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mycrofts-sword-gunbrella · 4 years ago

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The Syncode

CH. 6: Plans, Relationships and Shopping

It was nearly midnight and Mycroft was still at his desk, pouring over files and reports. Nothing of seeming importance stood out, and the search was leading nowhere. About to call it a night, his private cell rang:

Julian.

He prayed there was a lead on that end of things, and quickly answered it. Mycroft's eyes widened in disbelief as his cousin relayed the brief communique he'd received from the Cryptology department. He poured himself another scotch from the cut crystal decanter set on his desk.

"It's more than likely the scientists on that island were working on a separate project not related to the atomic testing there," Julian explained, referring to the nuclear tests conducted in the Marshall Islands at the end of WW2. "In fact," he continued, "one of them was a British - Australian. I'm sure you've heard the name: Ernest Titterton?"

"He lived until the early '90's, I believe," Mycroft said.

"Correct. He was involved in the Manhattan Project before the Americans severed their collaboration with the British Tube Alloy project," Julian replied. "After the war Titterton was selected to advise the Naval Research Laboratories in Washington, D.C. on the Operation Crossroads nuclear tests. He was asked to stay due to his expertise in timing measurements, and performed the countdown for both tests at Bikini Atoll. I believe he was also involved with the tests performed on this other island nearby."

The Australian SIS had intercepted messages between Andrena's contacts, learning of movement of her people to and from one of the Bikini Atoll islands. The two main players were the same ones in both Macau and Majuro. Julian had at once focused his research on the history of the islands, as well as the covert projects performed there that had escaped the history books. It was possible everything was tied together.

"And this other project at the Bikini Atolls had nothing to do with nuclear physics? Titterton was a nuclear physicist. Remember, it was a race against the Germans at that time to develop that technology," said Mycroft.

"From what little I can find on it, no, it had nothing to do with it. Yet Titterton worked closely with Vannevar Bush, who was also head of the U.S. Office of Scientific Research and Development and oversaw the Manhattan Project. Most likely it was in part for the war effort. The sheer isolation alone would have made the Atolls the perfect spot to conduct their experiments. Operating under the guise of the Crossroads project gave them an additional cover."

Mycroft rapidly put together all the facts, trying to find a common denominator:

Present - A lone island in the Bikini Atolls and a shadowy person named 'Andrena' who seemed to have top government connections.

Past - Operation Crossroads nuclear tests post WW2, most likely overseen in some way by Vannevar Bush, who was also the head of the Manhattan Project some years earlier. An American engineer and inventor, he had joined the Department of Electrical Engineering at Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) in 1919. Bush was also a science administrator, who during World War II headed the U.S. Office of Scientific Research and Development the initiation and early administration of the Manhattan Project. Emphasizing the importance of scientific research to national security, he was chiefly responsible for the creation of the National Science Foundation. It appeared Bush had his hands in a multitude of pies, and top secret ones at that. So much fell under this man's umbrella that he was more than likely indirectly involved in the Crossroads tests. Mycroft smiled. Vannevar Bush was not unlike himself, and had very much been his American counterpart, answering also to the leader of that country. And what did Titterton, a British-Australian nuclear physicist also involved in the atomic explosions have to do with this secret project at Bikini?

"Do we have any clue as to who the other four scientists were that worked on this secret project?" Mycroft asked.

"Only very few sketchy details, I'm afraid, " Julian replied. "They were masters in their fields, but none involved atomic principles. In fact, their expertise lay in electromagnetism!"

Vannevar Bush also happened to be an electrical engineer. Mycroft shook his head. Each piece of information yielded only more questions. "What could that possibly have to do with the tests conducted on those islands?" he exclaimed.

"It's a mystery, cousin," Julian answered. "All records of it have been scrubbed and destroyed. My contacts within the FBI, CIA and Research and Development have come up with nothing extra that was going on there. The only connection outside involved Titterton, who assisted in the nuclear testing in Australia later on in the fifties and the Manhattan Project earlier. Whatever this Andrena is involved in is obviously more dangerous that what we previously surmised," he concluded.

"Indeed. We were of the opinion they were involved with the Spratly islands, due to what little we could glean from the intercepted messages of their Macau contact," Mycroft sighed.

"This is much bigger and far reaching, I'm afraid," Julian said. He paused. "How is Joanne?"

Mycroft smiled. "She is doing as well as can be expected under the circumstances."

"Good to hear it. I worry about that one," Julian said fondly. "It was my fault," he said, sadly shaking his head. If only he hadn't fallen for the enemy's ploy and called her..

"Possibly," Mycroft agreed, "but what's done is done. We would not have secured Soleimani had it not happened," he said pragmatically. Interrogated with the harshest of Mycroft's tactics, the Albanian had still refused to talk. Learning nothing from him, he was incarcerated in a top security institution for life.

Try as he might, Julian worried constantly about her, even though he knew she was safe with his cousins. "You saw the jewelry I sent with her?" he asked, referring to the writing inscribed inside.

"I did," answered Mycroft. "You think a great deal of this woman."

"I would trust her with my life, yes. She means a great deal to me."

"And yet you sent her to me," Mycroft stated. He had known almost instantly the reason for sending her, and no one else.

"Joanne will be good for you, cousin. Since she will be with you until this business is over, I suggest you get to know her. Take her out a bit, show her the sights. I dare say she would especially appreciate the quieter parks and countryside," Julian added.

Mycroft's eyes narrowed. "I am afraid you are mistaken, cousin mine. As you have so often told me, caring is not an advantage, especially in our family. A polite host I will be, but nothing more, I assure you. "

Julian's voice hardened immediately. "You are treating her well, I trust?"

Words lodged in his throat as Mycroft realized his cousin hadn't yet learned of the film room incident, nor that the attack at the hotel was exacerbated due to a miscalculation on his part. Most likely even his brother had thought that maximum security had been put around the hotel. Assigning only the bare minimum for protection, Mycroft was glad that Sherlock had been there - the alternative was unthinkable. He hadn't expected their adversary to consider Joanne a threat, much less even know about her.

The small pause was all it took.

A blistering tirade proceeded over the line as Julian swore up a storm, searing his cousin's ears a hot shade of pink. In no great detail, Mycroft described his embarrassing lack of oversight and severe underestimation of their enemy's resolve, as well as the scene in the film room and Joanne's calm reaction. He didn't mention the tears in her eyes.

"Bloody hell Mycroft!! I gave her my word that she would be safe you, that she could trust you!" Julian paused, catching his breath. "What were you thinking?!"

Not one to be stuck for words, Mycroft was speechless in the face of his elder cousin's anger. What could he say? Julian was right.

Julian went on. "Of course she would appear steady considering her condition, look at the practice she's had of hiding emotions all these years." The anger subsided as he realized that he had also snapped at her on occasion. "I am sorry cousin. The Holmes temper does nothing to help our relationships, does it?"

"And what exactly is your relationship with Miss Hartwell?" Mycroft asked.

"I.." It was now Julian's turn to be at a loss for words. "She is a good friend of mine, nothing more," he said, his composure and steely reserve intact once again. "I mean for you to get acquainted and become friends; and in time, possibly something more," he announced. "I am adamant on this cousin, and will hear no argument."

"And what is her opinion on the matter? Have you asked her?"

Julian sighed. "No I have not, nor do I intend to. What she thinks at the moment is of no consequence. As for the earlier incident - make it up to her. Take her out for a meal. Make her happy, Mycroft. For me. That's all I ask."

Mycroft shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Why is this so important to you? We do have slightly more pressing matters to hand, cousin mine. This new threat and their involvement in the Pacific islands?"

Julian wasn't to be dissuaded. "I am only looking out for your welfare and Joanne's, Mycroft, especially that of your happiness."

"I am happy enough, thank you," Mycroft replied coldly. "If Miss Hartwell is not, then I am afraid there is nothing I can do to remedy that."

"You are content enough at work, I'm sure; but I meant in all aspects of your life. Admit it cousin, you are lonely, as is Joanne. And yes, you can indeed remedy that. For the both of you."

Mycroft was more than a bit irritated that he had in fact felt an almost kindred connection with Joanne Hartwell - and something else that he didn't care to examine too closely. He'd known her only one day, after all. This wasn't something he would admit to Julian, however. Bringing the topic back to their current problem, he said "Relationships notwithstanding, I believe a trip to the Marshall Islands is in order."

There was silence as Julian considered this. Joanne would of course have to accompany them, and he said as much. After the events at the Lanesborough, there was no way she could be left alone in London. Although they had nabbed the assassin, Julian had no doubt their adversary had more lined up to finish the job.

"You do realize we would be going right into enemy territory, cousin. Andrena will no doubt have operatives waiting. Miss Hartwell will be, I believe, in even more danger there," Mycroft stated.

"She will be with yourself and Sherlock," Julian intonated. Hearing the surprised silence at the other end, he added "I recommend that your brother go along as well. Both of you will be needed on this, I'm afraid."

"And no doubt as extra protection for Miss Hartwell," replied an amused Mycroft.

"Quite so, cousin. Handpicked agents will of course be sent as a vanguard to scout for any danger before your arrival, of course," Julian said.

"Naturally, though no doubt Sherlock will beat them to it," Mycroft replied. "He does love his legwork," he said as he tried unsuccessfully to withhold a giant yawn.

"Ah, it's well after midnight there. We will continue this conversation once we have more information. In the mean time, surveillance will be maintained on the known contacts out here in the Pacific." A note of questioning disbelief crept into Julian's voice. "How the blazes can they only trace her contacts' side of the conversation?" he wondered. "They were pinned down easily enough!"

"We believe it to be some kind of new technology unknown to the government at the moment," Mycroft answered. "From the one ended dialogue we have heard so far, it would appear that she knows a great deal regarding it. They are interested in acquiring the data that was being experimented with, after all."

Something else occurred to Mycroft. "Since the only things we know of the scientists are their shared background in electromagnetics, I will conduct a search of my own in regards to this person. It is quite possible she also has a similar background."

"That make sense. Again, it depends if she is working for someone, in which case it is they who have that knowledge. Either way, it's a place to start."

They hung up, with a date set for one last communication to discuss in detail the logistics of the Holmes brother's pending trip to the Marshall Islands. It would be done entirely in Syncode, sent as Morse code in the Latin alphabet on a predetermined shortwave frequency. Both owned HAM radio receivers, and due to their positions within the government, needed no official license to operate them. This would provide extra layers of protection for communiqué between the three Holmes men, wherever they happened to be. If all went to plan, they would be on their way to the Marshall Islands in two weeks time.

***

Bright sunlight filled the room as Joanne slowly opened her eyes. The large four poster had proven quite comfortable. She realized for the first time that she'd managed to sleep the whole night without once waking up. Perhaps it was the new surroundings that did not have the memory of a traumatic event attached to it, unlike her apartment. Most nights were spent only half sleep, as though her body was determined not to shut all the way down in case another fire should break out. It didn't help that her neighbors would literally run down the stairs in the middle of the night. There were times when Joanne wanted to call out from her window and ask them this. Why did they run? Where were they going in such a hurry at that late hour? For a brief moment, Joanne wondered where she was before remembering the attack at the hotel and Mycroft's offer to bring her home, albeit temporarily while the flat next to his brother's was being prepared.

Pulling the last change of clothes from her duffel, an unpleasant thrill of anxiety raced through her. Mycroft had told her to be ready early for a shopping excursion with his assistant. A 'missed alarm' alert appeared at the top of her phone screen. Oh no. And he had given her the phone back just for that purpose with a promise not to use it to make phone calls. Not that she had anyone in her contacts list except work, her parents and the fish sitters. She was surprised no one had awakened her. The sun was already making its way toward the midmorning point in the sky. Joanne hurriedly finished dressing and made her way downstairs, pausing at the landing. Where would she find Mycroft? More than likely in his study she thought, remembering Olivia's earlier words. Apparently he never went into the kitchen. Finding the solid door shut, she gently knocked.

"Enter," came the muffled command.

She found Mycroft at his customary place behind the desk. "You're finally up," he said drily.

"I'm so sorry, Mycroft! I know you said to be up early. I didn't hear the alarm. Guess I was more tired than I thought," Joanne said sheepishly. "I'm sorry about the shopping thing.."

"Pardon? Did I say that it was canceled?" He indicated a chair in front of the desk. "It's just as well, actually. Sherlock's contact had something come up last night, and was only able to finish the security on it an hour ago. Anyway, I expect you needed the extra sleep, considering yesterday's events."

"Ah, well that's good. You said we were going to stop by his place to get it before Anthea takes me out." Just thinking of the endless hours trying on of clothes made her exhausted. She was glad for the simple leggings and t-shirt that could easily be shed in the dressing rooms.

Again, Mycroft had the uncanny habit of reading a person's micro expressions. "Have you eaten? I expect you will need your energy for it."

Joanne got up to go. "I'll have a gander in the kitchen. Maybe there's some leftovers."

"You will do no such thing," he said as she reluctantly sat back down. "I will be ready in five minutes. Do you have the phone with you?" he asked, extending a hand to retrieve it from her.

"Yeah, here," she said, handing it to him. "I did use it for reading my commentaries, though. Hey! I got your message, too - I accept your apology," she said, referring to the poem he had told her to read the night before.

Though the usual unassailable composure remained intact, she noted a faint blush to the tips of his ears. Joanne hid a smile as she looked down at her lap. It was obvious to her that this man loved, no, craved, compliments and statements of appreciation. Remembering his parent's lack of attention to him as a child, it was no wonder. She vowed to do so often. As important as Mycroft Holmes was in his work world, he was still very much undervalued as a person, especially by his family. Joanne vowed to make up for it in some way, however small.

"Yes, I thought you might discern the meaning behind it. My methods are not always understood by most people, goldfish that they are," he stated loftily.

That they are, Joanne mused. Did he not consider her a goldfish, then? It was her turn to color a light shade of pink.

"Did you read any more of the poems?" he asked. "As I said, you may borrow them from the library anytime you wish," he reminded her.

"Of course, and thank you," she said. Her dad was especially fond of poetry, though Joanne had never gotten into it. This wasn't something Mycroft needed to know, however; she wanted to build a rapport and find some kind of common ground with him. Perhaps she would browse through a few and hopefully take a liking to one of the authors. She was glad they shared an interest in film noir at least, though Joanne wasn't keen to visit that room again any time soon. "I did not read any more afterwards, I'm afraid. Strangely enough, it was in your voice that I heard the narrator! I fell asleep right after the last line."

"I am glad that my voice has an anesthetic effect on you," Mycroft stated mildly.

"Hardly. It is calming though." Joanne closed her eyes. "Very soft and soothing, and not unpleasant."

If anyone else had said this, Mycroft would have known instantly they were lying, or more likely, bribing him with flattery. Remembering the effects that audio and other stimuli had with Miss Hartwell during their first encounter, he had no doubt that she was telling the truth. A little more than his ears suffused with color as he lowered his head to study a file that lay open on the desk, hoping she didn't notice.

Joanne did, however. Her medical background had trained her to notice the slightest change in a patient, which worked for her in any situation. The extreme polarities of this man were astounding, whose character vacillated between cold, formidable and downright sinister to sweet, vulnerable and at the moment, somewhat bashful. Mycroft Holmes was like a multi faceted diamond, reflecting a full spectrum of colors from every angle. Joanne was drawn to him, and wanted to explore each plane and prism of this jewel that sat before her. She shook her head at the direction of her thoughts. Haven't had my coffee yet, she reasoned pragmatically.

She walked over to the windows that overlooked both the front and side of the house. The place is perfect for bird watching, she thought. It was a pity she would only be here one more night before moving into the flat next to Sherlock's. Shrubbery, trees and hedgerows grew in thick abundance here. Even from where she stood, Joanne could see various birds flitting in and out among them. They were different here, and there were no hummingbirds in this part of the world. Still, there were a few she could name, having watched bird cams that were scattered about England, as well as British nature shows. The Blue and Great Tits were here favorites. Sighing wistfully, she wondered what her own birds were up to.

Mycroft mistook the sound as a sigh of impatience. "In a hurry, Miss Hartwell?" he asked, looking up from the laptop.

"Huh? What do you mean?" she responded, a look of confusion on her face. Brightening, Joanne realized Julian had had a similar reaction to her body language when she was deep in thought. "No, not at all. I was just watching the birds outside, and wondering what mine are doing. They do have nice ones here, though. Your yard is perfect for it. Bird watching, I mean. Should put up a few feeders."

"Hardly. They make a mess," he said dispassionately. "The seeds would attract rodents, no doubt." Mycroft resumed his typing.

"They don't at my place. I keep it swept up. Then again, I live on the 2nd floor, so the rodents can't climb up. Did have a pesky squirrel for a while, when the old neighbors were there. They had a bamboo screen it would climb up.." She trailed off, assuming he'd stopped listening, and turned back to the windows and stuffed her hands into the large front pocket of her hoodie.

Unbeknownst to her, Mycroft heard every word, and filed away those little facts for later.

Finished, Mycroft stood up and closed the laptop. "Are you ready?"

"Yep. Going to Sherlock's first?" she asked.

"No. Since we both have not eaten yet, might I suggest a stop along the way? There is a nice little bakery that I frequent near Vauxhall in East Kensington. It is on the way to my brother's. It will have to be take away, I am afraid," he said apologetically.

"Ahh nice! I assume they have coffee? Would go great with a donut." Her stomach growled at the thought.

A pained look crossed Mycroft's face at Joanne's choice of words. "They are not donuts," he said with a sniff. "Maitre Choux serves éclairs, buns, profiteroles and other assorted pastries. Donuts, I assure you, are not one of them," he finished imperiously.

"Well, they sound good, whatever they are. Only thing I recognized were the éclairs. Love those!"

"Yes, well. Let's go, shall we? I daresay my assistant is waiting impatiently to show you the shops. She spends a great deal of time there when not on duty."

Oh no, Joanne thought. Remembering the smart outfit Anthea had worn the day prior, it stood to reason that she had an eye for tailoring, as did her employer. Unfortunately, it probably wouldn't be the grab and go kind of shopping she was used to. She hoped the coffee at that bakery was strong.

Wilson had brought the Bentley around to the front where he greeted them, opening the door for them both. He and Joanne made the usual small talk, while Mycroft made a few mundane business calls along the way. Texting a reply to his brother, he appeared withdrawn, almost apprehensive.

"What?" Joanne asked.

"Nothing really," he said vaguely. "I only ask that you not be surprised by anything you may find in my brother's flat."

"That bad? Welp, he can't be any worse than my neighbor. He's a bit of a hoarder, and not the best housekeeper."

"Sherlock's housekeeping skills are sadly lacking, yes, though that's not exactly what I meant," Mycroft said enigmatically.

Joanne's eyebrows raised in surprise, but said nothing.

Wilson soon brought the car up snugly along the curb in front of the Maitre Choux, a chic looking upscale bakery with rows of brightly colored pastries displayed in the window. Joanne had never seen them decorated in such a fancy way before. Most likely there would be sticker shock at the prices.

The Maitre Choux didn't disappoint. She couldn't afford even the cheapest offering. Not on a regular basis, anyway.

Mycroft ordered his usual. Joanne couldn't decide, and finally settled on a rich looking éclair and the strongest brew of coffee available. Mycroft of course insisted that the box looked quite empty with only the two items. He instructed the man behind the counter to fill it full. Back in the car, she had to admit it was indeed one of the best she had tasted. "Oh man! These cream puffs are awesome!" she exclaimed indelicately around a mouthful of cream.

"It is an éclair, not a cream puff, as you so eloquently put it," he said, biting fastidiously into a brightly colored cake.

"Eloquence was never one of my strong points," she retorted with a laugh, thoroughly enjoying it. "Mmmmm..."

Mycroft looked sidelong at her. "Obviously."

Though the rest of the ride was short, Joanne couldn't help but notice the poorly concealed covert glances he cast her way. "What?" she asked.

"You, have, um.." For the second time that he could remember, Mycroft was at a loss for words, and not sure what to do. He settled on taking the handkerchief from his pocket and holding it up to her.

"Oh! I have some on my face. Where is it?" she asked, dabbing everywhere and not finding it.

"Here, let me," he offered.

Joanne held still, watching wide eyed as he gently removed the bit of custard from her cheek. For one hot moment, Mycroft envisioned that it was his tongue and not the kerchief brushing the cream away. Unconsciously, he licked his lips with a hunger that had nothing to do with food. Shocked, he drew back as though scalded, surprised at the myriad of thoughts and images that seared his mind. A warm, though not unpleasant sensation spread throughout his lower belly and went straight to the groin. Mycroft's face burned as he looked away from her out the window in sheer embarrassment and frustration. What was it about this woman that upset and bewildered him so?

Joanne was mesmerized at the range of raw emotions that passed in rapid succession across his face. At first almost comically focused, the look on Mycroft's face as he went to remove the offending article changed abruptly into an intense, almost greedy longing as she watched the sensuous lips part, the tip of his tongue darting out to lick his dry lips. She wondered if he could read the same need that was reflected in her own eyes. By the way he rapidly shrank from her, it was clear that he had, and was ashamed at the brief but embarrassing lapse of control on his part.

Joanne glanced up at Wilson, who's expression remained inscrutable, his eyes straight ahead on the road. She wondered exactly how many other women had occupied the space in which she now sat. How experienced was Mycroft Holmes in romantic encounters and, dare she ask, love? A bitter wave of jealousy washed over her that she quickly quashed. It was none of her damn business, and in a few months time she would be back home, alone again with her geese. Still, the resentment lingered as she pictured Mycroft with a woman of his own class and refinement together in the back of the Bentley, sipping Dom Pérignon from the crystal champagne flutes.

Neither had a chance to speak again as they arrived just then at Sherlock's flat. Unsure of what to say, Mycroft decided it was better to move on and not bring it up. "As I mentioned earlier," he reiterated, having now fully regained his unassailable demeanor, "do not be surprised by what you may find inside."

No more surprised than by your ravenous expression just now, she thought silently.

"A dead body?" she joked instead. Anything to distract her from the memory of that penetrating gaze a moment ago.

From the solemn look he gave her, she wondered...

The stairs to Sherlock's apartment were dark and steep. Joanne made sure to hold the railing all the way up as she followed behind Mycroft. Her thoughts still on that silent but heated exchange in the Bentley, she couldn't help noting the firm outline of his posterior in the tailored pinstripe trousers. The material stretched taught around firm thighs, outlining every muscle as he climbed the steps in front of her. His light fragrance of cologne and aftershave trailed behind him, as well as the subtle scent of the man himself. It was all she could do to clear her head and face Sherlock Holmes, who stood at the top of the landing watching them both with silent bemusement. Joanne knew at once he could read the expression that was clearly written on her face; she could only imagine what his brother saw on Mycroft's.

The bare minimum of greetings were dispensed as Sherlock walked over to his laptop and resumed typing, apparently in the middle of writing an article for his blog. He noncommittally indicated the phone on the table that his brother and Joanne had come for. Mycroft at once picked it up and began ascertaining and testing the various security functions while peppering his brother with questions regarding the specs.

While they were otherwise occupied, Joanne was left to her own devices as she took in her surroundings. Mycroft was right. The place reflected an air of neglect as dust motes swirled about the room. Stacks of papers and miscellaneous objects lay scattered on the floor in old wrinkled boxes, while books and magazines sat haphazardly in their dusty bookcases. Joanne noted a scientific and yet macabre theme to the décor that lined the walls, shelves and mantle. There was no doubt that the skull perched above the fireplace was real, as were the framed insect specimens. She found the detailed prints of the plants interesting; they reminded her of those in the nearly 200 year old natural medicine books she had acquired from EBay, describing all sorts of herbs and plants, accompanied with hand painted drawings of each. Joanne smiled, thinking how much they had in common in that respect: Both were lovers of the eclectic and obscure.

"... from the ice box."

Joanne looked up from the row of books she was currently inspecting to find the Holmes brothers watching her. "What? Sorry, wasn't listening," she apologized.

Sherlock motioned impatiently towards the kitchen. "Patches. In the ice box."

Huh? What patches? Joanne looked inquiringly at Mycroft, who appeared more than a little apprehensive, though he said nothing and looked down at his feet. Ah. Another character assessment, then. Very well, she thought gamely and headed towards the fridge. She opened the top door of the unit.

A severed male head stared sightlessly out at her on it's tray between a bag of frozen tamales and a roll of sausages. Next to the latter lay the pack of nicotine patches. The head resembled an uncanny likeness to the long dead Italian opera singer. Raised in a medical family and having worked most of her adult life around gruesome sights, the surprise of finding it there was less disconcerting than the possibility of cross-contamination with the food. Still, Mycroft had warned her.

"What's Pavarotti doing in the fridge?" she asked evenly.

"I'm measuring the coagulation of saliva after death," replied Sherlock in a bored tone. "Who is Pavarotti?" he asked, looking up only briefly from his typing, gauging her reaction. Mycroft had put a hand over his mouth to stifle a small smile as he looked up at her. Apparently Joanne had passed the shock test.

She tossed the patches over to Sherlock. "He was an opera singer. Guy in there looks just like him. You really don't know who he was?!" she said, shaking her head in disbelief. Sherlock merely rolled his eyes as he applied a patch to his arm.

Medical curiosity won out as a thought occurred to her. "The head's in the freezer. How do you expect to get an accurate measurement if the saliva's frozen?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"As long as the mouth remains closed, the process will continue unaffected."

"You're not worried about cross-contamination? You got food in there."

"You do have a penchant for stating the obvious. Where else was I supposed to put it?"

Mycroft watched with mild amusement as the two discussed the finer points of the experiment and the intended possible outcomes. A calculating gleam appeared in his eye. Here was someone who was unfazed by Sherlock's unorthodox way of living, and in fact, seemed quite comfortable with it. He was glad she would soon be moving next door to his brother. With John gone and happily married, Miss Hartwell would be the ideal person to look out for him when Mycroft was occupied with other things. As long as they didn't become anything more than friends, that is. An unfamiliar knot of jealousy rose up from somewhere inside of him - Mycroft dismissed it as nothing more than heartburn. He glanced at his brother. Although Sherlock showed no overly friendly inclination toward her whatsoever, he had suddenly become animated as they discussed his various experiments. Joanne for her part showed only the interest of a working colleague. She appeared to be as nearly scientifically minded as Sherlock. Their heads bent over the laptop, his brother explained to her in detail the aspects of some prior experiment involving a case he had completed a week ago. Joanne listened intently, adding her input on the medical parts that she was familiar with. The dull burning flared, becoming uncomfortably acute. Although he considered himself the greater intellect over his brother, medicine was a topic that Mycroft grudgingly admitted his brother excelled at more so than he.

A forceful sigh that was half resentment, half impatience escaped him. Neither looked up from the screen. "I am sorry to interrupt your terribly engaging conversation," he said caustically, gripping hard the umbrella handle, "but I believe Miss Hartwell has somewhere else that she needs to be." His tone indicated that he wasn't sorry in the least.

Sherlock cast his brother a look of annoyance. Joanne instantly realized the source of Mycroft's irritation and felt a deep stab of guilt. The man stood off by himself near the empty fireplace, left out of their conversation, and one that Joanne had no doubt he knew little about. Engrossed as they were in the details of the case, the reason she was there had totally slipped her mind. That reason now stood across the room glaring silently at them.

Pictures from Julian's photo album flashed before her: A lonely and forgotten chubby red haired boy with freckles, yearning for his parent's attention as they coddled his baby brother. In another, it was Mycroft's fourteenth birthday, but the focus of his parents was Sherlock, who had immediately begun assembling the telescope that was his brother's present. It appeared they were encouraging him in his endless quest for knowledge. It wasn't the telescope that Mycroft dismayed over, but the love that their parents lavished instead on his brother. In yet another and possibly the saddest, the Holmes family were at the beach, where Mycroft had placed a pudgy hand on either parent's arm, silently begging to be noticed as he looked earnestly up at them. Once again, both were aware of only Sherlock as he engaged in one of his antics. Both gazed over the top of their eldest son's head, as though he weren't there at all.

And here she was, repeating the same with the adult Mycroft. She couldn't blame him for sounding rude. His expression and body language told her everything: underneath that acerbic veneer was the same lonely little boy in the photographs. As much as she was warming to Sherlock in a fraternal sort of way, Mycroft came first. Joanne wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the day with him. Shopping was the last thing she wanted to do.

The umbrella tapped impatiently on the hardwood floor.

Finished with the laptop, Sherlock stood up. "Take a look at my blog sometime," he said as he flopped down lazily on the couch. "Bored," he murmured.

Mycroft showed no pity for his brother as he looked pointedly at Joanne. "Let's go. Anthea's waiting for us next door."

Joanne cast one last look at Sherlock, who had petulantly turned on his side toward the wall , ignoring them both. It seemed his childhood habits had not entirely disappeared. Smiling, she followed Mycroft back down the stairs who took them two at a time, anxious to be out of his brother's apartment.

Outside, they turned and entered an almost identical entrance right beside Sherlock's. The numbers above this door read 223B. Apparently they were on the odd numbered side of the street which seemed fitting, somehow. This time, it was Mycroft who ushered Joanne up the stairs as he followed closely behind. She had no doubt he was probably ogling her backside in the same way she had his. Joanne was thankful for the miles put in around the large neighborhood block and park. Though she couldn't say the same about her large chest and not so firm belly, the legs were possibly her best attribute.

Following close behind, Mycroft agreed as he appreciated the long supple limbs encased in the tight cotton material in front of him. Every detail of each movement was outlined as his eyes traveled from the slender calves to the shapely but well defined muscle of her thighs. Her bottom was no less appealing, as were the soft curves of her hips which deepened at the waist. Mycroft inhaled the lingering scent of her jasmine soap, resolving to ask her later about the brand and where she had procured it. A sudden image of them engaged in the shower surrounded by that scent rose unbidden in his minds eye. It wasn't altogether unpleasant.

On reaching the landing, Mycroft opened the already unlocked door. "This will be your new 'home from home', as it were. There are of course a few minor details to attend to, and it should be ready within two days."

Anthea rose from the couch with her ever present blackberry. "Have a look around," she said. "It's amazing what they have done with the place in so short a time."

They quickly toured the rooms. Joanne wasn't sure what details Mycroft was referring to. The flat looked ready to move in as it was. Possibly the only jarring thing was the unsightly garden area just outside the French doors of the bedroom; it looked more like a vacant lot. No matter, as she had spotted a garden center only a few blocks down the street on the drive over. It would give her something to do, at any rate. She looked forward to adding bird feeders and houses. Possibly even a fountain bath. Remembering his earlier distaste of the things, Joanne didn't mention this to Mycroft. In a large city like this, she had no doubt there would be rodents, and not the grey, fuzzy tailed kind. She'd just have to make sure to keep the space below the feeders swept more frequently than was done at home.

Anthea was finishing up a text as they came down the stairs. "Ready?" she asked as they headed back outside. No doubt she had more important things to do than take Jo shopping. She and her employer had a country to run, after all.

Mycroft walked toward the Jag that was parked behind the Bentley as Anthea climbed into the latter. "Don't have too much fun, now," Mycroft said as the suited driver closed the door behind him.

Still feeling bad for neglecting him at Sherlock's, Joanne walked over to his door. The tinted window rolled down. "Yes?"

"Mycroft," she began. An apology had been on the tip of her tongue, but looking into those questioning, clear blue eyes wiped her mind completely blank. "I just want to say thank you. For everything."

The fair brows shot up in mild surprise. "Whatever for? As I stated earlier, the British government and our nation are deeply indebted to you. It is a mere formality, and I daresay, a necessity," he said, taking in her faded hoodie and worn sneakers with a critical eye. "Now. Off with you!" he said gruffly as the window rolled silently back up.

Joanne caught the hint of a smile as he looked away, as well as a light flush around the tips of his ears. She watched her reflection move across the dark, highly polished window as the Jag pulled away from the curb and carried him away, most likely back to Whitehall.

"Where to, ladies?" Wilson asked as Joanne climbed in beside Anthea.

It was Anthea who answered. "The Burlington Arcade, please," she said excitedly. Gone was the demure professional agent/assistant. Instead, a new sparkle appeared in Anthea's eyes as she excitedly began describing the various boutiques there. This was a side of her that only close friends and family got to see. It was clear Anthea had planned their excursion down to the last detail as she ticked off on her fingers a list of each shop they would visit, with a break somewhere in between for lunch, or possibly dinner depending on when they finished. It was obvious from her exuberance that she rarely had the time to get out and do this. Most likely Anthea ordered her things online. To get out and about like this with another woman was probably quite a treat for her, Joanne thought. .

The streets were bumper to bumper with traffic, as were the sidewalks with pedestrians jostling each other for the limited space. "I hope there's no long lines at the stores," Joanne said doubtfully as she observed a few store fronts that indeed had customers trailing out their doors.

Anthea smiled almost gleefully. "I don't think that will be a problem. We are to meet the Head Beadle, Mark Lord in front of the Arcade. It has been arranged for him to accompany us for any questions you may have."

"Beetle?!" Joanne exclaimed. "Can't wait to hear the history behind that one!"

Anthea laughed, which sounded like the tinkling of little golden bells. It was the first time that Joanne could recall her doing so since they'd met the previous day.

"Beadle!" she said, still giggling. "The Beadles are a police force. In fact, they are the smallest in the world! I will let Mr. Lord explain all of the history. It really is quite fascinating. Ah! Here we are."

The Bentley pulled up in front of a large stone building with a long open hall traversing the length of it. Sunlight streamed through the glass ceiling supported by steel girders. Shops and boutiques lined both sides with a red carpet laid out along the entire length. This brought back the memory of the small red carpet at the foot of Julian's Gulfstream back in Washington. She wondered if this was just a coincidence. Although somewhat modernized, it retained most of its Victorian air - it was like stepping back in time. A tall portly man dressed in Victorian guardsman attire stood at the entrance beside a wrought iron gate. Smiling jovially, he beckoned them inside.

The first thing Joanne realized immediately was the absence of shoppers. It appeared totally deserted save for the staff in front of their shops and some serious looking security. They had the entire arcade to themselves.

Again she was reminded of Julian, how on their first outing he had made sure that the entire section of the upstairs floor of the restaurant was empty so that they could speak in private. This was obviously Mycroft's doing judging by the extra police that were present. These were not the Victorian dressed beadles, but armed formidable looking military type, as well as a few plain clothes secret servicemen. It appeared that he was taking the threat to her safety seriously now, though Joanne thought it was a bit over the top. Anthea had been right - there was no need to worry about lines, or 'queues' as the English called it.

He enthusiastically waved a uniformed arm toward the long hall. "Come in, come in!"

Joanne looked from the man to Anthea who followed a step behind her. "How did Mycroft manage to clear out the public? This must be costing the shop owners big time."

Anthea smiled knowingly. "He has his ways. They are well compensated, I am told. But you're right. Our time is limited to three hours, though I think we can finish well before then. The arcade is merely our first stop." Anthea looked more than enthusiastic about this.

Joanne groaned inwardly and wondered how they would make it out of this huge place in under three hours. It would take that long just trying on each outfit.

Before they got down to business, Mr. Lord gave them a quick tour as they walked, explaining the history of the place. No doubt Anthea was more than familiar with every shop they passed. Joanne figured this was Mycroft's way of introducing her to the city that was so close to his heart. Her ears perked up when the Head Beadle mentioned the threat of crime.

"In the late 1800s, however, the Beadles were in a constant battle against ne'er do wells. This is why whistling is banned from the arcade – because it was used as code between pickpockets."

This was good to know, she thought. It was probably still true out on the streets.

"Clucking is also disallowed," he continued, "after prostitutes rented the rooms overhead and used the sound as they waved red handkerchiefs to attract the attention of men below. Singing, or any kind of 'merriment' – that is, drunkenness – was and still is a definite no-no."

Joanne grinned. "Wow. Sounds like a colorful history for sure!"

Mr. Lord rattled off other various tidbits regarding the arcade: "Notice the marble floor has a slight incline - this was so the ladies didn't need to raise their long skirts. And did you know that hurrying, opening umbrellas and singing are banned? Officially, the only person allowed to whistle in the arcade is Sir Paul McCartney!"

Anthea reluctantly apologized for the short time they would have to spend here. "Unfortunately, there are a few other places that we need to stop at. However, I promise you we will enjoy every minute of our stay here!" Anthea made good on that promise, as she purchased several items for herself, as well. The jolly man beamed.

It turned out that Mycroft had sent Joanne's measurements to the managers of select shops at both the arcade and the other department stores they would be visiting that day, saving them the time of having her try on each garment. Like his cousin, he had somehow judged her numbers exactly. How did they do that? Joanne silently shook her head, not sure she really wanted to know.

Luckily, there was no need to browse each shop. Anthea had a predetermined list of them that she meticulously checked off once they had left. All Joanne had to do was select the piece of clothing or outfit that appealed to her, and it was a done deal. If she liked something that they did not have in her size, it was ordered and would be sent directly to Mycroft's home. She tried to find only the cheapest, but like the pastries at the Maitre Choux, even the least expensive item would break her bank. It wasn't that she couldn't afford one or two good shirts, having built up a small nest egg over the years. Joanne just didn't see the point of spending in what she thought was a reckless manner. It was too much. She was glad Anthea allowed her to buy multiple mix and match items to cut down on the overall cost, though it wasn't by much.

Even though she wasn't allowed to pay for anything, it still went against the grain. Only a few outfits were needed for her extended stay here, but it felt like she was purchasing a wardrobe for the entire year. It was early summer, but Anthea had her buying winter clothes as well.

"Did Mycroft tell you to get me a whole years worth of clothes?!" Joanne asked, shaking her head at the prices. Even the cheapest piece was in the triple digits. She couldn't imagine this kind of lifestyle on a daily basis, and more than felt like Julia Robert's character in 'Pretty Woman'.

"He told me to use my judgment, so naturally I calculated for your stay here in the foreseeable future. Oh, we can't forget the accoutrements, can we?" she said, heading over to the jewelers across the plaza.

"No! Anthea, I'm serious. No jewelry. His cousin Julian got me an entire set from Cartier. Anyway, I don't wear the stuff. I hate things around my neck. I'm sorry, I have to put my foot down on this one."

She looked about to argue, but changed her mind at the look of determination set on Joanne's face. "My employer will be most displeased."

"I'm sorry about that, but I can't. If he wants me to wear anything like that, it will have to be what I already have." Joanne shook her head. "Clothes are one thing, but that.. uh uh."

Changing tactics, Anthea led her over to the perfumeries. This was more doable, Joanne thought. Perfume and scented soaps were her particular weakness. Though she tried to be careful and buy only a couple, Anthea insisted on selecting more than she would ever use in a year. They were only finishing up at the arcade, and still had more to go.

Meeting Wilson outside in the Bentley, Anthea directed him to various other shops and department stores. At times, she would look around while the sales staff were busy with Joanne and acquire a few more pieces for herself. Anthea couldn't remember having this much fun in a long time. It was refreshing.

They had a quick lunch at a small but pricey café in Mayfair. Joanne was beginning to have a fondness for the little finger sandwiches. Although small, they really were quite filling.

The next stop was The Royal Exchange, where Anthea encouraged Joanne to purchase even more scents and soaps, among other things.

Joanne was shocked when she was led to the lingerie department at Harrods's.

What on earth would she need that for?

Anthea smiled. "You never know," she said elusively as she picked out a few risqué numbers for Joanne.

"Anthea! I can't wear those!"

"Of course you can. See, she has your exact size!" Anthea said, indicating the staffer who was helping them.

"Wait. I understand that Mycroft gave my measurements to the managers of the shop's we went to. He sent them to the lingerie department as well??" Joanne blushed a furious red.

Anthea smirked. "Oh no, that was me! Mr. Holmes wouldn't know anything about these particular kinds of garments."

"Dark colors look good on you," said the floor assistant who held up striking blue silk piece edged in black lace. It was followed by a similar one in red. Other more modest nightwear and underthings were also purchased.

The Royal Exchange was the last stop, and had also been temporarily emptied of customers. Unlike Harrods's which had been crowded with people Anthea explained, these type of open spaces like the arcade were not as densely packed, and therefore made it easier for a shooter. Joanne noted the same amount of security here, too.

More accessories and shoes were purchased at a leather shop, including a new wallet to replace her tattered one and a few leather handbags at Anthea's prodding. Joanne didn't tell her that she would more than likely stick with her backpack when not wearing the trendy clothes. Leggings and a T-shirt were more her style, as she preferred comfort over fashion. While Anthea examined the leather belts a few shelves away, a pair of calf length Italian suede boots caught Joanne's eye, which she immediately put back on seeing the price. Nearly 2,000 pounds! For one pair of shoes!

It was only when she unpacked everything back at Mycroft's that she found them in the bag. Who knew Anthea could be so sneaky?! The sharp eyed agent missed nothing.

One boutique owner had made ready a small table with champagne and pretty little cakes in their honor. Joanne felt like royalty indeed, and wondered what Mycroft must have told them to cause this kind of deferential treatment. He had either threatened or paid them well. Joanne suspected a combination of both.

A knife lay beside the plate. Why on earth would anyone use a knife for a little thing like this? Each one was barely the size of her palm. Picking one up, Joanne was about to bite into it, when Anthea lightly slapped her hand, causing her to drop it.

"Hey! What'd you do that for?!" For a brief moment, she wondered if the cake was poisoned in a way only Anthea could see.

"No. That is not how tarts are eaten in public. Use the knife," Anthea said as she demonstrated cutting her own into four sections.

The pieces barely fit on the fork, Joanne thought. "Really? They're tiny! Why not?"

Anthea delicately nibbled the nearly invisible morsel. "This is London, dear. What you do inside the home is one thing. When you are out in public, one uses utensils, no matter the size of the food."

A small frown appeared between Joanne's brows. "Was this yours or Mycroft's idea? This is a lesson in etiquette, isn't it?"

"You catch on fast. I understand what my employer sees in you" she said, taking a sip of champagne. "You're in our world now, so I suggest you get well used to it," she said as the Blackberry buzzed.

Jo sat back and resumed cutting the micro cakes. "Well, when in Rome I guess. But if it were up to me, I'd hold the dang things! Much easier, and faster."

Anthea looked up from the phone. "There is one more stop we need to make before I take you back to Mr. Holmes."

The look on her face didn't bode well for Joanne. "Where to?"

"I've just been informed you will be in need of clothes more suited to a tropical climate," Anthea said, reading the rest of the message on the Blackberry. A mix of fear and disbelief furrowed her brow.

"The timetable has been moved up. It appears you will be on your way to the Pacific Islands before the end of the week."

#fanfic #bbc sherlock #Mycroft Holmes

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talesfromunderland · 5 years ago

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Something to Talk About.

He was dead.

Oh, he was so dead, images of all the things Julian Blackthorn would do to him flooding Kit's mind. He was going to kill him and bury his body where no one would ever find him and know what it had become of him and-

"You look as if you were going to be sick."

Kit blinked out of his thoughts to find Ty watching him, eyes narrowed with a question; and also, mostly to shield them from the unforgiving Californian sun.

They had been walking by the shoreline for a near-hour now, discussing about the new attacks and the burst of magic that had apart in recent weeks. Even with all it meant for them now, with the Blackthorns once again involved and the strange Morgenstern, Kit had found it a soothing trance to talk with Ty all about it, who just like Sherlock Holmes could detached himself from the case and treated it as seem happening to another, the effect contagious and calming to Kit's nerves.

Until, that is, when Ty asked him:

Do you want to sleep alongside me tonight?

The question had taken him so off guard that Kit trip and would eaten sand had Ty not taken hold of his shoulders.

By the Angel, the strength in those arms.

He tried, really hard, not to stare at them or let him disappointment show once Ty released him.

And he really tried to ignore the look Ty was giving him now, question still there and would be repeated if not answered quickly.

He swallowed his original respond, because Julian will hang me, and instead said, "Why do you asked that? Something happened?"

Ty just shrugged. “Not me.” He turned to Kit’s direction. “I’ve noticed you don’t sleep at night anymore. Do you have the nightmares again?”

Again, Kit tripped but righted himself before Ty could touch him.

“What- what?” he said. His laugh was nerved edge and Kit knew it. “I’m not having any nightmares, what are you talking about?” Kit was going to bolt any second now.

Ty stop his walking and faced Kit, completely and truly. He had never looked more like Julian Blackthorn before than he did then.

“Training room, the arrows,” when Kit had yawned so much, two of his arrows had missed by several feet, one landing before Mark’s feet.

“Roof, the maze,” when Diana took them to train with the heavy weapons on the roof and Kit’s maze slip from his grasp, down the side of the building, to mash one of the Arthur Blackthorn’s statues. Honestly, whose idea was the roof training and the weird statues?.

“And,” Ty continued, “the morning run.”

When they were assigned to run to the beach, and the sun and the smell became too much before darkness embraced him.

On most situations, he would been able to get away. Make a believable lie on the spot and deny any kind of interrogation until next time.

And that of course, when they didn’t even suspect the truth. Or were Ty Blackthorn.

Why couldn’t the Angel blast to smittens people when they were asked to? It was really a win-win situation.

Ty still look at him with hard eyes. "Are you trying to prove something? Overworking yourself will make you stronger to fight your mind?"

Kit winced, the words a little too close to the truth.

”Or are you trying to avoid us? Taking advantage of your nightmares so you can leave earlier, sleep and pretend we are not there, as if you never returned?” The words were filled with doubt yet Ty’s face said he considered the possibility.

Kit’s heart stuttered, along with his tongue, and it took him a whole minute to get the words out. "What?! No! I would never do that, it’s not...it’s just...”

"What?"

Oh, the Angel save him.

Kit took a deep breath. "I'm embarrassed that...that you knew of my nightmares."

He hadn’t told anyone about them, didn’t want them knowing. Coming back to the Institute had had a lot of a positive effect on him but mostly, it had been a door back in time, to the early days when his father’s murder had been fresh and so the memories.

They had come alive, his first night back.

The blood, the demons, it had been so much more vivid then his reunion with the Blackthorns the day before.

So he trained. Trained until his body begged him otherwise, until his mind couldn’t conjure emotions during unconsciousness, at which time the sun had already risen and no one was the wiser.

No one, it seemed, but Ty.

The other boy saw everything, knew and understood.

And though softened, Ty’s face held no argument.

“You are staying with me tonight.”

Kit didn’t refuse.

----

At the beginning, it was as awkward as he feared.

Kit hadn’t made plans to waltz for everyone to see him make his way to Ty’s room (least he get a knife in the back, courtesy of Julian) so he waited for everyone to leave before sneaking there.

Ty hadn’t look up from his book, having no doubt Kit would come and only acknowledged him with a small nod.

The silence had been unbearable. Even when Ty put down his book and they both laid on the bed, it was tense and awkward, making both boys stiff and slow. Kit had tried with small talk, failing miserably when there was no flow, nothing to really talk about. He started to think it had been a bad idea to come and would had left had the guilt of leaving in the night not waighitn him down.

But then Ty began talking, and it was natural and comfortable, and gave Kit pause. He talked about the stars, his voice so soft that Kit nearly missed it. He talked about the constellations, how many ancient civilizations had used them over time, whether for their gods, mark time, or return home. Kit would every now and then add something from Jem and Tessa’s old lessons, only when he remembered when his turn was to speak. Which wasn't often, considering how much he lost himself to Ty’s voice.

They stayed like that for a time, the sounds of Institute filling the silence in the room, their whispers the only other sound, a peaceful aura which made Kit smiled. He missed this, he realized. The Institute, desert and the ocean, everything it represented, specially the boy who laid beside him staring at the star-filled sky.

Those stars really can't compete with him, Kit thought. Even if they tried.

It hadn't been a mistake leaving; going to Devon, being with Jem, Tessa and Mina. They've both need the time apart, to heal, to him themselves and accept it. They've both being too young and broken to be able to do anything together but break apart and grow to hate each other. Leaving hadn't being a mistake and, for the first time in years, Kit could now both believe and accept it.

His eyes grew heavy and Kit would had started snoring right there had he not felt a shift in the blankets. For a second, he was confused until he felt it again and realized they were moving to Ty's side of the bed.

He's stealing the blankets. Kit smiled. The cheeky thief.

“If you steal the blankets, I am going to put my cold feet on you.” He really couldn't keep the silly smile from his face and neither could help the way he sing sang it.

Abruptly, the sheets stopped shifting. Kit could even swear he could feel them being tuck more closely around his body. With a smirk plastered on his face, Kit let out a happy sighed before losing consciousness.

Though not before feeling a hand being settled on his chest.

The next day, after what could only had been the best sleep on his life, he awoke to the sensation of being watched. Most shadowhunters would take this as a possible threat and prepare for a battle but Kit had no such worries. He would always know the feeling of that gaze, even dead.

Indeed, the sight that greeted his eyes when he finally opened them was that of two pretty (pff, scratch that, heavenly) gray eyes that took him in, the unbruised eyes and rested face.

“What?” he said, smiling sheepishly, though extremely self-conscious.

Ty shrugged. “You slept well,” he said. Then cocked his head and added, “Your bed head is really cute.”

At that, Kit blushed furiously, muttering about leaving the room before Julian found them, finally voicing the fear of one of the eldest Blackthorn's wrath, who could think it a good idea to kill Kit or throw him with the demons; and that was if he was lucky with the wolves first.

Ty laughed, a sound so clear and pure that never failed to warm Kit's core (and filled him with the satisfaction that he was the one who made the other boy laugh like that) and then Ty leaned close to him, resting his head on Kit's shoulder.

The boy froze for a second, though something in him did quite the opposite as Ty said, "Let him try. If you don't get away by your wits then know i'll stand with you at the end of the line and beyond." He turned his eyes to him, gray meeting blue. "We stick together, Watson. Always."

For the anon who requested this and for @sherlockedkit and @magnusthefish who i promised each KitTy fanfics and this is so far the last i have of them. Eeee, i know this isn't like the others and i'm sorry but i tried! It's not getting easier, life wants to eat me alive.

I also think this is by far one of the weirdest fics, I've ever written, I don't know why.

And this shall also be my last Kit x Ty for a while. Maybe until The Wicked Powers.

Also tagging; @alma-berry @oopstheregoesthatlifeofmine @vanillalipstick66 @samnherondale @alastairlightwxod @themerrythieves @starsfor4ever @shadowhunterbooklover1 @lost-in-fictionn @older-brother-kit

#kitty #kit herondale #ty blackthorn #tda #the dark artifices #tsc #the shadowhunter chronicles #fanfic #mine #twp #the wicked powers #kitty fanfic #kit x ty

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punjabassignmenthelpaus · 4 months ago

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mywordsolutionedu-blog · 1 month ago

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swissmissficrecs · 5 years ago

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HI, I LOVE YOUR SITE; as you know by now. Can you please rec me some fics 'bout John being Sherlock's caretaker? they become something more. like in Proving a Point. Thank you so very much.

Reply: So great to hear, and the feeling is mutual. I love all of your creative ideas. So for this one, while I don’t know if there are any others exactly like Proving a Point (which I have included below for completeness), here are some AU’s where John is paid to take care of or watch over Sherlock in some capacity:

John is Sherlock’s caretaker

A house in the country by PlainJane (20K, E, Johnlock) With new "real rape" laws in place, every unbonded omega is at risk, including Sherlock Holmes. He needs someone to help protect him and hide his true nature, but John Watson may be more of a problem than a solution.

Mental by Boeshane42 (18K, E, Johnlock) Sherlock Holmes is a patient in a closed psychiatric ward. John Watson is his new psychiatrist.

Names for the Galaxy by evadne (191K, E, Johnlock) Sci-fi AU. Sherlock Holmes is a recent arrival to 22nd century earth, and determined to find out who he is and where he comes from. John Watson has the unenviable task of teaching him how to be a normal human being.

No Power of Mind by ab_initio (29K, M, Johnlock, Mystrade) On Monday, it's the Woman. Tuesday brings Henry Knight. Wednesday is Magnussen. Greg is Thursday followed by Moriarty on Friday. Sherlock see dead people in his palace of white. When Mycroft hires Doctor John Watson to take care of Sherlock, Sherlock wonders how long this doctor will last. As time passes, the doctor-patient relationship drifts away and Sherlock's visions begin to take control. As his sanity slips away, John tries to hold on and bring Sherlock back from the depths of his mind.

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (95K, E, Johnlock) Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes.

Possession by Nana_41175 (110K, M, Johnlock) "I seem to be suffering from delusions of being a vampire." Dr. John Watson has a new patient in hand. It seems like a straightforward case, or is it? Vampire!Sherlock/Psychiatrist!John AU fic.

Proving a Point by elldotsee, J_Baillier (186K, E, Johnlock) Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.

Transference by JeanElizabeth (16K, E, Johnlock; Viclock) Sherlock Holmes has been admitted to a mental institution for paranoid schizophrenia. He is assigned to psychologist Doctor John Watson who he inevitably begins a love affair with. John must wrestle with his guilt in putting not only his job, but Sherlock's mental well-being, in danger. Sherlock struggles with his mental disorder while living in a confining and controlling environment. So much angst and pain that can only be dulled one night a week.

Wild Nights, Wild Nights by cassyl (32K, M, Johnlock) If Sherlock had never met John, would he still be on the side of the angels? On his return from Afghanistan, John takes a job working the night shift at a high secure psychiatric hospital, but when the infamous criminal mastermind Sherlock Holmes is admitted as a patient, John begins to suspect that all is not as it seems.

@alexxphoenix42 also has this list where John is Sherlock’s bodyguard which seems like a similar kind of thing.

#request #rec list #honeybeemotorcycles

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assignmentworkhelp · 6 years ago

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darkacademicx · 5 years ago

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A List of Show Recs, While You’re Stuck at Home

This is a huge and continuously updating list. The first 2 categories are ‘definitely DA’ and ‘Probably DA’, but beyond that all of the shows are sorted by category. Enjoy!

Definitely DA:

The Living and the Dead - The plot revolves around Nathan Appleby and his wife, Charlotte Appleby whose farm is believed to be at the centre of numerous supernatural occurrences. Set in Victorian times and has ghosts and an excellent aesthetic. Available on Amazon Prime. 5/5

A Series of Unfortunate Events - This series follows the tragic tale of three orphans -- Violet, Klaus, and Sunny Baudelaire -- who are investigating their parents' mysterious death. The siblings are saddled with an evil guardian named Count Olaf , who will do whatever it takes to get his hands on the Baudelaires' inheritance. Violet, Klaus, and Sunny must outsmart Olaf at every turn, foiling devious plans and disguises. The series is based on the series of books by Lemony Snicket. Available on Netflix.

The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina - A dark coming-of-age story that traffics in horror and the occult. In the reimagined origin story, Sabrina Spellman wrestles to reconcile her dual nature -- half-witch, half-mortal -- while standing against the evil forces that threaten her, her family -- including aunts Hilda and Zelda -- and the daylight world humans inhabit. Available on Netflix. 5/5

Downton Abbey - This historical drama follows the lives of the Crawley family and their servants in the family's Edwardian country house. The programme begins with the 1912 sinking of the Titanic, which leaves Downton Abbey's future in jeopardy, as Lord Grantham's presumptive heir -- his cousin James -- and his son, Patrick, die aboard the ship, leaving him without a male offspring to take over the throne upon his death. As a result, Lord Grantham must search for a new heir. As the programme progresses through the decade, other historical events happen leading up to Lord Grantham declaring in 1914 that Britain is at war with Germany, marking the beginning of World War I, which becomes a major plot on the programme. Available on Amazon Prime.

Gran Hotel - Set in Spain in the early 20th century, Julio arrives at a luxury hotel to meet his sister, head chambermaid Cristina only to discover she has disappeared. Julio makes it his mission to find her and infiltrates the hotel under the guise of a footman. This show is in Spanish but available with English Subtitles. 5/5

Penny Dreadful - An exploration of the origin stories of classical literature characters in this psychological thriller that takes place in the dark corners of Victorian London. Sir Malcolm is an explorer who has lost his daughter to the city's creatures, and he will do whatever is needed to get her back and to right past wrongs. His accomplice, seductive clairvoyant Vanessa Ives, recruits charming American Ethan Chandler to help locate Sir Malcolm's daughter and slay some monsters. Available on Netflix and Hulu.

The Umbrella Academy - On one day in 1989, 43 infants are inexplicably born to random, unconnected women who showed no signs of pregnancy the day before. Seven are adopted by billionaire industrialist Sir Reginald Hargreeves, who creates the Umbrella Academy and prepares his "children" to save the world. In their teenage years, though, the family fractures and the team disbands. Fast forward to the present time, when the six surviving members of the clan reunite upon the news of Hargreeves' passing. They work together to solve a mystery surrounding their father's death, but divergent personalities and abilities again pull the estranged family apart, and a global apocalypse is another imminent threat.

Sherlock - Dr. John Watson is a war vet just home from Afghanistan. He meets the brilliant but eccentric Holmes when the latter, who serves as a consultant to Scotland Yard, advertises for a flatmate. Almost as soon as Watson moves into the Baker Street flat, they are embroiled in mysteries, and Sherlock's nemesis, Moriarty, appears to have a hand in the crimes. Available on Netflix. 5/5

Stranger Things - In 1980s Indiana, a group of young friends witness supernatural forces and secret government exploits. As they search for answers, the children unravel a series of extraordinary mysteries. Available on Netflix. 5/5

Twilight Zone - It's a strange mix of horror, science-fiction, drama, comedy and superstition. Serling introduced each episode, and many of the black and white episodes concluded with a surprise ending. Available on Netflix and Hulu. 5/5.

Outlander - After serving as a British Army nurse in World War II, Claire Randall is enjoying a second honeymoon in Scotland with husband Frank, an MI6 officer looking forward to a new career as an Oxford historian. Suddenly, Claire is transported to 1743 and into a mysterious world where her freedom and life are threatened. To survive, she marries Jamie Fraser, a strapping Scots warrior with a complicated past and a disarming sense of humour. A passionate relationship ensues, and Claire is caught between two vastly different men in two inharmonious lives. Available on Netflix and Hulu.

Probably DA:

The Magicians - Quentin Coldwater, a grad student at Brakebills College for Magical Pedagogy, has been fascinated by the magical fantasy world since he was young. But as he has gotten older, Quentin and his 20-something friends have discovered that the magical world they read about as children is not only real, but it poses dangers to humanity. While studying at the secret upstate New York school, the friends struggle to cope with the aftermath of a catastrophe that befalls the institution. Available on Netflix, Hulu, and the Syfy website. 5/5

Merlin - This action-packed fantasy-drama revisits the saga of King Arthur and his wizard, Merlin, by focusing on the two characters when they were ambitious young men struggling to understand their destinies. In this telling, Prince Arthur is known to be the heir to the throne (no sword from the stone here). And he is acquainted with all those who will one day form the legend of Camelot, including Lancelot, Guinevere, and Morgana. Merlin is also forced to deal with King Uther's Great Purge, which bans all use of magic. Available on Netflix. 5/5

The Order - When Belgrave University student Jack Morton joins a fabled secret society, the Hermetic Order of the Blue Rose, he is thrust into a world of magic, monsters and intrigue. Out to avenge his mother's death, he uncovers dark family secrets and lands in an underground battle being waged between werewolves and practitioners of dark magic. Assisting Jack in the fight is Alyssa, a tour guide at Belgrave and fellow member of the Order, which is led by Jack's estranged father. Available on Netflix. 4/5.

Legion - David Haller is a troubled young man who was diagnosed with schizophrenia as a child. Shuffled from one psychiatric institution to the next, in his early 30s, David met and fell in love with a beautiful and troubled fellow patient named Syd. After a startling encounter with her, he was forced to confront the shocking possibility that the voices he hears and the visions he sees may actually be real. Syd led David to Melanie Bird, a demanding but nurturing therapist who heads a team of specialists -- Ptonomy, Kerry, and Cary -- each of whom possesses a unique and extraordinary gift. Together, they helped David to recognize and harness his hidden abilities and unlock a deeply suppressed truth -- he had been haunted his entire life by a malicious parasite of unimaginable power. Available on Hulu. 4/5.

Comedy:

Derry Girls - Following Erin and her friends as they grow up in a world of armed police in armoured Land Rovers and British Army check points in 1990s Northern Ireland and attempt to navigate the highs and lows of being teenagers. Available on Netflix. 5/5

Detective/military:

Broadchurch - When the corpse of an 11-year-old British boy, Danny Latimer, is found bloodied and dirty on an idyllic beach, a small Dorset community becomes the focus of a police investigation and media madness. Out-of-town Detective Inspector Alec Hardy gets the point position over Detective Sgt. Ellie Miller -- who feels the job should have been hers. Slowly, more members of the community of Broadchurch are drawn into the investigation. While dealing with so much unwelcome attention, Danny's family tries to cope with its grief. When a suspect is named and charged, the ensuing trial sees the defendant promising to expose more of the townspeople's secrets. Available on Netflix. 5/5.

Haven - FBI Agent Audrey Parker arrives in Haven, Maine, on what she believes is a routine assignment. But the longer she stays, the more curious she becomes -- about the townspeople, who seem to be beset by a range of supernatural afflictions; about the town itself, which contains many secrets; and about her own surprising connection to this strange place. Available on Netflix and Tubi. 4/5.

A Very Secret Service - At the height of the Cold War in 1960, André Merlaux joins the French Secret Service and contends with enemies both foreign and bureaucratic. In French with English Subtitles. Available on Netflix. 5/5.

Criminal Minds - An elite squad of FBI profilers analyzes the country's most-twisted criminal minds, anticipating the perpetrators' next moves before they can strike again. Each member of the "mind hunter" team brings his or her expertise to pinpoint predators' motivations and identify emotional triggers to stop them. The core group includes an official profiler who is highly skilled at getting into the minds of criminals, a quirky genius, the former media liaison who manages to adeptly balance family life and the job, and a computer wizard. Available on Netflix and CBS. 5/5

Eureka - In the years since World War II, the U.S. government has been relocating the world's geniuses (and their families) to the Pacific Northwest town of Eureka. Daily life there shifts between amazing innovation and total chaos. U.S. Marshal Jack Carter learns this first-hand when his car breaks down in Eureka, stranding him among the town's eccentric citizens. When they unleash a scientific creation still unknown to the outside world, it's up to Carter to restore order. Subsequently, he's let in on one of America's best-kept secrets. Available on Amazon Prime. 5/5.

Our Girl - Taking destiny into their own hands, British Army female medics of 2 Sections are dispatched on different missions, where they encounter the heartbreak and realities of life on the battlefield. 5/5.

Political:

The Crown - This lavish, Netflix-original drama chronicles the life of Queen Elizabeth II from the 1940s to modern times. The series begins with an inside look at the early reign of the queen, who ascended the throne at age 25 after the death of her father, King George VI. As the decades pass, personal intrigues, romances, and political rivalries are revealed that played a big role in events that shaped the later years of the 20th century. Available on Netflix. 4/5.

Victoria - The monarch's life is chronicled as the story begins with the death of King William IV in 1837, her accession to the throne at the tender age of 18 and her relationships with the influential forces around her. With the advice of the prime minister Lord Melbourne and the support of her husband Prince Albert the young queen flourishes and establishes herself in her newfound role. Available on Amazon Prime. 4/5.

#recs #tv show #tv recommendations #tv reccommendation #covid2019 #covid19 #coronavirus

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certifiedskywalker · 6 years ago

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Academic Misgivings (Part Three) - Peter Parker

You and Peter Parker aren’t friends, but you’re not entirely enemies either. You don’t like him but he always tries to be nice to you. He has everything you’ve ever wanted and you’ll do anything to show him that you can make it on your own. But can you?

PART ONE / PART TWO

After a night of cheering, dining, and celebrating, the wake-up-call at seven in the morning was horrendous. Nails on a chalkboard would have been a more pleasant waking sound. The only thing that coaxed you out from under the covers was the promise of some coffee from the machine in the dining hall and the sunshine that peeked through the window. So you donned your pea colored sweatshirt over your t-shirt and moosied down to the lobby while MJ still tossed around in her bed.

It seemed that the rest of the team was still rolling off along the waves of victory as each table filled with Midtown students were awashed with chatter. Even Peter, as quiet as he was, was animatedly talking with the brightest smile on his features. The sight turned your legs to noodles and drove your to pry your eyes away as wrenched yourself in the direction of the nearest coffee pot. Which, with your luck, was empty.

You cursed under your breath and sighed until the heaviness in your shoulders fades. “This is perfect, perfect.”

“You drink coffee?” You neck nearly cracked with the speed in which you turned to meet Peter’s eyes. There was a tender smile playing on his lips, the kind that stirrs bees in the stomach rather than butterflies.

“Not usually,” you lied, “just need a pick me up.” Peter nodded and grabbed an apple from a nearby basket.

“Yesterday was cool,” he said and, despite his neutral tone, you were filled with a prickling sense of anger. Peter was horribly chipper and his friendly expression made you sick. Envy crawled up your spine, whispered in your ear that it should have been you to bring home the win. So you pushed down any kindness that threatened to bubble over.

“Yeah it was,” you snapped, “I bet it was, for you especially, basking in everyone’s praise.” You glanced at Peter and saw a befuddled puppy instead. Dark eyes were squinted in confusion under furrowed brows. The expression amused you as you walked over to an empty table to mope.

From your new look-out, you watched as a still-muddled Peter strode back over to his friends, the set now complete with MJ’s appearance in the dining hall.

“What’s up losers?” Her signature greeting met your ears as she pulled out a chair beside Ned. You saw Peter opened his mouth to speak but Ned quickly spoke before him.

“We were talking about all the places we want to visit. Like the Art Institute? They have a fantastic Egyptian art collection and then the planetarium! There’s so much to do!” “You know we’re only here for the day right?” MJ asked and you heard Peter chuckle. You bit at the inside of your cheek, a habit you would have to break, to quell the jealousy swelling inside your chest. “Well I want to go to H. H. Holmes’ Murder Castle.”

Silence filled the table and, even with the distance, you could make out the worried expression Peter wore on his features. His slightly panicked eyes and the way he squirmed in his seat made you smile. It was because you liked to see him nervous, you thought to yourself, it’s not because he’s cute.

“I-I…” Peter began, but MJ continued on.

“It burned down after he was hung in 1896, but I bet you can still like, feel it there.”

“What’s it?” Peter questioned and you felt compelled to walk over to their table, join in on their chatter. Everything Peter touched everyone he spoke to, seemed to be at ease. For once in your life you wanted to feel that same serenity. Sadly, it seemed you only attracted people that set you on edge.

“Morin' Y/N! You ready to see the sights!?” Flash plopped down in the empty seat as your side, holding his phone up to your face. Instinctually, you lifted your hand and pushed his phone to the side. “Hey! I was live streaming!”

“You’re going to get in trouble for that one day,” you grumbled before you returned your attention back to Peter’s table. He was red in the face with laughter as Ned was telling some story. MJ seemed amused but, as always, her face read as indifferent.

“Even his laugh is annoying,” Flash groaned beside you, “especially when he’s around...what’s her name? Mary?”

“Michelle,” you corrected, eyes still glued to the trio at the table a few paces away.

“Ah yes,” Flash sighed, “that still doesn’t change how ‘quirky’ she tries to be. It’s like they were made to be together.”

“What?” Flash’s words pulled your attention away like the snapping of a twig in a silent forest. “What do you mean?”

“The dickwad and the alien,” Flash explained, but his clarification only served to confuse you further. “Peter and that Michelle, they’re flaky and perfect for each other.”

“You think so?” You gazed back over at their table and your breath caught when you saw MJ smiling. Her full lips were upturned to the point where there were crinkles by her eyes. She never smiles, at least not like that.

“Y/N, I know so,” Flash droned on, “my mom had been married four times with the most expensive wedding your little mind could dream of and she never has looked at any of them like that.” He points towards Peter who, like MJ, was grinning. You felt your heart shatter, split like the Earth’s crust during a quake. All of the signs had been there and yet you had been blind to them.

MJ hadn’t asked you about liking Peter because she was curious; she wanted to keep you away from him. She wanted to know her competition just like you with Peter; but you weren’t her competition, you thought bitterly. Peter had even been texting her on the bus on the way to Chicago. You clenched your jaw as you recounted every instance you could remember. Leave it to Peter Parker to make you feel dumb. Flames of embarrassment and rage licked at your cheeks turning them red.

“Flash,” you began, meeting the dark-haired boy’s eyes, “after this, the trip and everything, I was wondering if you-”

“Oh, Y/N, please. I thought you would never ask.”

“Okay, so what’s the plan for dealing with-”

“Of course I’ll go out on a date with you.”

“What?! No! I was,” you lower your voice, “I was talking about Peter.”

“You want to date Parker?” Flash asked, much too loudly for your liking. Your eyes widened with worried fury as you shook your head wildly.

No! No! I was talking about your offer. To,” you whispered then, “to get him off the team.” Flash’s eyes gleam with recognition as he exclaims in realization.

“Okay, I got you now. Yeah, we can do that.” You nodded and kept staring at him as you waited for him to detail out the plan. Flash only looked back at you, clearly puzzled about what you were expecting. You cocked your head and leaned closer to him.

“So...the plan?”

“Oh! Yeah, okay so I was thinking that we could make him late to our practices and stuff. I know some people that could help.” You quirked a brow at him, slightly concerned as to the people Flash ‘knew’. “And then one of us could befriend him, get access to his phone and delete the practice schedule from the school calendar. And, just for good measure, delete the group chat app Mr. Harrington assigned to the team.”

“That’s actually a somewhat solid plan,” you replied, keeping your voice low. People still flitted about the dining hall, a majority of which were your classmates.

“I know,” Flash sighed, leaning back in the rickety wooden chair, “I’m a goddamn genius. No need to thank me.” You had to cut short an audible groan that threatened to spill past your lips. All you had to do was work with Flash until Peter was gone, out of your sight and out of your mind forever. You could do that.

“So you want to befriend him and do the phone thing?” You asked as you spared a glance over at Peter’s table once more. He stilled smiled, even as he turned his head and looked in your direction. The moment his eyes saw Flash sitting at your side, he pulled his eyes away. Flash laughed obnoxiously loud and you glared at him.

“No way! I would never associate my fine self with him! You can do the grunt work.” Your glare only intensified at his words.

“Just because I’m a woman you think you can give me a role and I’ll just have to be happy with it?” The sexism card was the easiest to pull, and true when it came to Flash. It was the perfect cover for the fact you really didn’t want to become friends with Peter, even if it was fake. You just didn’t want to be near him, you wanted to be done with him.

“N-No,” Flash stammered, visibly shaken by your accusation. “I just think it would be strange ya know, if I tried to be all nicey-nice with him after everything.”

“I’m in the same boat,” you fire back in an angry whisper. Flash shook his head at that.

“You defend him, sometimes. Like when we went to the pizza place. You’re friendly to him sometimes.You’d have an easier in.” You bit the inside of your cheek, wondering if you did it this much before the trip. Flash shifted in his seat before adding, “it’d be more believable.”

“I just…” you trailed off, eyes skirted over to Peter again. A soft smile played on his lips, the kind one he would give you as you passed him by in the halls at school. Peter Parker had been nothing but kind to you; and it was infuriating. He had everything you had ever wanted: a spot on the A team, an internship at a prestigious science-oriented company, and friends. If suffering a spot longer met you could have at least some of that, you’d do it. “Fine.”

“You mean, ‘fine’ as in you’ll do it?” Flash asked eagerly, dark brown eyes as wide as snow globes.

“Yes,” you snapped, “now, how about-”

“Team? Is everyone down here?” Mr. Harrington’s voice interrupted your speech and drew your eyes to him. A clipboard was held tightly in his hands and you sighed. Ms. Lauren quickly did and head count and turned to Mr. Harrington.

“They’re all here, Roger.”

“Great! Alright, I’ve taken the liberty of splitting you all into groups so we can see all of the sights that Chicago had to offer. Ms. Lauren will be taking one group that will start at Willis Tower. I will take the other to Millennium Park. We’ll meet for lunch then switch. Afterwards, we’ll meet at the Art Institute. Sound like a plan?”

The dragging plan was met with a chorus of groans and small voices that echoed a barely collective ‘yeah’. In the brief pause, you snuck a glance at Peter. His brown eyes met your gaze and you felt the heat that burned at your cheeks.

“So the group coming with me to the park has Michelle, Ned, Betty, Abe, Sally, and Peter. Ms. Lauren will be taking Flash, Cindy, Charles, Y/N, and Brad to Willis Tower.”

“See,” Flash whispered and pulled lightly on your sleeve to get your attention, “the stupid that plays together stays together.” He tipped his head in the direction of Peter, MJ, and Ned who were happily chatting about Millennium Park. Although Flash hinted that it was the trio he was talking about, you couldn’t help but feel maybe it was you.

“Okay kiddos, who’s ready for the Tower!?” Ms. Lauren’s sing-song tone, only made your urge to chase after the bus as it drove away all the more insatiable. You imagined Peter laughing, as he most likely was, with Ned and MJ while they walked through Millennium Park. The phantom image made you feel cheated, scorned.

It was hard to retain such a feeling as you dodged businessmen and women as Ms. Lauren lead the group down the block to the entrance of Willis Tower. Since you lived in New York City, you were used to building scraping the sky; but something about Willis Tower set you on edge. The paneling was that of dark obsidian and you half expected a winged demon to fly out from it’s doors, breathing fire and throwing brimstone. Fearfully, your eyes scanned up the height of the skyscraper until a bulky outcropping came into view.

“That’s the glass balcony we’re going to stand on,” Flash explained as he came up behind you. “It’s like an elevator.”

You cocked your head to the side, staring at Flash in confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“As long as you don’t jump in it, you’ll be fine,” he teased. Flash clapped a hand on your shoulder. “C’mon! The view at the top is perfect for getting viewers!”

You figured that he was referencing a live stream, which, judging by the way he energetically spoke to his phone camera. Flash Thompson’s need for attention never ceased to appall you. His behavior wasn’t like yours, as you always felt the need to justify it. You simply wanted what you knew you deserved while Flash strived for something he was far too rude to ever achieve. As the group ascended the spiraling steps, you silently prayed that you wouldn’t end up like Flash.

A few signs listing what could be done on the glass balcony and what, under any circumstances, should not be done served little in entertainment. Ms. Lauren would read along the plaques on the wall that detailed the tower’s construction and history. Nothing said peaked your interest. What did catch your attention was the final landing before the balcony.

“This better be worth the hour wait,” Flash grumbled as he fiddled with his phone. He had lost reception a few floors down. Since then, he had only got crabby and red in the face.

“Y-Yeah,” you agreed as you took a few shaky steps up the last flight of stairs. Had you ever been this high up in a building before? What floor was this? Ms. Lauren had said it earlier bt you had been too lost in thought to care. Why was Peter all your thought about now? How was it possible to have so many questions without answers? It was statistically impossible.

Soon, as you mounted the last step, statistics were thrown out the window. A security guard stopped you before you could walk any closer to the glass oning. Even from where you stood, you could see the tops of other buildings and clouds that hung lower than the rest. You were up high. Dangerously high.

“Only a few people at a time please,” the guard bellowed. He moved his arm, letting you, Flash, and Cindy pass through.

“Meet in the gift shop if we get separated!” Ms. Lauren’s directions fell on deaf ears as you, timidly, stepped on the clear surface of the balcony with your own phone clutched tightly in your hands.

The ground rushed up at you, building-roof teeth barred at it snapped at you in vertigo. Your head spun with dread and you leaned forwards to balance yourself against the similar clear wall that gave you a calming view of Lake Michigan. Only the waves looked more like daggers from that high up. Dark clouds litter the horizon and made the shadows dancing in your mind all the more manipulative of your depth perception.

“Y/N?” You couldn’t tell who had spoken to you as your full attention was glued on the world below you. Cars more like ladybugs and bees, raced along pavement paths going everywhere while you, as a watchful raven, studied their little insect bodies as they scurried away. “Y/N, are you alright?”

You could almost taste the clouds, as light as angel food cake as you felt as if you floated above reality. The darker storm clouds that rolled in gave a sharp crack of thunder, followed by distant lighting as you blinked. A scream parted through your haze, one of pure fear. Despite the sound, you’re still whirling.

“Y/N!”

You see the long-bodied bus as it stops beside the tower. If the cars were bugs your classmates must be atoms. So small, barely even there until your peered closer, pressed your forehead against the glass. You swore you saw Peter the moment another crack of sharp lightning sounded as he rushed into the building. Another scream.

“Y/N!!”

A new crack of thunder, only this time you realize the storm clouds are over the lake and the lightning was only the white of your eyes as you blinked fear from them. The glass-plastic below you was now decorated in a spider web like pattern. You had only a second to admire it when you fell through the hole it had created.

Before the free-fall took you, your fingers find the metal edge that connected two panels of glass together. Broken shards pierced the meat of your palm and you cried out. Your phone slipped from your grasp and fell down, down, down until you couldn’t make out it’s shape anymore. With both hands now freed, your grip tightened on the metal edge as you cried out for help. Screams filled your ears and the sounds of guards talking in their walkie-talkies did little to give you solace. The material you clung to creaked and dread pooled in your stomach.

The wind didn’t help either. Playfully it tugged at your legs, pulled you this way and that until your hands shook with weakness. Your fingers began to slip as your mind grew fuzzy. You screamed to keep yourself conscious, but the effort seems to steal more air from your lungs. The blood smeared in your hand loosened your hold and then, you were falling.

Cold. A chilled sensation tickled along your skin as you raced downwards. You closed your eyes, hoping that, by some magic, it would dull the inevitable impact. Images of your life raced by but not the memories. All of the ‘could have beens’ and ‘what ifs’ filled your head as the ground came closer and closer. You didn’t dare open your eyes and then….

Warm. The wind still races by, chilled your skin but you were warm. Gravity’s forces seemed to be called back because the fall didn’t feel as great. Slowly, as if scared it was some cruel trick and you were still headed towards a swift death, you opened your eyes. Instead of vertically, you cut through the wind horizontally. You turned your head and screamed as two large, white eyes met yours.

“Hey! Hey! You’re alright, I gotcha!” You saw the mouth of the man move beneath the red fabric of his mask and you were instantly put at relative ease.

“You’re Spiderman!”

“I am!”

“Holy shi-”

“Hold on!” He swung quickly from building to building, gradually he lowered you both to the ground. Even when he feet hit the Earth, you clung tightly to him.

“You’re okay now.”

You didn’t respond, not even as you untangled yourself from the man that had saved your life. When you stepped back, you realized Spiderman looked more like a boy. He was more thin than you had expected, but you weren’t in the right head-space to care much.

“I-I, got blood on your suit,” you mumbled, looking down at your bleeding hands. A shard of glass was still stuck in your flesh.

“Oh god, are you okay?” His gloved hands carefully grabbed yours and studied your wounds. “I hear sirens, an ambulance. They can fix this.”

“Y-Yeah,” you stammered and you met the eyes of the mask. “What are you doing in Chi-”

“IS THAT SPIDERMAN?!” You turned your head and saw Flash, followed by the rest of the group, rushing towards you. They all seemed unharmed by the incident.

“I-I gotta go, Y/N. See ya around!” And just as quickly as he had swooped in to save you, Spiderman webbed away. His voice rang in your ears, echoed a sense of familiarity.

“Y/N! Sweetie! Are you alright?” Ms. Lauren panicked, touched your face to check for any obvious injuries before taking your hands. “Don’t worry! The police are on their way!”

When the emergency services arrived, you were quickly escorted into the back of an ambulance. Nurses scrambled, gave you check up and banaged the large gashes on your hand. You shed your green sweatshirt as a spry blonde woman took your blood pressure. It was then that an officer, whose badge shone under the hazy sky, came up to you.

“Ma’am, could you please tell us what exactly happened? At least as much as you remember, that is.” The Midwestern accent was thick, hints of what you assumed were the South Side splayed out when he spoke. You told him everything. The echoed crack of the glass, the shredding pain that ripped your through your hands, and Spiderman.

“He saved me,” you finished, just as the EMTs collected their things. You were fine, aside from the cuts on your palms. A few people had been cut as well, when the glass fell but, thanks to Spiderman, there were no fatalities.

“Lucky for you, he seems to have a habit of saving kids on field trips,” the officer quipped, “thank you for being cooperative. Stay safe.” The policeman trailed off back toward his car and left you alone with his words as they echoed in your head. It was strange that, somehow, Spiderman had been at both Washington to save your teammates trapped in an elevator and Chicago, to save you. A thought twisted your stomach into knots so tight you feared you might never pull free.

What if someone you knew on the team was Spiderman? He had known your name, after all. How else could he have known it otherwise? You weren’t like Peter, who got his name in the local paper every other week for some amazing feat. You lived in his shadow, so how had Spiderman known your name?

“Oh, Y/N! You’re alive! I wouldn’t be able to explain another one,” Mr. Harrington said in a rush as he stomped up to you. “I just needed to remind you that you signed the waiver for this trip so Midtown is not to blame for any-”

“I know, Mr. Harrington,” you said and pushed yourself off of the edge of the ambulance. “I think I just want to go back to the hotel.”

“We can do that! We can do that! Kids!” Mr. Harrington gathered the rest of the team while you stood idle by the remaining emergency vehicles.

“Way to go, you ruined the trip,” MJ smirked as she came up to you. “It was boring anyway. The amount of cheesy ‘look at me under the Bean’ pictures that were taken was disturbing.” You chuckled weakly and frowned.

“Sorry,” you murmured, scratching at the back of your neck.

“Hey,” MJ rested a calming hand on your shoulder, “I was kidding. Are you-”

“Oh my god, are you okay?” You looked past MJ and saw Peter, followed by Ned as they darted towards you. Peter’s eyes were wild, hair messed up as if it had been pulled around in a poor attempt to fix it.

“I am now,” you replied, too exhausted to maintain a steady disdain towards Peter. “More confused than anything else.”

“Confused? W-Why are you confused?” Peter’s mouth spewed more questions than drops of water from a leaky faucet.

“He knew my name,” you stressed and glanced between the three people before you.

“Spiderman knew your name?” MJ asked, her brown eyes as wide as planets. Never before had you seen her so shocked; or shocked in general.

“Yeah, he did. Then the officer pointed out that he was in Washington too...now here.”

“Huh, whatta a coincidence! Right, Peter?” Ned jabbed his friend with his elbow and the pale boy nodded.

“Yeah, it’s w-weird, but I mean it’s good. Right?” Peter’s voice sounded higher than normal, but you didn’t have the strength to question it.

“It is,” you agreed, “but...does that mean he’s….” Just as you trailed off, MJ picked up your thought.

“Spiderman is someone one the team.”

“NO!” Ned squawked and Peter shook his head.

“No? It makes sense! He follows us on every trip!” Peter scratched at his cheek, never did he lift his eyes to meet anyone’s gaze.

“Yeah, but a teenager? A superhero teenager? Sounds pretty stupid to me,” Ned said, but even you didn’t believe what he said. He chuckled, humor unidentified in the sound. He gave Peter an almost sorry look, a sight you didn’t miss.

“You know what else makes sense?” You turned your attention back to MJ who’s dark eyes were trained on Peter. Chestnut colored irises seemed to expand in fear when Peter looked up. “Everytime Spiderman comes around, Pet-”

“C’mon kiddos! The bus is ready! Back to the hotel!” Ms. Lauren bounded up to the four of you and interrupted MJ’s thought.

“Thank God,” Ned exclaimed and rushed towards the bus. You almost smiled at the scene, felt the same relief as your peer, when you realized how tired you were. Eyes half-lidded, you wandered up to the bus with MJ at your side. She pulled you into a row of seats, gave you the window seat and leaned closer.

“I think Peter is Spiderman,” she whispered and before you could stop it, a laugh similar to that of a circus clown passed over your lips.

“That’s nuts,” you said, giggles still spilled out of your mouth until you managed to quiet yourself down. “He wouldn’t save me, I’m so mean to him.”

“You’re rude, but I wouldn’t say mean, Y/N,” MJ grumbled as she settled into the seat. “It’s just a theory, maybe he’ll spill it one day. You could ask him, since, if he is, it was Peter that saved you.”

You scoffed and leant your pounding head against the cool surface of the window. “There’s no way Peter is Spiderman.”

MJ paid little attention to you reassertion and glanced a few seats down where the subject in question sat. You rolled your eyes and closed them, unable to combat the tiredness any longer. The echoing thought of Peter and Spiderman rang in your mind. No, Peter couldn’t be Spiderman. That boy had everything, he couldn’t be a superhero too. Then he would be too perfect.

To move along some sort of rest you thought back to Spiderman, the mystery man, himself. You remembered how safe you had felt, tucked in his arm. You had never felt that protected in your life. There was no way Peter Parker could make you feel that.

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