Chapter Text
'Neural handshake at 100%,' Mycroft says crisply. 'How do you feel?' It's astounding. There is so much to see in Sherlock's mind-- the tiny details, the analyses of different kaiju forms, their advantages and their structural weaknesses. It feels amazing. John stretches a hand out to brush against the blue bursts of memories between them, and Sherlock pushes through towards his own. They exist as a perfect balance within the drift, calm yet stormy, pushing and pulling. John feels invincible.
'Codename Cthulhu. Category 4. Analysis?' Mycroft taps the tip of his umbrella against his shoe and Sherlock looks intrigued. John smiles as the simulation of the kaiju appears before them. It resembles its namesake, tentacles hanging down where a mouth would be. The head is vaguely humanoid and there are three red eyes blinking at them. Strong arms and weaker-looking legs with fins trailing behind. The projection rotates and it becomes a short clip of Cthulhu advancing on a Jaeger half its size. John recognises it. It's a Jaeger called Little Red, helmed by Ana and Ben, one out of the four Asian Tigers teams. Mycroft pauses the clip and looks at Sherlock.
'Tentacles hiding a soft spot. Saw through them with blades--'
'And because Little Red doesn't have a plasma cannon, they'll be banking on physical attacks. Cripple it and kill it.' John finishes. Sherlock looks at him, surprised, and smiles.
'Very good. I was going to say the same myself.' John returns the smile and Mycroft clears his throat.
'The trial run will be tomorrow. Don't forget to engage in Sharing Procedures. You'll be doing basic patrol along the Wall of Life.' Mycroft gestures and his assistant ('I'm Cassandra today,' she'd politely informed them) switches off the neural bridge. John removes the helmet and feels alone in his own mind. Sherlock looks straight ahead at Mycroft.
'Basic patrol? I can do more than that. We both can.'
'As it is, Sherlock, I'm afraid you'll just have to take what I can give you. Tomorrow will be your first time piloting a real Jaeger and it will be John's first time in two years. A basic patrol will be all. Am I clear?'
'Yes, Sir,' John responds automatically. Sherlock scowls at the both of them before dropping the helmet and stepping off the stage, earlier goodwill evaporating. John's heart sinks a little. How is he supposed to engage in Sharing Procedures with Sherlock? Sharing a precious memory with a copilot to foster the bond between both pilots is standard procedure, but John doubts Sherlock's going to take part in it. He supposes they'll have to do it the old-fashioned way-- with time.
+
The Jaeger they're going to use is at 102H. First hangar, second warehouse. It's a long walk down flights of stairs, and people who pass by barely bob their heads to acknowledge them. The war has been dragging on for years after it ought to have ended, the kaiju opening up small portals to combat the loss of the huge one. This is the sixth since Mako Mori closed the main throat with Raleigh Becket. When they arrive, Sherlock is heartily embraced by the mechanic. She is tiny and the laugh lines around her eyes could easily be squint lines.
'Nice to meet you,' the little old lady at the entrance to the hangar says. 'I'm Mrs. Hudson, and this wee jaeger has been my charge for years.' John would hardly call the machine they're going to be in a 'wee jaeger', but he supposes that's just her way of talking. She leads them around, patting anywhere she can reach fondly and telling them about when she used to pilot it with her husband. Sherlock slants a sideways glance at John, who recalls that Sherlock had met her husband before he passed. He was a philanderer, but they fought well together and kept the domestic out of the jaeger.
'Oh, we made a nice team, too. Until one day when a kaiju reached in and tore him right out of his seat and dropped him smack into the water. He's the reason why swimming is a mandatory skill for pilots.' John listens intently but he can feel Sherlock not paying attention beside him, idly poking around the outside and inspecting the metalwork.
'I wasn't compatible with many others, but I couldn't just leave this darling. She's perfect for your fighting style. See here? Plated feet, a nice nuclear vortex turbine... They brought it back after the collapse of the main portal. Where did you train? Mycroft showed me the recording from yesterday. A sturdy balance to Sherlock's flightly punches... Sherlock, dear, don't touch that. I'll teach you how to clean the oil off it later.' Sherlock hurriedly stops touching the jaeger and Mrs Hudson winks at John.
'Britain and Afghanistan,' John says. 'Er, I was fighting to close the portal at Dashte Nawur. And Loch Ness, but that's still touchy for many scientists.'
'Weren't both events at least two years ago?' Mrs Hudson asks.
'Yes. I was with my sister...' John trails off, unsure of how to continue. Mrs Hudson looks at him like she understands, and gestures to the lift. They step in and John notices the emblem on the back as they ascend. It looks like a stylised flower along the back of the jaeger, done up in white paint and stretching up from the bottom of the back plate to meet the base of the helmet.
John finds that he can't identify the flower. It has been so long since he's taken the time to look at anything ordinary.
'Well, we haven't got all day. Time to get in, young man.' As they strap in, John realises that they have no idea what the name of the machine they're in is.
'Sorry, Mrs Hudson, but what's the name of this jaeger?' She smiles at him sadly.
'My dear, they gave up on grand names ages go. This little one's official name is 221B. Part of a set of three, but the others were destroyed at the battle of Baikal. I did try to jazz the design up a bit with a fresh coat of paint and upgrades, but what she needs is a good team of pilots like you boys.' John straps in and Sherlock puts his helmet on. The relay gel sinks in and John shivers.
Three, two, one.
+
<Mrs Hudson likes you,> Sherlock says through the drift. <She was especially chatty.>
<And you were especially quiet,> John replies. The sea laps against the legs of the jaeger and John fancies he can feel it against his own legs. They're striding up and down in the cold winds, but it's warm in the pilot pod. Their shift is six hours of just walking around for nothing.
<Did you notice the symbol on the back of this machine?> Sherlock asks lazily. <It was quite prominent.> The image of the flower flashes through John's mind, as well as a field of white blooms. The vision cuts to one of a hand holding a flower up against the sun. It's a younger Mrs Hudson, and a chubby arm reaches for the flower and grabs it. It's a white tulip, John realises. The chubby arm belongs to a little boy with curious eyes-- Sherlock? The little boy crushes the bloom with his hand and looks surprised when the crumpled petals fall off the stem.
'Oh, darling,' Mrs Hudson said. 'It's alright. We can always pluck another.'
<I was six.> John blinks and he's inside the pilot pod again, the endless sea gazing back at him and licking curls into the sand. <I'd broken her favourite vase. It was a sunny April morning. I cut myself and cried for the rest of the day even as she patched me up. I thought she was going to leave.The next day she brought me out into the fields and taught me that I meant more to her than a vase, which was something my mother had never done.>
There's a pause as the both of them look anywhere but each other, minds just brushing comfortably. There is a sense of deep gratitude welling up in Sherlock that spills over to John, colouring everything lily-white. Purity even in a ravaged world.
<Thank you for Sharing that with me,> John tells Sherlock.
<Your turn.>
<Harry used to be my copilot, We worked very well. We were scrappy fighters and never backed down. I was a doctor and she was in financial services. One afternoon we were approached by the UKJC on our way home to our parents' for dinner. Years we spent together, training and fighting and killing monsters. My parents were so proud. Until the fight at Nawur. The kaiju brought its claws down on the helmet and it broke the drift connection. I was lucky to escape with no more than a few phantom aches, but Harry lost her mind. She was providing the planning, the detail, the strategy we were going to use to take down the kaiju. She lost it all that day. She lost everything, and I escaped with my sanity intact.> John takes a deep breath and allows himself to calm down. Fragments of memories appear, bubbling along towards Sherlock. The way Harry had looked when he came to visit her in the hospital. She hadn't recognised him at all. She looked right through him and her wife Clara, and John left a few minutes after. The staff released her to their parents and it caused a wave in the local news. Harriet Watson was a hero, even if she'd forgotten everything.
<I am sorry,> Sherlock says.
<It's not your fault. Don't be.> John swallows and tries to focus on the calm blue of the waves. They ripple and the foam tips their edges as usual, but something's not right.
<Did you see that?> John asks.
<Yes,> Sherlock says. <Should we?>
'Signature detected.' Mycroft's voice is hard and tinny through the speakers. 'Category two. Codenamed Bison Claw. Can 221B take it down? I'll send for backup if you need.'
'Give us fifteen minutes.' Sherlock speaks into the mike. 'I'm sure we can. And, Mycroft, the name of this jaeger is White Tulip.'
'Understood. Over and out.' Sherlock looks at John and smiles.
<Let's see if we can take this kaiju down.>