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A bespoke suited man sat in his office, umbrella leaning against his desk in close reach. The table was of a rich wood, well made and old. His suit itself was actually one of his older models. He had not had the chance to return to his tailors for some time. His affairs in office had been keeping him rather busy. There was never a moment the slightly overweight but far from incapable man was working. He had eyes, ears and fingers everywhere keeping tabs on the things that really mattered and more on the things that didn’t.
There was a light polite knock on the door. The person on the other side didn’t wait for a response but polite etiquette had already been met. He looked up curiously.
”Sir, there’s been a development,”
“Oh?” he asked leaning back relaxed. It would not be too pressing if his personal aid hadn’t jumped straight away to the point. She too, had had the same training as he had. Technically he supposed she was assigned as protection detail, or perhaps he was simply being selfish when he had snatched his own protege from the organisation with which he had close ties. Even his own annoying enemy hadn’t been able to figure out that the Kingsman Tailors was little more than an elaborate but functional front designed to create some revenue and a nice upper class cover story. Then again, his enemy had never really been all that interested in what he did as long as he kept his ‘interfering paunch out of his business’. Why he always had to go for the gut he never knew.
“Your brother appears to have picked up a roommate sir,”
“A roommate? Is this confirmed?”
“Just now sir. Apparently they met through Mike Stamford at St Bartholemew’s Hospital. It seems as though not everyone has taken to offence to his way of...dealing with things.”
“Yes well. There is that pathologist. Perhaps one day he’ll notice her doe eyes. Thank you Anthea. Please arrange for this roommate-” he indicated his request for the name.
“John Watson Sir. Doctor John Watson. Old friend and fellow medical student with Mike Stamford before joining the military. He was stationed in Afghanistan before being invalided out due to a shoulder wound. It also appears as though he developed a tremor in his left hand and a psychosomatic limp. Both appear to be connected but neither the doctors nor his therapist have made the connection,” Anthea said. “Sorry Sir. I took the liberty of doing a little research,”
“Do you have the-” But he never finished the sentence, presented with a file and a knowing smile. “Thank you,” he responded somewhat pompously. Taking this as dismissal, the woman who chose to be known as Anthea quietly left the room, door clicking shut behind her.
The suited man sat file in hand reading it carefully from cover to cover. He took great interest in his brother and while the genius might not like it, he found it necessary. Sherlock would never realise just how many enemies he had, far more than the consulting detective managed to accumulate in a month and unbeknown to most, William Sherlock Scott Holmes was his one weakness.
If the test had been to shoot his little brother and not the damn dog, he never would have qualified to enter Kingsman.
Mycroft stuck his tongue in his cheek thoughtfully. John Watson was an interesting read. Why would someone like him be interested in someone like his neurotic, slightly aspergic, irritating little brother? Perhaps he saw something there, something Mycroft saw and encouraged Sherlock to forget.
Sherlock Holmes had heart.
That heart was precious to Mycroft. He intoned about ‘sentiment’ knowing Sherlock unconsciously would do the exact opposite and keep whatever feelings he had. Oh he would lock them away. Some part of Sherlock still looked up to his big brother. They had been close once. Before. Before it had all gone wrong.
Mycroft sighed and pressed a button on his phone.
“Sir?”
“Get me this psychologist’s notes on Dr Watson,”
“Right away Sir. Anything else?”
“Where is Dr Watson now?”
“He’s gone back to his basic military discharge lodgings. He hasn’t got long left to find somewhere else to live,” she commented unnecessarily. Mycroft Holmes knew exactly how long John Watson had left on his lease.
Not that long at all. Short enough, perhaps, that he’d be desperate to take up with a man he barely knew. He wondered how Sherlock introduced himself.
“And the CCTV footage from St Bart’s today,”
“Of course Sir,” The tone was amused and he refused to comment further.
_____________________________________
Mycroft made it to the tailor’s that day. It wasn’t a most unusual stop for him but anyone taking note of his doings would realise he hadn’t been in in some time. The man behind the small rectangular counter blinked as if not recognising him for a moment.
“Sir? What can I help you with?” Usually Mr Holmes was simply looking for a new suit. He was one of their more unusual agents after all, placed in a precarious position, straddling many lines but in all his years Alexander had never seen the man falter.
“I’m here to see Matthew,”
“Ah yes Sir. He’s at base Sir,” Indicating that he should take the door which lead to the room where the floor went down and down and down - deep enough - to ensure that any bombs or detection equipment would fail to affect the structure below. Mycroft twirled his umbrella idly as he waited.
The small room lead to a much larger one, in which sat a shuttle waiting, door open expectantly. Striding over he sat down in what was once a comfortable seat and shoogled his behind a little. Hm. Perhaps Sherlock was right about those pounds. He really should be making more of an effort to lose them. Still, the last time he had used this most effective form of transportation, he had been so pinched that he couldn’t help but rub the side of his thighs when he exited much to Merlin’s amusement.
Have you ever been mocked in a Scottish accent? They expect you to enjoy it.
Unfortunately he hadn’t been able to do anything to the Chief Tech agent. Merlin was even better than Sherlock at hacking into things and he did require his assistance occasionally in the upkeep of his firewalls. Mycroft was by no means dull, in fact he was the cleverest Kingsman they had ever had, but his forte lay less building defences and more in sleight of hand, subtlety and turning locks. Getting people to do his bidding. That sort of thing.
“Mycroft,” Came the Scottish Burr, warm and welcoming and perhaps not exactly laced with the surprise he was hoping for. He so hoped he wasn’t becoming transparent.
“Merlin,” he responded. “I want you to do me a favour,” Want, not need. He wasn’t going to describe himself as desperate or concerned older brother after all. He was just a politician looking over the affairs of an asset who may be called upon at any moment to fight for Queen and Country. Of course it was a little like getting a horse from water but he usually found the scent of a good chase lured Sherlock out before too long even if the man did try so desperately to piss him the fuck off.
Merlin refused to stop typing, the speedy silent finger flying motion oddly mesmerising for someone not as esteemed as himself. “Oh?” was all he got in acknowledgement. He could tell, even from this position where all he could see was the gleaming back of the man’s head, that he was amused.
“Find everything you can on one Captain John Watson. MD. Served as a medic in Afghanistan. He was a surgeon,”
Merlin stopped, turned and was wearing the most obnoxious grin. Mycroft rolled his eyes to the ceiling and contained a sigh. He was also and had a knowing look in his eye. “Why are you looking into army doctors?” he asked curiously.
Mycroft tongued his cheek. “That is none of your concern,”
Merlin gave him a look that said if he had the muscle control to raise an eyebrow, he would. In response, Mycroft did just that earning himself a low heated glare.
“Might I remind you that I am your boss,” Mycroft said somewhat pompously but lacking the authority he dished out when it came to his usual minions. There was nothing usual about Merlin.
The tech genius really did raise both of his eyebrows this time. “Might I remind you, Uther that I answer to Arthur, and that your position is somewhat...of an affiliation these days,”
“And Arthur answers to me,”
“Arthur consults with you, there’s a difference,” Merlin shot back.
“Just do it. I have the highest authority,” Mycroft began to remember why he liked having his own external office where he had a distinct hierarchical structure and the minions didn’t talk back. But that was the problem with government wasn’t it? Civil servants were paid not to ask certain questions and to ask others. In most offices the civil servants were the ones who actually held all the power but Mycroft had been there just as long they had now and they had realised he wasn’t going anywhere at all. Kingsman though was an independent, international organisation with the full (but silent) authority of the Queen behind it. Well. Hopefully they wouldn’t go the same way as Torchwood did. What an utter disgrace that was.
Secret organisation, his umbrella.
Mr Holmes might be a figure of utmost authority but Merlin dealt with extremely dangerous people on a regular basis and with full Kingsman training wasn’t afraid of Mycroft at all. He might not be as good a fighter as Galahad or Lancelot but he knew he was better than Uther which is why the man had quickly placed himself in a somewhat unique position. Just as he had himself.
“Fine,” Mycroft spat. “My brother - “ Merlin had a shit eating grin “- has decided he should be his roommate. I want him vetted,”
“Just finishing his background check now,” Merlin replied cheekily dropping Mycroft a wink and turning back to his screen. “I even printed it all off for you. I know how much you like hard copies,”
“You, Merlin, are an ass,” Mycroft commented almost fondly.
“Yes sir,” he responded proudly watching as Mycroft collected the papers and made for the door. “Oh and Uther?”
Myeroft turned and regarded Merlin carefully.
“We could have made your brother a good Kingsman I’m sure,” he stated knowing the other man had tried time and again to convince his younger sibling to join the spy world without any hint of interest coming from the now Consulting Detective. “But maybe John Watson can make him a good man,”
And maybe, that’s what the world needed more than another over intelligent, too capable super human.
Good men were getting scarily hard to find.