An Afternoon Drive Down Lambeth
Title: An Afternoon Drive Down Lambeth, Epilogue
Rating: R for language and violence
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock Holmes(BBC)
Summary: John bit back a laugh at his friend’s Olivier-worthy antics. The morning was chilly but also sunny enough that he was about to leave the flat himself, as the day was open and John had nothing on schedule. Then, remembering the refrigerator bereft of food, John decided to go shopping first. The next day, John would blame that single act for the ensuing mayhem. That and an old acquaintance named James Bond.
Disclaimer: Seriously, does anyone NOT know Sir Arthur Conan Doyle?
Notes: Gen, but can be read with slash goggles. Also posted on AO3
Mallory finished reading Q’s conclusions of the Lambeth Debacle. Or, as 007 had put it: the Fuckup That Won’t Die.
The most aggravating fallout was the half dozen videos of the chase that exploded all over the internet. Mercifully, Mycroft’s people had promptly taken them down though they'd pop up in the oddest websites in the following days. Then the Met started making noises, trying to figure out what had really happened. Mallory suspected they were actually taking a piss because they were left out of the loop and didn’t appreciate it.
Which left Sherlock, who had raged at Mallory and 007 for the deterioration of Dr. Watson’s condition. In spite of receiving excellent medical care, the patient had come down with a raging infection after surgery, followed by a sudden allergic reaction to the morphine-based analgesic. All of which extended Dr. Watson’s stay in the hospital for a solid month.
By the end of that month, it was Doctor Watson who had been transformed into a hellhound. The man realized that the staff wasn’t really at fault for his prolonged convalescence, but it didn’t stop him from trying to discharge himself repeatedly. And when that failed, he had set Sherlock on Dr. Kander.
All in all, it was a grateful and exhausted medical staff who saw the backend of the two men.
Seeley didn’t bother to hide his smile. “Yes, they are a pair.”
“Entertaining if nothing else,” Mallory said laconically though his humour had returned.
“Do you know what’s interesting?” Seeley commented as he packed away the various files on the Baskerville case. “People automatically assume it is John who is caught in Sherlock’s orbit. The truth is quite the opposite. Sherlock’s a comet that has become stuck in John’s orbit. Otherwise, he’d probably be back in rehabilitation now if not dead from an overdose.”
“Dr. Watson’s a good man,” Mallory said. “There are too few of them as is, and to have one survive Afghanistan is nothing short of a miracle.”
“And speaking of miracles…” Seeley said, his head tipped to the side like a curious bird.
“How do you do that?” Mallory asked as the door to his office opened.
Sherlock Holmes looked imposing as ever, nary a stitch out of place. 007 looked roughed up, but that was because he went several rounds with a Russian arms dealer in Moscow. But it was Dr. Watson who looked a proper mess.
His head was still woefully lopsided because the left side had been shaved off for surgery. And unfortunately for the man, whoever had done the cutting hadn’t cared much for aesthetics. The hair was steadily growing back, but it was still in the bristly stage, and from the looks of it, grayer than ever.
But the smile was genuine as was the life shining from the man’s eyes.
Mallory motioned them to sit, which Holmes and Watson did, while Seeley and 007 loomed behind them like peculiar gargoyles.
“We need you to sign some forms,” Mallory said. “And to answer few questions.”
“We couldn’t have done this at home?” Holmes asked waspishly.
Mallory didn’t take offense by the man’s tone. He caught the detective’s worried glance towards his friend.
“And to ensure that you and especially you, Dr. Watson, won’t turn this into a public spectacle.”
“I think the public’s moved on, what with the new Royal baby and all,” Dr. Watson said casually. He perused the documents before signing them. Then handed over the folders to his friend who scrawled carelessly before tossing the entire packet onto Mallory’s desk.
“When did you realize Lord Malcolm was complicit in this mess?” Mallory asked without warning.
“The moment I entered his room at Buckingham,” Sherlock answered.
“How?”
“His room wasn’t turned over. His slippers were by the bed and situated to his preference by the way the tassels were neatly laid out. His luggage hadn’t even been touched. It’s practice for Buckingham to have their valets unpack for the guests, so the thief would have had no reason not to look through it under the pretence of unpacking. And yet, there they were, still in the case."
Mallory wondered how the detective got his hands on the surveillance photos of the room and mentally made a note to ask Seeley later.
“All this led me to believe that the thief knew exactly where to find the drive. And that meant he had inside information. Lord Malcolm might have been indiscreet regarding his bedmates, but the man was anything but when it came to business. The initial search into his background told me he had no siblings, no legitimate children, and no other family members who could claim intimate acquaintance with him. However, because of his philandering ways, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that he had an illegitimate child tucked away somewhere.
“Men like him often do.”
“He also had a vasectomy nineteen years ago,” John added. “A curious thing since he was only thirty at the time. Most men wouldn’t choose to undergo such a procedure until they are much older.”
“Because he didn’t want children, at all,” Sherlock concluded. “Hence, an unwanted illegitimate child in the background.”
“But no heirs?” Seeley prompted.
“To men like Lord Malcolm, children are a terrifying keepers of his mortality,” Sherlock answered. “He might be able to fool himself of his age through surgeries and cosmetics, but children - there’s no getting away from one’s impending death when your child ages right in front of you.”
“That’s narcissistic in the extreme,” James said.
“Which Lord Malcolm most certainly was,” Sherlock said. “Anything else?”
“No, that will be all. Thank you for all your help. And I hope you’ll feel better soon, Doctor Watson.”
“Thank you, sir,” Dr. Watson said warmly as he shook Mallory’s hand.
Mallory looked at the screen as he watched Bond escort the two men out of MI6.
Seeley couldn’t hide his smile. “What is it, Sir?”
“Do you have any bloody idea why Holmes picked the Saab of all things?”
Seeley chuckled softly. “It was the car Mycroft used to teach him how to drive. And it was the only car he’d ever been comfortable enough to drive in London.”
Mallory did some mental arithmetic. “How old was he?”
“Barely old enough to reach the brakes from what I remember.”
Mallory laughed at the mental image of tiny Sherlock Holmes, barely able to see above the dashboard as Mycroft barked out directions, the ancient Saab barreling down a crowded London street, terrifying pedestrians and drivers alike.
The End
Part II
Rating: R for language and violence
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock Holmes(BBC)
Summary: John bit back a laugh at his friend’s Olivier-worthy antics. The morning was chilly but also sunny enough that he was about to leave the flat himself, as the day was open and John had nothing on schedule. Then, remembering the refrigerator bereft of food, John decided to go shopping first. The next day, John would blame that single act for the ensuing mayhem. That and an old acquaintance named James Bond.
Disclaimer: Seriously, does anyone NOT know Sir Arthur Conan Doyle?
Notes: Gen, but can be read with slash goggles. Also posted on AO3
Mallory finished reading Q’s conclusions of the Lambeth Debacle. Or, as 007 had put it: the Fuckup That Won’t Die.
The most aggravating fallout was the half dozen videos of the chase that exploded all over the internet. Mercifully, Mycroft’s people had promptly taken them down though they'd pop up in the oddest websites in the following days. Then the Met started making noises, trying to figure out what had really happened. Mallory suspected they were actually taking a piss because they were left out of the loop and didn’t appreciate it.
Which left Sherlock, who had raged at Mallory and 007 for the deterioration of Dr. Watson’s condition. In spite of receiving excellent medical care, the patient had come down with a raging infection after surgery, followed by a sudden allergic reaction to the morphine-based analgesic. All of which extended Dr. Watson’s stay in the hospital for a solid month.
By the end of that month, it was Doctor Watson who had been transformed into a hellhound. The man realized that the staff wasn’t really at fault for his prolonged convalescence, but it didn’t stop him from trying to discharge himself repeatedly. And when that failed, he had set Sherlock on Dr. Kander.
All in all, it was a grateful and exhausted medical staff who saw the backend of the two men.
Seeley didn’t bother to hide his smile. “Yes, they are a pair.”
“Entertaining if nothing else,” Mallory said laconically though his humour had returned.
“Do you know what’s interesting?” Seeley commented as he packed away the various files on the Baskerville case. “People automatically assume it is John who is caught in Sherlock’s orbit. The truth is quite the opposite. Sherlock’s a comet that has become stuck in John’s orbit. Otherwise, he’d probably be back in rehabilitation now if not dead from an overdose.”
“Dr. Watson’s a good man,” Mallory said. “There are too few of them as is, and to have one survive Afghanistan is nothing short of a miracle.”
“And speaking of miracles…” Seeley said, his head tipped to the side like a curious bird.
“How do you do that?” Mallory asked as the door to his office opened.
Sherlock Holmes looked imposing as ever, nary a stitch out of place. 007 looked roughed up, but that was because he went several rounds with a Russian arms dealer in Moscow. But it was Dr. Watson who looked a proper mess.
His head was still woefully lopsided because the left side had been shaved off for surgery. And unfortunately for the man, whoever had done the cutting hadn’t cared much for aesthetics. The hair was steadily growing back, but it was still in the bristly stage, and from the looks of it, grayer than ever.
But the smile was genuine as was the life shining from the man’s eyes.
Mallory motioned them to sit, which Holmes and Watson did, while Seeley and 007 loomed behind them like peculiar gargoyles.
“We need you to sign some forms,” Mallory said. “And to answer few questions.”
“We couldn’t have done this at home?” Holmes asked waspishly.
Mallory didn’t take offense by the man’s tone. He caught the detective’s worried glance towards his friend.
“And to ensure that you and especially you, Dr. Watson, won’t turn this into a public spectacle.”
“I think the public’s moved on, what with the new Royal baby and all,” Dr. Watson said casually. He perused the documents before signing them. Then handed over the folders to his friend who scrawled carelessly before tossing the entire packet onto Mallory’s desk.
“When did you realize Lord Malcolm was complicit in this mess?” Mallory asked without warning.
“The moment I entered his room at Buckingham,” Sherlock answered.
“How?”
“His room wasn’t turned over. His slippers were by the bed and situated to his preference by the way the tassels were neatly laid out. His luggage hadn’t even been touched. It’s practice for Buckingham to have their valets unpack for the guests, so the thief would have had no reason not to look through it under the pretence of unpacking. And yet, there they were, still in the case."
Mallory wondered how the detective got his hands on the surveillance photos of the room and mentally made a note to ask Seeley later.
“All this led me to believe that the thief knew exactly where to find the drive. And that meant he had inside information. Lord Malcolm might have been indiscreet regarding his bedmates, but the man was anything but when it came to business. The initial search into his background told me he had no siblings, no legitimate children, and no other family members who could claim intimate acquaintance with him. However, because of his philandering ways, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that he had an illegitimate child tucked away somewhere.
“Men like him often do.”
“He also had a vasectomy nineteen years ago,” John added. “A curious thing since he was only thirty at the time. Most men wouldn’t choose to undergo such a procedure until they are much older.”
“Because he didn’t want children, at all,” Sherlock concluded. “Hence, an unwanted illegitimate child in the background.”
“But no heirs?” Seeley prompted.
“To men like Lord Malcolm, children are a terrifying keepers of his mortality,” Sherlock answered. “He might be able to fool himself of his age through surgeries and cosmetics, but children - there’s no getting away from one’s impending death when your child ages right in front of you.”
“That’s narcissistic in the extreme,” James said.
“Which Lord Malcolm most certainly was,” Sherlock said. “Anything else?”
“No, that will be all. Thank you for all your help. And I hope you’ll feel better soon, Doctor Watson.”
“Thank you, sir,” Dr. Watson said warmly as he shook Mallory’s hand.
Mallory looked at the screen as he watched Bond escort the two men out of MI6.
Seeley couldn’t hide his smile. “What is it, Sir?”
“Do you have any bloody idea why Holmes picked the Saab of all things?”
Seeley chuckled softly. “It was the car Mycroft used to teach him how to drive. And it was the only car he’d ever been comfortable enough to drive in London.”
Mallory did some mental arithmetic. “How old was he?”
“Barely old enough to reach the brakes from what I remember.”
Mallory laughed at the mental image of tiny Sherlock Holmes, barely able to see above the dashboard as Mycroft barked out directions, the ancient Saab barreling down a crowded London street, terrifying pedestrians and drivers alike.
The End
Part II