13th_sherlock | Part 68 - Contingency Plans

THE ADVENTURES OF A CONSULTING TIME LORD
by Soledad
CHAPTER 05 – THE SERPENT’S LAIR

Author’s note: This story takes place several weeks after “The Blind Banker” but before “The Great Game”.

PART 68 – CONTINGENCY PLANS

“He did what?” Mycroft Holmes, retired Time Lord by trade, glared at his PA/ninja butler in a cold fury that would have made hardened government assassins quake in their boots. “That miserable excuse of a human being dared to threaten to destroy the mind of my brother?”

Ianto Jones wasn’t particularly impressed by the display of pure Gallifreyan rage. But again, he’d faced Daleks, Cybermen, in-bred cannibals, the 456 and rouge Time Agent John Hart in his time, so he wasn’t easily intimidated anymore.

“Aren’t you overdoing the big brother part a bit, sir?” he asked dryly. “It may not be a common knowledge, but we both know that the Doctor isn’t really your brother. Even if he’s annoying enough to play the part convincingly.”

Mycroft couldn’t help but laugh, just a little. Ianto’s unique view of things always helped him to regain his control, which he rarely lost to begin with. It was one of the reasons why he kept the young man around.

Aside from the fact that letting a dead man walk around on his own would have been a serious threat for the timeline, of course.

“You still don’t understand, do you?” he said. “Sherlock and I may not be related by blood, but the Doctor and I are the last of our kind. In all that matters, he is my brother; and he’s absolutely brilliant, even for one of us. I won’t let that… person endanger his brilliance.”

“So, what are you going to do, sir?” Ianto asked politely.

“I’m going to take the organization of Dr Roylott apart, piece by piece,” Mycroft replied, his eyes cold like ice. “And when I’m done with his little sect, I’ll take him apart, piece by piece, so that he won’t be able to endanger anyone again.”

Ianto refrained from asking just how that would be any different from him investigating the ill-remembered Mr Dekker with the help of the alien mind probe. Time Lords didn’t react well if accused of hypocrisy – perhaps because they had a tendency to it.

“Aren’t you forgetting something again?” he asked instead.

Mycroft frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Mary Morstan,” Ianto reminded him. “Before you make your move, should we not get her out of there? Or are you writing her off as collateral damage?”

“I suppose you wouldn’t agree with such a solution, would you?” Mycroft said coldly.

“It doesn’t matter if I agree or not, sir,” Ianto replied. “Dr Watson would never forgive you, should Mary come to any harm; and currently he’s the only person who can make your brother talk to you… occasionally.”

Mycroft – the Watcher – bit his lower lip. As much as he hated to admit, Ianto was right. He could not afford to lose John Watson’s goodwill if he wanted to keep at least partial control over Sherlock’s life.

“Any suggestions?” he asked reluctantly. Ianto shook his head.

“Afraid not, sir. I made the mistake of mentioning Dr Watson’s name when I visited the Spice Bazaar, so I’m most likely suspect in Dr Roylott’s eyes. Otherwise I could have let myself be recruited by the sect. I’ve got a high tolerance against drugs.”

“Not as high as I have,” Anthea said, walking into the room. “Plus, I’ll be able to analyze whatever drug Roylott feeds me as soon as I’ve consumed it.”

“That would give us a clue what to look for,” Ianto agreed. “But how are you planning to infiltrate the sect?”

“By switching places with Mary,” Anthea suggested. “We can let Mummy find an acquaintance of Dr Roylott’s who’s safely out of reach at the moment. I’ll go to the shop, asking for the same stuff they usually get, change clothes with Mary, slap a perception filter on her and push her out of the door. Somebody ought to pick her up with a car, though, lest she loses her nerves and runs back again.”

“That has to be Mickey, then,” Ianto said. “I can’t show my face there again.”

“That could work,” Mycroft allowed. “We must hurry up, though. We can’t know how soon Dr Roylott is planning to make his move; we need to be one step ahead of him.”

“I’ll be ready tomorrow by the time the shop opens,” Anthea promised. “But sir, perhaps it would be prudent to have Sherlock and Dr Watson brought to the estate during the night. There we can grant their safety. At Baker Street we cannot. Not without taking extreme measures which, again, would draw way too much unwanted attention.”

Mycroft nodded. “Since Mr Jones here has proved very good at kidnapping people, I’ll leave it in his capable hands.”

“I’ll do my best, sir,” Ianto said with a bland smile.

“Good,” Mycroft replied. “See to it at once. I’ll ask Martha to go to the estate and prepare some rooms for Mary. I think it will be the best if we had everyone tucked safely away until we can make our move against Dr Roylott.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It was late when John finished at the surgery. Some virus was making its rounds in London; the waiting room had resembled a refugee camp all day – and, unlike the other doctors, he did know what a refugee camp looked like from first-hand experience, thank you very much.

To make things even worse, some of the doctors had gone down with the virus, too; caught it from their patients, most likely. So the others hade to take over her workload as well. It definitely wasn’t John’s idea of fun.

When the last patient finally left, he was seriously tempted to stretch out on the examination table and sleep right there. Preferably for the whole next week. Only the knowledge that Sherlock would burst in with some new case even here made him reconsider. If he wasn’t getting enough sleep anyway, at least he could get what little Sherlock would let him have in his own bed.

Even if the distance to Baker Street seemed insurmountable at the moment.

Perhaps he’d be lucky enough to catch a cab for a change, and money be damned. The thought alone was comforting, and he began to believe that he might reach his bed before the next millennium, actually.

When the familiar, sleek black Jaguar pulled up next to him, however, he groaned inwardly. Mycroft was the last person he wanted to see right now. In fact, he didn’t want to see anyone – or anything, save his bed – at all. Period.

“Not now, Mycroft,” he mumbled without looking when he heard the car door open. “I’m tired!”

“Then I suggest you get in the car, Dr Watson,” the lilting voice of Mycroft’s ninja butler replied. “It’s an hour’s drive to the Holmes estate, but you can sleep on the back seat. I took the liberty to lay out some pillows and blankets for you.”

That casually dropped piece of information did wake up John just a little, and he looked at young Mr Jones bleary-eyed.

“What do you mean with that,” he demanded. “I’m not going to the Holmes estate, and that’s a fact.”

“I’m sorry, Dr Watson, but you must,” Ianto replied apologetically. “Sherlock’s already there. Mr Holmes is quite certain that you’re both in grave danger, and the estate is the safest place for you to be.”

“Danger?” John frowned. “What kind of danger?”

This time, the unspoken addition flowed in the air between them.

“Dr Grimesby Roylott paid Baker Street a visit while you were working,” Ianto explained while steering him to the back seat with more strength one would have expected. “Threats were made, I’m told; serious enough threats for Mr Holmes to order your protective custody – and Sherlock’s of course.”

“Nonsense,” John yawned. “Sherlock gets death threats every other day. No need for Mycroft to get his expensive knickers in a knot.”

“This was a different kind of threat,” Ianto said. “You’ll be shown the CCTV footage as soon as we reach the estate. You’ll understand.”

By now John had known the young Welshman well enough to know that nothing short a particularly brutal force of nature could deter Ianto Jones from his chosen path. He could have tried to get away – he was a soldier, after all, used to improvise and to use force if necessary – but the outcome would have been brutal. It was easier to give in and decide on the necessary action later, when a better opportunity might offer itself.

Besides, the back seat of Mycroft’s car – of all his cars – was very comfortable. John chose to make the best of the situation; he lay down on the makeshift bed Ianto had arranged for him and promptly fell asleep.

Having expected this from the very moment he got the doctor in the car, Ianto activated his comm link – a Torchwood-issue one, salvaged from the ruins of the Hub by Mycroft’s minions.

“I’ve got Dr Watson,” he said. “What about Sherlock? I promised he’d be there when we arrive.”

“I’ve collected him an hour ago,” the voice of Anthea answered. “Unfortunately, I had to shot him with a narcotic to get him under control; he’s always so unreasonable. In any case, he’s sleeping off the effect now.”

“A narcotic?” Ianto frowned. “Was that not a risky move, him being who and what he is?”

“It’s a sedative specifically designed for Gallifreyan physiology,” Anthea replied.

“Yeah, but he’s a human now,” Ianto pointed out.

“Mostly a human,” Anthea corrected. “It will not harm him. It’s been tested.”

“Tested on whom?” Ianto was still not liking it. He might not be a fan of the Doctor – and boy was that an understatement! – but he didn’t want to harm him.

“On Mr Holmes, of course,” the android said. “I have to take drastic measures to force him to rest sometimes. It’s for his own good, you see. Now, see that you get here with your charge as soon as possible. We’ll need him to placate Sherlock once he wakes up.”

She broke the connection and Ianto shook his head in tolerant amusement.

“And they call me ruthless,” he muttered, before speeding up the car considerably, though still within the allowed limits.

There was no need to cause an accident – or to piss off the police – after all.

~TBC~