mulifandom fic part 2
Title: Fandom,) Actually.
Author: aturegirlrocks
Crossover: ove Actually
Fandoms: arry Potter (EWE), Sherlock (BBC), James Bond (postSkyfall), Supernatural (S7), Doctor Who (11th, between S6&7), and Merlin (S4), featuring The Avengers, and special guest Cabin Pressure (pre-series).
Romantic Pairings: arry/Draco, Severus/Sirius, Severus/OFC Sherlock/John, Mycroft/Greg, Irene/Molly, James/Q, Dean/Castiel, Sam/Anthea, Merlin/Arthur(/Gwen)
Bromantic pairings: olly&Martin, The Doctor&The Avengers, Dean&Sirius, and Mycroft&his butler.
Brothers: ycroft&Sherlock&Q, Dean&Sam
Rating: /R/15
Words:25K+
Summary: herlock does porn. Cas is left behind in purgatory. James is not too old for the field. Mycroft is fighting his forbidden feelings. Harry does his biography. Merlin does photography. Dean likes The Scorpions. Martin has breakdowns. Snape is thoughtless. The Doctor is making American friends. And so much more...!
Note: his was supposed to be my Christmas fic, but RL happened. Please see this as a Valentine with a Christmas theme :)
Warning: ome angst, not linear
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
"Touch each others faces," instructed Dorian.
Sherlock's long fingers circled John's soft hairline, ears and cheeks. John moved his left thumb over Sherlock's right cheekbone, he had forgotten how sharp they were.
"I had to die," Sherlock kept on whispering. "And I can't come back until the threat against you is gone."
"Isn't it over yet?" asked John.
"John, roll over," instructed the photographer. "Let him caress your chest."
Turning to his back John had a better view of the three men by the wall. Addams looked slightly entertained. Sherlock's hands moved over John's torso.
"You noticed the bossman in the middle over there?" Sherlock pressed his forehead to John's making their heads turn towards the men. "Henry Addams. He's a big time smuggler. Everything from pornography, to cigarettes, to humans. He's why I'm here."
"Tell me," John pretending to kiss Sherlock's neck.
"If I can take him out, I'm basically home free. He's one of the last big pieces in Moriarty's wicked game."
Sherlock threw his head back and looked straight into the clicking camera. He returned his notice to John a few moments later.
"Let's work together," Sherlock smiled, rubbing his nose against John's. "Deduce him for me."
Oh, god, how John had missed this. That sharp intellect with those calculating eyes asking John to be the conductor of light.
"He is defiantly into men," noted John placing a hand on the back of Sherlock's neck. "He looks at you like you were dinner."
"Oh, he is defiantly into men," said Sherlock, pressing his lips to John's collarbone. "But if my plan is going to work I need him looking at me as if I was a three course meal. We are just too vanilla for him for the moment. His guards on the other hand are both disgusted."
John looked again. The two beefy men were totally expressionless.
"How can you tell?" John let his hands run up and down Sherlock's arms.
"Their feet."
"Make-up!" called Dorian and handed the camera to his assistant.
Luna sat down on the bed, right next to John's head. She had a small paint brush and traced Sherlock's lips with it.
"You have eyes like a unicorn," she said with a hum.
"Thank you," said Sherlock in his fake persona voice. "I like your hair."
"I snuck you some food," she said.
She placed a small plate topping over with bite-sized party-snacks on the floor by the bed. John hadn't seen anywhere she could have got it from. It looked really good and fancy, though.
"Thanks," said Sherlock taking something pink from the plate, and seductively placing it in his mouth.
She smiled and dabbed his forehead with some powder. Then she looked down at John, who had his ear against her hip. She poked tip of his nose with the brush once and then left.
"Strange," said John.
"A witch," said Sherlock stretching a leg over John's body and sitting down on top of his belly. "Obviously."
"That wasn't a nice thing to say."
Sherlock just smirked with his now even more prominent lips.
/
Dean stood by the water edge of the big lake. He had been told by Sirius it was the third biggest lake in Britain, but he had forgotten it's name. Not that it mattered. Not that anything really mattered anymore.
The sky was dark and the moon was full. They had already checked that area was free of werewolves and other monsters. The light of a large camp-fire trickled down over the water. Behind him stood Sam, a large boom-box and a twelve-pack of beer by his side.
"All right," said Dean giving his brother a nod. "Let's do this."
Sam nodded back. There was a miniature boat with leaves and herbs by Deans feet. He hunched over and set it aflame with his lighter. Dean then took out a single white feather from his pocket and placed it in the flames. He carefully kicked the burning boat out on the water.
"Cas," he said, his voice almost wavering. "You were a bastard most of the time, but you were always a glorious bastard... You were my glorious bastard. Be safe out there."
He wiped the single tear that fell down his cheek. Without turning around he reached back, and Sammy placed a cold bottle in his hand. Dean took a deep swig of the drink.
"Play it again, Sam," he said, almost with a straight face.
Sam made a eye roll, that Dean could see without even looking back, and pressed play in the boom-box.
The soft guitar tones drifted out over the water. Dean had to empty the whole bottle to hold back the tears. He totally ignored Sammy's long suffering looks as the music played on.
iThe wise man said just walk this way
To the dawn of the light
The wind will blow into your face
As the years pass you by
Hear this voice from deep inside
It's the call of your heart
Close your eyes and your will find
The passage out of the dark
Here I am
Will you send me an angel
Here I am
In the land of the morning star
.../i*
/
Arthur stood to the side, letting his guests mingle. He was starting to wonder why he had agreed to this party. He looked over at Gwen, she was speaking to Merlin who was showing her a machine that Arthur vaguely remembered being called a 'camera'. It was supposed to renter impressions of the world and save them, like paintings, to look upon later. Hermione had tried to explain it to him once. It looked kind of interesting.
Arthur sighed. He knew he needed to apologise to Merlin sometime, but he didn't know how. How could you apologise for treating a servant as a servant, when he really was a friend? Your best friend. A best friend that had lied to him for years...
"Pink titbit?"
A man with a strangely tied cravat was holding out a platter of little pieces of food. Arthur frowned. He still didn't understand why everything had to be so small in the future.
"Frankly," said the man. "I think they are awful, looks like baby fingers. Those pink ones over there are nice though."
"Doctor?"
"Oh, hello. Nice to see you again. Lively party. Should be more dancing though. You guys settling in all right?"
"I guess," sighed Arthur. "There are still so many things that I don't understand. And there isn't much for me to do here but to practice my sword... Not that I can use it for anything..."
"Oh I don't know..." the Doctor pushed back his hair. "Middle Age fairs, movies? I know for a fact that knights are the new aliens. Not this alien though. Ha!"
Arthur starred at him.
"Well," the Doctor grinned. "Have to go, moving on, places to see, people to find... Good luck on you, mate!"
The Doctor gave him a thumbs up and moved away towards the kitchen. Arthur shook his head.
Again he looked over to Merlin again. There was a tall man there, instructing him about the 'camera'. Merlin nodded attentively and raised the machine to face the man, who immediately pushed it away and shook his head. i'Never me'/i the man seemed to say. The i'or you'll be sorry'/i was implied.
Then the man shook Merlin's hand, and turned to walk towards Arthur. He moved like a man who was confident with his power. Arthur straightened, feeling like he finally was to meet a real equal in this strange new world.
"Mr. Pendragon," said the man holding out his hand. "My name is Mycroft Holmes. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"You are not a wizard," said Arthur, taking the firm hand.
"No, not me," Holmes shook his head. "Though I have a way of making things happen. For instance..." he moved closer, "I have heard that you are looking for a place for your special skills. I believe I have several employees that would benefit from your... tutorship."
"What can I teach?" Arthur almost laughed. "Everything I know is a thousand years too old. Merlin is adjusting thanks to his magic. Gwen works for that apothecary. What can I do?"
"You can fight, both with your bare hands and with several types of weapons. You are quite good with horses. You certainly know more than basics of strategy. You are a natural born leader, and I would venture to guess that you are a good teacher. And, I might add, you love this country, what ever age it might be."
Arthur blinked in surprise.
"What kind of employees do you have? I've been here for six months and encountered nothing like this."
"I would be very surprised if you had," said Holmes. "But we have been observing you. And we think that you're just what we need."
"Who are you?"
"We are what stands between this country and chaos. A car arrive at nine o'clock tomorrow morning, Mr. Pendragon, it's your own choice if you go with it. Don't tell anyone. If you do so the offer is off, and that would be very unfortunate for both of us."
Holmes held out his hand, Arthur took it.
"Happy house-warming," Holmes said as he left.
Arthur smiled, finally something exiting was happening. He wished that he could talk to Merlin about it.
"Who was that man?" asked Gwen, coming up by his side.
"One of those pesky scholars again," said Arthur placing a arm around her waist. "They are really tedious with their questions."
"I know," she laughed. "Yesterday someone asked me how I washed my hair."
Arthur smiled. He looked over the room for Holmes, but the man was gone. He caught Merlin's eye, the wizard looked away, down to his 'camera'.
"Let's dance," he said to Gwen. "This party needs some dancing."
/
"M, get me out of here," pleaded Bond. "Don't you have anything for me to do?"
He was on the speaker phone, pacing the room back and forth between the two small beds at opposite walls that had been set up for him and Q.
"You are helping Q with his testing."
"I want a mission!"
"007," M sounded irritated, and he probably was. "It's almost Christmas, take a load off. You are going good work were you are."
"I'm testing guns! I'm spending time with a waif of a nerd-boy who rather live in a sterile barn-come-gun-range, than in the perfectly good country manor half a mile away!"
Q didn't look up from his tinkering, he only gave a small long suffering smile, and a sigh.
"Enjoy your time off," said M, and the call disconnected.
"I should be in Paris," said Bond to the almost room at large. "The Ritz has one of the best Christmas spreads. I could call Danielle, or maybe Helene. Or maybe both..."
"Spare me," said Q adjusting the tension of a small coil. "I bet you don't even know their last names."
"Or Berlin," sighed Bond, starring at the dull wooden walls. "I've never been there in at Christmas. Gretel invited me once, but I had to go to Greece."
"Where you met Victoria," murmured Q with a sigh.
"Have I told you this story before?"
"My predecessor did. That was when you dropped his prototype gas dispenser in the Mediterranean."
"He never said it wasn't waterproof."
"Gas goes in air, not water."
Q didn't only dress like a tired old science teacher, he sounded like on too. Bond refrained from giving him a fond smile.
"Besides," said Q handing Bond the altered gun now ready for a new round of testing. "Your Gretel is now happily married to a environment politician, and expecting her first child."
"Well, good for her," said Bond weighing the weapon in his hand. "I guess I could always call Petra..."
"I thought you were going to Berlin," Q smirked, got up from the table, and began moving towards the control room.
"How much did R tell you exactly?" frowned Bond.
"Enough," Q smirked.
/
"Next on the agenda is the visit from David Greenbow," said A, reading from her BlackBerry.
"Is this about that pesky CIA agreement again?" sighed Mycroft. "We signed the latest deal only two months ago."
"New facts have come to light since then..."
"Are you referring to the American agent that Sherlock exposed in Geneva, only for getting in his way?"
"The Americans are convinced that we are working on their district, outside the negotiated restrictions."
Mycroft groaned and rubbed his palms over his cheeks.
"They think we have a rouge agent," he sighed. "And they blame us for ruining their cover. They are taking the opportunity to renegotiate better terms for themselves."
"Probably," A gave him a sympathetic smile.
"And then we'll give in because we need their support."
"Actually, Sir, we could do without them most of the time."
"I know..." he sighed. "But it's too soon to make that move."
"Don't make it too late, sir," A smirked.
"Damn!" Mycroft leaned back. "Who do you have to screw to get some order around here?"
There was a sudden knock in the door and Lestrade leaned in.
"Excuse me for disturbing, but I have put the new security details in order. I just need your signature."
A gave a small chuckle, but was decent enough to look at her small screen, and not on Mycroft.
/
The Doctor stood by the circular mushroom control panel of the TARDIS. He was gently going over the controls, buttons, switches, wheels, pulls, rolls, whisks and spins, checking them, giving a dash of oil or a tinker with the sonic screwdriver where it was needed. He talked gently as he worked.
"What makes a good companion, then?" he asked the ship.
She hummed gently back at him from the depths of her many rooms and passages, some of which the Doctor hadn't used for over a century.
"Adventure," nodded the Doctor, letting the screwdriver hover over a reader and then looking at the result. "Love the adventure. And lots of running. Should I start to bring bikes? They are quite useful. Orville Wright was a bike manufacturer, you know. iOrville/i, I said to him, iOrville, wouldn't you like to fly?/i"
The Doctor looked around. It wasn't the same telling good stuff on his own. TARDIS gave a comforting cricking sound.
"Let's get adventurous, then..." he sighed, and shifted some levers around.
/
Severus frowned. He was not a person who arranged parties. He was letting Sirius take care of Christmas, which meant that he had to arrange his own 'office party' this year. Severus didn't like office parties, but his staff, his best suppliers, and some of his more important customers was expecting him to give one.
"I don't know were we are going to hold it," he complained to his bookkeeper, a young witch named Miranda. "I have nowhere to create a good wizard-space."
"I know of a place, sir," she said leaning back in her chair. "A friend of mine knows Merlin from photography class. Apparently he has this big gallery that he never uses. I could take care of everything."
"Everything?" asked Severus, looking down at her.
"For you," she leaned forward, displaying a very nice cleavage. "Everything. Any time."
"Thank you," Severus shifted, feeling both flattered and uncomfortable.
/
"So..." said Dean, sitting down next to Sam on the park bench. "Want to talk about it?"
"You want to talk?" Sam sounded chocked.
"No," Dean sighed. "But you obviously do. So let's... do this talking stuff. You know that I'm here for you, Sammy."
"I know that."
Dean steeled himself as he looked into his younger brother's puppy-dog eyes. This was going to be about Dad. Or Bobby. Or even Cas, please, please don't let it be about Cas. At this point he actually hoped that the British intelligence service had sexually molested his brother in some way, that would be easier, emotionally, to handle.
"Did those... did those MI-5 types do something to you? Touch you in a bad place?"
"No!" Sam called out. "Nothing like that! Don't be disgusting. I told you what happened. They caught me after I killed that vampire, took me to some gun-range, they questioned me, said they were keeping an eye on us, and then they let me go. That's it."
"Then what got you that moping stick up your ass?"
"Truth is..." Sam took a breath, looking down on his wringing hands. "I'm in love."
Dean almost laughed out loud, but clasped a hand over his mouth to stop it. Sam gave him a evil look.
"What's so funny?"
"I just..." breathed Dean. "I mean... It's about a chick? I thought it was worse..." He paused and suddenly liked serious. "She's not a monster is she?"
"No monster," Sam shook his head. "But she is totally out of my league. She didn't even look twice at me."
"You? All the chicks fall for you! And you fall for a chick that doesn't notice you!"
"You can choose who you fall in love with. You should know that!"
Dean rubbed his forehead.
"You been in love before," Dean straightened up, trying to be supportive but still tactile.
"This is the one, Dean!" Sam held up his forefinger. "The One! I have never felt like this before."
"Fine," Dean nodded, giving Sam's knee a pat. "Fine. We are stuck in this goddamn country anyway. Why not make the best of it? Go for her."
"Really?"
"Really. Let me know if you need any help."
"Thanks."
"No problem," Dean got to his feet and made some arm-stretches. "Good talk. Good talk."
/
Molly watched Irene packing up her workstation for the end if the day. The apothecary was closing, but Molly was working overtime as usual. She had to stay alert if her phone should call.
Irene was dressed in a white silk shirt and a smooth grey skirt that ended by her knees. The sound of her high heals against the floor moved towards the door. Molly took a breath.
"Are you going to the Christmas party?" she asked.
"I am," said Irene, giving her a flirtatious smile. "Are you?"
"Yes," Molly nodded. "Yes I am."
"See you there then," Irene winked, and left.
Molly fisted the air, and then quickly looked around the empty room so that no one had seen her. Her phone rang, she answered with a smile.
/
Mycroft was enjoying a day at the manor. All his London business were taken care of, and all that was left could easily be done over the computer. It was his very excellent staff that he had to thank for moments like these.
There was a careful knock in the door.
"Enter."
"Hiya," said Lestrade peaking inside with a grin in his face, he was carrying a silver tray with a china cup and a plate of biscuits. "Thought you wanted some tea."
"What are you doing?" Mycroft looked shocked. "That is defiantly not your job, where is Bradbury?"
"Oh, I don't mind," said Lestrade taking one of the biscuits for himself. "Bradbury is busy with the Christmas tree, he seemed really in to it, so I offered my services to serve."
Mycroft tried not to look at how the blue jeans were fitting the man perfectly, or that the white t-shirt was rumpled after being under thick jackets and sweaters the whole day. The bottom of his jeans were wet.
"You have been outside," said Mycroft tasting his tea, which was perfect.
"Yeah," Lestrade sat down on one of the chairs opposite the desk, without even being asked. "We have been doing security walks along the borders. The people you rented your meadow to were there, by the way."
"Good. Be sure to treat them well, and keep out of their way."
"Sure," Lestrade nodded. "That American bloke is coming by this weekend isn't he?"
"That 'American bloke' is a millionaire US-government official with strong CIA connections."
"Shall I count the silverware?" smirked Lestrade.
Mycroft couldn't help but to smile at this. He took a biscuit from the plate.
"Chocolate," he said. "My favourite."
"You're welcome," Lestrade winked at him. "My wife never appreciated good food."
"You are divorced."
"Yes," he glanced down at his bare ring-finger. "She left me."
"Her loss, I'm sure," Mycroft said honestly.
Lestrade looked like he was blushing for a moment. Mycroft felt like blushing himself, but cleared his throat instead.
"You have a son."
"Toby, light of my life," Lestrade smiled. "He's eleven and spends most time away at school, but I got him over Christmas. He's spending New Years with his mother."
Mycroft liked that smile. It was a smile of a proud father who loved his child. He was a little curious however how Lestrade was able to afford sending his son away to a boarding school. His ex-wife was a middle-school teacher, and there was nothing in any files about an extra income. The only explanation he had found was that Toby Lestrade was on a scholarship.
"I'll let you get on with yours then " said Lestrade and got up from the chair. "Just call if you need anything."
Mycroft tried not to look at the man's arse, he failed. But he wasn't sure if the man hadn't walked that way on purpose.
/
"How do we get this chick to notice you then?" asked Dean.
"Don't call her that," muttered Sam, typing away on his laptop.
"Sorry," Dean made a mocking face. "The 'lady'."
He took a swig of the bottle of dark ale and nodded his consent of it's taste. He was slowly warming up to the British taste in alcohol.
"We need to find one of monsters that her branch of the MI-5 are hunting, and kill it."
Sam turned the laptop and showed Dean a news article of a mysterious wild beast attack near Gloucester. Dean put his bottle on the table to move closer to the screen.
"You should use a coaster," said Sam with a nod to the bottle.
"Why the... Fuck!"
The ale was foaming out of the bottle like a white miniature fountain. Dean groaned.
/
Bond woke up to find that they had a visitor. He had never seen the man before, but Q seemed to on very intimate terms with him.
"Bond," smiled Q. "This is Mycroft Holmes. He is our host for the time being."
"Good morning, Mr. Bond," said Holmes offering his hand. "I've heard a lot about you."
"Good morning," Bond shook the hand, the grip was firm but friendly. "Not all bad I hope."
"No, not all bad," Holmes smiled in a way that looked almost too familiar.
Holmes was about the same age as Bond, but more of the behind-desk-type of person. Though he noticed that Holmes wasn't at all bothered by the small arsenal of high-tech weapons that Q had lined up next to his tea and toast.
"So, that's your manor up the way."
"Yes," Holmes nodded. "If you are still here by Christmas you are welcome to join us for the celebration."
"That seems to be my fate this year," sighed Bond walking over to the kettle. "I'm going to be forced to spend Christmas with the stick insect."
"Excuse me?" Holmes sounded offended.
"Don't bother," Q shook his head. "I'm used to it."
Q handed Holmes a small silver-coloured gun, no bigger than the palm of his hand. Bond took some tea, and looked Holmes over, while Holmes looked over the gun.
"Are you working this year?" asked Q.
"When am I not working?" smirked Holmes and put the gun in his pocket. "Mr. Bond."
Holmes nodded, patted Q on the shoulder, and left.
"Strange guy," said Bond.
"That strange guy has the power to make you live the rest of your life gathering intelligence in Antarctica."
"Well, penguins are very devious creatures," said Bond with half a smile. "Someone ought to keep an eye on the little bastards."
"I love penguins," mused Q, looking off in the distance as if he was retracing a memory.
Bond sat down with his breakfast across from Q. The young man actually looked attractive like this. In lack of female splendour you can't be too choosy, and in some ways this view was even better.
"What's your name?" he asked.
The distant stare disappeared in a moment and was replaced with suspicion.
"Classified."
"Come on. Just your first name."
"Still classified," Q took up his phone, pressing some seemingly random buttons.
"You know my name."
"You don't have a name. You took your name from the author from a ornithology book."
Bond blinked. It wasn't often he felt hurt, but when he did, it really did hurt. He looked down. Q shifted.
"I'm sorry."
"It's fine," said Bond, taking a drink of his tea, wishing it had liquor in it.
"Look," Q sighed. "I'm not going to tell you my name. It's against regulation."
"Can I guess it?" Bond lit up.
"You'll never be able to."
"I bet you I can guess your name with twenty questions. And you can only answer 'yes' or 'no'."
"What do you bet?" Q leaned back in his chair.
"I bet I can guess your first name in twenty questions, or... I'll run around the manor naked. And if I win you'll never take me to one of these tests again."
"Deal," grinned Q.
Bond didn't like the look on Q's face.
/
Arthur was sitting on a sofa in his living room. He still had no idea why the room was called that. He glanced suspiciously to the moving image viewer by the far wall, it's face was dark now but he had seen it scream with little people trapped inside it. They had explained that the images wasn't real, more like visions. Arthur still didn't trust it. Like most things in this new world.
There was a mug of mead on the table. Hermione had said that those mugs was meant for the brew called 'tea'. Arthur enjoyed the variations on that brew, but sometimes he needed his mead.
Hermione was in Gwen's room for the moment, talking about women things. She had left a device on the table and Arthur was trying not to pry at it. It reminded him somewhat of the staff that subdued the image viewer. He had seen that all his knights-in-training had devices like these. They called them 'phones', or 'mobiles', or 'cells', and were used to communicate with over distances.
Curiosity took over and he poked it. It lit up. Arthur drew away his hand. The magic didn't seem harmful, and within moments the light was gone.
Scoffing at his own cowardice, Arthur picked up the device. It lit up again. He started to press the different buttons and symbols. They made strange noises. Arthur frowned at the words and pictures coming up on the thing. Then he froze. Merlin's name had come up. The thing was making strange noises.
"Hello?" said the device.
"H-hello?" said Arthur.
"Hello?" said the device again, with something that sounded like Merlin's voice.
"Merlin?" Arthur frowned.
"Arthur?" said the voice of Merlin. "Is that you?"
"Aah!" screamed Arthur throwing the device away to the other side of the room.
He then hid in his bedroom, pretending to read a book about horses, for the rest of the day.