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Title: Undoing Fate (Part 6/9) -- Back and Forth
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Pairing(s): Mycroft/Jim
Rating: T
Warning: Temporary Character Death
Summary: Mycroft would do anything bring Sherlock back, even if it means rewriting history itself. However, preventing Jim from becoming his arch-enemy is more difficult than it seems.
Notes: Written for this time travel prompt on the kink meme.
<< First Part << Previous Part Next Part >>
~*~*~*~*~
The massive piles of treasure reappeared in 2009, then got smaller and smaller as Mycroft traveled backward. By 1993, the floor was still completely covered, but there was only a single waist-high pile in the corner.
Mycroft stumbled as he landed, falling down into a sea of coins and jewelry. Metal clinked all around him.
13-year-old Jim ran into the room, wearing his school uniform and carrying a small bag with him. His eyes lit up when he saw Mycroft. “You're back!” He walked easily over the mass of stuff on the floor, coming to stand right next to Mycroft. “But... how did you get in without disturbing any of the stuff near the door?”
“It's my building,” Mycroft replied, getting to his feet. “Surely that isn't too surprising.”
Jim didn't look remotely satisfied with that answer. “But--”
“If you don't question how I came to be here, I won't question how you came to be here,” Mycroft replied. “Agreed?”
“You probably already know how I came to be here,” Jim complained.
“You've certainly been busy while I've been gone,” Mycroft said, gesturing at the room around them.
“You can have it all,” Jim said, chest puffing up slightly. “That's why I've been keeping it here.”
The older Jim had mentioned that the gold had been intended as a present, but Mycroft hadn't registered it enough to come up with a plan for refusing it when he returned. His mind had been otherwise occupied at the time. “I'll keep it here as well,” he replied. “You can look after it for me.”
Jim deflated. “I stole it for you,” he said.
Mycroft put a hand on his shoulder. “Yes, I know what you've been doing,” he replied. “I think it's time we had a talk about that.”
Jim went stiff. “I was only doing what you did,” he accused.
“I know,” Mycroft said. “But while I appreciate the thought, I would prefer it if you did not dedicate your life to crime.”
“Why shouldn't I?” Jim replied, crossing his arms. “Everything else is boring. Everyone else is boring.”
Mycroft raised an eyebrow at him. “Don't you think it's a bit too easy, stealing things?”
Jim shrugged. “Sometimes.”
“That's because it's far easier to steal than it is to make something theft-proof,” Mycroft said. “If you would like a real challenge, try preventing others from committing theft.”
Jim tilted his head, seeming to mull it over. He didn't look entirely convinced. “Is that what you do? Deduce possible crimes before they happen?”
“You might say that,” Mycroft replied.
“Then why did you let me steal all of this?” Jim asked, waving a hand around at the gold. “You had to have known it was me.”
“I'm not concerned with mere jewelry,” Mycroft answered. “There are more serious things to consider... such as those weapons I believe you were thinking of taking.”
Jim started. “You...” He laughed. “Of course you knew. You always know.”
“Think about what I've said.” Mycroft patted his shoulder, then dropped his hand.
Jim's head snapped up at him. “You aren't leaving already, are you?”
“I'm afraid I must,” Mycroft replied. He'd stayed much too long during the previous visit, in his opinion. It had only fueled Jim's obsession with him.
“But you've only been here a few minutes!” Jim's face contorted in a combination of hurt and anger. “That's not fair!” He looked ready to throw something.
Mycroft reached out to touch him again, but Jim pushed his hand away. Mycroft hesitated for a moment, then leaned down and hugged him, awkwardly patting his back.
Jim froze for a moment, then relaxed. After a few seconds, he returned the hug full force, practically squeezing the air out of Mycroft. He buried his face in Mycroft's jacket.
Mycroft reached up and tentatively stroked his hair. It had been years since he'd had a hug quite like this – Sherlock had already started pushing him away by the time he'd reached Jim's age. Having Jim return his affection felt far better than Mycroft really thought it should, given the circumstances.
He let the hug go on for quite some time, ending it only when it became clear that Jim never would.
Mycroft took Jim's hand, then looked him straight in the eyes. “I hope you will take care of yourself while I'm gone,” he said.
Jim blinked watery eyes a couple of times, then nodded, not saying anything. He squeezed Mycroft's hand tightly.
Mycroft squeezed back one time, then pulled his hand away. He left the building before Jim could snap out of his unusually quiet state, then made his way to the nearest library. He found an out-of-the-way spot and set the device for 2012, the time of day just before the library would open its doors.
Mycroft waited fifteen minutes before he left his hiding spot. Jim had taken his phone during the last trip back to 2012, so he would have to make do with one of the library computers for finding information.
He was slightly puzzled as he stepped out from behind the bookshelves. The computers he found were very modern – in fact, they were more modern than the ones his office had had in the original 2012, let alone what most libraries had. Large, sleek touchscreen monitors were everywhere; holographic signs dominated the recently remodeled walls.
Mycroft checked his 'watch' again, wondering if he'd gone just a few years too far into the future, but it was adamant that it was 2012.
He sat down at one of the computers, immediately doing a search on Sherlock. He found two articles, neither of which left him optimistic.
'Student Overdoses in Dorm; University Officials Denounce Drug Use.'
'Suicide in Dorm Prompts Legal Action.'
At first, Mycroft assumed the two articles were about the same death, but it turned out not to be the case. Sherlock Holmes, age 19, had accidentally overdosed on cocaine in his dorm room in 1995. Mycroft Holmes, age 26, had committed suicide in the same room a month later.
The American project hadn't even been started yet in 1995. Even if it had, Mycroft would not have had the necessary access at that point in his life.
Mycroft dug through other newspaper articles from the same time period, trying to figure out what had happened to make his brother overdose. He discovered the answer fairly quickly: nothing. Absolutely nothing had happened.
Despite Sherlock having been properly set on the path to being a detective at age 15, he'd had no cases to solve since the age of 17, when the series of bizarre thefts he'd been investigating had mysteriously stopped, seemingly stopping all other major crimes in the process. From 1993 to 1995, there were no major thefts, murders, or acts of terrorism in the UK with which Sherlock would have been able to distract himself solving. There were ordinary, run-of-the-mill thefts and murders, but far fewer of them, and none of them were anything Sherlock would have deigned to pay attention to.
Out of curiosity, Mycroft looked beyond 1995 and learned that the trend continued all the way to the present date, expanding out of the UK to encompass the world as a whole. There had been no terrorist attacks, in 2001 or any other year. There had been no new wars in the Middle East. The entire world was in a record state of peace and stability. The money previously expended on the wars of the past decade had been channeled into other areas, resulting in major technological advances and a booming global economy.
Everything was perfect, but for the one thing Mycroft actually cared about.
Mycroft walked back behind the bookshelves. He set the device for the summer of 1995, three months before Sherlock would overdose.
Once Mycroft arrived in 1995, he went straight to London. There was no reason what had worked in 1991 wouldn't work in 1995; all he needed to do was ensure that there would be several inexplicable events for Sherlock to investigate over the next few years. Sherlock had largely overcome the most dangerous phase of his addiction by 1999 in the original timeline, so Mycroft would ensure that he had enough to keep himself occupied until at least the year 2000.
It was difficult to arrange for five years worth of bizarre events in advance, but Mycroft had more than enough money available to make it happen. He made sure each of the crimes he envisioned would be possible even if technology happened to advance somewhat beyond schedule. He picked targets that were more interesting than they were valuable or secure, and in his instructions he included several messages to be left behind at various crime scenes. He tried to avoid any sort of pattern that would lead to Jim predicting the crimes before they occurred and preventing them.
He'd intended to go through the entire trip without running into Jim at all, which was why he was so shocked to run into the boy as he left his meeting with one of the criminals he'd paid to keep Sherlock entertained. The boy had grown a great deal since the last time Mycroft had seen him. He looked almost, but not quite, like the adult Mycroft knew in 2012.
“What are you doing here?” Jim asked, eyes wide.
The boy hadn't followed him, then. “I was just about to ask you the same thing,” Mycroft replied, putting a hand on his shoulder and guiding him away from the building.
“I've been tracking someone,” Jim replied. He took Mycroft's hand and squeezed it, not letting go afterwards. “Whoever it is has been running all over the city, contacting different--” Jim stopped abruptly, looking at Mycroft. “It's you, isn't it?”
“How did you come to know about this?” Mycroft asked. He'd only even been back three days.
Jim led him around a corner, seeming to have a destination in mind. “I have a network of people reporting back to me,” Jim replied with a grin. “But when I realized there was only one criminal who fit the pattern who hadn't been contacted yet, I decided to come in person.” The grin turned into a frown. “What were you doing here, anyway?”
Mycroft didn't reply immediately. He didn't want to tell Jim what he'd been doing, but the boy was more than intelligent enough to figure out who was responsible once the crimes began to occur. Lying was starting to seem less desirable than simply telling the truth. “I'd prefer to have this discussion in private,” he said, mostly to stall.
“I have a place nearby,” Jim replied. He pulled Mycroft down the street, eventually leading him to a boarded up shop.
For all that the building appeared to be falling apart on the outside, the inside was clean and nicely furnished, even if the sofa and two chairs were a bit on the cheap side. Jim plopped down on the sofa, dragging Mycroft down onto it with him. He still hadn't released Mycroft's hand.
“Well?” Jim watched him intently.
“You recall what I had to do four years ago,” Mycroft began.
Jim scowled faintly. “Yes. You were sending a message,” he replied, “to... him.” The hatred in his voice wasn't quite as strong as that of his older self, but it was still there. “Is that what this is about?” he asked. “It's all to send him another message?”
“Several messages, in fact,” Mycroft replied. “I would be very grateful if you didn't interfere in the transmission of these messages.”
Jim squeezed his hand painfully tight, cutting off the circulation. He gritted his teeth, eyes narrowing. “What's so special about him?” he demanded, eerily echoing the question he'd asked about Carl Powers six years earlier.
Mycroft pried Jim's hand off of his, registering the flash of near-rage in Jim's eyes as he did it. “He's...” Mycroft searched for a word that he could use to describe Sherlock that wouldn't instantly provoke jealousy. He couldn't say 'like you', however much he might have wanted to. “...a bit of an idiot.”
Jim stared at him. “...what?”
“He is a relative of mine, of sorts,” Mycroft replied. Jim had managed to find out about that in every previous timeline, so there didn't seem to be much reason to hide it. “If I do not keep him occupied, I fear he will do harm to himself.”
Jim immediately perked up. “A relative?” he asked. His eyes flickered back and forth. “I looked into his family and didn't find you... even if you do look like all of them,” he added, scanning Mycroft's features.
“A relative of sorts,” Mycroft repeated, glad that Jim seemed to be taking the information as an opportunity to find out more about him, as opposed to a new reason to hate Sherlock. “There is no record of me. However, family responsibilities are a serious matter.”
“That's all he is?” Jim asked, looking at Mycroft like he was insane. “A family responsibility?”
“Yes,” Mycroft replied. Seeing that Jim was on the verge of more questions, he quickly added: “Quite unlike you, of course.”
Jim stopped just before saying whatever he'd been about to say. “Me?” he asked.
“You are special,” Mycroft replied.
A spark of something filled Jim's eyes. He gave a small smile quite unlike anything Mycroft had ever seen on his face before, either in the past or the future. It was a strange combination of quietly pleased, but also... slightly devious. “You really think so?” he asked.
Mycroft held back a frown. There was something off about Jim's tone, a carefulness to it that he couldn't account for. “Yes,” he replied, then leaned over and hugged the boy in the hope of preventing any more questions.
Jim immediately wrapped his arms around Mycroft, pressing his face into Mycroft's shoulder and breathing deeply. After a few seconds, he moved to the side, seating himself in Mycroft's lap.
It seemed an oddly childish thing to do, but the other position had been somewhat uncomfortable, so Mycroft saw no reason to complain. He rubbed Jim's back lightly with one hand, patting his hair with the other. He intended the gesture to be calming, but he felt Jim's breathing increase under his hand.
After several minutes, Jim pulled back. His cheeks were pink, his eyes frantically searching Mycroft's face. He put a hand on Mycroft's jaw, slowly leaning in towards him...
Mycroft's eyes widened. He leaned backward as far as he could, quickly nudging Jim off of his lap. He cleared his throat. “I really must be going,” he said, getting to his feet.
Jim glared at him. “I don't see why.”
“This is inappropriate,” Mycroft replied.
The glare disappeared, replaced by a small smirk. “Like letting me sleep in your hotel room would have been inappropriate?”
Mycroft could tell what Jim was thinking – Mycroft had eventually given in on the matter of the hotel room, if only for one night. 'This is inappropriate' was surely only a challenge to find the situation that would get him what he wanted. “I am not interested in 15-year-old boys,” Mycroft said bluntly.
Jim sat up to attention. “What's the youngest age you would be interested in?” he asked.
“Far older than you are,” Mycroft answered.
He expected a scowl, but didn't get one. “...okay,” Jim replied, face completely unreadable.
Recognizing an ominous sign when he saw one, Mycroft quickly made his exit.
Mycroft almost didn't bother returning to 2012. It already seemed obvious that his interference in this instance couldn't possibly have resulted in an overall positive change to the timeline. However, without more information about the ultimate effects of his actions, he would have no way of knowing what he needed to do to improve the situation. The trip would give him a badly needed perspective on the problem.
And so, he found another library, retreated into the stacks, and made the trip forward.
Technologically, things seemed to be back to normal. Mycroft went to one of the computers and did his usual search.
'Genius Detective Brutally Murdered in Museum.'
Mycroft stared at the familiar headline, wondering if he'd somehow accidentally traveled back to the wrong 2012. The article itself was almost identical to the one he'd read two trips ago.
Knowing he didn't have the full picture, Mycroft decided to take a trip to his old office to see if he could talk his way in. Based on his experience in the other timelines, his other self had to be long gone by now, either dead or disappeared off into a branch universe somewhere.
After a momentary burst of shock and confusion when he appeared, his former assistant immediately handed over his files, allowing him to look them over in his old office.
There, he learned that Jim had stopped trying to prevent crime just after Mycroft had last seen him in 1995, but he'd only actively returned to crime himself a year later. His crimes were similar to what they had been two timelines ago, but the coded messages he left behind had a slightly different tone to them. 'I'm old enough', 'You can have me', and 'I don't want anyone else' were scrawled all over several major thefts from 1996 until 2000. From 2001 until 2011, the messages slowly changed, eventually ending in 'I WILL HAVE YOU', written in Sherlock's blood all over the museum floor.
The other Mycroft had still brought him in for interrogation in early 2011. Mycroft knew he wouldn't want to see what was on the video, but he'd played it anyway. He forced himself to watch as Jim scratched 'I WANT YOU' into the walls over and over again, then crawled into the other Mycroft's lap when he arrived to talk. “I want to know everything about you.”
It had not been an easy day for his other self.
Mycroft returned to the library, then retreated to the stacks, setting the device to late December 1995.
When Mycroft arrived, he immediately made the trip back to Brighton, returning to the building Jim knew he owned. He stood amongst the piles of gold and waited, certain that Jim would learn of his appearance soon enough.
It took half an hour for Jim to show up, looking like he'd run a marathon. “You're really here.”
“Obviously.”
“Are you here for me... or for Sherlock?” Jim asked, tone challenging.
Mycroft felt a shiver run down his spine – it was the first time he'd heard young Jim actually say Sherlock's name aloud. “I'm here to see you, of course.”
Jim smiled. “Have you changed your mind, then?” he asked, tone overly sweet. He took a step towards Mycroft. “Are you here to give me a late Christmas present?”
Mycroft stayed where he was, looking at Jim impassively. “I'm here to talk.”
“Talk about what?”
Mycroft swallowed. “Relationships,” he replied, feeling horribly awkward. His only previous attempt at a conversation like this, with Sherlock, had not gone well. He didn't know whether having to do this with a 15-year-old boy who wanted to sleep with him would be better or worse than having to do it with a 15-year-old boy who hated him and claimed he'd never want to sleep with anyone, but he was about to find out.
Jim smirked. “Sounds exciting,” he replied, in a tone he probably imagined was seductive.
“I'm glad you think so,” Mycroft said. “Are there any boys or girls at school who have caught your eye?”
“Are you serious?” Jim asked. “They're all idiots. Useful idiots, but still idiots.”
“Then perhaps you should be looking elsewhere,” Mycroft replied. Before Jim could misinterpret him, he added: “I'm sure there's someone out there who would interest you – someone close to your own age.”
Jim scowled. “There's already someone who interests me,” he said, crossing his arms.
“Very few people go their entire lives without being attracted to more than one person,” Mycroft replied. “If only you focus your attention on that person, you might end up missing the others.”
“Why do you even care?” Jim asked, kicking a small mound of jewelry.
“I will have to leave you again,” Mycroft replied. “I would prefer to know that you won't be alone in my absence.”
“You could always not go,” Jim replied.
“I'm afraid that isn't an option.” Mycroft paused, then took one of Jim's hands in his. “Please promise me that you'll make an effort to find someone else.”
Jim looked up at Mycroft, not saying anything. He pressed Mycroft's hand between both of his, stroking Mycroft's wrist with his thumb.
“Promise me,” Mycroft repeated.
Jim looked down, face alternating between anger, hurt, and resignation. “Fine. I promise.”
Mycroft patted Jim on the shoulder, then left. He headed back to the nearest library and back to 2012. His search on Sherlock's name turned up several articles, the most relevant being one from late 2011.
'Gay Thief Duo Found Dead in Bank Vault'
Mycroft sighed. He knew exactly who the title referred to before he even read the article.
The truly sad thing was that, at this point, Mycroft could easily have settled for a universe where Sherlock was part of a “gay thief duo” with Jim Moriarty, if only it meant everyone involved surviving through 2012.
~*~*~*~*~
<< First Part << Previous Part Next Part >>
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Pairing(s): Mycroft/Jim
Rating: T
Warning: Temporary Character Death
Summary: Mycroft would do anything bring Sherlock back, even if it means rewriting history itself. However, preventing Jim from becoming his arch-enemy is more difficult than it seems.
Notes: Written for this time travel prompt on the kink meme.
<< First Part << Previous Part Next Part >>
~*~*~*~*~
The massive piles of treasure reappeared in 2009, then got smaller and smaller as Mycroft traveled backward. By 1993, the floor was still completely covered, but there was only a single waist-high pile in the corner.
Mycroft stumbled as he landed, falling down into a sea of coins and jewelry. Metal clinked all around him.
13-year-old Jim ran into the room, wearing his school uniform and carrying a small bag with him. His eyes lit up when he saw Mycroft. “You're back!” He walked easily over the mass of stuff on the floor, coming to stand right next to Mycroft. “But... how did you get in without disturbing any of the stuff near the door?”
“It's my building,” Mycroft replied, getting to his feet. “Surely that isn't too surprising.”
Jim didn't look remotely satisfied with that answer. “But--”
“If you don't question how I came to be here, I won't question how you came to be here,” Mycroft replied. “Agreed?”
“You probably already know how I came to be here,” Jim complained.
“You've certainly been busy while I've been gone,” Mycroft said, gesturing at the room around them.
“You can have it all,” Jim said, chest puffing up slightly. “That's why I've been keeping it here.”
The older Jim had mentioned that the gold had been intended as a present, but Mycroft hadn't registered it enough to come up with a plan for refusing it when he returned. His mind had been otherwise occupied at the time. “I'll keep it here as well,” he replied. “You can look after it for me.”
Jim deflated. “I stole it for you,” he said.
Mycroft put a hand on his shoulder. “Yes, I know what you've been doing,” he replied. “I think it's time we had a talk about that.”
Jim went stiff. “I was only doing what you did,” he accused.
“I know,” Mycroft said. “But while I appreciate the thought, I would prefer it if you did not dedicate your life to crime.”
“Why shouldn't I?” Jim replied, crossing his arms. “Everything else is boring. Everyone else is boring.”
Mycroft raised an eyebrow at him. “Don't you think it's a bit too easy, stealing things?”
Jim shrugged. “Sometimes.”
“That's because it's far easier to steal than it is to make something theft-proof,” Mycroft said. “If you would like a real challenge, try preventing others from committing theft.”
Jim tilted his head, seeming to mull it over. He didn't look entirely convinced. “Is that what you do? Deduce possible crimes before they happen?”
“You might say that,” Mycroft replied.
“Then why did you let me steal all of this?” Jim asked, waving a hand around at the gold. “You had to have known it was me.”
“I'm not concerned with mere jewelry,” Mycroft answered. “There are more serious things to consider... such as those weapons I believe you were thinking of taking.”
Jim started. “You...” He laughed. “Of course you knew. You always know.”
“Think about what I've said.” Mycroft patted his shoulder, then dropped his hand.
Jim's head snapped up at him. “You aren't leaving already, are you?”
“I'm afraid I must,” Mycroft replied. He'd stayed much too long during the previous visit, in his opinion. It had only fueled Jim's obsession with him.
“But you've only been here a few minutes!” Jim's face contorted in a combination of hurt and anger. “That's not fair!” He looked ready to throw something.
Mycroft reached out to touch him again, but Jim pushed his hand away. Mycroft hesitated for a moment, then leaned down and hugged him, awkwardly patting his back.
Jim froze for a moment, then relaxed. After a few seconds, he returned the hug full force, practically squeezing the air out of Mycroft. He buried his face in Mycroft's jacket.
Mycroft reached up and tentatively stroked his hair. It had been years since he'd had a hug quite like this – Sherlock had already started pushing him away by the time he'd reached Jim's age. Having Jim return his affection felt far better than Mycroft really thought it should, given the circumstances.
He let the hug go on for quite some time, ending it only when it became clear that Jim never would.
Mycroft took Jim's hand, then looked him straight in the eyes. “I hope you will take care of yourself while I'm gone,” he said.
Jim blinked watery eyes a couple of times, then nodded, not saying anything. He squeezed Mycroft's hand tightly.
Mycroft squeezed back one time, then pulled his hand away. He left the building before Jim could snap out of his unusually quiet state, then made his way to the nearest library. He found an out-of-the-way spot and set the device for 2012, the time of day just before the library would open its doors.
Mycroft waited fifteen minutes before he left his hiding spot. Jim had taken his phone during the last trip back to 2012, so he would have to make do with one of the library computers for finding information.
He was slightly puzzled as he stepped out from behind the bookshelves. The computers he found were very modern – in fact, they were more modern than the ones his office had had in the original 2012, let alone what most libraries had. Large, sleek touchscreen monitors were everywhere; holographic signs dominated the recently remodeled walls.
Mycroft checked his 'watch' again, wondering if he'd gone just a few years too far into the future, but it was adamant that it was 2012.
He sat down at one of the computers, immediately doing a search on Sherlock. He found two articles, neither of which left him optimistic.
'Student Overdoses in Dorm; University Officials Denounce Drug Use.'
'Suicide in Dorm Prompts Legal Action.'
At first, Mycroft assumed the two articles were about the same death, but it turned out not to be the case. Sherlock Holmes, age 19, had accidentally overdosed on cocaine in his dorm room in 1995. Mycroft Holmes, age 26, had committed suicide in the same room a month later.
The American project hadn't even been started yet in 1995. Even if it had, Mycroft would not have had the necessary access at that point in his life.
Mycroft dug through other newspaper articles from the same time period, trying to figure out what had happened to make his brother overdose. He discovered the answer fairly quickly: nothing. Absolutely nothing had happened.
Despite Sherlock having been properly set on the path to being a detective at age 15, he'd had no cases to solve since the age of 17, when the series of bizarre thefts he'd been investigating had mysteriously stopped, seemingly stopping all other major crimes in the process. From 1993 to 1995, there were no major thefts, murders, or acts of terrorism in the UK with which Sherlock would have been able to distract himself solving. There were ordinary, run-of-the-mill thefts and murders, but far fewer of them, and none of them were anything Sherlock would have deigned to pay attention to.
Out of curiosity, Mycroft looked beyond 1995 and learned that the trend continued all the way to the present date, expanding out of the UK to encompass the world as a whole. There had been no terrorist attacks, in 2001 or any other year. There had been no new wars in the Middle East. The entire world was in a record state of peace and stability. The money previously expended on the wars of the past decade had been channeled into other areas, resulting in major technological advances and a booming global economy.
Everything was perfect, but for the one thing Mycroft actually cared about.
Mycroft walked back behind the bookshelves. He set the device for the summer of 1995, three months before Sherlock would overdose.
Once Mycroft arrived in 1995, he went straight to London. There was no reason what had worked in 1991 wouldn't work in 1995; all he needed to do was ensure that there would be several inexplicable events for Sherlock to investigate over the next few years. Sherlock had largely overcome the most dangerous phase of his addiction by 1999 in the original timeline, so Mycroft would ensure that he had enough to keep himself occupied until at least the year 2000.
It was difficult to arrange for five years worth of bizarre events in advance, but Mycroft had more than enough money available to make it happen. He made sure each of the crimes he envisioned would be possible even if technology happened to advance somewhat beyond schedule. He picked targets that were more interesting than they were valuable or secure, and in his instructions he included several messages to be left behind at various crime scenes. He tried to avoid any sort of pattern that would lead to Jim predicting the crimes before they occurred and preventing them.
He'd intended to go through the entire trip without running into Jim at all, which was why he was so shocked to run into the boy as he left his meeting with one of the criminals he'd paid to keep Sherlock entertained. The boy had grown a great deal since the last time Mycroft had seen him. He looked almost, but not quite, like the adult Mycroft knew in 2012.
“What are you doing here?” Jim asked, eyes wide.
The boy hadn't followed him, then. “I was just about to ask you the same thing,” Mycroft replied, putting a hand on his shoulder and guiding him away from the building.
“I've been tracking someone,” Jim replied. He took Mycroft's hand and squeezed it, not letting go afterwards. “Whoever it is has been running all over the city, contacting different--” Jim stopped abruptly, looking at Mycroft. “It's you, isn't it?”
“How did you come to know about this?” Mycroft asked. He'd only even been back three days.
Jim led him around a corner, seeming to have a destination in mind. “I have a network of people reporting back to me,” Jim replied with a grin. “But when I realized there was only one criminal who fit the pattern who hadn't been contacted yet, I decided to come in person.” The grin turned into a frown. “What were you doing here, anyway?”
Mycroft didn't reply immediately. He didn't want to tell Jim what he'd been doing, but the boy was more than intelligent enough to figure out who was responsible once the crimes began to occur. Lying was starting to seem less desirable than simply telling the truth. “I'd prefer to have this discussion in private,” he said, mostly to stall.
“I have a place nearby,” Jim replied. He pulled Mycroft down the street, eventually leading him to a boarded up shop.
For all that the building appeared to be falling apart on the outside, the inside was clean and nicely furnished, even if the sofa and two chairs were a bit on the cheap side. Jim plopped down on the sofa, dragging Mycroft down onto it with him. He still hadn't released Mycroft's hand.
“Well?” Jim watched him intently.
“You recall what I had to do four years ago,” Mycroft began.
Jim scowled faintly. “Yes. You were sending a message,” he replied, “to... him.” The hatred in his voice wasn't quite as strong as that of his older self, but it was still there. “Is that what this is about?” he asked. “It's all to send him another message?”
“Several messages, in fact,” Mycroft replied. “I would be very grateful if you didn't interfere in the transmission of these messages.”
Jim squeezed his hand painfully tight, cutting off the circulation. He gritted his teeth, eyes narrowing. “What's so special about him?” he demanded, eerily echoing the question he'd asked about Carl Powers six years earlier.
Mycroft pried Jim's hand off of his, registering the flash of near-rage in Jim's eyes as he did it. “He's...” Mycroft searched for a word that he could use to describe Sherlock that wouldn't instantly provoke jealousy. He couldn't say 'like you', however much he might have wanted to. “...a bit of an idiot.”
Jim stared at him. “...what?”
“He is a relative of mine, of sorts,” Mycroft replied. Jim had managed to find out about that in every previous timeline, so there didn't seem to be much reason to hide it. “If I do not keep him occupied, I fear he will do harm to himself.”
Jim immediately perked up. “A relative?” he asked. His eyes flickered back and forth. “I looked into his family and didn't find you... even if you do look like all of them,” he added, scanning Mycroft's features.
“A relative of sorts,” Mycroft repeated, glad that Jim seemed to be taking the information as an opportunity to find out more about him, as opposed to a new reason to hate Sherlock. “There is no record of me. However, family responsibilities are a serious matter.”
“That's all he is?” Jim asked, looking at Mycroft like he was insane. “A family responsibility?”
“Yes,” Mycroft replied. Seeing that Jim was on the verge of more questions, he quickly added: “Quite unlike you, of course.”
Jim stopped just before saying whatever he'd been about to say. “Me?” he asked.
“You are special,” Mycroft replied.
A spark of something filled Jim's eyes. He gave a small smile quite unlike anything Mycroft had ever seen on his face before, either in the past or the future. It was a strange combination of quietly pleased, but also... slightly devious. “You really think so?” he asked.
Mycroft held back a frown. There was something off about Jim's tone, a carefulness to it that he couldn't account for. “Yes,” he replied, then leaned over and hugged the boy in the hope of preventing any more questions.
Jim immediately wrapped his arms around Mycroft, pressing his face into Mycroft's shoulder and breathing deeply. After a few seconds, he moved to the side, seating himself in Mycroft's lap.
It seemed an oddly childish thing to do, but the other position had been somewhat uncomfortable, so Mycroft saw no reason to complain. He rubbed Jim's back lightly with one hand, patting his hair with the other. He intended the gesture to be calming, but he felt Jim's breathing increase under his hand.
After several minutes, Jim pulled back. His cheeks were pink, his eyes frantically searching Mycroft's face. He put a hand on Mycroft's jaw, slowly leaning in towards him...
Mycroft's eyes widened. He leaned backward as far as he could, quickly nudging Jim off of his lap. He cleared his throat. “I really must be going,” he said, getting to his feet.
Jim glared at him. “I don't see why.”
“This is inappropriate,” Mycroft replied.
The glare disappeared, replaced by a small smirk. “Like letting me sleep in your hotel room would have been inappropriate?”
Mycroft could tell what Jim was thinking – Mycroft had eventually given in on the matter of the hotel room, if only for one night. 'This is inappropriate' was surely only a challenge to find the situation that would get him what he wanted. “I am not interested in 15-year-old boys,” Mycroft said bluntly.
Jim sat up to attention. “What's the youngest age you would be interested in?” he asked.
“Far older than you are,” Mycroft answered.
He expected a scowl, but didn't get one. “...okay,” Jim replied, face completely unreadable.
Recognizing an ominous sign when he saw one, Mycroft quickly made his exit.
Mycroft almost didn't bother returning to 2012. It already seemed obvious that his interference in this instance couldn't possibly have resulted in an overall positive change to the timeline. However, without more information about the ultimate effects of his actions, he would have no way of knowing what he needed to do to improve the situation. The trip would give him a badly needed perspective on the problem.
And so, he found another library, retreated into the stacks, and made the trip forward.
Technologically, things seemed to be back to normal. Mycroft went to one of the computers and did his usual search.
'Genius Detective Brutally Murdered in Museum.'
Mycroft stared at the familiar headline, wondering if he'd somehow accidentally traveled back to the wrong 2012. The article itself was almost identical to the one he'd read two trips ago.
Knowing he didn't have the full picture, Mycroft decided to take a trip to his old office to see if he could talk his way in. Based on his experience in the other timelines, his other self had to be long gone by now, either dead or disappeared off into a branch universe somewhere.
After a momentary burst of shock and confusion when he appeared, his former assistant immediately handed over his files, allowing him to look them over in his old office.
There, he learned that Jim had stopped trying to prevent crime just after Mycroft had last seen him in 1995, but he'd only actively returned to crime himself a year later. His crimes were similar to what they had been two timelines ago, but the coded messages he left behind had a slightly different tone to them. 'I'm old enough', 'You can have me', and 'I don't want anyone else' were scrawled all over several major thefts from 1996 until 2000. From 2001 until 2011, the messages slowly changed, eventually ending in 'I WILL HAVE YOU', written in Sherlock's blood all over the museum floor.
The other Mycroft had still brought him in for interrogation in early 2011. Mycroft knew he wouldn't want to see what was on the video, but he'd played it anyway. He forced himself to watch as Jim scratched 'I WANT YOU' into the walls over and over again, then crawled into the other Mycroft's lap when he arrived to talk. “I want to know everything about you.”
It had not been an easy day for his other self.
Mycroft returned to the library, then retreated to the stacks, setting the device to late December 1995.
When Mycroft arrived, he immediately made the trip back to Brighton, returning to the building Jim knew he owned. He stood amongst the piles of gold and waited, certain that Jim would learn of his appearance soon enough.
It took half an hour for Jim to show up, looking like he'd run a marathon. “You're really here.”
“Obviously.”
“Are you here for me... or for Sherlock?” Jim asked, tone challenging.
Mycroft felt a shiver run down his spine – it was the first time he'd heard young Jim actually say Sherlock's name aloud. “I'm here to see you, of course.”
Jim smiled. “Have you changed your mind, then?” he asked, tone overly sweet. He took a step towards Mycroft. “Are you here to give me a late Christmas present?”
Mycroft stayed where he was, looking at Jim impassively. “I'm here to talk.”
“Talk about what?”
Mycroft swallowed. “Relationships,” he replied, feeling horribly awkward. His only previous attempt at a conversation like this, with Sherlock, had not gone well. He didn't know whether having to do this with a 15-year-old boy who wanted to sleep with him would be better or worse than having to do it with a 15-year-old boy who hated him and claimed he'd never want to sleep with anyone, but he was about to find out.
Jim smirked. “Sounds exciting,” he replied, in a tone he probably imagined was seductive.
“I'm glad you think so,” Mycroft said. “Are there any boys or girls at school who have caught your eye?”
“Are you serious?” Jim asked. “They're all idiots. Useful idiots, but still idiots.”
“Then perhaps you should be looking elsewhere,” Mycroft replied. Before Jim could misinterpret him, he added: “I'm sure there's someone out there who would interest you – someone close to your own age.”
Jim scowled. “There's already someone who interests me,” he said, crossing his arms.
“Very few people go their entire lives without being attracted to more than one person,” Mycroft replied. “If only you focus your attention on that person, you might end up missing the others.”
“Why do you even care?” Jim asked, kicking a small mound of jewelry.
“I will have to leave you again,” Mycroft replied. “I would prefer to know that you won't be alone in my absence.”
“You could always not go,” Jim replied.
“I'm afraid that isn't an option.” Mycroft paused, then took one of Jim's hands in his. “Please promise me that you'll make an effort to find someone else.”
Jim looked up at Mycroft, not saying anything. He pressed Mycroft's hand between both of his, stroking Mycroft's wrist with his thumb.
“Promise me,” Mycroft repeated.
Jim looked down, face alternating between anger, hurt, and resignation. “Fine. I promise.”
Mycroft patted Jim on the shoulder, then left. He headed back to the nearest library and back to 2012. His search on Sherlock's name turned up several articles, the most relevant being one from late 2011.
'Gay Thief Duo Found Dead in Bank Vault'
Mycroft sighed. He knew exactly who the title referred to before he even read the article.
The truly sad thing was that, at this point, Mycroft could easily have settled for a universe where Sherlock was part of a “gay thief duo” with Jim Moriarty, if only it meant everyone involved surviving through 2012.
~*~*~*~*~
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