Fic: All That is Gold (3/3)
Title: All That is Gold
Chapter Three
*~*~*~*~*~*
Sherlock suppressed a sigh, wondering how in the world humans managed with such tiny little brains. “The bullet they just dug out of the wall’s from a hand gun. Kill shot over that distance from that kind of a weapon - that’s a crack shot you’re looking for, but not just a marksman; a fighter. His hands couldn’t have shaken at all, so clearly he’s acclimatised to violence. He didn’t fire until I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principle. You’re looking for a man probably with a history of military service...” (Data: John was here, standing behind the police tape.) “...and nerves of steel...” (Data: John recently served in the military. Data: John had picked up a handgun on his way back to 221B earlier. Data: John had shot a man for him. Data John had chased a serial killer through the streets of London with Sherlock data john was not off-put by sherlock’s inability to understand proper social etiquette datajohnhadmadesherlocklaughdatadatadata-Conclusion: MINE!)
Somehow, Sherlock managed to get rid of Lestrade after that - the man could almost be more tenacious than Mycroft when he had a mind to be. Then Sherlock was standing next to John, absorbing his John-ness. It had been a while since Sherlock had acquired a new piece of treasure for his hoard - space was at a premium in the middle of London - and he’d forgotten what a rush it could be. He and John were having a conversation, Sherlock knew, about John killing the cabbie (Data: None of Sherlock’s treasure had ever actively protected him before. Conclusion: John was a superior piece of treasure.) and possibly about Chinese food, but for all that Sherlock was recording every bit of it into his Mind Palace, he wasn’t really paying attention. He had too many details about John to take down to be overly bothered with conversation at the moment. It was only because John was his newest treasure that he was even putting effort into it.
Sherlock probably could have floated in that state of draconic contentment for at least a week - the Stradivarius had lasted him three days, and this was John - if not for what happened next. “Sherlock. That’s him. That’s the man I was talking to you about.”
“I know exactly who that is,” Sherlock growled, imagining he could feel the angry the angry flickers of fire in his eyes. (Data: Sherlock’s eyes took on flecks of orange when he was upset. Data: Most humans found this tendency disconcerting. Action: He should avoid looking at John until he had gotten it under control.) Mycroft.
Sherlock shouldn’t be surprised; Mycroft had tried to steal John once already. Granted, it had been a half-hearted attempt at best, to the point someone more sentimental than Sherlock might be convinced Mycroft was looking out for him. But then, this was hardly the first time that Gandalf had taken a ridiculously circuitous route to take Smaug’s treasure from him. Sherlock supposed he should just be glad there were no dwarves this time.
“So, another case cracked. How very public spirited ... though that’s never really your motivation, is it?” Oh good Lord, he wasn’t about to go into one of his monologues about squandered potential and hobbits holes now, while John was standing right here to overhear and possibly remember, was he?
“What are you doing here?” Sherlock said. He knew what Mycroft’s grand plan was, obviously, but he was hardly going to try to steal John in front of the assembled forces of NSY, even if Lestrade did whatever he said.
“As ever, I’m concerned about you,” said Mycroft.
(Data: Mycroft had told John he was concerned about Sherlock. Data: Mycroft had to have known that John would relate that conversation to Sherlock. Conclusion: Mycroft was deliberately reminding Sherlock about his earlier attempt to steal John.) “Yes, I’ve been hearing about your ‘concern,’” Sherlock scoffed. The only time Mycroft was ever concerned about him was when he was concerned about the havoc Smaug could wreak.
Mycroft looked at him in askance. “Always so aggressive. Did it never occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?” God, it was going to be the ‘squandered potential’ talk.
“Oddly enough, no!” snapped Sherlock.
“We have more in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer.” Ah, no it was the ‘people will suffer’ one.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Have I upset Mummy?” He didn’t use Gandalf’s guilt over turning Smaug from dragon into mostly human-formed often because he couldn’t afford Mycroft figuring out that Sherlock actually preferred having opposable thumbs and being small enough to interact with and observe things properly. But it was still the best way to get Mycroft to leave and Sherlock needed him gone now before John remembered Bilbo any more than he had already been showing signs of.
Mycroft flinched, and Sherlock went to drive the point home, when John interrupted. “No, no, wait. Mummy? Who’s Mummy?”
“Mother - our mother. This is my brother, Mycroft.” John stared at him abject shock. Mycroft started again, but still didn’t say anything. (Data: Sherlock and Mycroft’s relationship on paper was that of brothers. Data: Sherlock never claimed that relationship unless he absolutely had too. Conclusion: Mycroft had not previously realized how badly Sherlock wanted him to leave, and therefore the extent of John’s importance. Conclusion: Sherlock may have overplayed his hand.)
“Putting on weight again?” Sherlock asked. A petty distraction, and untrue, but reminding Mycroft that he had once been existence’s only fat Maia was always an easy hit.
“Losing it, in fact,” Mycroft quipped back.
“He’s your brother?!” Oh good, John was working his way out of the mental block he fell into.
“Of course he’s my brother,” Sherlock answered. As much as a parental relationship might be closer to the truth, since it was Gandalf’s fault Smaug was now Sherlock, an older brother was the only thing that was believable.
“So he’s not ...” John said, trailing off.
“Not what?” Sherlock asked. If John said wizard, Sherlock was holding Mycroft solely responsible.
“I dunno - criminal mastermind?” John looked a bit embarrassed at having made the suggestion, which was understandable given criminal mastermind was practically the exact opposite of what Mycroft was. Then again…
“Close enough,” Sherlock said offhandedly.
“For goodness’ sake. I occupy a minor position in the British government.” Which was about as true as Gandalf claiming to be just some person who makes fireworks.
“He is the British government, when he’s not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis,” Sherlock corrected. Mycroft actually sighed in response, which Sherlock took as his cue to leave. “Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home. You know what it does for the traffic.”
The key to beating Mycroft, at times, was knowing when to walk away. It was enormously hard to leave John there with Mycroft, not that Sherlock was actually going to walk far enough away that he couldn’t immediately turn back around if Mycroft tried anything, but Sherlock had control over his baser instincts and was not going to let them make him give Mycroft the upper hand.
(Data: There were footsteps behind him, belonging to a male, approximately five and a half feet tall, quick like he was trying to catch up. Data: John had left Mycroft behind to come after Sherlock.)
(Conclusion: Good.)
*~*~*~*~*~*
Next part is here.
Chapter Three
*~*~*~*~*~*
Sherlock suppressed a sigh, wondering how in the world humans managed with such tiny little brains. “The bullet they just dug out of the wall’s from a hand gun. Kill shot over that distance from that kind of a weapon - that’s a crack shot you’re looking for, but not just a marksman; a fighter. His hands couldn’t have shaken at all, so clearly he’s acclimatised to violence. He didn’t fire until I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principle. You’re looking for a man probably with a history of military service...” (Data: John was here, standing behind the police tape.) “...and nerves of steel...” (Data: John recently served in the military. Data: John had picked up a handgun on his way back to 221B earlier. Data: John had shot a man for him. Data John had chased a serial killer through the streets of London with Sherlock data john was not off-put by sherlock’s inability to understand proper social etiquette datajohnhadmadesherlocklaughdatadatadata-Conclusion: MINE!)
Somehow, Sherlock managed to get rid of Lestrade after that - the man could almost be more tenacious than Mycroft when he had a mind to be. Then Sherlock was standing next to John, absorbing his John-ness. It had been a while since Sherlock had acquired a new piece of treasure for his hoard - space was at a premium in the middle of London - and he’d forgotten what a rush it could be. He and John were having a conversation, Sherlock knew, about John killing the cabbie (Data: None of Sherlock’s treasure had ever actively protected him before. Conclusion: John was a superior piece of treasure.) and possibly about Chinese food, but for all that Sherlock was recording every bit of it into his Mind Palace, he wasn’t really paying attention. He had too many details about John to take down to be overly bothered with conversation at the moment. It was only because John was his newest treasure that he was even putting effort into it.
Sherlock probably could have floated in that state of draconic contentment for at least a week - the Stradivarius had lasted him three days, and this was John - if not for what happened next. “Sherlock. That’s him. That’s the man I was talking to you about.”
“I know exactly who that is,” Sherlock growled, imagining he could feel the angry the angry flickers of fire in his eyes. (Data: Sherlock’s eyes took on flecks of orange when he was upset. Data: Most humans found this tendency disconcerting. Action: He should avoid looking at John until he had gotten it under control.) Mycroft.
Sherlock shouldn’t be surprised; Mycroft had tried to steal John once already. Granted, it had been a half-hearted attempt at best, to the point someone more sentimental than Sherlock might be convinced Mycroft was looking out for him. But then, this was hardly the first time that Gandalf had taken a ridiculously circuitous route to take Smaug’s treasure from him. Sherlock supposed he should just be glad there were no dwarves this time.
“So, another case cracked. How very public spirited ... though that’s never really your motivation, is it?” Oh good Lord, he wasn’t about to go into one of his monologues about squandered potential and hobbits holes now, while John was standing right here to overhear and possibly remember, was he?
“What are you doing here?” Sherlock said. He knew what Mycroft’s grand plan was, obviously, but he was hardly going to try to steal John in front of the assembled forces of NSY, even if Lestrade did whatever he said.
“As ever, I’m concerned about you,” said Mycroft.
(Data: Mycroft had told John he was concerned about Sherlock. Data: Mycroft had to have known that John would relate that conversation to Sherlock. Conclusion: Mycroft was deliberately reminding Sherlock about his earlier attempt to steal John.) “Yes, I’ve been hearing about your ‘concern,’” Sherlock scoffed. The only time Mycroft was ever concerned about him was when he was concerned about the havoc Smaug could wreak.
Mycroft looked at him in askance. “Always so aggressive. Did it never occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?” God, it was going to be the ‘squandered potential’ talk.
“Oddly enough, no!” snapped Sherlock.
“We have more in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer.” Ah, no it was the ‘people will suffer’ one.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Have I upset Mummy?” He didn’t use Gandalf’s guilt over turning Smaug from dragon into mostly human-formed often because he couldn’t afford Mycroft figuring out that Sherlock actually preferred having opposable thumbs and being small enough to interact with and observe things properly. But it was still the best way to get Mycroft to leave and Sherlock needed him gone now before John remembered Bilbo any more than he had already been showing signs of.
Mycroft flinched, and Sherlock went to drive the point home, when John interrupted. “No, no, wait. Mummy? Who’s Mummy?”
“Mother - our mother. This is my brother, Mycroft.” John stared at him abject shock. Mycroft started again, but still didn’t say anything. (Data: Sherlock and Mycroft’s relationship on paper was that of brothers. Data: Sherlock never claimed that relationship unless he absolutely had too. Conclusion: Mycroft had not previously realized how badly Sherlock wanted him to leave, and therefore the extent of John’s importance. Conclusion: Sherlock may have overplayed his hand.)
“Putting on weight again?” Sherlock asked. A petty distraction, and untrue, but reminding Mycroft that he had once been existence’s only fat Maia was always an easy hit.
“Losing it, in fact,” Mycroft quipped back.
“He’s your brother?!” Oh good, John was working his way out of the mental block he fell into.
“Of course he’s my brother,” Sherlock answered. As much as a parental relationship might be closer to the truth, since it was Gandalf’s fault Smaug was now Sherlock, an older brother was the only thing that was believable.
“So he’s not ...” John said, trailing off.
“Not what?” Sherlock asked. If John said wizard, Sherlock was holding Mycroft solely responsible.
“I dunno - criminal mastermind?” John looked a bit embarrassed at having made the suggestion, which was understandable given criminal mastermind was practically the exact opposite of what Mycroft was. Then again…
“Close enough,” Sherlock said offhandedly.
“For goodness’ sake. I occupy a minor position in the British government.” Which was about as true as Gandalf claiming to be just some person who makes fireworks.
“He is the British government, when he’s not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis,” Sherlock corrected. Mycroft actually sighed in response, which Sherlock took as his cue to leave. “Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home. You know what it does for the traffic.”
The key to beating Mycroft, at times, was knowing when to walk away. It was enormously hard to leave John there with Mycroft, not that Sherlock was actually going to walk far enough away that he couldn’t immediately turn back around if Mycroft tried anything, but Sherlock had control over his baser instincts and was not going to let them make him give Mycroft the upper hand.
(Data: There were footsteps behind him, belonging to a male, approximately five and a half feet tall, quick like he was trying to catch up. Data: John had left Mycroft behind to come after Sherlock.)
(Conclusion: Good.)
*~*~*~*~*~*
Next part is here.