Richard Book is Innocent (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
oxfordtweed) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
tweedandtinsel2010-12-29 01:25 am
oxfordtweed) wrote in tweedandtinsel2010-12-29 01:25 am
Entry tags:
- category: crack,
- category: gen,
- fandom: sherlock,
- length: 1-10k,
- main verse: sherlock,
- rating: g,
- series: sherlock100,
- time: pre-canon,
- time: vague,
- title: deli,
- title: fire,
- title: kicking puppies,
- title: psychotropics,
- title: shouldn't have done that,
- warning: drug use,
- warning: manipulation,
- year: 2010
Five Mycroft Ficlets: Setting Stuff on Fire, Shouldn’t have Done That, Kicking Puppies, Psychotropic
Fandom: Sherlock
Character/s: Mycroft Holmes
Word Count: 1300 (total)
Rating: G
Summary: Mycroft and Sherlock do destructive things and manipulate people (and one another), and Mycroft does odd and terrible things in the name of Government Work.
Notes/Warnings: These were going to be drabbles, originally. Now they’re sort of ficlets. Drugs, interrogation, slight manipulation. Complete crack, in the strangest possible way. No actual kicking of puppies. All five are pre-canon.
Dear god, this is what happens when I let![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
afullmargin pick my prompts for me. Back during my heady days in the Hot Fuzz fandom, I began playing with the idea of crack/angst fusion. And now I inflict upon Sherlock fen the things I learned from a bunch of possibly psychotic police officers from Gloucestershire. Uhm… sorry?
Writer’s Choice – Setting Stuff on Fire
He was seventeen and Sherlock was ten the night they stood in the cold field just on the edge of the family’s summer property near Chipping Norton. Mycroft ignored the sharp sting in his hand as the two of them watched what was once a shed feed flames that rose high into the dark sky, casting everything in a warm amber glow.
It was Mycroft who laughed first, overcome by the absurdity of the entire situation. Setting fire to the shed had never been part of the plan, though he doubted even then that anyone would believe the Holmes boys that it had been an accident.
After all, they were far too smart to try to build a campfire in a shed. At the time, it had seemed a brilliant idea. No one would see the flames, and the shed would trap the heat quite nicely, so the fire didn’t even have to be very big.
And it had worked, right up until Mycroft decided that his little brother could handle a bit of cider, which had been stolen from the cellar when Father wasn’t looking.
By the time fire crews arrived, both boys were collapsed against one another, nearly to the point of hyperventilating from laughing so hard. Mycroft didn’t even notice the burn on his hand any more, and he was fairly sure that he’d have other distractions from it the next morning. But right then, sprawled in a heap with his brother, he was far too busy being lost in hysterics to care about any consequences whatsoever.
Writer’s Choice – Shouldn’t have Done That
He knew it was a mistake. Just like it had been a mistake every time previous. Giving in to Sherlock’s demands only ever encouraged him and made the demands more frequent and, well, demanding.
It had started with a mobile phone. Sherlock was trying to get clean, and Mycroft was willing to do anything it took to see that his little brother stayed out of the clinics and off the streets. He’d already been paying for his flat and all of his bills, and a mobile phone didn’t seem like a terribly outrageous request.
Of course, he had seriously underestimated Sherlock, who was the one person on the planet who could send more than 20,000 text messages in one month, despite not having a single friend.
After that, Sherlock had declared that he required internet access, which also required him a computer. He had insisted on a laptop, and refused to leave the building until Mycroft gave in and supplied him with the latest model and agreed to have the flat connected that week.
Even more expensive than the internet and the phone bill (thank god for unlimited text packages) was Sherlock’s newly acquired nicotine patch habit. Apparently, whatever he was getting up to with all his text messages and internet usage wouldn’t allow him to smoke. And at a box a week at £40 a box, smoking certainly would have been a cheaper habit. How Sherlock went through so many patches, Mycroft wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“I’m bored, Mycroft.”
It had become something of a motif for them. Sherlock would demand, Mycroft would refuse, and then the threats would start. Threats that would mean nothing coming from anyone else, but were the most dangerous words to all of mankind when uttered by Sherlock Holmes.
When Sherlock was bored, he got exactly what he wanted, and Mycroft lost yet another battle.
Writer’s Choice – Kicking Puppies
Even as a child, Sherlock was a damn manipulative little bastard. He played by a set of rules that were clearly his own, and which he refused to share with anyone.
His most effective tool was the look Mycroft had called his ‘kicked puppy face.’ He knew that everything about it was complete bollocks, but he still gave into it, every time. No matter how angry with his little brother he wanted to remain, there was always some strange pull in his chest the second those (totally fake) tears started rolling down Sherlock’s cheeks.
Anybody, seven-years-old or not, who could make himself cry at will was a force to be reckoned with, Mycroft decided, and he’d become determined to get Sherlock to teach him that trick.
It had, he later found out, been quite effective indeed.
Writer’s Choice – Psychotropics and You
Most people have a drug of choice, and the one in vogue when he arrives on the scene is Sodium Penthonal, but for good reason. As a truth serum, it is quite effective. But it’s also very boring. Boring and predictable. Everyone uses it, which is exactly why Mycroft doesn’t.
Mycroft gets bored easily, and likes to experiment as a way to combat it. Lately, he’s been toying with the effects of N2O, and it hasn’t taken him long to decide that he rather likes this one. There’s almost something of a contact high to be achieved with it, and it’s made that whole messy interrogation business fun again.
He has to be careful, though. While the depersonalisation caused by the N2O is quite helpful, the raised level of suggestiveness is not. Questions need to be worded very specifically and blandly, or otherwise, the person being interrogated might implicate his mother’s goldfish.
It’s a messy technique, and one with which Mycroft spends less than a month experimenting. In the end, it’s a very interesting and exciting month, but he’s eager to get on with the next month’s experiment: MDMA.
Writer’s Choice – Some sort of Deli
The problem with the age of the internet and technology is that codes and ciphers are no longer very cryptic. Anyone with an internet connection can get on Wikipedia or Google the cipher they find. It forces Home Office to get creative; find new ways to pass information that no one would think twice about.
The idea comes to him at a Chinese restaurant, where he goes to avoid the stress of running the country, if just for half an hour. He goes straight for his fortune cookie, since he never gets to eat the damn thing, otherwise.
As he breaks into the brittle shell, he recalls something he heard somewhere, about how reheating the cookies in a certain way can allow a person to open them and change the message inside. It’s perfect. Not the fortune cookies, but the idea.
It’s no time at all before a series of small cafes and delis find themselves under new management, with secret, off-the-menu specials that seem to change daily. The method isn’t perfect, but it’s a hell of a lot more secure than emails or memory sticks.
Character/s: Mycroft Holmes
Word Count: 1300 (total)
Rating: G
Summary: Mycroft and Sherlock do destructive things and manipulate people (and one another), and Mycroft does odd and terrible things in the name of Government Work.
Notes/Warnings: These were going to be drabbles, originally. Now they’re sort of ficlets. Drugs, interrogation, slight manipulation. Complete crack, in the strangest possible way. No actual kicking of puppies. All five are pre-canon.
Dear god, this is what happens when I let
afullmargin pick my prompts for me. Back during my heady days in the Hot Fuzz fandom, I began playing with the idea of crack/angst fusion. And now I inflict upon Sherlock fen the things I learned from a bunch of possibly psychotic police officers from Gloucestershire. Uhm… sorry?Writer’s Choice – Setting Stuff on Fire
He was seventeen and Sherlock was ten the night they stood in the cold field just on the edge of the family’s summer property near Chipping Norton. Mycroft ignored the sharp sting in his hand as the two of them watched what was once a shed feed flames that rose high into the dark sky, casting everything in a warm amber glow.
It was Mycroft who laughed first, overcome by the absurdity of the entire situation. Setting fire to the shed had never been part of the plan, though he doubted even then that anyone would believe the Holmes boys that it had been an accident.
After all, they were far too smart to try to build a campfire in a shed. At the time, it had seemed a brilliant idea. No one would see the flames, and the shed would trap the heat quite nicely, so the fire didn’t even have to be very big.
And it had worked, right up until Mycroft decided that his little brother could handle a bit of cider, which had been stolen from the cellar when Father wasn’t looking.
By the time fire crews arrived, both boys were collapsed against one another, nearly to the point of hyperventilating from laughing so hard. Mycroft didn’t even notice the burn on his hand any more, and he was fairly sure that he’d have other distractions from it the next morning. But right then, sprawled in a heap with his brother, he was far too busy being lost in hysterics to care about any consequences whatsoever.
Writer’s Choice – Shouldn’t have Done That
He knew it was a mistake. Just like it had been a mistake every time previous. Giving in to Sherlock’s demands only ever encouraged him and made the demands more frequent and, well, demanding.
It had started with a mobile phone. Sherlock was trying to get clean, and Mycroft was willing to do anything it took to see that his little brother stayed out of the clinics and off the streets. He’d already been paying for his flat and all of his bills, and a mobile phone didn’t seem like a terribly outrageous request.
Of course, he had seriously underestimated Sherlock, who was the one person on the planet who could send more than 20,000 text messages in one month, despite not having a single friend.
After that, Sherlock had declared that he required internet access, which also required him a computer. He had insisted on a laptop, and refused to leave the building until Mycroft gave in and supplied him with the latest model and agreed to have the flat connected that week.
Even more expensive than the internet and the phone bill (thank god for unlimited text packages) was Sherlock’s newly acquired nicotine patch habit. Apparently, whatever he was getting up to with all his text messages and internet usage wouldn’t allow him to smoke. And at a box a week at £40 a box, smoking certainly would have been a cheaper habit. How Sherlock went through so many patches, Mycroft wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“I’m bored, Mycroft.”
It had become something of a motif for them. Sherlock would demand, Mycroft would refuse, and then the threats would start. Threats that would mean nothing coming from anyone else, but were the most dangerous words to all of mankind when uttered by Sherlock Holmes.
When Sherlock was bored, he got exactly what he wanted, and Mycroft lost yet another battle.
Writer’s Choice – Kicking Puppies
Even as a child, Sherlock was a damn manipulative little bastard. He played by a set of rules that were clearly his own, and which he refused to share with anyone.
His most effective tool was the look Mycroft had called his ‘kicked puppy face.’ He knew that everything about it was complete bollocks, but he still gave into it, every time. No matter how angry with his little brother he wanted to remain, there was always some strange pull in his chest the second those (totally fake) tears started rolling down Sherlock’s cheeks.
Anybody, seven-years-old or not, who could make himself cry at will was a force to be reckoned with, Mycroft decided, and he’d become determined to get Sherlock to teach him that trick.
It had, he later found out, been quite effective indeed.
Writer’s Choice – Psychotropics and You
Most people have a drug of choice, and the one in vogue when he arrives on the scene is Sodium Penthonal, but for good reason. As a truth serum, it is quite effective. But it’s also very boring. Boring and predictable. Everyone uses it, which is exactly why Mycroft doesn’t.
Mycroft gets bored easily, and likes to experiment as a way to combat it. Lately, he’s been toying with the effects of N2O, and it hasn’t taken him long to decide that he rather likes this one. There’s almost something of a contact high to be achieved with it, and it’s made that whole messy interrogation business fun again.
He has to be careful, though. While the depersonalisation caused by the N2O is quite helpful, the raised level of suggestiveness is not. Questions need to be worded very specifically and blandly, or otherwise, the person being interrogated might implicate his mother’s goldfish.
It’s a messy technique, and one with which Mycroft spends less than a month experimenting. In the end, it’s a very interesting and exciting month, but he’s eager to get on with the next month’s experiment: MDMA.
Writer’s Choice – Some sort of Deli
The problem with the age of the internet and technology is that codes and ciphers are no longer very cryptic. Anyone with an internet connection can get on Wikipedia or Google the cipher they find. It forces Home Office to get creative; find new ways to pass information that no one would think twice about.
The idea comes to him at a Chinese restaurant, where he goes to avoid the stress of running the country, if just for half an hour. He goes straight for his fortune cookie, since he never gets to eat the damn thing, otherwise.
As he breaks into the brittle shell, he recalls something he heard somewhere, about how reheating the cookies in a certain way can allow a person to open them and change the message inside. It’s perfect. Not the fortune cookies, but the idea.
It’s no time at all before a series of small cafes and delis find themselves under new management, with secret, off-the-menu specials that seem to change daily. The method isn’t perfect, but it’s a hell of a lot more secure than emails or memory sticks.