"Handler of the Multiverse: Dragon Age"

Summary:

It's hard being the creator of a multilayered Universe filled with thousands of different worlds and billions upon billions of creatures living in it, but God more commonly known as Mycroft Holmes on Earth 34 that he made his HQ, is not complaining. Usually all situations regarding the destruction of one of his creations have been handled by the Gods responsible for said sector (his children and employees), but when he finds out that one of his sons messed up a world so bad there is a giant RIFT in the sky along with a crazy maniac causing havoc, there is no way he can avoid personal intervention.

Chapter 1

"One Big Mess."

Mycroft hummed contently as Anthea gave him Eru's report of the situation in the Middle Earth.

"The Ring War is going according to plan, Sir." the PA stated, eyes darting around the paper report.

"Were there any complications, my dear?"

"The ring bearer's arrival to Rivendell has been a bit postponed by the untimely arrival of Ring Wrights in the Shire, but other than that everything occurred on schedule."

Mycroft nodded.

"Good, good." He hummed in approval. "Make sure the Valar keep it that way this time, I would not like a repeat of what happened previously."

Anthea nodded and scribbled something in her notebook.

"If that's all, perhaps we should move on to the next report."

"Yes, sir." They walked up to a large pile of reports. A normal person wouldn't be able to finish this in a year, let alone a day. Luckily, Mycroft is who he is, so he can bend time as he sees fit. Which meant being able to squeeze a month's worth of hours into just one. "Which one should we do next?"

The eldest Holmes thought for a second.

"How are things in Ferelden?"

Anthea was already fingering though the pile, nimble fingers going through the papers with practiced precision gained from doing this for millions of years.

After about a minute she managed to pull it out the file they need.

Her eyes narrowed and her mouth turned into a frown.

Mycroft immediately picked up on her sudden silence.

"Something wrong?"

"It's Fen'Harel, sir." The PA explained. "The report was not submitted by him, but by someone named Flemeth. She claims to be Mythal now."

Mycroft's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why in my name would she do that?"

Anthea's eyes continued reading through the report.

"She expresses worry regarding his actions, sir. Apparently he made a series of rather questionable decisions during the past couple of millennia."

The Creator took a deep breath and then let it out.

"What has that foolish boy done now?" He took a sip from his cup of tea. Still hot of course, he wouldn't let it be any other way.

"Seems like he decided to create the Vail."

Mycroft choked on his beverage.

"W-What?!" He demanded after his coughing subsided. "Did he lose his mind?!"

"That's not all, sir." The King of Gods cursed in a language his PA did not recognize. "The Veil incident happened at least 3100 years ago, yet it was only reported now because of unspecified delays."

Mycroft groaned.

"I don't think you can hit me with any worse news."

"He also allowed his focai orb to get into the hands of a powerful magistrate who is in the middle of tearing his world apart."

"I stand corrected." Mycroft grumbled from between his fingers. "Did it occur yet?"

"You mean the Rift, sir?"

"Yes."

"I'm afraid so."

"God damn it." He hissed, fully aware of the irony. "Why can't the brat simply follow his schedule, like everyone else?"

"Do we patch it the conventional way again, sir?" Anthea pointedly ignored his remark in favor of thinking of a plan. "We could make the Anchor get placed on a random human so that in time, the Rift might be closed."

"No." Mycroft shook his proud ginger hear. "If Fen'Harel is serious about what he's doing, I fear the present situation cannot be fixed the usual way." He sighed.

"What do you suggest we do, sir?" The PA asked, tilting her head like a puppy. "Such a situation in which we couldn't simply dump the problem onto someone else's shoulders, hasn't happened in at least a couple of centuries."

The ginger god rubbed at his chin.

"It appears to me that our dear, but still incredibly idiotic, boy is trying to fix his earlier mistake. The only problem with that action, is that it will cost millions of innocent lives, and I'm not about to drown in THAT kind of paperwork."

Anthea snorted, knowing he's trying to mask his concern and worry by complaining about work.

Her boss might not be the most demonstrative God around, but he's not heartless.

"Of course not, sir." She nodded her head.

Mycroft sent her an unamused glare.

"We also must bare in mind his disregard of ALL the rules I set, unwillingness to follow proper work and safety protocol, AND causing a failed premature Apocalypse." He frowned. "The boy needs to be set straight, and this mess fixed."

"Should I secure a leave for Hades to go give him a stern talking to?" Anthea already pulled out her phone to make the necessary preparations.

But the fox-haired man shook his head.

"No. I'll be going down there myself." He stood up, his rusty bones popping in protest of the sudden movement. "The mess is far beyond anyone else to fix without innocents dying in the crossfire by this point, and besides, it's been a while since I got the chance to stretch my limbs."

He looked down at his appearance, taking in the flat stomach he was cursed with. "Why do I stick with this damned human body, again?"

"Because of ego, sir." Anthea chirped. "You're so proud of your creation, you can't help the urge to dress up and parade it everywhere you go."

"Ha, ha, very funny." Mycroft rolled his eyes. "You're lucky I like you, otherwise you would have ended up like your late husband Adam, after you did the single dumbest thing a human ever did."

Anthea frowned.

"You DARED me, Sir!"

"I did NO such thing!" Mycroft defended himself. "I said 'don't eat from that one tree', you said: 'Don't tell me what to do!' and ate the apple." A smug look appeared on the King's face. "I caught you in the middle of pushing the evidence down the poor man's throat. He's still mad about that, by the way. You should see some of the letters he sends you through Lucifer. Such LANGUAGE." He grinned, clearly teasing.

Anthea's cheeks flared.

"Asshole."

"Now, now Eve, that's no way to talk to your father." He shook his finger at her in a scolding manner.

The woman huffed, agitated.

"Shouldn't have made that damned tree if you wanted people to just be happy, you jerk."

"One more word Eve, and I swear I'm cutting your pocket money." He said mock-seriously.

She snorted, not impressed.

"AND your Netflix account." Mycroft was grinning now. "No more 'Breaking Bad' marathons, as you'll be down to two movies a week."

NOW she looked scared.

"You WOULDN'T!"

"Oh? And what exactly is stopping me?" He shrugged, spreading his hands in a challenge. "I am the almighty Elohim, remember? I do whatever I want, when I want."

"Because you love your baby and wouldn't want to hurt her in any way shape or form?" Seeing as she was losing the verbal battle they seemed to be having, Anthea or Eve, decided to change tactics.

"Nice try, but as the world's first father, I must lead by example." He straightened his tie. "I love all my children equally, and have absolutely NO favorites."

Anthea began to pout.

"Don't be like that, daddy."

"Oh so it's 'daddy' now, is it? Whatever happened to 'sir'?" He raised an eyebrow. "Dear Me, Anthea, are you using a child's technique to soften me up?"

"I don't know." She shrugged but didn't stop pouting.

"Is it working?"

"Honey, I have to put up with Loki's whining." He deadpanned. "Your petty tricks are nothing compared to what that girl is capable of throwing at me." He smirked. "Face it darling, there is no way you're winning with this God."

"...oh." Anthea sighed and schooled her features into something more respectful. "I shall make the necessary preparations for your departure."

Mycroft smiled and petted her on the head.

"That's my girl."

With that said, he turned on his heel and walked out of his office.

The fox-haired man exited the black car that has delivered him to his current destination.

Though Sherlock and his family weren't exactly pervious to the knowledge of who he really is, it is simple courtesy to tell his "little brother" that he will be unreachable for an unspecified amount of time.

He knocked and, a few minutes later, Ms. Hudson came to answer the door.

"Oh, hello, Mycroft-dear." She smiled. Their relationship wasn't as rocky as it used to, after Sherlock revealed that Mycroft was willing to "sacrifice" himself to save John.

He smiled gently at the elderly woman.

"Good day, Ms. Hudson." He nodded his head. "I trust everything is in order."

"Of course, dear." She petted him on the chest. "You wouldn't let it be any other way. Now… I assume you came here to see Sherlock."

He grinned at her.

"An accurate deduction, Ms. Hudson. Looks like my little brother might be rubbing off on you." Mycroft winked at her before stepping into the house.

She giggled.

"Oh it was nothing, dear." The landlady waved away his observation. "You hardly come here for anything else."

Ignoring the last comment the fox-haired godly entity made his way to the top floor of the house.

During his journey up he regretted keeping his true identity a secret, as his mortal legs began to burn under the strenuous activity.

'Why... didn't… I... just… give… them… the... ability… to... teleport?'

He thought as he huffed outside his little brother's home.

Gritting his teeth the creator of the Multiverse decided to 'cheat' and erased the feeling of 'fatigue' using his godly powers.

Immediately feeling refreshed, he knocked on the wooden door.

The wooden blockade slid open under the force of his knocks, accompanied by:

"Not interested, Mycroft!"

The ageless man smiled under his nose.

"Ah, but you might be once I explain everything."

Hearing no further protests from either Sherlock or John, he just let himself in.

Sitting in his worn down armchair sat his "little brother", looking no different from the snotty little brat that adopted, AKA clung to his pant leg and refused to let go, him all those years ago.

"What do you want, brother?" Said brat spat out upon seeing him.

Mycroft sighed.

'Really, Sherlock?' He thought. 'Does saying nice things to me hurt you, brother-dear?'

"Nothing that would warrant such hostile treatment, I assure you." The godly being answered, rolling his eyes. "I simply came here to inform you that I'll be out of reach for an unspecified amount of time."

That caught the attention of one John Watson.

"Out of reach?" A loud clang could be heard from the kitchen, before the doctor came rushing into the main room, clothes now dripping with water. "What do you mean 'out of reach'?! When will you be back?! For how long?! I will be able to call you if Sherlock does something stupid and lands himself in jail, right?! Just because you're going who-knows-where doesn't mean you'll be completely out of touch, right?!"

Mycroft chuckled, while Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Not to worry, dear Watson." The 'elder Holmes' assured the poor man. "While I won't be reachable for the majority of my little trip, rest assured that actions have already been put in place to ensure Sherlock stays out of trouble, regardless of what he does." He then turned to Sherlock his gaze sharpening. "Just don't get any silly ideas, Sherly. My influence may be vast, but don't delude yourself that it can protect you from serious consequences." He, of course, meant murder. 'Sherlock already has the blood of another staining his hands, and it took Hades hours upon hours of paperwork to bleach it off his files.' Mycroft glared hard at the adopted little mortal. 'I do not wish to put him through that horrid process again, he already has enough on his plate without the additional baggage.'

Sherlock, seemingly knowing what he was thinking, rolled his eyes yet again.

"Relax, brother-dear, I'll be good while you're gone."

He was lying, and both of them knew it.

The curly haired brat already had plans for when Mycroft wasn't watching his every move, and was absolutely itching to put them into motion.

For a moment all they did was glare at each other, hidden God and mere mortal, one in warning, the other in rebellion.

'Don't do anything stupid.' Mycroft's icy eyes seemed to say.

'Why not? You won't be here to stop me.' Sherlock's eyes crinkled in response.

'I also won't be here to save up, if you end up doing something that disagrees with the laws of this country.' Mycroft's gaze sharpened and he allowed a bit of his true power leak into his irises. 'Your safety net will be null and void.'

The detective suddenly snorted.

'You act as if I need it.'

'You might think you can go without it… but I believe your companion would beg to differ.'

Sherlock made an angry face in his direction.

'He has no reason for worry.'

The fox-haired man smiled raising an eyebrow.

'Oh?' He then grinned. 'Then perhaps I should tell him about the stink-bomb waiting for him in the fridge?'

Sherlock's frown deepened.

'Don't you dare!'

"So… where are you heading, Mycroft?" The elder 'Holmes' was saved from replying by the doctor himself, reminding the both of them that he is still, in fact, in the room.

Turning his attention away from his 'sibling', the Shadow behind the British Government gave the blonde man a small but genuine smile.

"Nowhere spectacular, I'm afraid." That was a lie, of course. As much as he likes the good doctor, he can't very well say he's going to an alternative universe to clean up a giant mess one of his, less academically gifted, children created. "The leader of Germany has asked me to come discuss the possible solution to the immigration problem plaguing their, and many other, countries." He frowned, needing to add more credibility to the lie. "The discussion is unlikely to end very quickly so I ensured that the country will not implode on itself for at least a month, while I'm gone."

The news shocked the poor single father he nearly fell backwards.

"A m-month?! You'll be gone for more than a month?!"

'Well technically I will be gone for much longer, but to you I should arrive precisely in 30 days.'

Ah... the many perks of the Universe practically bending to your will...

"Worry not, John." He tried to calm the man down. "Even if Sherlock decides to blow up a foreign embassy for, as the kids would say, 'shits and giggles', my people are instructed to keep him out of jail."

John let out a breath of relief, hearing the reassurance.

"Even if it's the North Korean one?" The bratty detective asked, a mischievous smile gracing his lips.

"Sherlock!" Watson immediately rounded on his best friend. "Don't you dare! Don't you bloody blow up an embassy belonging to one of the countries that are both trigger-happy and have access to nuclear bombs!"

"Relax, John." Sherlock sounded annoyed with his friend's paranoia. "It was just a joke, I never planned on blowing that particular embassy, anyway."

But John didn't calm down, in fact, he became even more worried and frantic. Acting as if Mycroft's back has already been turned and he's all on his own when it comes to dealing with the detective.

"That's not much better!"

Taking advantage of the squabble that broke out between the duo, Mycroft slipped out of the room and closed the door quietly behind him.

"How did the visit to Baker Street go, sir?" Anthea asked upon his arrival back in the office.

"About as well as it usually does." He answered vaguely, unbuttoning his expensive suit jacket and placing it on the coat hanger. "Sherlock is going to cause trouble the minute I leave, so be sure to watch out for anything connected with "explosions" and "fire"."

"..." The eldest woman alive blinked, taken off guard. "Sir?"

He shook his head.

"Just be sure to keep those two things in mind, alright?"

With that said, the man began preparations for his trip.

The situation presented to him did not look good. Billions of lives were at stake, there was a hole in the sky, the people in charge were 99% idiots, and some meddling magistrate was out to find the Golden City and take down the "gods".

But, thankfully, the situation hasn't yet escalated to where it's impossible to salvage, Mycroft believed he owed Elgar'nan for it.

He found it fitting that he's the one going to clean it all up.

It is only logical for a father to fix the mistakes of his wayward son, after all.

And Mycroft prided himself a good parent. Not only because he was the first to ever acquire the title with the birth of Hades and his siblings on Earth-Prime.

But also because all of his children were responsible and fair rulers of their respective Worlds, bringing him pride with their actions.

All… except for Fen'Harel.

It was his actions during the past few millennia that have caused this massive disturbance in his assigned world, and therefore he will be punished accordingly.

"I truly hope he has a good explanation for all this…" He muttered while changing into clothes that are appropriate for the universe he is about to be transported into.

"I wouldn't worry, sir." Anthea said, handing him some high-knee boots. "If I know him even half as well as I as think I do, he has about fifty different reasons why he did what he did."

Mycroft chuckled.

"Well then… they better be good."