’s burst, hid evidence from the police, and killed a man.
Not that any of that was out of the ordinary, even in London, but still... This younger Holmes, Sherlock he corrected his mental categorisation of the man, might even have his brother beat as a thank-god-they’re-on-our-side.
On the plus side, he had renewed a friendship with Inspector Lestrade and gained a very kind Landlady and a nice flat in Baker Street.
And Sherlock seemed to have accepted him, even if he could have done without the man finding out about Harry and her affair for a couple of months.
And he was surprised to find he genuinely liked the bloke. Just wished everyone would stop assuming they were a couple.
Sighing, he glanced at his laptop.
Strangely it was his therapist who’d given him the idea of how to keep in touch with Mycroft, without Sherlock every suspecting.
He gazed at the blank screen for a minute, and then began to type.
“Today I met Sherlock Holmes”