View from Above 3: Fangirl Harder
Sorry this is so late after the event but there was work stuff and in actual fact the punchline wouldn't have worked if I'd got it straight up so late is a good thing, right?
Anyway this is the third in the View from Above series. You can read the first here and the second here. This one is for Jupiter_Ash.
Title: View from Above 3: Fangirl Harder
Beta:jupiter_ash
Rating: G
Length: 750 words
Characters: Mycroft and a few very nice, very insane fangirls
Summary: It’s the third year in a row that some of Sherlock's fans are meeting in London and, as always, Mycroft is watching.
It had all gone rather smoothly, Mycroft thought as the group of Sherlock’s ‘fans’ filled up the basement of the Pizza Express on Baker Street.
At first it had looked like it would be anything but smooth. With key members of Sherlock’s group of ‘fans’ out of the country, and others using online media to talk about how there should be something but not going so far as to organise anything for a while it had looked as if there wouldn’t be a repeat of the annual ‘meetup’ that had taken place the previous two years. Then, even once plans had finally been put into motion, they were changed at the last minute. Times, locations, meeting points and dinner arrangements were all altered, causing Mycroft quite a headache as he rearranged the planned surveillance. Honestly, it was almost as if they knew he had been planning to watch them and were trying to shake him off. Still, it was easy enough to cancel the ‘electrical survey’ with Bella Italia and transfer it to Pizza Express instead. After previous years, he had found it best to get his own cameras in place, rather than rely on the purveyors’ own shoddy footage.
But the day itself had gone fine. The group of approximately forty people - a mix of the usual crowd, with a few extras - had gathered outside Embankment station. They had found each other easily enough, identifying each other by their deerstalkers and themed jewellery, and greeted each other with enthusiastic hugs.
Then there had been a walk followed by lunch in a pub in Holborn - it seemed they were giving the Bree Louise a break this year, which was no doubt a relief to the regular customers. They had chatted loudly, exchanged biscuits and badges, then taken photos of each other wearing a pair of glasses with a moustache attached to them for some reason.
Following lunch, the group had split, some heading to the Museum of London while others visited Baker Street. One small faction had gone to St Barts and, for some bizarre reason, recreated Sherlock’s ‘death’ on the pavement where he had ‘landed’.
Finally they had come together for dinner and what appeared to be a short quiz. It was hard to tell as the noise level had been so high he had been forced to turn off the microphones, but the pieces of paper being handed around were a good clue. Although that didn’t explain the yellow car earrings.
All in all, he thought, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of the tea his assistant had brought him, it had been a good day.
Of course there hadn’t been any reason to be worried. But with his brother still away, he had found himself growing more and more attached to the group of fans that still believed in Sherlock. Protective almost. And where, exactly, was the harm in that? With almost every hour of his life dedicated to serving the government he could spare a few days a year to watch over the occasional ‘meetup’.
As the group began to line up to pay he started to bring up the feeds for the cameras in the surrounding pubs, ready for wherever the group decided to move on to. A group that size was unlikely to find enough space in The Globe, the closest pub, so the larger Metropolitan was a more likely- wait, what was that?
A small commotion had broken out in the Pizza Express, with the group now surrounding two of their members, one of whom was down on one knee.
One woman was kneeling on the floor, offering up a yellow car ring - he added ‘yellow car’ to the mental list of things the group were obsessed with that he needed to find out the reason for - to another who was seated. He watched, enraptured, as the seated woman went from stunned to happy, before throwing her arms around the kneeling woman. There was applause and the snap of cameras from the rest of the group as the woman kneeling slipped the yellow car ring onto the other woman’s ring finger, all the while grinning like she had won the world.
Mycroft pressed the button for his intercom.
“Janet, what is the current vote for the Gay Marriage Bill?”
“Two hundred and seventy five against versus two hundred and fifty three in favour with fifty one absenting,” came the instant reply.
“Let’s see what we can do about that, shall we?”
Anyway this is the third in the View from Above series. You can read the first here and the second here. This one is for Jupiter_Ash.
Title: View from Above 3: Fangirl Harder
Beta:jupiter_ash
Rating: G
Length: 750 words
Characters: Mycroft and a few very nice, very insane fangirls
Summary: It’s the third year in a row that some of Sherlock's fans are meeting in London and, as always, Mycroft is watching.
It had all gone rather smoothly, Mycroft thought as the group of Sherlock’s ‘fans’ filled up the basement of the Pizza Express on Baker Street.
At first it had looked like it would be anything but smooth. With key members of Sherlock’s group of ‘fans’ out of the country, and others using online media to talk about how there should be something but not going so far as to organise anything for a while it had looked as if there wouldn’t be a repeat of the annual ‘meetup’ that had taken place the previous two years. Then, even once plans had finally been put into motion, they were changed at the last minute. Times, locations, meeting points and dinner arrangements were all altered, causing Mycroft quite a headache as he rearranged the planned surveillance. Honestly, it was almost as if they knew he had been planning to watch them and were trying to shake him off. Still, it was easy enough to cancel the ‘electrical survey’ with Bella Italia and transfer it to Pizza Express instead. After previous years, he had found it best to get his own cameras in place, rather than rely on the purveyors’ own shoddy footage.
But the day itself had gone fine. The group of approximately forty people - a mix of the usual crowd, with a few extras - had gathered outside Embankment station. They had found each other easily enough, identifying each other by their deerstalkers and themed jewellery, and greeted each other with enthusiastic hugs.
Then there had been a walk followed by lunch in a pub in Holborn - it seemed they were giving the Bree Louise a break this year, which was no doubt a relief to the regular customers. They had chatted loudly, exchanged biscuits and badges, then taken photos of each other wearing a pair of glasses with a moustache attached to them for some reason.
Following lunch, the group had split, some heading to the Museum of London while others visited Baker Street. One small faction had gone to St Barts and, for some bizarre reason, recreated Sherlock’s ‘death’ on the pavement where he had ‘landed’.
Finally they had come together for dinner and what appeared to be a short quiz. It was hard to tell as the noise level had been so high he had been forced to turn off the microphones, but the pieces of paper being handed around were a good clue. Although that didn’t explain the yellow car earrings.
All in all, he thought, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of the tea his assistant had brought him, it had been a good day.
Of course there hadn’t been any reason to be worried. But with his brother still away, he had found himself growing more and more attached to the group of fans that still believed in Sherlock. Protective almost. And where, exactly, was the harm in that? With almost every hour of his life dedicated to serving the government he could spare a few days a year to watch over the occasional ‘meetup’.
As the group began to line up to pay he started to bring up the feeds for the cameras in the surrounding pubs, ready for wherever the group decided to move on to. A group that size was unlikely to find enough space in The Globe, the closest pub, so the larger Metropolitan was a more likely- wait, what was that?
A small commotion had broken out in the Pizza Express, with the group now surrounding two of their members, one of whom was down on one knee.
One woman was kneeling on the floor, offering up a yellow car ring - he added ‘yellow car’ to the mental list of things the group were obsessed with that he needed to find out the reason for - to another who was seated. He watched, enraptured, as the seated woman went from stunned to happy, before throwing her arms around the kneeling woman. There was applause and the snap of cameras from the rest of the group as the woman kneeling slipped the yellow car ring onto the other woman’s ring finger, all the while grinning like she had won the world.
Mycroft pressed the button for his intercom.
“Janet, what is the current vote for the Gay Marriage Bill?”
“Two hundred and seventy five against versus two hundred and fifty three in favour with fifty one absenting,” came the instant reply.
“Let’s see what we can do about that, shall we?”