Sherlock Fic: Spring
Title: Spring
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Sadly not mine.
Category: Mild humour.
Summary: The situation in Iceland is serious. Mycroft needs a certain someone to investigate. Only, it will have to wait until Spring.
A/N: My May entry for for thegameison_sh challenge. Theme: 'Spring.'
---
23rd January
Bitter
Mycroft would have called the United Kingdom’s relationship with Iceland chilly had the red-tops not already taken great delight in doing so in every newspaper that week. Money had been lost in the financial crisis, the volcano had disrupted European flights, and now an Icelandic ambassador had insinuated that the British Government had faked their financial accounts.
The Prime Minister, who disliked being blamed for anything, had decided to blame Mycroft instead. He liked to do this in times of trouble - he was under the impression Mycroft was out to steal his job. Mycroft looked very much forward to the day when the Prime Minister would finally realise that he had quite possibly the least stable career in the country - whereas Mycroft’s position was very, very secure.
“I don’t see why you can’t get someone out there,” he sneered. “There’s going to be a major incident if we don’t have someone investigate these lies. Someone who can’t be got at. You seem awfully relaxed about it… but then the Civil Service never has to worry about anything, do they?”
Mycroft tore his eyes away from a full-fat cream cheese sandwich triangle that he’d been considering.
“I know just the person,” he said smoothly. “But it will have to wait until Spring.”
“Spring!?” A fleck of enraged spittle flew from the Prime Minister’s mouth. “That’s months away. Why Spring?”
Mycroft sighed. “It’s Iceland. They are hardly going to declare war. And unfortunately the person I intend to send won’t be persuaded to go until Spring. He can be… difficult.”
31st March
Moderate
John was looking predictably sullen when he was ferried into the warehouse. He declined to sit.
“You do realise that I never actually accepted your offer of spying on Sherlock?” he said.
Mycroft smiled. “Yes. But he isn’t answering my calls and I’ve just paid your water bill. The extortionate one you spent three hours on the phone to Thames Water about. I think that merits a small amount of prying into my brother’s well-being, does it not? You are quite at liberty to tell him all about it.”
John sighed. “What is it you want to know?”
“How is he? In himself?”
“Er… fine. You know. Busy. Insufferable.”
Mycroft pursed his lips. “Very well. The car will take you back.”
15th April
Pleasant
Mycroft spoke before John could object this time. “Sky bill and TV Licence. Fully paid.”
“Couldn’t you just phone?” asked John. He was looking around the multi-story car-park warily. “Or visit?”
“I find it lacks a certain elegance. And Sherlock is being unusually difficult of late.”
“Yes. He asked me to pass on a message to you. But it wasn’t… uh… very complimentary.” John scratched his eyebrow. “I wouldn’t worry. He’s been like that to everyone lately. Not enough work, you know? And he’s being childish about his scarf.”
“His scarf?” Mycroft hid the predatory smile threatening to form on his face.
John’s look was fond. “Yeah… I told him it’s stupid to wear a winter scarf in April. I haven’t dared bring up the coat. He isn’t seriously going to wear it all summer, is he?”
Mycroft remained expressionless. “No. He always gives it up. Eventually.”
1st May
Unseasonably Warm.
When the phone buzzed Sherlock (sprawled on the sofa) waved an absent hand as if to say ‘you get it John - that is what you are here for.’
John huffed, reminded himself that he wasn’t actually a butler, and opened the text.
“It’s Mycroft.”
“Tell him I’m busy.”
John raised an eyebrow.
“Fine. Tell him I’d rather take Sally Donovon for a romantic weekend in the country than talk to him for five minutes together.”
“He wants you to go to Reykjavik. Something about fake accounts.”
Sherlock raised his violin, poised to screech it at any moment. “Boring. Tell him he can stick his umbrella…”
He stilled.
“Reykjavik?”
“Yeah.”
“Where it’s cold?”
“Presumably.”
Sherlock had already dropped the violin onto a cushion and was levering himself off the sofa. “Brilliant! I better pack. Where’s my scarf? And my coat?”
The End.
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Sadly not mine.
Category: Mild humour.
Summary: The situation in Iceland is serious. Mycroft needs a certain someone to investigate. Only, it will have to wait until Spring.
A/N: My May entry for for thegameison_sh challenge. Theme: 'Spring.'
---
23rd January
Bitter
Mycroft would have called the United Kingdom’s relationship with Iceland chilly had the red-tops not already taken great delight in doing so in every newspaper that week. Money had been lost in the financial crisis, the volcano had disrupted European flights, and now an Icelandic ambassador had insinuated that the British Government had faked their financial accounts.
The Prime Minister, who disliked being blamed for anything, had decided to blame Mycroft instead. He liked to do this in times of trouble - he was under the impression Mycroft was out to steal his job. Mycroft looked very much forward to the day when the Prime Minister would finally realise that he had quite possibly the least stable career in the country - whereas Mycroft’s position was very, very secure.
“I don’t see why you can’t get someone out there,” he sneered. “There’s going to be a major incident if we don’t have someone investigate these lies. Someone who can’t be got at. You seem awfully relaxed about it… but then the Civil Service never has to worry about anything, do they?”
Mycroft tore his eyes away from a full-fat cream cheese sandwich triangle that he’d been considering.
“I know just the person,” he said smoothly. “But it will have to wait until Spring.”
“Spring!?” A fleck of enraged spittle flew from the Prime Minister’s mouth. “That’s months away. Why Spring?”
Mycroft sighed. “It’s Iceland. They are hardly going to declare war. And unfortunately the person I intend to send won’t be persuaded to go until Spring. He can be… difficult.”
31st March
Moderate
John was looking predictably sullen when he was ferried into the warehouse. He declined to sit.
“You do realise that I never actually accepted your offer of spying on Sherlock?” he said.
Mycroft smiled. “Yes. But he isn’t answering my calls and I’ve just paid your water bill. The extortionate one you spent three hours on the phone to Thames Water about. I think that merits a small amount of prying into my brother’s well-being, does it not? You are quite at liberty to tell him all about it.”
John sighed. “What is it you want to know?”
“How is he? In himself?”
“Er… fine. You know. Busy. Insufferable.”
Mycroft pursed his lips. “Very well. The car will take you back.”
15th April
Pleasant
Mycroft spoke before John could object this time. “Sky bill and TV Licence. Fully paid.”
“Couldn’t you just phone?” asked John. He was looking around the multi-story car-park warily. “Or visit?”
“I find it lacks a certain elegance. And Sherlock is being unusually difficult of late.”
“Yes. He asked me to pass on a message to you. But it wasn’t… uh… very complimentary.” John scratched his eyebrow. “I wouldn’t worry. He’s been like that to everyone lately. Not enough work, you know? And he’s being childish about his scarf.”
“His scarf?” Mycroft hid the predatory smile threatening to form on his face.
John’s look was fond. “Yeah… I told him it’s stupid to wear a winter scarf in April. I haven’t dared bring up the coat. He isn’t seriously going to wear it all summer, is he?”
Mycroft remained expressionless. “No. He always gives it up. Eventually.”
1st May
Unseasonably Warm.
When the phone buzzed Sherlock (sprawled on the sofa) waved an absent hand as if to say ‘you get it John - that is what you are here for.’
John huffed, reminded himself that he wasn’t actually a butler, and opened the text.
“It’s Mycroft.”
“Tell him I’m busy.”
John raised an eyebrow.
“Fine. Tell him I’d rather take Sally Donovon for a romantic weekend in the country than talk to him for five minutes together.”
“He wants you to go to Reykjavik. Something about fake accounts.”
Sherlock raised his violin, poised to screech it at any moment. “Boring. Tell him he can stick his umbrella…”
He stilled.
“Reykjavik?”
“Yeah.”
“Where it’s cold?”
“Presumably.”
Sherlock had already dropped the violin onto a cushion and was levering himself off the sofa. “Brilliant! I better pack. Where’s my scarf? And my coat?”
The End.