Following "The Long Week" and "Behind Closed Doors", here comes my third BBC: Sherlock full-length fanfiction. All three stories are un-related and can be read independently of course, but you will find out the apple, once again, hasn't fallen far from the tree as this new instalment features the same three protagonists: Sherlock, John and Mycroft.
This story will be a bit longer than the other two and is at its core an emotional study of the intricate relationship between the Holmes boys. It'll take you over the hills and far all the way away to... Germany (because as a wise man once said: 'it's nice to get the London air out of my lungs anyway').
The battle against the overzealous use of comma and sometimes ludicrous usage of pronouns is taken on by the brave and fearless Emma. Also embarked on this story is the wunderschön Susanne who helped me with the German bits and complemented my knowledge of her country.
Hope you'll like it!
Chapters: 10 chapters + prologue & epilogue
Type: adventure, friendship, family, drama
Main characters: Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
(no slash / no incest)
Timeline: Set after 2x01 "A Scandal in Belgravia" and before 2x02 "The Hound of Baskerville"
Summary: When Mycroft mysteriously disappears somewhere in central Europe and the worst is assumed: Sherlock and John get on the very first plane which is vaguely heading in the right direction. The world's only consulting detective is clearly intent on showing whoever it is that has kidnapped his brother that no-one (aside from him, of course) is allowed to mess with his sibling. The only thing is... he has to find out who did it first of all and with next to nothing to go on with, it's not going to be easy.
Beta Reader: the wonderful Emma (aka Ivory_Winter), with invaluable help from Susanne (aka oehippus) for the German bits.
Disclaimer: Don't own the show; don't own the characters (sadly).
Written: April/May 2012
It started with two words.
They were said on one fateful night; a name and a noun rushed out quickly, in a slightly panting and trembling voice.
But it isn't the words which are the most eloquent: it's the spaces enveloping them. It's the hesitant pause between the two which is laden with the weight of a request that will not be made. It's the strange half-moan half-gasp that follows the noun which echoes with regretful thoughts that, in the end, will never be voiced.
Yes, it had all started with two words. Too bad Sherlock Holmes never picked up his phone to hear them.
"Sherlock," Mycroft whispers in the darkness of night, a little bit out of breath and running out of time and options. I need your help, he thinks pleadingly and a little desperately. It's very uncharacteristic of him but, in this situation, he thinks he's entitled to a little bit of panic.
In the distance, he can see a car nearing and he knows it isn't salvation but damnation and he clutches at the phone in his right hand more tightly.
"Goodbye," he says at last, his voice trembling even more. He wants to say I forgive you and I love you but the car's lights are on him now and it's too little too late anyway. Raising his hands up, surrendering, he presses the red button on his mobile and ends the message.
Thousands of miles away, Sherlock's phone pings on the coffee table, alerting him that he has received a new voice mail. He sighs, when a sideline glance reveals who it's from. He wants to delete it, almost does. Except his cell is on the table and the young man is currently comfortably lounging on the sofa and he doesn't want to waste precious energy to reach for the little black device.
"Delete the message," he orders John – who is sitting in the nearby chair – in a bored voice instead.
The good doctor moans in protest, but he's too tired to argue and he blindly reaches for the Smartphone and absentmindedly presses a few buttons and a message – which could contain a desperate man's last words – is lost.