SuperWhoLock: When the Shadows Rage

Episode 7: Musings part 1

Sherlock strode through the Diogenes Club without a hint of the seasickness John felt.

"Why in the world does he not get that fixed?" he whispered savagely to Amy as they and the Doctor followed in Sherlock's wake.

Amy sighed and looked annoyed. "Parking brake," she whispered back. "He leaves it on and refuses to admit it." Then, "Why are we whispering?"

John looked around. The plush hallway was empty, but he half-expected one of the posh waiters to pop out at any moment and silently reprimand them for even whispering.

"Trust me," he hissed. "It's safer this way."

Amy raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Sherlock banged open the doors to Mycroft's private room. Just as John thought, there had been a waiter lurking, and he brushed past them, hurrying forward to murmur in Sherlock's ear.

"Oh, go on and tell him I'm here," Sherlock retorted loudly. "We'll wait. All of us," he added, as the waiter turned a skeptical eye to John, Amy, and the Doctor.

The man shrugged and glided away, deeper into the club's halls. John motioned Amy and the Doctor inside the room, then pulled the door shut.

Sherlock pulled two extra chairs from the walls of the stuffy office and collapsed in one of them, legs crossed and fingers steepled under his chin. He stared at the ceiling, muttering under his breath.

"Sooo, is it safe to talk now?" Amy asked, gingerly sitting down beside him.

"For the most part. Mycroft probably has this place bugged, but it hardly matters as we're going to talk to him anyway," Sherlock said.

The Doctor wandered over to the window. Below the window, a low bookcase held several knick-knacks on its top. The Doctor picked up a green marble paperweight and held it up to the light, examining it closely.

"What did Dean tell you that he didn't tell us?" Sherlock asked him.

The Doctor carefully replaced the globe. "Nothing important. Not surprised you caught that. Dean's a very good liar, but the eyes will give it away every single time."

"And yet that was his only mistake. Yes, he's a very good liar indeed," Sherlock muttered. "As are you, Doctor."

The alien shrugged. "I've had lots of practice."

Amy frowned. John noticed that the Doctor avoided her gaze as he sat down beside her. That's not telling at all, nope. I wonder what else we're going to find out about our companions before this mess gets straightened out?

The door opened, and Mycroft walked in, wiping his face with the edge of a towel draped over one shoulder. He was wearing his workout gear and breathing a bit heavier than usual. "Didn't expect you back so soon, Sherlock."

"Did you expect me back at all?" Sherlock retorted.

Mycroft walked to the bookcase and straightened the paperweight a hair, then sat down behind his desk. "Sit down, John, and stop looking like you're a rabbit about to get run over by a lorry."

John sighed and sat down.

Mycroft redirected his attention to Amy and the Doctor, and his eyes narrowed. "I don't believe we've met?"

"This is Amy Williams and her friend, the Doctor," Sherlock said. "And don't ignore me, Mycroft, it's not going to make the problem go away."

Mycroft's eyes narrowed even further. "The Doctor? As in the Doctor attached to Torchwood and UNIT?"

The Doctor smiled nervously, his eyebrows nearly meeting his hairline. "Not used to having people know quite this much about me."

"Obviously. I'll repeat what I said to John—you can stop looking like a rabbit." Finally, he looked over at Sherlock and faked a smile. "Brother. How was the vacation in the country?"

"Mmm, let's go with educational, shall we?"

"Hardly surprising. I told you there was something strange about those killings."

"Hardly the point, don't you think."

Mycroft leaned forward. As he laced his fingers together, John noticed his hands were shaking.

"You feeling all right?" John asked. "You're shaking."

Sherlock dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand. "Been enjoying your sweets too much again, Mycroft?"

"Someone has to counteract your sour lemons, Sherlock."

"Hilarious." Sherlock's face was perfectly straight. "Now, are you going to confess that you sent me on that case purely to distract me from the fact that Moriarty is alive?" He held up his hands to forestall his brother's objection. "I know he's alive, Mycroft. We have evidence that shows he kidnapped Amy's husband Rory earlier this evening."

Mycroft looked down his long nose at Amy and, for a very brief second, sneered. "I don't think I understand why Moriarty would bother with someone so…insignificant. No offense intended, you understand, Mrs. Williams."

"Oh, no, none taken," Amy said drily.

John laughed and tried to disguise it as a cough, pressing a hand to his mouth to hide his grin.

"Maybe because of me?" the Doctor asked.

"Possibly," Mycroft said, though his tone made it obvious that he thought it impossible.

The two brothers remained silent for a moment, eyeing each other over Mycroft's desk. One pale-haired, posture straight, the other dark-haired and slumped in his chair, both with fingers steepled under their chins. John could almost hear the gears in both their precise, robotic brains humming along, fitting and discarding multiple theories in seconds.

Mycroft broke the stand-off first and picked up a paper knife from the tools on his desk. He selected an envelope from a stack to the side and slit it open. "I take it the serial killer was taken care of?"

Sherlock smirked. "I'd say so, yes."

"Very well. I'll look into this trouble with the Moriarty imposter." He looked at Amy and smiled insincerely. "Sorry for your loss, Mrs. Williams."

"Rory isn't lost just yet," Amy snapped back.

"My apologies, that was an imprecise choice of words." The insincere smile only widened, then Mycroft looked down at the letter in his hands.

John raised his eyebrows. An 'imprecise' choice of words? He didn't even know that either Mycroft or Sherlock understood the meaning of that word.

Sherlock stood, face pinched in a thoughtful look. "Just as a side note, you haven't heard any rumors of a plot against you? To maybe…oh, turn you or anything?"

"Strange choice of words," Mycroft said, not looking up from the letter. "But me? No. Don't be ridiculous. Half of my own country doesn't even know I exist."

"Exactly," Sherlock muttered under his breath. Then, "Do let me know as soon as possible about Rory. I probably won't be at my flat for a few days, but you can leave a message with Mrs. Hudson."

Mycroft didn't acknowledge them as they filed out into the hallway after Sherlock. One of the club's waiters closed the doors behind them and eyed them disapprovingly. Sherlock glared at the man until he walked away, then snorted.

"That was a marvelous waste of time," Amy said angrily. "And what does he mean, just dismissing Rory's disappearance like that? Doesn't he believe you, Sherlock?"

"Now, probably less than ever," Sherlock said. "But the visit was…informative, in its own way."

Something clicked in John's mind. "The 'imprecise' choice of words?"

"Exactly." Sherlock looked over at the Doctor and Amy. "You called him on it, Amy, and he had to scramble to make something up, and that's where he slipped. Whatever that thing in there is, whoever it is…it isn't Mycroft."