Remix of xfdryad: “Best Served with Tea”
Original Story:
Author: xfdryad
Title & Link: Stars Above a Wine-Dark Sea
Pairings & Rating: Sherlock Holmes/Victor Trevor; Not Rated
Warnings/Content Notes: Aftereffects of Drug Use
Remix Story:
Author: neurotoxia
Title: Best Served with Tea (The Conspiracy Remix)
Pairings & Rating: Mycroft Holmes, Victor Trevor, Sherlock Holmes/Victor Trevor; G
Warnings/Content Notes: Period-typical Homophobia
Beta: crookedspoon
Britpicker: N/A
Summary: In light of his political aspirations, Victor Trevor seeks the assistance of Mycroft Holmes.
“Mr Trevor,” Mycroft Holmes announces without preamble as Victor stands and removes his hat, suppressing the urge to bow. The elder Holmes has the commanding presence of a monarch and arguably the same iron hold over Parliament.
“Good afternoon, Mr Holmes,” Victor says. “I trust you are well.”
Mycroft Holmes inclines his head, offering no pleasantries in return. Victor has not expected any from Sherlock’s brother, despite having met him once before. Victor had visited with Sherlock’s parents once during their time at university, taking the chance to spend the summer in London instead of his father’s estate in Norfolk. Sherlock’s elder brother was even at this younger age stern and cold, entirely unlike Sherlock himself in many regards. However, he shares the cunning intellect, though Sherlock insists he’s cleverer. In private thought, Victor disagrees.
“What brings you here, Mr Trevor?” Mycroft Holmes asks and takes his seat behind the desk made of polished dark oak while an aged butler serves them tea in china painted with a delicate chinoiserie pattern that his mother would have favoured were she still alive. Victor contemplates the dark blue pattern of exotic flowers and vines for a moment, selecting his words with care.
“My father is dying,” he says, these first words coming with ease. His rapport with his father is too damaged to evoke many emotions.
The door clicks almost inaudibly, the butler having left the room with nary a sound. Mycroft Holmes’ office resides inside a gentleman’s club named The Diogenes that strictly forbids speaking in its public rooms. Despite controlling the Parliament, Mycroft Holmes is rarely seen inside its building - few know his name or how to speak with him. One needs to inquire with the right people to be granted access. Victor is of yet unsure whether a connection to Sherlock is an asset when one wants to speak to Mycroft Holmes or a hinderance.
“I wish to stand for Parliament after his death,” he continues when the other offers no condolences. Holmes’ eyebrows raise a fraction towards his receding hairline. ”Does this come as a surprise?”
“Not entirely,” Mycroft Holmes says and stirs sugar into his Earl Grey. “You possess a taste for public recognition and wish to serve Queen and country.” Victor has expected to find himself analysed by the elder Holmes, it is a common pastime among the brothers. “Your desire to serve the country is admirable, Mr Trevor, but there is a certain need for the members of the Houses to be respectable individuals of our society. Your,” he pauses, “association with my brother suggests otherwise.”
The emphasis confirms what Victor already suspected: Mycroft Holmes is well aware of Sherlock’s inversion. Yet, he hasn’t turned over Sherlock to the authorities; whether it is out of compassion or to avoid scandal, Victor could not say. Sherlock continually flirts with scandal, which had been enchanting during their time at university, but puts Victor’s career, his life even, on the line now. Sherlock does not mind being associated with the prostitutes, with the Chinese and Jews dwelling in the East End; does not hesitate to call the Ripper ingenious and is a well-known regular to the unsavoury establishment of one infamous Irene Adler.
“Our association is of the past,” Victor assures Mycroft Holmes. “My aunt Elizabeth has been inquiring about an acceptable young lady for me to wed, with recent success. The daughter of Sir George Holborn, brother to the Lady Morley.”
Mycroft Holmes appears mildly impressed. Victor’s aunt is proud of the match she arranged. Mary Ann Holborn is a timid girl of nineteen, not unintelligent and not displeasing to the eye, though she hasn’t excited Victor so far. He supposes that one’s spouse need not excite as long as the match serves its purpose and brings forth heirs. She is not Sherlock Holmes, nor Peter with whom he had bunked at Harrow at sixteen, nor the boy John he’s met two weeks ago at a private club. But a member of Parliament needs a respectable wife at his side and Mary Ann fulfils the requirements.
“If I endorsed you, Mr Trevor,” Mycroft says and Victor hears the slight stress on the ‘if’, “I would have to be assured your person and your past are not cause for embarrassment.”
“No, I am sure my transgressions remain in the past,” Victor assures him. The new Criminal Law Amendment Act is certain to silence any and all who might testify to any indecencies that occurred. The fear of recriminations is a powerful tool. “Except…”
“Yes?”
“Your brother…” Victor lets his words hang in the air, as they communicated Victor’s fears well enough.
Sherlock would have laughed at the Labouchere Amendment, saying that on the day the government would successfully end sodomy simply by outlawing it, pigs would start to sprout wings and fly. He had no care for his own reputation and no consideration for others’. From what Victor heard and saw of Sherlock lately, he hasn’t changed since university in this regard. Sherlock feels protected by his own intelligence and the resulting arrogance, banking on the assumption he can outwit anyone who would want to cause him harm. The sheer unlimited power of Mycroft Holmes works as his safety net, relying on his elder’s reverence for the spotless family name to come to his aid if all else fails.
“Yes, I see how Sherlock remains an unreliable factor in the equation,” Mycroft Holmes agrees and takes a sip of his tea. “I could protect you from imprisonment, Mr Trevor, if I were so inclined, but even I cannot undo the gossip.”
The gossip could hurt him far worse than than the threat of imprisonment or hard labour. It would never disperse and haunt him for the rest of his life.
“If I may suggest a solution,” Victor begins and turns his cup on the saucer with nervous fingers. He’s given thought to this plan, has mulled it over every night and thought of alternatives, just to arrive back at the original idea. However, its rate of success lived and died by the grace of Mycroft Holmes. Certainly, he could make an attempt without the man’s approval, but Mycroft Holmes could easily throw a spanner in the works if he decided to take his brother’s side. It’s a scenario he’d prefer to avoid.
The plan is cruel, to a certain degree, and Victor cannot in good conscience claim to be proud of it. Sherlock hasn’t done anything to entice his anger (no more than what is Sherlock’s usual degree of enticing ire) and there is the chance that Mycroft Holmes will not only refuse him, but deem him a danger to Sherlock’s wellbeing and ship him off to Australia or India. Or plainly have him disposed into the Thames.
Mycroft Holmes fixes him with his penetrating gaze and Victor feels the nervousness creep into his heart. But the point where he could still turn his back and wish Mycroft Holmes a good afternoon has long passed.
“The press,” Victor says, trusting that the other will know he’s not speaking of the papers.
“The press?” A hint of surprise is detectable, even if Mycroft Holmes’ face remains neutral as usual.
“Sherlock could learn discipline,” Victor continues. “The Navy might instill a sense of authority in him, rid him of his penchant for opiates as well. He wouldn’t be able to associate with unsavoury characters, perhaps it might even cure him of his...inversion.”
Mycroft Holmes remains quiet, interlacing his fingers and placing them on his desk. He does not condemn Victor’s suggestions, perhaps he is actually contemplating their benefits.
“Wouldn’t you rather he straighten out his character than spending your lifetime containing the damage he is causing?” Victor tries appealing to the no doubt exhausting profession of being Sherlock’s minder. A minder Sherlock most decidedly does not want and thus defies at any opportunity.
Once again, Mycroft Holmes does not react directly to his words, but Victor’s spirits lift nonetheless for not being dismissed.
“Sherlock is not fond of the sea,” he states.
“I know,” Victor agrees. “All the more reason why it should teach him a lesson and reform his character. Sherlock is resourceful, but even he cannot leave a ship with nothing but hundreds of miles of sea surrounding him.”
Putting Sherlock in the middle of an ocean was most unkind - he detested the sea, after having nearly drowned in it as a child. At university, Victor could hardly even get Sherlock to step into waist-high ponds to cool off during the summer. There was this small clearing they would retreat to for more privacy - a pond in the shades of the trees, a rather splendid way to fight sweltering temperatures. However, this is not the time to reminisce about the manner in which the water droplets clung to Sherlock’s curls or how he would shiver in the cold water, wrapping his arms around his torso.
“I will not assist you,” Mycroft Holmes finally says and Victor begins to worry if he might find himself accidentally run over by a carriage after all. “However, certain papers might become lost and inquiries into the whereabouts of my brother might be delayed.”
Mycroft drains his cup and puts it aside with a glance to Victor who breathes deep in relief and gathers his hat, aware that he’s being dismissed. He hasn’t expected Mycroft Holmes to assist him, but hearing that he will not hinder him is worth almost as much. Making Sherlock leave the country against his will would be a challenge on its own, with the threat of Mycroft Holmes hanging above his head, it might well have been impossible.
“Thank you for your time, Mr Holmes,” he says, folding his coat over his arm.
“My brother won’t go quietly, Mr Trevor,” Mycroft replies in lieu of a goodbye once Victor is nearly at the door.
“Sherlock’s greatest weakness is his conviction that no man or woman is able to catch him unawares,” Victor says and turns back around. “I plan on using it to my advantage.”
Sherlock is a creature of few habits, but the ones he does have, he cultivates religiously. Opium has become his new favourite pastime, Victor knows. Sherlock covets addiction, unable to do anything by halves. With opium addling his mind and senses, it will be the best chance to have the press secure him.
“Godspeed,” Mycroft says, a note of wry amusement to his tone.
That, Victor will certainly be in need of.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Remember to leave feedback for both authors!
Author: xfdryad
Title & Link: Stars Above a Wine-Dark Sea
Pairings & Rating: Sherlock Holmes/Victor Trevor; Not Rated
Warnings/Content Notes: Aftereffects of Drug Use
Remix Story:
Author: neurotoxia
Title: Best Served with Tea (The Conspiracy Remix)
Pairings & Rating: Mycroft Holmes, Victor Trevor, Sherlock Holmes/Victor Trevor; G
Warnings/Content Notes: Period-typical Homophobia
Beta: crookedspoon
Britpicker: N/A
Summary: In light of his political aspirations, Victor Trevor seeks the assistance of Mycroft Holmes.
“Mr Trevor,” Mycroft Holmes announces without preamble as Victor stands and removes his hat, suppressing the urge to bow. The elder Holmes has the commanding presence of a monarch and arguably the same iron hold over Parliament.
“Good afternoon, Mr Holmes,” Victor says. “I trust you are well.”
Mycroft Holmes inclines his head, offering no pleasantries in return. Victor has not expected any from Sherlock’s brother, despite having met him once before. Victor had visited with Sherlock’s parents once during their time at university, taking the chance to spend the summer in London instead of his father’s estate in Norfolk. Sherlock’s elder brother was even at this younger age stern and cold, entirely unlike Sherlock himself in many regards. However, he shares the cunning intellect, though Sherlock insists he’s cleverer. In private thought, Victor disagrees.
“What brings you here, Mr Trevor?” Mycroft Holmes asks and takes his seat behind the desk made of polished dark oak while an aged butler serves them tea in china painted with a delicate chinoiserie pattern that his mother would have favoured were she still alive. Victor contemplates the dark blue pattern of exotic flowers and vines for a moment, selecting his words with care.
“My father is dying,” he says, these first words coming with ease. His rapport with his father is too damaged to evoke many emotions.
The door clicks almost inaudibly, the butler having left the room with nary a sound. Mycroft Holmes’ office resides inside a gentleman’s club named The Diogenes that strictly forbids speaking in its public rooms. Despite controlling the Parliament, Mycroft Holmes is rarely seen inside its building - few know his name or how to speak with him. One needs to inquire with the right people to be granted access. Victor is of yet unsure whether a connection to Sherlock is an asset when one wants to speak to Mycroft Holmes or a hinderance.
“I wish to stand for Parliament after his death,” he continues when the other offers no condolences. Holmes’ eyebrows raise a fraction towards his receding hairline. ”Does this come as a surprise?”
“Not entirely,” Mycroft Holmes says and stirs sugar into his Earl Grey. “You possess a taste for public recognition and wish to serve Queen and country.” Victor has expected to find himself analysed by the elder Holmes, it is a common pastime among the brothers. “Your desire to serve the country is admirable, Mr Trevor, but there is a certain need for the members of the Houses to be respectable individuals of our society. Your,” he pauses, “association with my brother suggests otherwise.”
The emphasis confirms what Victor already suspected: Mycroft Holmes is well aware of Sherlock’s inversion. Yet, he hasn’t turned over Sherlock to the authorities; whether it is out of compassion or to avoid scandal, Victor could not say. Sherlock continually flirts with scandal, which had been enchanting during their time at university, but puts Victor’s career, his life even, on the line now. Sherlock does not mind being associated with the prostitutes, with the Chinese and Jews dwelling in the East End; does not hesitate to call the Ripper ingenious and is a well-known regular to the unsavoury establishment of one infamous Irene Adler.
“Our association is of the past,” Victor assures Mycroft Holmes. “My aunt Elizabeth has been inquiring about an acceptable young lady for me to wed, with recent success. The daughter of Sir George Holborn, brother to the Lady Morley.”
Mycroft Holmes appears mildly impressed. Victor’s aunt is proud of the match she arranged. Mary Ann Holborn is a timid girl of nineteen, not unintelligent and not displeasing to the eye, though she hasn’t excited Victor so far. He supposes that one’s spouse need not excite as long as the match serves its purpose and brings forth heirs. She is not Sherlock Holmes, nor Peter with whom he had bunked at Harrow at sixteen, nor the boy John he’s met two weeks ago at a private club. But a member of Parliament needs a respectable wife at his side and Mary Ann fulfils the requirements.
“If I endorsed you, Mr Trevor,” Mycroft says and Victor hears the slight stress on the ‘if’, “I would have to be assured your person and your past are not cause for embarrassment.”
“No, I am sure my transgressions remain in the past,” Victor assures him. The new Criminal Law Amendment Act is certain to silence any and all who might testify to any indecencies that occurred. The fear of recriminations is a powerful tool. “Except…”
“Yes?”
“Your brother…” Victor lets his words hang in the air, as they communicated Victor’s fears well enough.
Sherlock would have laughed at the Labouchere Amendment, saying that on the day the government would successfully end sodomy simply by outlawing it, pigs would start to sprout wings and fly. He had no care for his own reputation and no consideration for others’. From what Victor heard and saw of Sherlock lately, he hasn’t changed since university in this regard. Sherlock feels protected by his own intelligence and the resulting arrogance, banking on the assumption he can outwit anyone who would want to cause him harm. The sheer unlimited power of Mycroft Holmes works as his safety net, relying on his elder’s reverence for the spotless family name to come to his aid if all else fails.
“Yes, I see how Sherlock remains an unreliable factor in the equation,” Mycroft Holmes agrees and takes a sip of his tea. “I could protect you from imprisonment, Mr Trevor, if I were so inclined, but even I cannot undo the gossip.”
The gossip could hurt him far worse than than the threat of imprisonment or hard labour. It would never disperse and haunt him for the rest of his life.
“If I may suggest a solution,” Victor begins and turns his cup on the saucer with nervous fingers. He’s given thought to this plan, has mulled it over every night and thought of alternatives, just to arrive back at the original idea. However, its rate of success lived and died by the grace of Mycroft Holmes. Certainly, he could make an attempt without the man’s approval, but Mycroft Holmes could easily throw a spanner in the works if he decided to take his brother’s side. It’s a scenario he’d prefer to avoid.
The plan is cruel, to a certain degree, and Victor cannot in good conscience claim to be proud of it. Sherlock hasn’t done anything to entice his anger (no more than what is Sherlock’s usual degree of enticing ire) and there is the chance that Mycroft Holmes will not only refuse him, but deem him a danger to Sherlock’s wellbeing and ship him off to Australia or India. Or plainly have him disposed into the Thames.
Mycroft Holmes fixes him with his penetrating gaze and Victor feels the nervousness creep into his heart. But the point where he could still turn his back and wish Mycroft Holmes a good afternoon has long passed.
“The press,” Victor says, trusting that the other will know he’s not speaking of the papers.
“The press?” A hint of surprise is detectable, even if Mycroft Holmes’ face remains neutral as usual.
“Sherlock could learn discipline,” Victor continues. “The Navy might instill a sense of authority in him, rid him of his penchant for opiates as well. He wouldn’t be able to associate with unsavoury characters, perhaps it might even cure him of his...inversion.”
Mycroft Holmes remains quiet, interlacing his fingers and placing them on his desk. He does not condemn Victor’s suggestions, perhaps he is actually contemplating their benefits.
“Wouldn’t you rather he straighten out his character than spending your lifetime containing the damage he is causing?” Victor tries appealing to the no doubt exhausting profession of being Sherlock’s minder. A minder Sherlock most decidedly does not want and thus defies at any opportunity.
Once again, Mycroft Holmes does not react directly to his words, but Victor’s spirits lift nonetheless for not being dismissed.
“Sherlock is not fond of the sea,” he states.
“I know,” Victor agrees. “All the more reason why it should teach him a lesson and reform his character. Sherlock is resourceful, but even he cannot leave a ship with nothing but hundreds of miles of sea surrounding him.”
Putting Sherlock in the middle of an ocean was most unkind - he detested the sea, after having nearly drowned in it as a child. At university, Victor could hardly even get Sherlock to step into waist-high ponds to cool off during the summer. There was this small clearing they would retreat to for more privacy - a pond in the shades of the trees, a rather splendid way to fight sweltering temperatures. However, this is not the time to reminisce about the manner in which the water droplets clung to Sherlock’s curls or how he would shiver in the cold water, wrapping his arms around his torso.
“I will not assist you,” Mycroft Holmes finally says and Victor begins to worry if he might find himself accidentally run over by a carriage after all. “However, certain papers might become lost and inquiries into the whereabouts of my brother might be delayed.”
Mycroft drains his cup and puts it aside with a glance to Victor who breathes deep in relief and gathers his hat, aware that he’s being dismissed. He hasn’t expected Mycroft Holmes to assist him, but hearing that he will not hinder him is worth almost as much. Making Sherlock leave the country against his will would be a challenge on its own, with the threat of Mycroft Holmes hanging above his head, it might well have been impossible.
“Thank you for your time, Mr Holmes,” he says, folding his coat over his arm.
“My brother won’t go quietly, Mr Trevor,” Mycroft replies in lieu of a goodbye once Victor is nearly at the door.
“Sherlock’s greatest weakness is his conviction that no man or woman is able to catch him unawares,” Victor says and turns back around. “I plan on using it to my advantage.”
Sherlock is a creature of few habits, but the ones he does have, he cultivates religiously. Opium has become his new favourite pastime, Victor knows. Sherlock covets addiction, unable to do anything by halves. With opium addling his mind and senses, it will be the best chance to have the press secure him.
“Godspeed,” Mycroft says, a note of wry amusement to his tone.
That, Victor will certainly be in need of.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Remember to leave feedback for both authors!