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Title: Undoing Fate (Part 8/9) -- A Decade in Ten Days
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.
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~*~*~*~*~
2000
The trip forward was surprisingly short, taking less than a minute in total. Mycroft walked out of the stall and over to the row of sinks, intending to wash his face.
He was not expecting to see Jim's reflection in the corner of the mirror.
Mycroft spun around to find Jim standing near the doorway, dressed in a fine suit.
Jim looked at him with a thoughtful smile and slightly narrowed eyes. “You really did come back.”
“I did promise I would,” Mycroft replied, cursing himself for not choosing a different location for making the trip forward. It hadn’t occurred to him that Jim would figure out that he would reappear in the same place and come to meet him. “Shall we go somewhere a little more comfortable?” he added, gesturing to the door.
“Oh?” Jim looked him up and down, flicking his tongue against his teeth. “Are you finally going to let me--”
“No.”
Jim shook his head. “Then I'm not going to let you distract me,” he said. “I checked every stall in this room when I came in an hour ago. You weren't in any of them.” He walked into the stall Mycroft had just vacated, hitting various spots on the wall behind the toilet.
“You must have missed my arrival.”
“And just how did you arrive?” Jim asked, giving the wall one last smack before leaving the stall.
“I'm sure you're clever enough to figure that one out on your own,” Mycroft replied.
Jim glared at him, though the corners of his mouth were quirking upward. “That’s not fair. I know you're only saying that so I won’t ask anymore questions about your ability to literally appear out of thin air.”
“Are you telling me you aren’t clever enough to figure it out on your own?” Mycroft asked.
Jim glared at him some more. “No,” he said stubbornly.
“Well, you’ll have plenty of time to make deductions over the next year while I’m gone,” Mycroft replied. “Unless, of course, you would prefer to waste our day together in here--”
“No!” Jim interrupted. “No. I can do that later.”
“Good,” Mycroft replied, pushing his way out the door.
Jim followed. “Have you had breakfast?” he asked.
“No.”
“Then let’s go right now,” Jim replied. He took Mycroft’s hand and led him to a nearby restaurant. It was closed, but Jim knocked on the door and a man appeared to let them inside. “We’ll have the whole place to ourselves,” he said, leading Mycroft over to one of the tables. He held on to Mycroft’s hand even after they were seated, lightly running his fingers over Mycroft’s palm.
Mycroft allowed it for a moment, then pulled his hand away. “I take it they were expecting us?” he asked, wondering just how much of the day Jim had planned in advance.
“Sort of,” Jim replied. “I couldn’t be certain when or where you would return, but I do like to be prepared.”
“I see,” Mycroft said, gratefully accepting a cup of coffee from the waiter. “What have you been doing with yourself this past year?”
Jim grinned at him, then launched into details about how his career was going. He’d won a surprising number of awards and accolades for such a short time period, enough to impress even Mycroft just a little.
“You’ve given up on your previous... hobby, I hope?” Mycroft asked, after congratulating him.
Jim bit his lip, looking a bit coy. “Mostly.”
“Mostly?” Mycroft repeated, taking a bite of the eggs the waiter had set in front of him.
“I did arrange for a little something a few days ago,” Jim replied. “Just to distract Sherlock.”
“Why would you need to ‘distract Sherlock’?” Mycroft asked warily.
“When he’s not on a case, he gets bored,” Jim answered. “And when he’s bored, he comes barging into my office to pester me about the various things he considers me responsible for. Sometimes he follows me around. As fun as it is to play with him when he’s in one of those moods, I didn’t want him showing up while you’re here.”
“Aren’t you concerned that he might show up to pester you about this crime?” Mycroft said mildly.
Jim rolled his eyes. “By my estimation, it will take him at least another eight days to work out that I was involved. He’s surprisingly predictable about these things.”
“You’ve distracted him in this way before, then?”
“Only a few times,” Jim replied. He snickered. “He always works out it’s me, but he never has any proof. It drives him insane.”
Mycroft frowned. “I don’t suppose you know what his brother thinks of all this,” he said, imagining what he himself would have done if Sherlock had started obsessing over someone in such a fashion.
Jim laughed. “Oh, I don’t think he knows what to think,” he replied. “But he did have me abducted and taken to a mysterious warehouse several months ago.” He smiled fondly.
Mycroft held back a sigh. “What did he do once he had you?”
“Well, he had me tied to a chair, and then he loomed over me asking all sorts of questions about what I wanted with Sherlock. It was all very exciting.”
“What did you tell him?” Mycroft asked. He knew it couldn’t have been a complete disaster, or Jim wouldn’t be sitting there having breakfast with him.
“I told him that I didn’t want anything with Sherlock,” Jim replied. “Sherlock is the one following me, not the other way around.” He bit a piece off of his bacon. “And then I asked him out on a date.”
Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Yes, that’s exactly what he did,” Jim said, pointing at him with a half-eaten piece of toast. “You two really are surprisingly similar.”
Mycroft just continued eating his breakfast.
When they were finished, Jim took him to his office and showed him around. They didn’t stay long, but Jim did make a point of showing him each and every thing he’d achieved that year.
Afterwards, Jim took him to a few of his “crime scenes”, filling him in on what he’d done to catch Sherlock’s attention, as well as what Sherlock had been doing for the police. It seemed that his obsession with Jim aside, Sherlock was actually doing fairly well.
Mycroft wasn’t entirely sure whether he should be pleased or worried that Sherlock’s drug habit had been replaced with a mild stalking habit, but he saw no reason to intervene at the moment.
After they had finished dinner, Jim brought Mycroft back to his flat. “You’re the only one I’ve ever shown this place to,” he said. “My official address is miles away.”
Mycroft frowned. “You never bring anyone home with you?” he asked, taking in the expensive, yet fairly tasteful surroundings. Several obviously stolen paintings decorated the walls, and on closer inspection Mycroft determined that the furniture was likely stolen as well. There was a single picture frame on one of the side tables, containing the photo Jim had taken of Mycroft in the museum a year earlier.
“Oh, I have plenty of sex, if that’s what you’re asking,” Jim replied. “I just don’t bring anyone here. I can’t have Sherlock finding out where I really live, now, can I?”
“That’s probably wise,” Mycroft agreed.
They fell into conversation for a while, and it eventually grew late. Mycroft stood up to leave.
“Where are you going?” Jim asked.
“To check into a hotel,” Mycroft answered.
“You could stay here,” Jim said. Before Mycroft could object, he quickly added: “I have a spare bedroom, if you’re still worried about being appropriate.”
Mycroft hesitated. Staying with Jim didn’t seem like an especially good idea, but it was getting late. Between the full day he’d just had and his previous trip to 1999, he was more than ready to fall into bed and sleep. “Thank you,” he replied, already fighting a yawn.
Jim blinked at him. “You... really?” He grinned, clapping his hands together. “You’re really staying the night?”
“Only in the most appropriate possible sense,” Mycroft said.
“Naturally,” Jim replied. He clasped Mycroft’s hand and pulled him down the hallway. “Here, I’ll show you the room.”
Said room had the same style of the rest of the flat. There were stolen paintings on the walls, a large stolen bed in the middle of the room, and a small stolen table beside it. The bed linens were blue and obviously high quality, matching the curtains over the two windows. There was a small closet in the corner, though he didn’t bother to look inside. A photo of an aloof Sherlock glared out from a picture frame on the bedside table. Mycroft picked up the photo, then glanced at Jim.
“What? I thought you would like it,” Jim said, fidgeting a little. “Do you like it?”
Mycroft set the photo down on the table. If it had been a wall of photos of Sherlock, he’d have been concerned, but a single framed photo meant for him didn’t seem worth getting upset about. “It’s a fine room.”
“I thought so,” Jim replied. He walked to the doorway, stopping and looking back before he actually went through it. “You won’t leave before I wake up, will you?”
“No,” Mycroft replied.
“Good.” Jim closed the door behind him.
Mycroft didn’t even bother to remove his clothes. He took off his shoes, lay down on top of the bed, and fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.
He awoke to the smell of coffee the next morning. He made his hair as neat as he could without a brush, straightened his clothes, then made his way to the kitchen. He found Jim, already dressed reading an article about an “amazing ship theft” in the paper. There was a photo of a giant cruise ship lying upside down in the middle of a meadow on the front page.
“Is that what you did to distract Sherlock?” Mycroft asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
Jim smirked. “Well, I had to make it interesting if I wanted to keep him occupied, didn’t I?” He folded up the paper and held it out to Mycroft, accidentally knocking over his own cup of coffee in the process. The small amount of remaining coffee spilled onto Mycroft’s sleeve. “Oh, how careless of me.” He dabbed at the small stain with a napkin.
“It’s quite all right,” Mycroft replied, though he was secretly somewhat irritated at having his only shirt damaged in such a way. He didn’t have the urge to stop for a shopping trip before going forward, so he would just have to live with it.
Jim looked him over. “You can use my shower, you know. And my brush.” He pinched the stain on the sleeve. “I could take care of this while you’re at it.”
Taking the hint about the current state of his hygiene, Mycroft decided that a shower wouldn't be such a bad idea. Jim watched him undress with a little too much enthusiasm, then left to clean the stain. By the time Mycroft was finished, Jim had managed a remarkable job of getting it out. The sleeve was still wet, but Mycroft put the shirt on anyway. It was more than time for him to leave.
“Do you expect to still be living here next year?” he asked as he combed his hair into place.
“Yes,” Jim replied, watching him from the doorway.
When Mycroft was finished, they made their goodbyes. Jim promised to stay largely out of trouble, while Mycroft promised to return in a year’s time.
Mycroft left the flat. After ensuring that Jim wasn’t following him, he went to the closest library for the next trip forward. Jim would have no way of knowing where he’d appear, and a quiet corner of library was a far more pleasant place to be than the stall of a men’s room.
He set the device for six in the morning, one day short of a year in the future.
2001
Mycroft wasted no time in returning to Jim’s flat. It was ridiculously early in the morning for a visit, but he had no doubt Jim wouldn't care in the slightest.
Jim opened the door before Mycroft could even knock. “Good Morning,” he said, waving Mycroft into the flat. He looked Mycroft up and down, smiling a peculiar knowing smile, then began taking off Mycroft’s jacket.
Mycroft raised an eyebrow, but allowed it. It was only his jacket. “Are we staying in today?”
“Perhaps,” Jim replied, hanging the jacket on a coat hook. “But that’s not why I'm doing this.”
Mycroft eyed him warily, but stood his ground. “It isn’t?”
“No,” Jim replied, stalking back over to him. “I just need to check something.” He reached out and grabbed Mycroft’s arm, dabbing his fingers against the sleeve. “I knew it,” he said, clapping his hands together and spinning around excitedly. “Your shirt is still wet. It’s been a whole year and your shirt is still wet in the exact same place it was when I last saw you.”
“I spilled water on myself this morning,” Mycroft lied.
“I don’t believe you,” Jim replied, crossing his arms. “I can still smell the coffee and the stain remover.”
Mycroft smiled at him. “What do you believe, then?”
Jim looked far less certain of himself now. “I don’t know yet.” He frowned. “Sometimes I wonder if you even exist outside of my own head. If I didn’t have a picture of you, I’d think I was losing my mind.”
“You aren’t,” Mycroft replied. “For one thing, I’ve met your coworkers.”
“As if they count for anything,” Jim said, waving a hand dismissively. “No. This, this proves... something,” he added. He tapped his fingers together excitedly for a few seconds, then stopped. “But I suppose that doesn’t really matter right now. I’m sure you’d like to change into something else, if given the option?”
“That would really depend on the ‘something else’,” Mycroft answered.
“Obviously, I’m referring to bondage gear,” Jim replied, rolling his eyes. “No. Don’t worry. I only bought things I thought would fit your taste. They’re waiting in your room.”
Mycroft hesitated for a moment. “Thank you,” he said eventually, walking down the hallway to the room he’d slept in either a day or a year earlier, depending on how one looked at it.
Several objects had been added to the room since he’d last been there. A stolen bookshelf had been added to the collection of furniture, though there were fewer than a dozen books on the shelves. One of them was Sherlock’s ‘Science of Deduction’; another was a children’s physics book written by ‘Uncle Jim’. The rest were an odd assortment of crime-related books he didn’t bother to inspect more closely.
A comb and a toothbrush sat on the bedside table. The closet was stocked with several suits that did in fact match his taste very closely, all of them sized to precisely correct measurements. There were also a number of ties, socks, and miscellaneous underthings, as well as a pair of pajamas and a second pair of shoes.
Seeing no reason to shun Jim’s generosity, he changed into one of the suits, leaving the clothes he’d been wearing for the past several days folded neatly on the bed.
When he was finished, he spent the rest of the day out in the city with Jim, hearing all about his research, his work as a children’s book author, and the various ways he had annoyed Sherlock over the previous year.
Jim took a photo of the two of them together before Mycroft left.
2002
The photo was on the wall when Mycroft returned, next to a framed newspaper article. ‘Consulting Detective and Renowned Physicist Solve Baffling Series of Murders.’ The article had a photo of Jim with his arm around Sherlock, smiling charmingly while Sherlock gritted his teeth and refused to look at the camera.
“You would not believe how fun that one was,” Jim said, smirking gleefully.
“How did you even come to be on the case in the first place?” Mycroft asked, feeling just a hint of suspicion.
“I had nothing to do with the murder, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Jim replied. “But after reading certain details about the third murder in the paper, I realized that the victims must have been killed in one of our labs. I contacted the police immediately, of course.” He shook his head. “Sherlock then decided to accuse me of the crime. The Inspector in charge of the case questioned me for over twelve hours.”
“How did you convince him of your innocence?”
“The real killer struck again while I was being interviewed,” Jim replied. “The Inspector was very apologetic about the whole thing. He accepted my offer of assistance right away.” Jim paused. “You know, his team really doesn’t like Sherlock very much. They were ready to kick him off of the case entirely after that mistake.”
“Why didn’t they?”
Jim smiled warmly. “Oh, I convinced them that it was quite all right. Sherlock was only doing his best to catch a murderer, after all. We couldn’t very well hold that against him, could we? No, I insisted we solve the whole thing together.”
“How magnanimous of you,” Mycroft replied. “I’m sure Sherlock was quite grateful,” he added, imagining Sherlock sulking in a corner even as Jim defended him.
“Yes, he was!” Jim replied. “He made such wonderful faces every time I made it clear how desperately his help was needed. I’m just a lowly physicist, after all. I don’t know anything about the big bad world of crime.”
Mycroft only sighed.
2003
The next time Mycroft arrived, he was immediately presented with a crown and scepter. “I thought you might like something special.”
Mycroft took the scepter, but put a hand up to stop Jim from putting the crown on his head. “Please tell me these aren’t what I think they are,” Mycroft said, though he already knew very well that they were.
“Of course they’re what you think they are,” Jim replied. “Oh, don’t give me that look. Sherlock was getting bored. They hadn’t given him a case in months, and he was starting to lose interest in following me around.”
“Is he aware that you committed the theft?”
“Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time.” Jim put the crown on his head. “I’ll return them both before he figures it out. Would you rather Sherlock returned to boring, self-destructive habits?”
“No.”
2004
“I don’t know if you have television in Neverland -- or wherever it is that you go when you aren’t here -- but if you do, you can watch me in my new series,” Jim said, gesturing to a poster of himself and several children, surrounding by science equipment.
“You’re a children’s television presenter now?” Mycroft asked.
“Yes, though not exclusively,” Jim replied. “I’ve decided to be a ‘consulting physicist’.”
“What does that entail?”
“It entails helping people with their immediate physics-related problems, without having to sit around writing and reviewing endless dull papers no one cares about.”
“Are there many people with ‘immediate physics-related problems’ for you to solve?” Mycroft asked.
“More than you might think,” Jim answered. “There are all sorts of strange, interesting projects out there.”
“But none interesting enough to capture your attention full time?”
Jim shook his head. “Too much red tape and paperwork.”
2005
“I don’t suppose you’re going to admit that the nick on your face is the same one you got while shaving the last time you were here,” Jim said.
“How could it be?” Mycroft replied.
“It’s in the exact same spot.”
“I’m careless about that spot on my face."
2006
“I’m twenty-six,” Jim said, sitting next to Mycroft on the bed. “I don’t suppose that’s old enough for you, yet?”
“No.”
“Well, I’m sure I’ll catch up to you eventually,” Jim replied. “It’s not like you’re getting any older.”
“I really don’t understand what you’re implying.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute,” Jim replied. He frowned. “You know, Sherlock’s brother looks more and more like you every year. It’s uncanny.”
“What are you suggesting?”
Jim held up his hands in frustration. “I don’t know.”
2007
“I told Sherlock the truth about that first theft.”
Mycroft nearly choked on his steak. “I’m sorry. I don’t believe I heard you correctly.”
“Oh, I believe you did,” Jim said pleasantly.
“What exactly did you tell him?”
“The truth,” Jim repeated. “That the crime was actually committed by a nameless man who looks exactly like his brother. One who can appear and disappear out of thin air at will, won't tell me anything about himself, and never ages.” Jim tilted his head. “He didn’t believe a word of it. No idea why.”
2008
Mycroft knew he was in trouble from the moment he walked in the door and saw Jim’s smug grin. He didn’t find out why until midway through breakfast, however.
“You know,” Jim said conversationally, “I saw a watch just like yours only last month.”
Mycroft stiffened. “Did you?”
“Well, not a physical one,” Jim replied. “It was more of a schematic. Part of this interesting American project they tried to recruit me for. Something about time travel.”
Mycroft’s mouth went dry. “I take it you turned them down?”
“Naturally,” Jim answered. “If I went bouncing around different timelines, I’d miss our little meetings, wouldn’t I?” He took a bite of sausage, chewing thoughtfully. “Though, I have to admit the idea does sound exciting.” He laughed. “I can only imagine how fun it would be to go back in time and wow someone with my amazing future knowledge. It’s very tempting, don’t you think?” He stared Mycroft right in the eyes, smiling like the cat who’d caught the canary.
Mycroft cleared his throat. “It doesn't seem worth the effort just to accomplish something so trivial,” he replied.
“What are you trying to accomplish, then?” Jim asked bluntly.
“I don’t know what you believe the project you’re referring to has to do with me,” Mycroft replied. “However, my goal has always been exactly what I told you.”
“To keep me out of trouble, then?” Jim asked. “Or to keep Sherlock out of trouble?”
“Both.”
“What did we do the first time around?” Jim asked. He frowned. “Or the other few times around. You had future knowledge the first several times you visited me, which means you must have--”
“I really don’t know what you mean,” Mycroft interrupted.
“Come on,” Jim replied. “I’ve already figured it out. There’s no reason not to tell me.”
“Your life is going well the way it is,” Mycroft said. “I don’t see why a theoretical alternate life that ended in a pointless, horrific tragedy should matter to you.”
Jim went quiet, staying that way for the rest of breakfast. He didn’t bring up the subject again at any point during the rest of the day.
The Next Morning
“I already know you’re jumping a year into the future,” Jim complained. “There’s no reason you can’t just do it here.”
“What does it matter what I’m doing or where, if you’re so confident you already know what it is?” Mycroft asked.
“You really can’t see why I’d been interested in seeing you leap forward in time?” Jim asked, staring at him in pure disbelief. “I know you aren’t going to let me come with you, but you could at least let me see it happen.”
Mycroft sighed. There seemed to be little point in pretending any longer. It wouldn’t make Jim any less aware of the truth than he already was. He supposed it could be a trick or trap of some kind, but given that Jim had made no attempt to take or tamper with the device while he slept, he was inclined to think it wasn’t.
It was just difficult to give up his aura of mystery after holding on to it for so long.
“All right,” Mycroft replied.
Jim blinked at him. “Wait, really? I’m finally going to get to see you disappear?” He gave an excited whoop, then jumped up and down.
“Yes.” Mycroft sat down on the sofa. “Make certain that there’s nothing in this spot when I arrive next year.”
“Fine,” Jim replied. He stood in front of Mycroft, staring at him intently.
Mycroft set the device forward one year. “I’ll see you soon,” he said, pressing the activation button.
Jim looked shocked for several seconds, then waved a hand right through the spot where Mycroft was sitting. Time sped up as he walked away, and Mycroft was soon traveling too fast to see minor changes occurring in the flat.
2009
A few seconds before the end of the trip, time once again slowed down. Mycroft saw Jim return to roughly the same spot he’d been in earlier, rubbing his hands in anticipation.
His eyes widened just as Mycroft heard the whooshing noise around him disappear.
Jim grinned at him, breathing slightly hard. “That. Was. Amazing.” He started patting Mycroft’s chest, arms, and shoulders as though to make sure he was really there.
Mycroft felt an odd sort of relief at Jim’s enthusiasm. He didn’t like to admit it, but he’d already grown more than used to Jim thinking he was utterly incredible. The thought of becoming an ordinary man in Jim’s estimation pained him greatly. “Was it?” he said mildly.
“No,” Jim said, rolling his eyes. “I mean, all you did was travel through time right in front of me.” He shook his head, still smiling, then pulled Mycroft up off of the sofa and out the front door.
2009's news took Mycroft completely by surprise.
“Sherlock has a new friend you'd probably like to know about,” Jim told him.
Mycroft looked up sharply. “It’s not a man named John Watson, is it?”
“Yes,” Jim replied. He frowned. “Was he dangerous to Sherlock in the original timeline? I’m fairly certain he killed the first suspect they pursued together.”
“He wasn’t dangerous to Sherlock, no,” Mycroft answered. “I merely wasn’t expecting things to match up so closely after so much time has passed. You say you believe he killed someone?”
“A lunatic cabbie,” Jim replied. “He had some kind of terminal illness and decided to take it out on his passengers. He'd shoot them in the head, take all their valuables, then dump the bodies in the river. All to leave something behind for his family.” He clucked his tongue. “He could have at least picked a less boring way to go about it. I was surprised Sherlock even bothered.”
“It was probably the unusual combination of victims that caught his attention this time,” Mycroft said, not knowing whether to be worried or relieved.
“This time?” Jim asked. “What caught his attention last time?”
Mycroft shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.” He paused. “Have you met John?”
Jim snickered. “Yes,” he replied. “He can never decide whether he likes or hates me. I’m certain he believes Sherlock’s theory about the things I’m responsible for, but I’m always so pleasant to both him and Sherlock. Even when Sherlock is in one of his stalking moods.” Jim took a bite of his toast, smirking. “Poor Dr. Watson comes trailing along behind him now, trying to convince him to leave me alone.”
It might not have been exactly what he would have hoped for, but Mycroft supposed it would have to do.
2010
“There is no way that you are more than a year or two older than Mycroft Holmes at this point,” Jim said.
“I don’t see your point,” Mycroft replied.
Jim bit his lip. “Aren’t you close enough to the point in time you left? Why do you have to keep going?”
“I don’t belong here.”
“You don’t belong there, either,” Jim pointed out. “Technically, you belong in an entirely different universe. Another year shouldn’t make any difference.”
“...I need to see what happens to Sherlock.”
“There’s no reason you can’t see it the normal way.”
Mycroft sighed. He was tempted to give in, but 2011 seemed to be the magic year, the one none of them could go beyond without meeting certain doom. If he stayed the full year, he knew he’d spend every single day worrying about Sherlock’s safety. “I have nothing to do with myself here.”
“You have nothing to do with yourself there, either,” Jim replied. “There’s another you taking up your spot. You could always devote your full attention to your brother.”
Mycroft laughed harshly. “Yes, but the fact is that I would certainly notice someone stalking Sherlock, especially if that someone happened to look just like me. I have no desire to confront my other self.”
“But don’t you ever intend to see the brother you’re going through all this effort to save?” Jim asked, banging his fork down on the table.
Mycroft looked down, pausing a moment before responding. “He scarcely allowed me to see him before. I’ve been forced to content myself with mere knowledge of his safety for years. As long as he’s alive and happy, that’s all I care about.”
It wasn’t entirely true -- in fact, his chest burned as he thought of never talking to Sherlock personally again. However, he was also well aware that there was nothing he could do about it. The Sherlock he was saving didn’t even know him, and it would just have to stay that way.
Mycroft glanced up at Jim, who was watching him silently, frowning.
Mycroft forced a smile onto his face. “Why don’t we talk about something more pleasant?”
2011
Mycroft was relieved to learn that Sherlock was doing ‘as well as ever’, though he had to ask Jim the same question a half-dozen times before he truly believed it.
If he’d been a little less distracted with joy over Sherlock’s continued survival, he might have found Jim’s insistence that they visit his office that morning a little odd. He would have given a little more thought to the way Jim surreptitiously checked his watch as they arrived, as well as Jim’s insistence that they sit in an unusual part of the office as they conversed.
However, he didn’t think much of any of these things until he heard John Watson’s voice echoing down the hallway outside the office, and by then it was much too late.
“Look, I just don’t think Jim would waste his time tampering with your sock index,” John said. “I know you think he’s some kind of master thief, but--”
“I don’t think he’s a thief,” Sherlock interrupted. “I know he’s a thief. And he didn’t just tamper with my sock index, he--”
“Yes, I know,” John replied, sighing in resignation. “He left a coded message only you would recognize.”
Mycroft looked frantically around the room for some means of escape, but there was none. There was only one door, and the windows didn’t open. He was too far from the door to lock it before Sherlock could enter. “You arranged for this to happen,” he hissed at Jim.
“Did I?” Jim’s face took on an overly innocent expression.
The door swung open before Mycroft could reply, Sherlock storming into the room. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it when he caught sight of Mycroft. His brow furrowed, eyes darting all over the place in confusion.
“Sorry, Jim,” John said, wandering in after him. “I tried to tell him--” He trailed off, suddenly seeming to take in what he was seeing. “Mycroft? What are you doing here?”
~*~*~*~*~
<< 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 >>
~*~*~*~*~
2000
The trip forward was surprisingly short, taking less than a minute in total. Mycroft walked out of the stall and over to the row of sinks, intending to wash his face.
He was not expecting to see Jim's reflection in the corner of the mirror.
Mycroft spun around to find Jim standing near the doorway, dressed in a fine suit.
Jim looked at him with a thoughtful smile and slightly narrowed eyes. “You really did come back.”
“I did promise I would,” Mycroft replied, cursing himself for not choosing a different location for making the trip forward. It hadn’t occurred to him that Jim would figure out that he would reappear in the same place and come to meet him. “Shall we go somewhere a little more comfortable?” he added, gesturing to the door.
“Oh?” Jim looked him up and down, flicking his tongue against his teeth. “Are you finally going to let me--”
“No.”
Jim shook his head. “Then I'm not going to let you distract me,” he said. “I checked every stall in this room when I came in an hour ago. You weren't in any of them.” He walked into the stall Mycroft had just vacated, hitting various spots on the wall behind the toilet.
“You must have missed my arrival.”
“And just how did you arrive?” Jim asked, giving the wall one last smack before leaving the stall.
“I'm sure you're clever enough to figure that one out on your own,” Mycroft replied.
Jim glared at him, though the corners of his mouth were quirking upward. “That’s not fair. I know you're only saying that so I won’t ask anymore questions about your ability to literally appear out of thin air.”
“Are you telling me you aren’t clever enough to figure it out on your own?” Mycroft asked.
Jim glared at him some more. “No,” he said stubbornly.
“Well, you’ll have plenty of time to make deductions over the next year while I’m gone,” Mycroft replied. “Unless, of course, you would prefer to waste our day together in here--”
“No!” Jim interrupted. “No. I can do that later.”
“Good,” Mycroft replied, pushing his way out the door.
Jim followed. “Have you had breakfast?” he asked.
“No.”
“Then let’s go right now,” Jim replied. He took Mycroft’s hand and led him to a nearby restaurant. It was closed, but Jim knocked on the door and a man appeared to let them inside. “We’ll have the whole place to ourselves,” he said, leading Mycroft over to one of the tables. He held on to Mycroft’s hand even after they were seated, lightly running his fingers over Mycroft’s palm.
Mycroft allowed it for a moment, then pulled his hand away. “I take it they were expecting us?” he asked, wondering just how much of the day Jim had planned in advance.
“Sort of,” Jim replied. “I couldn’t be certain when or where you would return, but I do like to be prepared.”
“I see,” Mycroft said, gratefully accepting a cup of coffee from the waiter. “What have you been doing with yourself this past year?”
Jim grinned at him, then launched into details about how his career was going. He’d won a surprising number of awards and accolades for such a short time period, enough to impress even Mycroft just a little.
“You’ve given up on your previous... hobby, I hope?” Mycroft asked, after congratulating him.
Jim bit his lip, looking a bit coy. “Mostly.”
“Mostly?” Mycroft repeated, taking a bite of the eggs the waiter had set in front of him.
“I did arrange for a little something a few days ago,” Jim replied. “Just to distract Sherlock.”
“Why would you need to ‘distract Sherlock’?” Mycroft asked warily.
“When he’s not on a case, he gets bored,” Jim answered. “And when he’s bored, he comes barging into my office to pester me about the various things he considers me responsible for. Sometimes he follows me around. As fun as it is to play with him when he’s in one of those moods, I didn’t want him showing up while you’re here.”
“Aren’t you concerned that he might show up to pester you about this crime?” Mycroft said mildly.
Jim rolled his eyes. “By my estimation, it will take him at least another eight days to work out that I was involved. He’s surprisingly predictable about these things.”
“You’ve distracted him in this way before, then?”
“Only a few times,” Jim replied. He snickered. “He always works out it’s me, but he never has any proof. It drives him insane.”
Mycroft frowned. “I don’t suppose you know what his brother thinks of all this,” he said, imagining what he himself would have done if Sherlock had started obsessing over someone in such a fashion.
Jim laughed. “Oh, I don’t think he knows what to think,” he replied. “But he did have me abducted and taken to a mysterious warehouse several months ago.” He smiled fondly.
Mycroft held back a sigh. “What did he do once he had you?”
“Well, he had me tied to a chair, and then he loomed over me asking all sorts of questions about what I wanted with Sherlock. It was all very exciting.”
“What did you tell him?” Mycroft asked. He knew it couldn’t have been a complete disaster, or Jim wouldn’t be sitting there having breakfast with him.
“I told him that I didn’t want anything with Sherlock,” Jim replied. “Sherlock is the one following me, not the other way around.” He bit a piece off of his bacon. “And then I asked him out on a date.”
Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Yes, that’s exactly what he did,” Jim said, pointing at him with a half-eaten piece of toast. “You two really are surprisingly similar.”
Mycroft just continued eating his breakfast.
When they were finished, Jim took him to his office and showed him around. They didn’t stay long, but Jim did make a point of showing him each and every thing he’d achieved that year.
Afterwards, Jim took him to a few of his “crime scenes”, filling him in on what he’d done to catch Sherlock’s attention, as well as what Sherlock had been doing for the police. It seemed that his obsession with Jim aside, Sherlock was actually doing fairly well.
Mycroft wasn’t entirely sure whether he should be pleased or worried that Sherlock’s drug habit had been replaced with a mild stalking habit, but he saw no reason to intervene at the moment.
After they had finished dinner, Jim brought Mycroft back to his flat. “You’re the only one I’ve ever shown this place to,” he said. “My official address is miles away.”
Mycroft frowned. “You never bring anyone home with you?” he asked, taking in the expensive, yet fairly tasteful surroundings. Several obviously stolen paintings decorated the walls, and on closer inspection Mycroft determined that the furniture was likely stolen as well. There was a single picture frame on one of the side tables, containing the photo Jim had taken of Mycroft in the museum a year earlier.
“Oh, I have plenty of sex, if that’s what you’re asking,” Jim replied. “I just don’t bring anyone here. I can’t have Sherlock finding out where I really live, now, can I?”
“That’s probably wise,” Mycroft agreed.
They fell into conversation for a while, and it eventually grew late. Mycroft stood up to leave.
“Where are you going?” Jim asked.
“To check into a hotel,” Mycroft answered.
“You could stay here,” Jim said. Before Mycroft could object, he quickly added: “I have a spare bedroom, if you’re still worried about being appropriate.”
Mycroft hesitated. Staying with Jim didn’t seem like an especially good idea, but it was getting late. Between the full day he’d just had and his previous trip to 1999, he was more than ready to fall into bed and sleep. “Thank you,” he replied, already fighting a yawn.
Jim blinked at him. “You... really?” He grinned, clapping his hands together. “You’re really staying the night?”
“Only in the most appropriate possible sense,” Mycroft said.
“Naturally,” Jim replied. He clasped Mycroft’s hand and pulled him down the hallway. “Here, I’ll show you the room.”
Said room had the same style of the rest of the flat. There were stolen paintings on the walls, a large stolen bed in the middle of the room, and a small stolen table beside it. The bed linens were blue and obviously high quality, matching the curtains over the two windows. There was a small closet in the corner, though he didn’t bother to look inside. A photo of an aloof Sherlock glared out from a picture frame on the bedside table. Mycroft picked up the photo, then glanced at Jim.
“What? I thought you would like it,” Jim said, fidgeting a little. “Do you like it?”
Mycroft set the photo down on the table. If it had been a wall of photos of Sherlock, he’d have been concerned, but a single framed photo meant for him didn’t seem worth getting upset about. “It’s a fine room.”
“I thought so,” Jim replied. He walked to the doorway, stopping and looking back before he actually went through it. “You won’t leave before I wake up, will you?”
“No,” Mycroft replied.
“Good.” Jim closed the door behind him.
Mycroft didn’t even bother to remove his clothes. He took off his shoes, lay down on top of the bed, and fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.
He awoke to the smell of coffee the next morning. He made his hair as neat as he could without a brush, straightened his clothes, then made his way to the kitchen. He found Jim, already dressed reading an article about an “amazing ship theft” in the paper. There was a photo of a giant cruise ship lying upside down in the middle of a meadow on the front page.
“Is that what you did to distract Sherlock?” Mycroft asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
Jim smirked. “Well, I had to make it interesting if I wanted to keep him occupied, didn’t I?” He folded up the paper and held it out to Mycroft, accidentally knocking over his own cup of coffee in the process. The small amount of remaining coffee spilled onto Mycroft’s sleeve. “Oh, how careless of me.” He dabbed at the small stain with a napkin.
“It’s quite all right,” Mycroft replied, though he was secretly somewhat irritated at having his only shirt damaged in such a way. He didn’t have the urge to stop for a shopping trip before going forward, so he would just have to live with it.
Jim looked him over. “You can use my shower, you know. And my brush.” He pinched the stain on the sleeve. “I could take care of this while you’re at it.”
Taking the hint about the current state of his hygiene, Mycroft decided that a shower wouldn't be such a bad idea. Jim watched him undress with a little too much enthusiasm, then left to clean the stain. By the time Mycroft was finished, Jim had managed a remarkable job of getting it out. The sleeve was still wet, but Mycroft put the shirt on anyway. It was more than time for him to leave.
“Do you expect to still be living here next year?” he asked as he combed his hair into place.
“Yes,” Jim replied, watching him from the doorway.
When Mycroft was finished, they made their goodbyes. Jim promised to stay largely out of trouble, while Mycroft promised to return in a year’s time.
Mycroft left the flat. After ensuring that Jim wasn’t following him, he went to the closest library for the next trip forward. Jim would have no way of knowing where he’d appear, and a quiet corner of library was a far more pleasant place to be than the stall of a men’s room.
He set the device for six in the morning, one day short of a year in the future.
2001
Mycroft wasted no time in returning to Jim’s flat. It was ridiculously early in the morning for a visit, but he had no doubt Jim wouldn't care in the slightest.
Jim opened the door before Mycroft could even knock. “Good Morning,” he said, waving Mycroft into the flat. He looked Mycroft up and down, smiling a peculiar knowing smile, then began taking off Mycroft’s jacket.
Mycroft raised an eyebrow, but allowed it. It was only his jacket. “Are we staying in today?”
“Perhaps,” Jim replied, hanging the jacket on a coat hook. “But that’s not why I'm doing this.”
Mycroft eyed him warily, but stood his ground. “It isn’t?”
“No,” Jim replied, stalking back over to him. “I just need to check something.” He reached out and grabbed Mycroft’s arm, dabbing his fingers against the sleeve. “I knew it,” he said, clapping his hands together and spinning around excitedly. “Your shirt is still wet. It’s been a whole year and your shirt is still wet in the exact same place it was when I last saw you.”
“I spilled water on myself this morning,” Mycroft lied.
“I don’t believe you,” Jim replied, crossing his arms. “I can still smell the coffee and the stain remover.”
Mycroft smiled at him. “What do you believe, then?”
Jim looked far less certain of himself now. “I don’t know yet.” He frowned. “Sometimes I wonder if you even exist outside of my own head. If I didn’t have a picture of you, I’d think I was losing my mind.”
“You aren’t,” Mycroft replied. “For one thing, I’ve met your coworkers.”
“As if they count for anything,” Jim said, waving a hand dismissively. “No. This, this proves... something,” he added. He tapped his fingers together excitedly for a few seconds, then stopped. “But I suppose that doesn’t really matter right now. I’m sure you’d like to change into something else, if given the option?”
“That would really depend on the ‘something else’,” Mycroft answered.
“Obviously, I’m referring to bondage gear,” Jim replied, rolling his eyes. “No. Don’t worry. I only bought things I thought would fit your taste. They’re waiting in your room.”
Mycroft hesitated for a moment. “Thank you,” he said eventually, walking down the hallway to the room he’d slept in either a day or a year earlier, depending on how one looked at it.
Several objects had been added to the room since he’d last been there. A stolen bookshelf had been added to the collection of furniture, though there were fewer than a dozen books on the shelves. One of them was Sherlock’s ‘Science of Deduction’; another was a children’s physics book written by ‘Uncle Jim’. The rest were an odd assortment of crime-related books he didn’t bother to inspect more closely.
A comb and a toothbrush sat on the bedside table. The closet was stocked with several suits that did in fact match his taste very closely, all of them sized to precisely correct measurements. There were also a number of ties, socks, and miscellaneous underthings, as well as a pair of pajamas and a second pair of shoes.
Seeing no reason to shun Jim’s generosity, he changed into one of the suits, leaving the clothes he’d been wearing for the past several days folded neatly on the bed.
When he was finished, he spent the rest of the day out in the city with Jim, hearing all about his research, his work as a children’s book author, and the various ways he had annoyed Sherlock over the previous year.
Jim took a photo of the two of them together before Mycroft left.
2002
The photo was on the wall when Mycroft returned, next to a framed newspaper article. ‘Consulting Detective and Renowned Physicist Solve Baffling Series of Murders.’ The article had a photo of Jim with his arm around Sherlock, smiling charmingly while Sherlock gritted his teeth and refused to look at the camera.
“You would not believe how fun that one was,” Jim said, smirking gleefully.
“How did you even come to be on the case in the first place?” Mycroft asked, feeling just a hint of suspicion.
“I had nothing to do with the murder, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Jim replied. “But after reading certain details about the third murder in the paper, I realized that the victims must have been killed in one of our labs. I contacted the police immediately, of course.” He shook his head. “Sherlock then decided to accuse me of the crime. The Inspector in charge of the case questioned me for over twelve hours.”
“How did you convince him of your innocence?”
“The real killer struck again while I was being interviewed,” Jim replied. “The Inspector was very apologetic about the whole thing. He accepted my offer of assistance right away.” Jim paused. “You know, his team really doesn’t like Sherlock very much. They were ready to kick him off of the case entirely after that mistake.”
“Why didn’t they?”
Jim smiled warmly. “Oh, I convinced them that it was quite all right. Sherlock was only doing his best to catch a murderer, after all. We couldn’t very well hold that against him, could we? No, I insisted we solve the whole thing together.”
“How magnanimous of you,” Mycroft replied. “I’m sure Sherlock was quite grateful,” he added, imagining Sherlock sulking in a corner even as Jim defended him.
“Yes, he was!” Jim replied. “He made such wonderful faces every time I made it clear how desperately his help was needed. I’m just a lowly physicist, after all. I don’t know anything about the big bad world of crime.”
Mycroft only sighed.
2003
The next time Mycroft arrived, he was immediately presented with a crown and scepter. “I thought you might like something special.”
Mycroft took the scepter, but put a hand up to stop Jim from putting the crown on his head. “Please tell me these aren’t what I think they are,” Mycroft said, though he already knew very well that they were.
“Of course they’re what you think they are,” Jim replied. “Oh, don’t give me that look. Sherlock was getting bored. They hadn’t given him a case in months, and he was starting to lose interest in following me around.”
“Is he aware that you committed the theft?”
“Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time.” Jim put the crown on his head. “I’ll return them both before he figures it out. Would you rather Sherlock returned to boring, self-destructive habits?”
“No.”
2004
“I don’t know if you have television in Neverland -- or wherever it is that you go when you aren’t here -- but if you do, you can watch me in my new series,” Jim said, gesturing to a poster of himself and several children, surrounding by science equipment.
“You’re a children’s television presenter now?” Mycroft asked.
“Yes, though not exclusively,” Jim replied. “I’ve decided to be a ‘consulting physicist’.”
“What does that entail?”
“It entails helping people with their immediate physics-related problems, without having to sit around writing and reviewing endless dull papers no one cares about.”
“Are there many people with ‘immediate physics-related problems’ for you to solve?” Mycroft asked.
“More than you might think,” Jim answered. “There are all sorts of strange, interesting projects out there.”
“But none interesting enough to capture your attention full time?”
Jim shook his head. “Too much red tape and paperwork.”
2005
“I don’t suppose you’re going to admit that the nick on your face is the same one you got while shaving the last time you were here,” Jim said.
“How could it be?” Mycroft replied.
“It’s in the exact same spot.”
“I’m careless about that spot on my face."
2006
“I’m twenty-six,” Jim said, sitting next to Mycroft on the bed. “I don’t suppose that’s old enough for you, yet?”
“No.”
“Well, I’m sure I’ll catch up to you eventually,” Jim replied. “It’s not like you’re getting any older.”
“I really don’t understand what you’re implying.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute,” Jim replied. He frowned. “You know, Sherlock’s brother looks more and more like you every year. It’s uncanny.”
“What are you suggesting?”
Jim held up his hands in frustration. “I don’t know.”
2007
“I told Sherlock the truth about that first theft.”
Mycroft nearly choked on his steak. “I’m sorry. I don’t believe I heard you correctly.”
“Oh, I believe you did,” Jim said pleasantly.
“What exactly did you tell him?”
“The truth,” Jim repeated. “That the crime was actually committed by a nameless man who looks exactly like his brother. One who can appear and disappear out of thin air at will, won't tell me anything about himself, and never ages.” Jim tilted his head. “He didn’t believe a word of it. No idea why.”
2008
Mycroft knew he was in trouble from the moment he walked in the door and saw Jim’s smug grin. He didn’t find out why until midway through breakfast, however.
“You know,” Jim said conversationally, “I saw a watch just like yours only last month.”
Mycroft stiffened. “Did you?”
“Well, not a physical one,” Jim replied. “It was more of a schematic. Part of this interesting American project they tried to recruit me for. Something about time travel.”
Mycroft’s mouth went dry. “I take it you turned them down?”
“Naturally,” Jim answered. “If I went bouncing around different timelines, I’d miss our little meetings, wouldn’t I?” He took a bite of sausage, chewing thoughtfully. “Though, I have to admit the idea does sound exciting.” He laughed. “I can only imagine how fun it would be to go back in time and wow someone with my amazing future knowledge. It’s very tempting, don’t you think?” He stared Mycroft right in the eyes, smiling like the cat who’d caught the canary.
Mycroft cleared his throat. “It doesn't seem worth the effort just to accomplish something so trivial,” he replied.
“What are you trying to accomplish, then?” Jim asked bluntly.
“I don’t know what you believe the project you’re referring to has to do with me,” Mycroft replied. “However, my goal has always been exactly what I told you.”
“To keep me out of trouble, then?” Jim asked. “Or to keep Sherlock out of trouble?”
“Both.”
“What did we do the first time around?” Jim asked. He frowned. “Or the other few times around. You had future knowledge the first several times you visited me, which means you must have--”
“I really don’t know what you mean,” Mycroft interrupted.
“Come on,” Jim replied. “I’ve already figured it out. There’s no reason not to tell me.”
“Your life is going well the way it is,” Mycroft said. “I don’t see why a theoretical alternate life that ended in a pointless, horrific tragedy should matter to you.”
Jim went quiet, staying that way for the rest of breakfast. He didn’t bring up the subject again at any point during the rest of the day.
The Next Morning
“I already know you’re jumping a year into the future,” Jim complained. “There’s no reason you can’t just do it here.”
“What does it matter what I’m doing or where, if you’re so confident you already know what it is?” Mycroft asked.
“You really can’t see why I’d been interested in seeing you leap forward in time?” Jim asked, staring at him in pure disbelief. “I know you aren’t going to let me come with you, but you could at least let me see it happen.”
Mycroft sighed. There seemed to be little point in pretending any longer. It wouldn’t make Jim any less aware of the truth than he already was. He supposed it could be a trick or trap of some kind, but given that Jim had made no attempt to take or tamper with the device while he slept, he was inclined to think it wasn’t.
It was just difficult to give up his aura of mystery after holding on to it for so long.
“All right,” Mycroft replied.
Jim blinked at him. “Wait, really? I’m finally going to get to see you disappear?” He gave an excited whoop, then jumped up and down.
“Yes.” Mycroft sat down on the sofa. “Make certain that there’s nothing in this spot when I arrive next year.”
“Fine,” Jim replied. He stood in front of Mycroft, staring at him intently.
Mycroft set the device forward one year. “I’ll see you soon,” he said, pressing the activation button.
Jim looked shocked for several seconds, then waved a hand right through the spot where Mycroft was sitting. Time sped up as he walked away, and Mycroft was soon traveling too fast to see minor changes occurring in the flat.
2009
A few seconds before the end of the trip, time once again slowed down. Mycroft saw Jim return to roughly the same spot he’d been in earlier, rubbing his hands in anticipation.
His eyes widened just as Mycroft heard the whooshing noise around him disappear.
Jim grinned at him, breathing slightly hard. “That. Was. Amazing.” He started patting Mycroft’s chest, arms, and shoulders as though to make sure he was really there.
Mycroft felt an odd sort of relief at Jim’s enthusiasm. He didn’t like to admit it, but he’d already grown more than used to Jim thinking he was utterly incredible. The thought of becoming an ordinary man in Jim’s estimation pained him greatly. “Was it?” he said mildly.
“No,” Jim said, rolling his eyes. “I mean, all you did was travel through time right in front of me.” He shook his head, still smiling, then pulled Mycroft up off of the sofa and out the front door.
2009's news took Mycroft completely by surprise.
“Sherlock has a new friend you'd probably like to know about,” Jim told him.
Mycroft looked up sharply. “It’s not a man named John Watson, is it?”
“Yes,” Jim replied. He frowned. “Was he dangerous to Sherlock in the original timeline? I’m fairly certain he killed the first suspect they pursued together.”
“He wasn’t dangerous to Sherlock, no,” Mycroft answered. “I merely wasn’t expecting things to match up so closely after so much time has passed. You say you believe he killed someone?”
“A lunatic cabbie,” Jim replied. “He had some kind of terminal illness and decided to take it out on his passengers. He'd shoot them in the head, take all their valuables, then dump the bodies in the river. All to leave something behind for his family.” He clucked his tongue. “He could have at least picked a less boring way to go about it. I was surprised Sherlock even bothered.”
“It was probably the unusual combination of victims that caught his attention this time,” Mycroft said, not knowing whether to be worried or relieved.
“This time?” Jim asked. “What caught his attention last time?”
Mycroft shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.” He paused. “Have you met John?”
Jim snickered. “Yes,” he replied. “He can never decide whether he likes or hates me. I’m certain he believes Sherlock’s theory about the things I’m responsible for, but I’m always so pleasant to both him and Sherlock. Even when Sherlock is in one of his stalking moods.” Jim took a bite of his toast, smirking. “Poor Dr. Watson comes trailing along behind him now, trying to convince him to leave me alone.”
It might not have been exactly what he would have hoped for, but Mycroft supposed it would have to do.
2010
“There is no way that you are more than a year or two older than Mycroft Holmes at this point,” Jim said.
“I don’t see your point,” Mycroft replied.
Jim bit his lip. “Aren’t you close enough to the point in time you left? Why do you have to keep going?”
“I don’t belong here.”
“You don’t belong there, either,” Jim pointed out. “Technically, you belong in an entirely different universe. Another year shouldn’t make any difference.”
“...I need to see what happens to Sherlock.”
“There’s no reason you can’t see it the normal way.”
Mycroft sighed. He was tempted to give in, but 2011 seemed to be the magic year, the one none of them could go beyond without meeting certain doom. If he stayed the full year, he knew he’d spend every single day worrying about Sherlock’s safety. “I have nothing to do with myself here.”
“You have nothing to do with yourself there, either,” Jim replied. “There’s another you taking up your spot. You could always devote your full attention to your brother.”
Mycroft laughed harshly. “Yes, but the fact is that I would certainly notice someone stalking Sherlock, especially if that someone happened to look just like me. I have no desire to confront my other self.”
“But don’t you ever intend to see the brother you’re going through all this effort to save?” Jim asked, banging his fork down on the table.
Mycroft looked down, pausing a moment before responding. “He scarcely allowed me to see him before. I’ve been forced to content myself with mere knowledge of his safety for years. As long as he’s alive and happy, that’s all I care about.”
It wasn’t entirely true -- in fact, his chest burned as he thought of never talking to Sherlock personally again. However, he was also well aware that there was nothing he could do about it. The Sherlock he was saving didn’t even know him, and it would just have to stay that way.
Mycroft glanced up at Jim, who was watching him silently, frowning.
Mycroft forced a smile onto his face. “Why don’t we talk about something more pleasant?”
2011
Mycroft was relieved to learn that Sherlock was doing ‘as well as ever’, though he had to ask Jim the same question a half-dozen times before he truly believed it.
If he’d been a little less distracted with joy over Sherlock’s continued survival, he might have found Jim’s insistence that they visit his office that morning a little odd. He would have given a little more thought to the way Jim surreptitiously checked his watch as they arrived, as well as Jim’s insistence that they sit in an unusual part of the office as they conversed.
However, he didn’t think much of any of these things until he heard John Watson’s voice echoing down the hallway outside the office, and by then it was much too late.
“Look, I just don’t think Jim would waste his time tampering with your sock index,” John said. “I know you think he’s some kind of master thief, but--”
“I don’t think he’s a thief,” Sherlock interrupted. “I know he’s a thief. And he didn’t just tamper with my sock index, he--”
“Yes, I know,” John replied, sighing in resignation. “He left a coded message only you would recognize.”
Mycroft looked frantically around the room for some means of escape, but there was none. There was only one door, and the windows didn’t open. He was too far from the door to lock it before Sherlock could enter. “You arranged for this to happen,” he hissed at Jim.
“Did I?” Jim’s face took on an overly innocent expression.
The door swung open before Mycroft could reply, Sherlock storming into the room. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it when he caught sight of Mycroft. His brow furrowed, eyes darting all over the place in confusion.
“Sorry, Jim,” John said, wandering in after him. “I tried to tell him--” He trailed off, suddenly seeming to take in what he was seeing. “Mycroft? What are you doing here?”
~*~*~*~*~
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