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“There will be medics at the secure location you are being brought to, little brother. You have to be kept safe. Beware it might take a while. We need a bait, so to speak, and Dr. Watson has become our chosen volunteer. He is a lot more able without distractions. Your unexpected absence has made him a little more impressionable. He will be returned to you without damage.”
Sherlock understands where Mycroft got his ‘Ice Man’ title from.
“Whose phone are you calling from, Sherlock?”
“Whose phone do you think? I nicked Moriarty’s when he tried to get me out of there.”
When he hears the news about John, his voice gets dangerously quiet.
“You will not send him out as bait, Mycroft, as you can not guarantee his unharmed return, no matter what you say. That is unacceptable. Why do you always feel the need to test his loyalties?”
MEANWHILE…
John receives the package containing the coroner’s report. He reads through it, and when he recognizes the name, his heart sinks. Sherlock…dead? It didn’t compute. John flexes his left hand unconsciously, like he used to warm up before pulling a trigger on a gun.
He picks up his phone and calls the number Mycroft gave him in case of emergencies, the one that rings directly to Mycroft. When it rings out, he bites the inside of his cheek and dials again. Mycroft rarely ignored his line. In the few times John had used it, Mycroft had picked up on the first ring.
When the voicemail picks up, John clicks the end button and tries a third time, drumming his fingers on the desk, willing Mycroft to pick up.
(OOC: Oui, bien sur. Also, please keep S quiet)
“I am not testing his loyalties, Sherlock. I am testing yours. I have been assured by one of your admirers that you will never break his game with you. Not without consequence. You are about to break it, Sherlock, to end this pointless confrontation,” Mycroft hisses. Deep down, he knows he sounds like their mother, but right now he cannot care. If his plan does not work out, he has put countless vulnerable things in the view of the greatest criminal of this time. He might not get away lightly, no matter how powerful and well connected he is. Not from this one.
He feels his phone vibrate in his pocket and he holds up his hand as he fishes it out. “Hush,” he said belittlingly, hoping it’ll send Sherlock into a nice quiet sulk when he sees who is calling him.
He reads the number, notes the two missed calls. Dr. Watson has received his report then. He braces himself and calls him back.
“Hello. You called?”
“He won’t quit if he ever finds out I am alive,” Sherlock replies, his voice still dangerous. ”And you are going to hurt John by making him think I am dead. Where is this secure location? My leg is hurting, and I already feel like I’ve been in here for hours.” He knows if he can’t change Mycroft’s mind, the least he can do is annoy the hell out of Mycroft, and Mycroft might give in.
When Mycroft holds his hand up, Sherlock folds his arms and pouts. He glares at him for several minutes, before turning to look out the window, quietly muttering to himself about ‘stupid brothers.’ It won’t be picked up by the phone.
SWITCH
John’s phone rings, showing Mycroft’s number and he picks up the phone.
“Is Moriarty dead?” the question is out of John’s mouth as soon as he picks up the phone. ”Is Sherlock really dead? This isn’t one of your tricks? I know what you’re capable of, Mycroft Holmes, so be plain with me. If Moriarty isn’t dead, what can I do to eliminate him?” John wants revenge on the person he is sure was the cause of Sherlock’s death.
(OOC: The only thing I will ask is that you don’t refer to John by name, because that is more than likely to set Sherlock off. (OMG I talk like these characters have a mind of their own within my head. What have you all done to me?))
(OOC: MY THOUGHTS EXACTLY, MY DEAR LOVELY WATSON. Also, thank you for playing RIGHT into my plot)
Mycroft lets out a pained sigh.
“Would I lie to you about that? Do you honestly wish to pain me about,” he allows his voice to break slightly, pulling a face at Sherlock to show he’s acting and that his little brother is to stay quiet, “Please, there was nothing I could do.”
His breath hitches and he leaves a few second of silence to pull himself together.
“He is still alive. Yes, I know —, you shouldn’t.. No, you couldn’t.”
He fakes conversation on the other side, when the line is only letting him hear John’s breathing, growing more unsteady by the second.
“I’m sorry,” he says, “Let me call you back later. I’m in the car, you see.”
“Mycroft Holmes don’t you dare hang up on me!” John growls menacingly, but it’s cut off. Mycroft had done just that.
John storms out of his office. He jams the button in the lift, nearly hurting his thumb. He punches the number in on his phone for his boss.
“I have to leave. It’s an emergency. I just…there’s been a death…” His mind is racing as he tries to breathe steadily. The man on the other line lets him go.
John doesn’t look as he darts out of the elevator, and full on collides with Molly.
“John!” she cries, papers flying everywhere. ”I’m so sorry, my fault, I wasn’t looking.” John’s brain clears for an instant, and he looks at Molly.
“Oh, no. My fault. My mind is just…you probably heard the news…” He trails off.
(If you feel like doing something with Molly, go ahead. Otherwise I’ll continue in the next post.)
SWITCH!
Sherlock pulls his gaze from the window as his brother ends the call.
“You are going to hurt him, Mycroft. He is going to be reckless with the news of my death. I don’t know what kind of game you’re trying to play, but it’s not going to work. You’ve just turned John into a wild card, and not in a good way.”
Sherlock is obviously not happy, but there is truth to what he is saying.
(OOC: You’re welcome, I guess? Just trying to stay IC. FEEEEEEELLLLSSSS. Also, Sherlock’s triggers are really easy for me to know, for some reason, so I kind of figure Mycroft knows them, at least to some extent. Just had to make sure. xD)
“I control enough factors of this game to compensate for any ideas he might get. Is that not what is important? Getting one’s head around enough factors of the game to win it. Calculate action and reaction and act accordingly? Is that or is that not the game you play, Sherlock,” he hisses.
He is silent for a minute to calm his nerves and looks out the window.
“We’re nearly at the house. With your injuries, I expect you will not be able to move about independently for at least a week and then with difficulty for another four. Terrence is coming to look after you. I’m sure you would enjoy meeting an old acquaintance.”
He looks up.
“If you were considering escaping,” he laughs softly, “please don’t. You will merely be wasting man power.”
(OOC: ICE MAN)
(OOC: ASLK;DKJFG;ADSLFG;H PERFECT MYCROFT IS PERFECT.)
“I don’t like Terrence. You know that.” He mumbles for a couple of minutes before returning his attention to his brother. ”And you don’t understand, Mycroft. John does not play by anyone’s rules but his own. You didn’t see him at…” The words hang between them. ‘The Pool.’ ”He was willing to give his life to save me. Now that he believes I am dead, nothing, and I mean nothing will stop him from doing what he thinks is right. He…when is my funeral?” Sherlock changes the subject suddenly. He’d like to be there…he can think of a few who would come, but not many.
SWITCH
Molly looks at John curiously.
“What news?” she asks. John shoots her a look filled with pain and sadness.
“Sherlock is…” he can’t bring himself to say the words, it makes it feel to real. “He’s…” he tries again. Molly’s eyes widen.
“No, not Sherlock. Are you sure?” John just hands her the coroner’s report in response. Molly skims it.
“I have to go,” John says, snatching the report back and jogging out of the hospital. ”I’m sorry Molly!” he calls over his shoulder.
“Dr. Watson’s undiluted reaction is exactly what I acquire. I merely have to provide him with a target,” Mycroft says, “Really, it’s awfully slow of you not to realise.”
He taps something into his phone.
“Your funeral? Oh, I haven’t looked into it yet. You have only just been crushed, after all,” the smile that follows is cold and croquet and his jaw is tense. “I shall ensure he is there. As will Mrs. Hudson, she’ll need to support the good man.”
He knows he’s riling Sherlock up for no reason and against his own rules, but it’s too easy. Payback for those times he called him fat or mocked him for his career choice or his assistants.
Sherlock feels his anger boiling, and he locks his jaw. They hit a bump that jostles his bad leg and he can’t help the sudden cry of pain. He glares at Mycroft.
“You. Don’t. Understand, Mycroft. This is John. Not one of your pawns. You think this is chess, but it’s not.” His tone is dark and low, and his jaw is clenched so he can talk through the pain. ”John can control his anger. He was a soldier. You know that. But he will be reckless, and he will get hurt, and you will be lucky. You hear me? Lucky. IF you can even contact him after too long.”
“I will attend my funeral.” He states. There is no question in his voice. ”You will ensure that I can.” The look he gives Mycroft is a challenge.
SWITCH
John catches the tube back to Baker Street, mind still racing. Sherlock is dead. Sherlock is dead. Because of, and he’s sure of it, Moriarty. Not to mention Mycroft letting him leave. His anger is boiling in his veins, but he contains it. He heads for his room, sits on his bed, and thinks. Moriarty will die, yes, and so will Sebastian. They will pay for Sherlock’s life. And Mycroft…Mycroft will get a little slice of that, too, for letting Sherlock leave.
Mycroft weighs the idea in his head silently. Sherlock attending the funeral would not necessarily disrupt anything if John would move fast enough.
“Yes, of course,” he answers, carefully forming his tone so it sounds like that’d been the plan the entire time. Control, control was essential now. John would take down Moriarty, easy as. Then Sherlock could be reinstalled in 221B with his jumpered friend, his surveillance costs significantly reduced and that would get his boss off his back. Even the British government has to have a boss, after all.
“The fact that John Watson is a soldier works in our favour, little brother. He is trained to listen to commands and surely the commands of the brother of his recently deceased room mate would be worth following.”
He smiles internally, he loves it when his plans work out.
Sherlock shakes his head at Mycroft’s talk of John. John is not what Mycroft thinks of him. John may be loyal to Sherlock, but he was not loyal to Mycroft. And John would be angry with Mycroft as well, he knew.
Sherlock is pleased when he is allowed to visit his funeral. It even eases his mind about having to deal with Terrence. (OOC: I don’t know who Terrence is, but Sherlock has decided that he doesn’t like him. I’ll maybe try to worm the backstory out of him later)
SWITCH
John waits a couple of minutes in 221B, catching his breath before dialing Mycroft again as he leaves the flat. He doesn’t want to be where…he shakes his head, forcing the thought from his mind. He hails a cab to take him to the train station. He needs to think, needs to plan. So he’s going to take Mycroft up on his offer. He’ll go to Mycroft’s country house. He dials Mycroft’s number again, and holds the phone to his ear, waiting as the phone rings.
(OOC: Sorry, not much I could come up with. Although the gears are really turning in his head.)
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“There will be medics at the secure location you are being brought to, little brother. You have to be kept safe. Beware it might take a while. We need a bait, so to speak, and Dr. Watson has become our chosen volunteer. He is a lot more able without distractions. Your unexpected absence has made him a little more impressionable. He will be returned to you without damage.”
Sherlock understands where Mycroft got his ‘Ice Man’ title from.
“Whose phone are you calling from, Sherlock?”
“Whose phone do you think? I nicked Moriarty’s when he tried to get me out of there.”
When he hears the news about John, his voice gets dangerously quiet.
“You will not send him out as bait, Mycroft, as you can not guarantee his unharmed return, no matter what you say. That is unacceptable. Why do you always feel the need to test his loyalties?”
MEANWHILE…
John receives the package containing the coroner’s report. He reads through it, and when he recognizes the name, his heart sinks. Sherlock…dead? It didn’t compute. John flexes his left hand unconsciously, like he used to warm up before pulling a trigger on a gun.
He picks up his phone and calls the number Mycroft gave him in case of emergencies, the one that rings directly to Mycroft. When it rings out, he bites the inside of his cheek and dials again. Mycroft rarely ignored his line. In the few times John had used it, Mycroft had picked up on the first ring.
When the voicemail picks up, John clicks the end button and tries a third time, drumming his fingers on the desk, willing Mycroft to pick up.
(OOC: Oui, bien sur. Also, please keep S quiet)
“I am not testing his loyalties, Sherlock. I am testing yours. I have been assured by one of your admirers that you will never break his game with you. Not without consequence. You are about to break it, Sherlock, to end this pointless confrontation,” Mycroft hisses. Deep down, he knows he sounds like their mother, but right now he cannot care. If his plan does not work out, he has put countless vulnerable things in the view of the greatest criminal of this time. He might not get away lightly, no matter how powerful and well connected he is. Not from this one.
He feels his phone vibrate in his pocket and he holds up his hand as he fishes it out. “Hush,” he said belittlingly, hoping it’ll send Sherlock into a nice quiet sulk when he sees who is calling him.
He reads the number, notes the two missed calls. Dr. Watson has received his report then. He braces himself and calls him back.
“Hello. You called?”
“He won’t quit if he ever finds out I am alive,” Sherlock replies, his voice still dangerous. ”And you are going to hurt John by making him think I am dead. Where is this secure location? My leg is hurting, and I already feel like I’ve been in here for hours.” He knows if he can’t change Mycroft’s mind, the least he can do is annoy the hell out of Mycroft, and Mycroft might give in.
When Mycroft holds his hand up, Sherlock folds his arms and pouts. He glares at him for several minutes, before turning to look out the window, quietly muttering to himself about ‘stupid brothers.’ It won’t be picked up by the phone.
SWITCH
John’s phone rings, showing Mycroft’s number and he picks up the phone.
“Is Moriarty dead?” the question is out of John’s mouth as soon as he picks up the phone. ”Is Sherlock really dead? This isn’t one of your tricks? I know what you’re capable of, Mycroft Holmes, so be plain with me. If Moriarty isn’t dead, what can I do to eliminate him?” John wants revenge on the person he is sure was the cause of Sherlock’s death.
(OOC: The only thing I will ask is that you don’t refer to John by name, because that is more than likely to set Sherlock off. (OMG I talk like these characters have a mind of their own within my head. What have you all done to me?))
(OOC: MY THOUGHTS EXACTLY, MY DEAR LOVELY WATSON. Also, thank you for playing RIGHT into my plot)
Mycroft lets out a pained sigh.
“Would I lie to you about that? Do you honestly wish to pain me about,” he allows his voice to break slightly, pulling a face at Sherlock to show he’s acting and that his little brother is to stay quiet, “Please, there was nothing I could do.”
His breath hitches and he leaves a few second of silence to pull himself together.
“He is still alive. Yes, I know —, you shouldn’t.. No, you couldn’t.”
He fakes conversation on the other side, when the line is only letting him hear John’s breathing, growing more unsteady by the second.
“I’m sorry,” he says, “Let me call you back later. I’m in the car, you see.”
“Mycroft Holmes don’t you dare hang up on me!” John growls menacingly, but it’s cut off. Mycroft had done just that.
John storms out of his office. He jams the button in the lift, nearly hurting his thumb. He punches the number in on his phone for his boss.
“I have to leave. It’s an emergency. I just…there’s been a death…” His mind is racing as he tries to breathe steadily. The man on the other line lets him go.
John doesn’t look as he darts out of the elevator, and full on collides with Molly.
“John!” she cries, papers flying everywhere. ”I’m so sorry, my fault, I wasn’t looking.” John’s brain clears for an instant, and he looks at Molly.
“Oh, no. My fault. My mind is just…you probably heard the news…” He trails off.
(If you feel like doing something with Molly, go ahead. Otherwise I’ll continue in the next post.)
SWITCH!
Sherlock pulls his gaze from the window as his brother ends the call.
“You are going to hurt him, Mycroft. He is going to be reckless with the news of my death. I don’t know what kind of game you’re trying to play, but it’s not going to work. You’ve just turned John into a wild card, and not in a good way.”
Sherlock is obviously not happy, but there is truth to what he is saying.
(OOC: You’re welcome, I guess? Just trying to stay IC. FEEEEEEELLLLSSSS. Also, Sherlock’s triggers are really easy for me to know, for some reason, so I kind of figure Mycroft knows them, at least to some extent. Just had to make sure. xD)
“I control enough factors of this game to compensate for any ideas he might get. Is that not what is important? Getting one’s head around enough factors of the game to win it. Calculate action and reaction and act accordingly? Is that or is that not the game you play, Sherlock,” he hisses.
He is silent for a minute to calm his nerves and looks out the window.
“We’re nearly at the house. With your injuries, I expect you will not be able to move about independently for at least a week and then with difficulty for another four. Terrence is coming to look after you. I’m sure you would enjoy meeting an old acquaintance.”
He looks up.
“If you were considering escaping,” he laughs softly, “please don’t. You will merely be wasting man power.”
(OOC: ICE MAN)
(OOC: ASLK;DKJFG;ADSLFG;H PERFECT MYCROFT IS PERFECT.)
“I don’t like Terrence. You know that.” He mumbles for a couple of minutes before returning his attention to his brother. ”And you don’t understand, Mycroft. John does not play by anyone’s rules but his own. You didn’t see him at…” The words hang between them. ‘The Pool.’ ”He was willing to give his life to save me. Now that he believes I am dead, nothing, and I mean nothing will stop him from doing what he thinks is right. He…when is my funeral?” Sherlock changes the subject suddenly. He’d like to be there…he can think of a few who would come, but not many.
SWITCH
Molly looks at John curiously.
“What news?” she asks. John shoots her a look filled with pain and sadness.
“Sherlock is…” he can’t bring himself to say the words, it makes it feel to real. “He’s…” he tries again. Molly’s eyes widen.
“No, not Sherlock. Are you sure?” John just hands her the coroner’s report in response. Molly skims it.
“I have to go,” John says, snatching the report back and jogging out of the hospital. ”I’m sorry Molly!” he calls over his shoulder.
“Dr. Watson’s undiluted reaction is exactly what I acquire. I merely have to provide him with a target,” Mycroft says, “Really, it’s awfully slow of you not to realise.”
He taps something into his phone.
“Your funeral? Oh, I haven’t looked into it yet. You have only just been crushed, after all,” the smile that follows is cold and croquet and his jaw is tense. “I shall ensure he is there. As will Mrs. Hudson, she’ll need to support the good man.”
He knows he’s riling Sherlock up for no reason and against his own rules, but it’s too easy. Payback for those times he called him fat or mocked him for his career choice or his assistants.
Sherlock feels his anger boiling, and he locks his jaw. They hit a bump that jostles his bad leg and he can’t help the sudden cry of pain. He glares at Mycroft.
“You. Don’t. Understand, Mycroft. This is John. Not one of your pawns. You think this is chess, but it’s not.” His tone is dark and low, and his jaw is clenched so he can talk through the pain. ”John can control his anger. He was a soldier. You know that. But he will be reckless, and he will get hurt, and you will be lucky. You hear me? Lucky. IF you can even contact him after too long.”
“I will attend my funeral.” He states. There is no question in his voice. ”You will ensure that I can.” The look he gives Mycroft is a challenge.
SWITCH
John catches the tube back to Baker Street, mind still racing. Sherlock is dead. Sherlock is dead. Because of, and he’s sure of it, Moriarty. Not to mention Mycroft letting him leave. His anger is boiling in his veins, but he contains it. He heads for his room, sits on his bed, and thinks. Moriarty will die, yes, and so will Sebastian. They will pay for Sherlock’s life. And Mycroft…Mycroft will get a little slice of that, too, for letting Sherlock leave.
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sherlockofbakerstreet:
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“There will be medics at the secure location you are being brought to, little brother. You have to be kept safe. Beware it might take a while. We need a bait, so to speak, and Dr. Watson has become our chosen volunteer. He is a lot more able without distractions. Your unexpected absence has made him a little more impressionable. He will be returned to you without damage.”
Sherlock understands where Mycroft got his ‘Ice Man’ title from.
“Whose phone are you calling from, Sherlock?”
“Whose phone do you think? I nicked Moriarty’s when he tried to get me out of there.”
When he hears the news about John, his voice gets dangerously quiet.
“You will not send him out as bait, Mycroft, as you can not guarantee his unharmed return, no matter what you say. That is unacceptable. Why do you always feel the need to test his loyalties?”
MEANWHILE…
John receives the package containing the coroner’s report. He reads through it, and when he recognizes the name, his heart sinks. Sherlock…dead? It didn’t compute. John flexes his left hand unconsciously, like he used to warm up before pulling a trigger on a gun.
He picks up his phone and calls the number Mycroft gave him in case of emergencies, the one that rings directly to Mycroft. When it rings out, he bites the inside of his cheek and dials again. Mycroft rarely ignored his line. In the few times John had used it, Mycroft had picked up on the first ring.
When the voicemail picks up, John clicks the end button and tries a third time, drumming his fingers on the desk, willing Mycroft to pick up.
(OOC: Oui, bien sur. Also, please keep S quiet)
“I am not testing his loyalties, Sherlock. I am testing yours. I have been assured by one of your admirers that you will never break his game with you. Not without consequence. You are about to break it, Sherlock, to end this pointless confrontation,” Mycroft hisses. Deep down, he knows he sounds like their mother, but right now he cannot care. If his plan does not work out, he has put countless vulnerable things in the view of the greatest criminal of this time. He might not get away lightly, no matter how powerful and well connected he is. Not from this one.
He feels his phone vibrate in his pocket and he holds up his hand as he fishes it out. “Hush,” he said belittlingly, hoping it’ll send Sherlock into a nice quiet sulk when he sees who is calling him.
He reads the number, notes the two missed calls. Dr. Watson has received his report then. He braces himself and calls him back.
“Hello. You called?”
“He won’t quit if he ever finds out I am alive,” Sherlock replies, his voice still dangerous. ”And you are going to hurt John by making him think I am dead. Where is this secure location? My leg is hurting, and I already feel like I’ve been in here for hours.” He knows if he can’t change Mycroft’s mind, the least he can do is annoy the hell out of Mycroft, and Mycroft might give in.
When Mycroft holds his hand up, Sherlock folds his arms and pouts. He glares at him for several minutes, before turning to look out the window, quietly muttering to himself about ‘stupid brothers.’ It won’t be picked up by the phone.
SWITCH
John’s phone rings, showing Mycroft’s number and he picks up the phone.
“Is Moriarty dead?” the question is out of John’s mouth as soon as he picks up the phone. ”Is Sherlock really dead? This isn’t one of your tricks? I know what you’re capable of, Mycroft Holmes, so be plain with me. If Moriarty isn’t dead, what can I do to eliminate him?” John wants revenge on the person he is sure was the cause of Sherlock’s death.
(OOC: The only thing I will ask is that you don’t refer to John by name, because that is more than likely to set Sherlock off. (OMG I talk like these characters have a mind of their own within my head. What have you all done to me?))
(OOC: MY THOUGHTS EXACTLY, MY DEAR LOVELY WATSON. Also, thank you for playing RIGHT into my plot)
Mycroft lets out a pained sigh.
“Would I lie to you about that? Do you honestly wish to pain me about,” he allows his voice to break slightly, pulling a face at Sherlock to show he’s acting and that his little brother is to stay quiet, “Please, there was nothing I could do.”
His breath hitches and he leaves a few second of silence to pull himself together.
“He is still alive. Yes, I know —, you shouldn’t.. No, you couldn’t.”
He fakes conversation on the other side, when the line is only letting him hear John’s breathing, growing more unsteady by the second.
“I’m sorry,” he says, “Let me call you back later. I’m in the car, you see.”
“Mycroft Holmes don’t you dare hang up on me!” John growls menacingly, but it’s cut off. Mycroft had done just that.
John storms out of his office. He jams the button in the lift, nearly hurting his thumb. He punches the number in on his phone for his boss.
“I have to leave. It’s an emergency. I just…there’s been a death…” His mind is racing as he tries to breathe steadily. The man on the other line lets him go.
John doesn’t look as he darts out of the elevator, and full on collides with Molly.
“John!” she cries, papers flying everywhere. ”I’m so sorry, my fault, I wasn’t looking.” John’s brain clears for an instant, and he looks at Molly.
“Oh, no. My fault. My mind is just…you probably heard the news…” He trails off.
(If you feel like doing something with Molly, go ahead. Otherwise I’ll continue in the next post.)
SWITCH!
Sherlock pulls his gaze from the window as his brother ends the call.
“You are going to hurt him, Mycroft. He is going to be reckless with the news of my death. I don’t know what kind of game you’re trying to play, but it’s not going to work. You’ve just turned John into a wild card, and not in a good way.”
Sherlock is obviously not happy, but there is truth to what he is saying.
(OOC: You’re welcome, I guess? Just trying to stay IC. FEEEEEEELLLLSSSS. Also, Sherlock’s triggers are really easy for me to know, for some reason, so I kind of figure Mycroft knows them, at least to some extent. Just had to make sure. xD)
“I control enough factors of this game to compensate for any ideas he might get. Is that not what is important? Getting one’s head around enough factors of the game to win it. Calculate action and reaction and act accordingly? Is that or is that not the game you play, Sherlock,” he hisses.
He is silent for a minute to calm his nerves and looks out the window.
“We’re nearly at the house. With your injuries, I expect you will not be able to move about independently for at least a week and then with difficulty for another four. Terrence is coming to look after you. I’m sure you would enjoy meeting an old acquaintance.”
He looks up.
“If you were considering escaping,” he laughs softly, “please don’t. You will merely be wasting man power.”
(OOC: ICE MAN)
(OOC: ASLK;DKJFG;ADSLFG;H PERFECT MYCROFT IS PERFECT.)
“I don’t like Terrence. You know that.” He mumbles for a couple of minutes before returning his attention to his brother. ”And you don’t understand, Mycroft. John does not play by anyone’s rules but his own. You didn’t see him at…” The words hang between them. ‘The Pool.’ ”He was willing to give his life to save me. Now that he believes I am dead, nothing, and I mean nothing will stop him from doing what he thinks is right. He…when is my funeral?” Sherlock changes the subject suddenly. He’d like to be there…he can think of a few who would come, but not many.
SWITCH
Molly looks at John curiously.
“What news?” she asks. John shoots her a look filled with pain and sadness.
“Sherlock is…” he can’t bring himself to say the words, it makes it feel to real. “He’s…” he tries again. Molly’s eyes widen.
“No, not Sherlock. Are you sure?” John just hands her the coroner’s report in response. Molly skims it.
“I have to go,” John says, snatching the report back and jogging out of the hospital. ”I’m sorry Molly!” he calls over his shoulder.
mhoflocationclassified:
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“There will be medics at the secure location you are being brought to, little brother. You have to be kept safe. Beware it might take a while. We need a bait, so to speak, and Dr. Watson has become our chosen volunteer. He is a lot more able without distractions. Your unexpected absence has made him a little more impressionable. He will be returned to you without damage.”
Sherlock understands where Mycroft got his ‘Ice Man’ title from.
“Whose phone are you calling from, Sherlock?”
“Whose phone do you think? I nicked Moriarty’s when he tried to get me out of there.”
When he hears the news about John, his voice gets dangerously quiet.
“You will not send him out as bait, Mycroft, as you can not guarantee his unharmed return, no matter what you say. That is unacceptable. Why do you always feel the need to test his loyalties?”
MEANWHILE…
John receives the package containing the coroner’s report. He reads through it, and when he recognizes the name, his heart sinks. Sherlock…dead? It didn’t compute. John flexes his left hand unconsciously, like he used to warm up before pulling a trigger on a gun.
He picks up his phone and calls the number Mycroft gave him in case of emergencies, the one that rings directly to Mycroft. When it rings out, he bites the inside of his cheek and dials again. Mycroft rarely ignored his line. In the few times John had used it, Mycroft had picked up on the first ring.
When the voicemail picks up, John clicks the end button and tries a third time, drumming his fingers on the desk, willing Mycroft to pick up.
(OOC: Oui, bien sur. Also, please keep S quiet)
“I am not testing his loyalties, Sherlock. I am testing yours. I have been assured by one of your admirers that you will never break his game with you. Not without consequence. You are about to break it, Sherlock, to end this pointless confrontation,” Mycroft hisses. Deep down, he knows he sounds like their mother, but right now he cannot care. If his plan does not work out, he has put countless vulnerable things in the view of the greatest criminal of this time. He might not get away lightly, no matter how powerful and well connected he is. Not from this one.
He feels his phone vibrate in his pocket and he holds up his hand as he fishes it out. “Hush,” he said belittlingly, hoping it’ll send Sherlock into a nice quiet sulk when he sees who is calling him.
He reads the number, notes the two missed calls. Dr. Watson has received his report then. He braces himself and calls him back.
“Hello. You called?”
“He won’t quit if he ever finds out I am alive,” Sherlock replies, his voice still dangerous. ”And you are going to hurt John by making him think I am dead. Where is this secure location? My leg is hurting, and I already feel like I’ve been in here for hours.” He knows if he can’t change Mycroft’s mind, the least he can do is annoy the hell out of Mycroft, and Mycroft might give in.
When Mycroft holds his hand up, Sherlock folds his arms and pouts. He glares at him for several minutes, before turning to look out the window, quietly muttering to himself about ‘stupid brothers.’ It won’t be picked up by the phone.
SWITCH
John’s phone rings, showing Mycroft’s number and he picks up the phone.
“Is Moriarty dead?” the question is out of John’s mouth as soon as he picks up the phone. ”Is Sherlock really dead? This isn’t one of your tricks? I know what you’re capable of, Mycroft Holmes, so be plain with me. If Moriarty isn’t dead, what can I do to eliminate him?” John wants revenge on the person he is sure was the cause of Sherlock’s death.
(OOC: The only thing I will ask is that you don’t refer to John by name, because that is more than likely to set Sherlock off. (OMG I talk like these characters have a mind of their own within my head. What have you all done to me?))
(OOC: MY THOUGHTS EXACTLY, MY DEAR LOVELY WATSON. Also, thank you for playing RIGHT into my plot)
Mycroft lets out a pained sigh.
“Would I lie to you about that? Do you honestly wish to pain me about,” he allows his voice to break slightly, pulling a face at Sherlock to show he’s acting and that his little brother is to stay quiet, “Please, there was nothing I could do.”
His breath hitches and he leaves a few second of silence to pull himself together.
“He is still alive. Yes, I know —, you shouldn’t.. No, you couldn’t.”
He fakes conversation on the other side, when the line is only letting him hear John’s breathing, growing more unsteady by the second.
“I’m sorry,” he says, “Let me call you back later. I’m in the car, you see.”
“Mycroft Holmes don’t you dare hang up on me!” John growls menacingly, but it’s cut off. Mycroft had done just that.
John storms out of his office. He jams the button in the lift, nearly hurting his thumb. He punches the number in on his phone for his boss.
“I have to leave. It’s an emergency. I just…there’s been a death…” His mind is racing as he tries to breathe steadily. The man on the other line lets him go.
John doesn’t look as he darts out of the elevator, and full on collides with Molly.
“John!” she cries, papers flying everywhere. ”I’m so sorry, my fault, I wasn’t looking.” John’s brain clears for an instant, and he looks at Molly.
“Oh, no. My fault. My mind is just…you probably heard the news…” He trails off.
(If you feel like doing something with Molly, go ahead. Otherwise I’ll continue in the next post.)
SWITCH!
Sherlock pulls his gaze from the window as his brother ends the call.
“You are going to hurt him, Mycroft. He is going to be reckless with the news of my death. I don’t know what kind of game you’re trying to play, but it’s not going to work. You’ve just turned John into a wild card, and not in a good way.”
Sherlock is obviously not happy, but there is truth to what he is saying.
(OOC: You’re welcome, I guess? Just trying to stay IC. FEEEEEEELLLLSSSS. Also, Sherlock’s triggers are really easy for me to know, for some reason, so I kind of figure Mycroft knows them, at least to some extent. Just had to make sure. xD)
mhoflocationclassified:
sherlockofbakerstreet:
“There will be medics at the secure location you are being brought to, little brother. You have to be kept safe. Beware it might take a while. We need a bait, so to speak, and Dr. Watson has become our chosen volunteer. He is a lot more able without distractions. Your unexpected absence has made him a little more impressionable. He will be returned to you without damage.”
Sherlock understands where Mycroft got his ‘Ice Man’ title from.
“Whose phone are you calling from, Sherlock?”
“Whose phone do you think? I nicked Moriarty’s when he tried to get me out of there.”
When he hears the news about John, his voice gets dangerously quiet.
“You will not send him out as bait, Mycroft, as you can not guarantee his unharmed return, no matter what you say. That is unacceptable. Why do you always feel the need to test his loyalties?”
MEANWHILE…
John receives the package containing the coroner’s report. He reads through it, and when he recognizes the name, his heart sinks. Sherlock…dead? It didn’t compute. John flexes his left hand unconsciously, like he used to warm up before pulling a trigger on a gun.
He picks up his phone and calls the number Mycroft gave him in case of emergencies, the one that rings directly to Mycroft. When it rings out, he bites the inside of his cheek and dials again. Mycroft rarely ignored his line. In the few times John had used it, Mycroft had picked up on the first ring.
When the voicemail picks up, John clicks the end button and tries a third time, drumming his fingers on the desk, willing Mycroft to pick up.
(OOC: Oui, bien sur. Also, please keep S quiet)
“I am not testing his loyalties, Sherlock. I am testing yours. I have been assured by one of your admirers that you will never break his game with you. Not without consequence. You are about to break it, Sherlock, to end this pointless confrontation,” Mycroft hisses. Deep down, he knows he sounds like their mother, but right now he cannot care. If his plan does not work out, he has put countless vulnerable things in the view of the greatest criminal of this time. He might not get away lightly, no matter how powerful and well connected he is. Not from this one.
He feels his phone vibrate in his pocket and he holds up his hand as he fishes it out. “Hush,” he said belittlingly, hoping it’ll send Sherlock into a nice quiet sulk when he sees who is calling him.
He reads the number, notes the two missed calls. Dr. Watson has received his report then. He braces himself and calls him back.
“Hello. You called?”
“He won’t quit if he ever finds out I am alive,” Sherlock replies, his voice still dangerous. ”And you are going to hurt John by making him think I am dead. Where is this secure location? My leg is hurting, and I already feel like I’ve been in here for hours.” He knows if he can’t change Mycroft’s mind, the least he can do is annoy the hell out of Mycroft, and Mycroft might give in.
When Mycroft holds his hand up, Sherlock folds his arms and pouts. He glares at him for several minutes, before turning to look out the window, quietly muttering to himself about ‘stupid brothers.’ It won’t be picked up by the phone.
SWITCH
John’s phone rings, showing Mycroft’s number and he picks up the phone.
“Is Moriarty dead?” the question is out of John’s mouth as soon as he picks up the phone. ”Is Sherlock really dead? This isn’t one of your tricks? I know what you’re capable of, Mycroft Holmes, so be plain with me. If Moriarty isn’t dead, what can I do to eliminate him?” John wants revenge on the person he is sure was the cause of Sherlock’s death.
(OOC: The only thing I will ask is that you don’t refer to John by name, because that is more than likely to set Sherlock off. (OMG I talk like these characters have a mind of their own within my head. What have you all done to me?))
“There will be medics at the secure location you are being brought to, little brother. You have to be kept safe. Beware it might take a while. We need a bait, so to speak, and Dr. Watson has become our chosen volunteer. He is a lot more able without distractions. Your unexpected absence has made him a little more impressionable. He will be returned to you without damage.”
Sherlock understands where Mycroft got his ‘Ice Man’ title from.
“Whose phone are you calling from, Sherlock?”
“Whose phone do you think? I nicked Moriarty’s when he tried to get me out of there.”
When he hears the news about John, his voice gets dangerously quiet.
“You will not send him out as bait, Mycroft, as you can not guarantee his unharmed return, no matter what you say. That is unacceptable. Why do you always feel the need to test his loyalties?”
MEANWHILE…
John receives the package containing the coroner’s report. He reads through it, and when he recognizes the name, his heart sinks. Sherlock…dead? It didn’t compute. John flexes his left hand unconsciously, like he used to warm up before pulling a trigger on a gun.
He picks up his phone and calls the number Mycroft gave him in case of emergencies, the one that rings directly to Mycroft. When it rings out, he bites the inside of his cheek and dials again. Mycroft rarely ignored his line. In the few times John had used it, Mycroft had picked up on the first ring.
When the voicemail picks up, John clicks the end button and tries a third time, drumming his fingers on the desk, willing Mycroft to pick up.
Found something that might interest you, dear brother.
mhoflocationclassified:
sherlockofbakerstreet:
mhoflocationclassified:
sherlockofbakerstreet:
mhoflocationclassified:
sherlockofbakerstreet:
mhoflocationclassified:
sherlockofbakerstreet:
mhoflocationclassified:
sherlockofbakerstreet:
“Anthea. I am informed. People are by the building. It’s under control.” Mycroft says without moving. Lestrade is sitting up in his bed, against the nurse’s advice and Mycroft is standing at a distance from the bed. His phone rings, a bastardised version of the Bad Boys theme song that Greg had put on for the Scotland Yard office, as he speaks.
“The Mate [codename for Sebastian] has been caught inside. Priority as follows: Brother is one, Mate is two, Faceless is three. In the event of Faceless caught alive, I want him alive. Unharmed is not a necessity.” He growls roughly into his phone without greeting, “Don’t leave a mess.”
Outside of the building, Dimmock reels slightly at Mr. Holmes’s commanding tone. He is usually more suggestive than outright ordering. “Yessir,” he says, but the government has already ended the call.
“OK, lads! Get the heat monitors set up.** Stay away from the East wing - it’s unstable, but still standing. There was reported activity in the West wing earlier this afternoon, so we are assuming that is where they were. Priority - SIMMONS: Brother, one. DONNOVAN: Mate, two. REESE: Faceless, three; alive.”
Around him, the team comes into action quicky and silently. Dimmock’s commands are the first words not uttered in whispers. Their presence will certainly be noticed now.
[** For collapsing buildings and shit, they use heat monitors outside of the building to see if there are people inside if it may be too risky for the firemen to go in. If they register ‘life signs’, then personnel is sent in. Otherwise, they don’t risk it. It’s quite new and not used in many forces, because it’s not very reliable.]
Sherlock keeps himself pressed against the wall as he navigates down the corridor. The ceiling continues to fall in as he checks a path Moriarty hadn’t taken him on. He sees a door with the exit sign, and hobbles towards it.
He’s almost there when he stumbles and falls. He starts to get up when another chunk of ceiling falls, cracking his skull, and everything goes black.
Dimmock watches as his team sets up the camera’s all around the outside edge of the West wing. He cannot believe this is what he is doing; surely this is a fireman’s job. Apparently, Mr. Mycroft Holmes only trusts one division and that is Scotland Yard’s homocide team, so he is out here with a team of highly trained policemen.
“All ready, sir!” Donnovan calls.
“Get looking. No one enters the building without my permission.”
Dimmock looks around as he hears tires on the rough parking lot. An ambulance approaches without sirens and its servicemen exit softly, careful not to slam doors. A little late, but nonetheless a thoughtful gesture. Dimmock waves them over.
He isn’t halfway through when Donnovan calls him, “MATE LOCATED SIR! WEST WING, CENTRAL ROOM. CAPTURED UNDERNEATH RUBBISH. CANNOT BE REACHED WITHOUT RISKING PERSONNEL.”
Dimmock immediately leaves his explanation behind and rushes to the screen.
“BROTHER IS PRIORITY ONE,” he screams at Simmons, who is at another screen by another exit. Simmons nods affrimatively.
“Donnovan, take two men to explore. Any risk, ANY RISK and you’re out of there. We have no orders -..”
“BROTHER LOCATED, SIR. BY THE EXIT, CAPTURED AND UNMOVING,” is quickly followed by, “FACELESS FOUND SIR.”
Dimmock springs to action and orders his men into suits.
“CORRECTED. FACELESS NOT FOUND,” Reese corrects quickly, without uttering apology. There is no time now, so Dimmock merely growls lightly and orders his men into the building.
Sherlock comes to slowly, the world around him swimming. The building has stopped shaking for the moment, and he hears people approaching the door.
Then a sharp cracking sound is heard, and he screams at the people to get away, get away from the building.
The hallway he’s in is collapsing, as is, he is pretty sure, the rest of the building. There’s a huge pressure everywhere all of a sudden, and he realizes that he is trapped under layers of rubble. Luck seemed to smile on him, though, as he realized that he’d been caught in a pocket of sorts. But luck was fickle. He realized he only had so much breathing air before he suffocated.
He listened for any kind of noise, but the only sounds that returned to his ears was that of his own breathing, and the quiet beating of his heart.
“COMING DOWN” Dimmock hears from outside and he ushers his employees away from the building.
“MOVE, GUYS!” he screams, “No one is getting hurt on my watch! Get me some diggers, dammit. We’re getting the brother at least.”
His teams moves quickly, someone is on the phone to get a digger and a plan of the building is pulled out. They make a plan, move quickly, take in all the factors.
“MOVE,” Dimmock repeats and the plan is put in action. Diggers move some parts out of the way, not much.
Behind them, a car screeches but the sound is lost to them. They only realise something is wrong when they’re being shot at from the back; clearly Moriarty has his own rescue team.
Sherlock can hear the shouting and the gunshots outside, and he breathes a sigh of relief. If he can hear that much, then he can’t be terribly deep under all the rubble.
He digs in his coat pockets and pulls out a small flashlight, using it to illuminate the small space he is trapped in. He observes the chunks of building around him, and carefully tests which ones have a lot of pressure. He knows he’s close to the exit, if he can shift a few pieces, he’d be able to make himself better heard.
He remembers Moriarty’s phone in his pocket. Pulling it out, he checks to see if he has any signal. One bar. That’s enough to make a call.
He dials Mycroft’s phone this time, after finding it in Moriarty’s contacts. He presses the phone to his ear as it rings.
[OOC: That was NOT crap, Ann, that was BRILLIANT.]
Dimmock isn’t sure where his attention needs to go. He’s on the ground, he knows that, and the dust from the collapsing building is only just settling. They hadn’t seen the shooter, but the sniper has stopped attacking them. A car screeches again and this time they hear it.
“SIMMONS, FOLLOW THAT CAR,” Dimmock springs to action, “take your team.”
“Sir,” Donovan interrupts, “there’s a light.”
“WHAT?” Dimmock snaps.
“A light, sir,” she points at the rubble. Dimmock spins around and yes, a light catches his eye.
“Get there,” he says, but doesn’t come into action himself. Five officers jump off the ground and start digging.
—
Mycroft picks up his phone as it rings and the screen shows a withheld number. He makes a mental note to have the number extracted at a later point.
“Yes?”
“Hello? Mycroft?” Sherlock says as soon as he hears his voice. ”The building collapsed, I’m stuck in a pocket under the rubble, my leg is broken, and I can hear shouting and gunshots. Mind telling me what’s going on out there?”
[OOC: Sorry it’s short. There’s not much to write while I’m trapped. :/]
[ OOC: That’s OK, we just need to wrap up this threat and get Sherlock out :)]
“DI Dimmock is on location with a rescue team, Sherlock,” comes Mycroft’s ‘professional’ voice over the line, “the shooting came from Mr. Moriarty’s rescue team, but they were quickly disposed of and are currently being transported to a safe location.”
He pauses and Sherlock hears soft murmuring in the background; Mycroft has placed his hand over the phone in the hope that Sherlock cannot hear him.
“Be patient, little brother. Everything works out.”
—
Dimmock looks over his employees and mentally crosses some out. He sends them home quickly. Only the most trusted members of his team remain. He is strangely grateful for the distraction of the snipers, because that got rid of part of the team without raising suspicion.
Before they can dig out the brother, he needs something cleared and he collects the three remaining members of his team around him. He looks from Donovan to a small man called Reeds and a junior officer who is his cousin, Terrence.
“Get this clear. Whatever we find underneath the rubble, the following words get out: The brother is deceased.”
Donovan looks like she’s about to question him, but Dimmock is too quick.
“The Government ordered it and we know who kept us employed after the Strattson case,” he threatens, “whatever we find, the brother is dead. If any other word reaches anyone outside this team, you are on your own and the Government generally doesn’t take prisoners.”
He looks over his team again and they nod silently.
“Get him out and get him in a car,” Dimmock orders and his team lifts the last slab that keeps Sherlock from the outside world.
Sherlock blinks as light is suddenly everywhere. He sees Sgt. Donovan standing above him, and grimaces.
“They’ve found me, Mycroft, they’re about to pull me out, now,” he says into the phone. Donovan and a man grab his arms and pull him out slowly. The pain in his leg explodes, and he shouts, causing his rescuers to almost drop him in surprise. The phone is still on, so he knows Mycroft can hear everything that is going on. He grinds his teeth and looks around as they sit him for a moment on the edge of the hole he was in.
Before he can process it, they are lifting him again, gentler this time, but it still hurts his leg as they move it, and he blacks out from the pain for several moments.
When he wakes up, he is still gripping the phone in the back of one of Mycroft’s cars. The screen notifies him that the call is still in progress, and he raises it to his ear again.
“What is going on, Mycroft? Why haven’t they forced me into an ambulance?”
“There will be medics at the secure location you are being brought to, little brother. You have to be kept safe. Beware it might take a while. We need a bait, so to speak, and Dr. Watson has become our chosen volunteer. He is a lot more able without distractions. Your unexpected absence has made him a little more impressionable. He will be returned to you without damage.”
Sherlock understands where Mycroft got his ‘Ice Man’ title from.
“Whose phone are you calling from, Sherlock?”
[OOC: IM SORRY I LIKE EVIL MYCROFT. Also, this is totally OOC for the Mycroft I’ve played so far, but all our characters have .. ‘moodswings’. This is basically the ‘professional’ Mycroft we saw in the airplane in the Scandal episode.]
“Whose phone do you think? I nicked Moriarty’s when he tried to get me out of there.”
When he hears the news about John, his voice gets dangerously quiet.
“You will not send him out as bait, Mycroft, as you can not guarantee his unharmed return, no matter what you say. That is unacceptable. Why do you always feel the need to test his loyalties?”
mhoflocationclassified:
sherlockofbakerstreet:
mhoflocationclassified:
sherlockofbakerstreet:
mhoflocationclassified:
sherlockofbakerstreet:
mhoflocationclassified:
sherlockofbakerstreet:
“Anthea. I am informed. People are by the building. It’s under control.” Mycroft says without moving. Lestrade is sitting up in his bed, against the nurse’s advice and Mycroft is standing at a distance from the bed. His phone rings, a bastardised version of the Bad Boys theme song that Greg had put on for the Scotland Yard office, as he speaks.
“The Mate [codename for Sebastian] has been caught inside. Priority as follows: Brother is one, Mate is two, Faceless is three. In the event of Faceless caught alive, I want him alive. Unharmed is not a necessity.” He growls roughly into his phone without greeting, “Don’t leave a mess.”
Outside of the building, Dimmock reels slightly at Mr. Holmes’s commanding tone. He is usually more suggestive than outright ordering. “Yessir,” he says, but the government has already ended the call.
“OK, lads! Get the heat monitors set up.** Stay away from the East wing - it’s unstable, but still standing. There was reported activity in the West wing earlier this afternoon, so we are assuming that is where they were. Priority - SIMMONS: Brother, one. DONNOVAN: Mate, two. REESE: Faceless, three; alive.”
Around him, the team comes into action quicky and silently. Dimmock’s commands are the first words not uttered in whispers. Their presence will certainly be noticed now.
[** For collapsing buildings and shit, they use heat monitors outside of the building to see if there are people inside if it may be too risky for the firemen to go in. If they register ‘life signs’, then personnel is sent in. Otherwise, they don’t risk it. It’s quite new and not used in many forces, because it’s not very reliable.]
Sherlock keeps himself pressed against the wall as he navigates down the corridor. The ceiling continues to fall in as he checks a path Moriarty hadn’t taken him on. He sees a door with the exit sign, and hobbles towards it.
He’s almost there when he stumbles and falls. He starts to get up when another chunk of ceiling falls, cracking his skull, and everything goes black.
Dimmock watches as his team sets up the camera’s all around the outside edge of the West wing. He cannot believe this is what he is doing; surely this is a fireman’s job. Apparently, Mr. Mycroft Holmes only trusts one division and that is Scotland Yard’s homocide team, so he is out here with a team of highly trained policemen.
“All ready, sir!” Donnovan calls.
“Get looking. No one enters the building without my permission.”
Dimmock looks around as he hears tires on the rough parking lot. An ambulance approaches without sirens and its servicemen exit softly, careful not to slam doors. A little late, but nonetheless a thoughtful gesture. Dimmock waves them over.
He isn’t halfway through when Donnovan calls him, “MATE LOCATED SIR! WEST WING, CENTRAL ROOM. CAPTURED UNDERNEATH RUBBISH. CANNOT BE REACHED WITHOUT RISKING PERSONNEL.”
Dimmock immediately leaves his explanation behind and rushes to the screen.
“BROTHER IS PRIORITY ONE,” he screams at Simmons, who is at another screen by another exit. Simmons nods affrimatively.
“Donnovan, take two men to explore. Any risk, ANY RISK and you’re out of there. We have no orders -..”
“BROTHER LOCATED, SIR. BY THE EXIT, CAPTURED AND UNMOVING,” is quickly followed by, “FACELESS FOUND SIR.”
Dimmock springs to action and orders his men into suits.
“CORRECTED. FACELESS NOT FOUND,” Reese corrects quickly, without uttering apology. There is no time now, so Dimmock merely growls lightly and orders his men into the building.
Sherlock comes to slowly, the world around him swimming. The building has stopped shaking for the moment, and he hears people approaching the door.
Then a sharp cracking sound is heard, and he screams at the people to get away, get away from the building.
The hallway he’s in is collapsing, as is, he is pretty sure, the rest of the building. There’s a huge pressure everywhere all of a sudden, and he realizes that he is trapped under layers of rubble. Luck seemed to smile on him, though, as he realized that he’d been caught in a pocket of sorts. But luck was fickle. He realized he only had so much breathing air before he suffocated.
He listened for any kind of noise, but the only sounds that returned to his ears was that of his own breathing, and the quiet beating of his heart.
“COMING DOWN” Dimmock hears from outside and he ushers his employees away from the building.
“MOVE, GUYS!” he screams, “No one is getting hurt on my watch! Get me some diggers, dammit. We’re getting the brother at least.”
His teams moves quickly, someone is on the phone to get a digger and a plan of the building is pulled out. They make a plan, move quickly, take in all the factors.
“MOVE,” Dimmock repeats and the plan is put in action. Diggers move some parts out of the way, not much.
Behind them, a car screeches but the sound is lost to them. They only realise something is wrong when they’re being shot at from the back; clearly Moriarty has his own rescue team.
Sherlock can hear the shouting and the gunshots outside, and he breathes a sigh of relief. If he can hear that much, then he can’t be terribly deep under all the rubble.
He digs in his coat pockets and pulls out a small flashlight, using it to illuminate the small space he is trapped in. He observes the chunks of building around him, and carefully tests which ones have a lot of pressure. He knows he’s close to the exit, if he can shift a few pieces, he’d be able to make himself better heard.
He remembers Moriarty’s phone in his pocket. Pulling it out, he checks to see if he has any signal. One bar. That’s enough to make a call.
He dials Mycroft’s phone this time, after finding it in Moriarty’s contacts. He presses the phone to his ear as it rings.
[OOC: That was NOT crap, Ann, that was BRILLIANT.]
Dimmock isn’t sure where his attention needs to go. He’s on the ground, he knows that, and the dust from the collapsing building is only just settling. They hadn’t seen the shooter, but the sniper has stopped attacking them. A car screeches again and this time they hear it.
“SIMMONS, FOLLOW THAT CAR,” Dimmock springs to action, “take your team.”
“Sir,” Donovan interrupts, “there’s a light.”
“WHAT?” Dimmock snaps.
“A light, sir,” she points at the rubble. Dimmock spins around and yes, a light catches his eye.
“Get there,” he says, but doesn’t come into action himself. Five officers jump off the ground and start digging.
—
Mycroft picks up his phone as it rings and the screen shows a withheld number. He makes a mental note to have the number extracted at a later point.
“Yes?”
“Hello? Mycroft?” Sherlock says as soon as he hears his voice. ”The building collapsed, I’m stuck in a pocket under the rubble, my leg is broken, and I can hear shouting and gunshots. Mind telling me what’s going on out there?”
[OOC: Sorry it’s short. There’s not much to write while I’m trapped. :/]
[ OOC: That’s OK, we just need to wrap up this threat and get Sherlock out :)]
“DI Dimmock is on location with a rescue team, Sherlock,” comes Mycroft’s ‘professional’ voice over the line, “the shooting came from Mr. Moriarty’s rescue team, but they were quickly disposed of and are currently being transported to a safe location.”
He pauses and Sherlock hears soft murmuring in the background; Mycroft has placed his hand over the phone in the hope that Sherlock cannot hear him.
“Be patient, little brother. Everything works out.”
—
Dimmock looks over his employees and mentally crosses some out. He sends them home quickly. Only the most trusted members of his team remain. He is strangely grateful for the distraction of the snipers, because that got rid of part of the team without raising suspicion.
Before they can dig out the brother, he needs something cleared and he collects the three remaining members of his team around him. He looks from Donovan to a small man called Reeds and a junior officer who is his cousin, Terrence.
“Get this clear. Whatever we find underneath the rubble, the following words get out: The brother is deceased.”
Donovan looks like she’s about to question him, but Dimmock is too quick.
“The Government ordered it and we know who kept us employed after the Strattson case,” he threatens, “whatever we find, the brother is dead. If any other word reaches anyone outside this team, you are on your own and the Government generally doesn’t take prisoners.”
He looks over his team again and they nod silently.
“Get him out and get him in a car,” Dimmock orders and his team lifts the last slab that keeps Sherlock from the outside world.
Sherlock blinks as light is suddenly everywhere. He sees Sgt. Donovan standing above him, and grimaces.
“They’ve found me, Mycroft, they’re about to pull me out, now,” he says into the phone. Donovan and a man grab his arms and pull him out slowly. The pain in his leg explodes, and he shouts, causing his rescuers to almost drop him in surprise. The phone is still on, so he knows Mycroft can hear everything that is going on. He grinds his teeth and looks around as they sit him for a moment on the edge of the hole he was in.
Before he can process it, they are lifting him again, gentler this time, but it still hurts his leg as they move it, and he blacks out from the pain for several moments.
When he wakes up, he is still gripping the phone in the back of one of Mycroft’s cars. The screen notifies him that the call is still in progress, and he raises it to his ear again.
“What is going on, Mycroft? Why haven’t they forced me into an ambulance?”
mhoflocationclassified:
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sherlockofbakerstreet:
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sherlockofbakerstreet:
“Anthea. I am informed. People are by the building. It’s under control.” Mycroft says without moving. Lestrade is sitting up in his bed, against the nurse’s advice and Mycroft is standing at a distance from the bed. His phone rings, a bastardised version of the Bad Boys theme song that Greg had put on for the Scotland Yard office, as he speaks.
“The Mate [codename for Sebastian] has been caught inside. Priority as follows: Brother is one, Mate is two, Faceless is three. In the event of Faceless caught alive, I want him alive. Unharmed is not a necessity.” He growls roughly into his phone without greeting, “Don’t leave a mess.”
Outside of the building, Dimmock reels slightly at Mr. Holmes’s commanding tone. He is usually more suggestive than outright ordering. “Yessir,” he says, but the government has already ended the call.
“OK, lads! Get the heat monitors set up.** Stay away from the East wing - it’s unstable, but still standing. There was reported activity in the West wing earlier this afternoon, so we are assuming that is where they were. Priority - SIMMONS: Brother, one. DONNOVAN: Mate, two. REESE: Faceless, three; alive.”
Around him, the team comes into action quicky and silently. Dimmock’s commands are the first words not uttered in whispers. Their presence will certainly be noticed now.
[** For collapsing buildings and shit, they use heat monitors outside of the building to see if there are people inside if it may be too risky for the firemen to go in. If they register ‘life signs’, then personnel is sent in. Otherwise, they don’t risk it. It’s quite new and not used in many forces, because it’s not very reliable.]
Sherlock keeps himself pressed against the wall as he navigates down the corridor. The ceiling continues to fall in as he checks a path Moriarty hadn’t taken him on. He sees a door with the exit sign, and hobbles towards it.
He’s almost there when he stumbles and falls. He starts to get up when another chunk of ceiling falls, cracking his skull, and everything goes black.
Dimmock watches as his team sets up the camera’s all around the outside edge of the West wing. He cannot believe this is what he is doing; surely this is a fireman’s job. Apparently, Mr. Mycroft Holmes only trusts one division and that is Scotland Yard’s homocide team, so he is out here with a team of highly trained policemen.
“All ready, sir!” Donnovan calls.
“Get looking. No one enters the building without my permission.”
Dimmock looks around as he hears tires on the rough parking lot. An ambulance approaches without sirens and its servicemen exit softly, careful not to slam doors. A little late, but nonetheless a thoughtful gesture. Dimmock waves them over.
He isn’t halfway through when Donnovan calls him, “MATE LOCATED SIR! WEST WING, CENTRAL ROOM. CAPTURED UNDERNEATH RUBBISH. CANNOT BE REACHED WITHOUT RISKING PERSONNEL.”
Dimmock immediately leaves his explanation behind and rushes to the screen.
“BROTHER IS PRIORITY ONE,” he screams at Simmons, who is at another screen by another exit. Simmons nods affrimatively.
“Donnovan, take two men to explore. Any risk, ANY RISK and you’re out of there. We have no orders -..”
“BROTHER LOCATED, SIR. BY THE EXIT, CAPTURED AND UNMOVING,” is quickly followed by, “FACELESS FOUND SIR.”
Dimmock springs to action and orders his men into suits.
“CORRECTED. FACELESS NOT FOUND,” Reese corrects quickly, without uttering apology. There is no time now, so Dimmock merely growls lightly and orders his men into the building.
Sherlock comes to slowly, the world around him swimming. The building has stopped shaking for the moment, and he hears people approaching the door.
Then a sharp cracking sound is heard, and he screams at the people to get away, get away from the building.
The hallway he’s in is collapsing, as is, he is pretty sure, the rest of the building. There’s a huge pressure everywhere all of a sudden, and he realizes that he is trapped under layers of rubble. Luck seemed to smile on him, though, as he realized that he’d been caught in a pocket of sorts. But luck was fickle. He realized he only had so much breathing air before he suffocated.
He listened for any kind of noise, but the only sounds that returned to his ears was that of his own breathing, and the quiet beating of his heart.
“COMING DOWN” Dimmock hears from outside and he ushers his employees away from the building.
“MOVE, GUYS!” he screams, “No one is getting hurt on my watch! Get me some diggers, dammit. We’re getting the brother at least.”
His teams moves quickly, someone is on the phone to get a digger and a plan of the building is pulled out. They make a plan, move quickly, take in all the factors.
“MOVE,” Dimmock repeats and the plan is put in action. Diggers move some parts out of the way, not much.
Behind them, a car screeches but the sound is lost to them. They only realise something is wrong when they’re being shot at from the back; clearly Moriarty has his own rescue team.
Sherlock can hear the shouting and the gunshots outside, and he breathes a sigh of relief. If he can hear that much, then he can’t be terribly deep under all the rubble.
He digs in his coat pockets and pulls out a small flashlight, using it to illuminate the small space he is trapped in. He observes the chunks of building around him, and carefully tests which ones have a lot of pressure. He knows he’s close to the exit, if he can shift a few pieces, he’d be able to make himself better heard.
He remembers Moriarty’s phone in his pocket. Pulling it out, he checks to see if he has any signal. One bar. That’s enough to make a call.
He dials Mycroft’s phone this time, after finding it in Moriarty’s contacts. He presses the phone to his ear as it rings.
[OOC: That was NOT crap, Ann, that was BRILLIANT.]
Dimmock isn’t sure where his attention needs to go. He’s on the ground, he knows that, and the dust from the collapsing building is only just settling. They hadn’t seen the shooter, but the sniper has stopped attacking them. A car screeches again and this time they hear it.
“SIMMONS, FOLLOW THAT CAR,” Dimmock springs to action, “take your team.”
“Sir,” Donovan interrupts, “there’s a light.”
“WHAT?” Dimmock snaps.
“A light, sir,” she points at the rubble. Dimmock spins around and yes, a light catches his eye.
“Get there,” he says, but doesn’t come into action himself. Five officers jump off the ground and start digging.
—
Mycroft picks up his phone as it rings and the screen shows a withheld number. He makes a mental note to have the number extracted at a later point.
“Yes?”
“Hello? Mycroft?” Sherlock says as soon as he hears his voice. ”The building collapsed, I’m stuck in a pocket under the rubble, my leg is broken, and I can hear shouting and gunshots. Mind telling me what’s going on out there?”
[OOC: Sorry it’s short. There’s not much to write while I’m trapped. :/]
