I'm not the British Government

I'm Mycroft Holmes and I hold a minor position within the government. Now that you've heard my introduction, speak quickly. I have much to do within the day.

[occupyaminorposition]

Not Your Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Post-Reichenbach ll Sherlock & Mycroft

Three long blasted years. (And how he had gotten a filthy mouth from it too). Mycroft let out an exhausted sigh as Anthea slipped out the door and held it open for him, helping him along (because at some point he’d broken his foot and kept running anyway) and now it was letting him know just how much it was broken.

He limped his way along the halls of his home. Dust clothes laid over everything and showing evidence of his long departure. Yanking one from a chair he fell into and groaned.

Utter relief.

Home again.

That was until he had to explain how he actually wasn’t dead. Well, explain to his brother and family that he wasn’t. He sighed painfully, rubbing at his temples as old headaches started to let themselves be known. Trading one pain for another and barely a time to relax in between.

Mycroft let out a small noise as he leaned back in the chair and let his eyes close before, after a few moments, they slide open and he searched for his mobile in his too baggy clothes before he glanced through his contacts and selected his brother’s number.

'We should talk.' He typed out before he hit sent, letting his head fall back and rest against the seat again. His brother would be here shortly and Mycroft would need all the energy he could get.

[thehigh-functioning-sociopath]

The time elapsed between Mycroft’s text and Sherlock’s reply was a steady five seconds -four of which included rereading the script and one to send a reply.

On my way. -SH

He hitched up a taxi without too much trouble, but the ride was far too steady for his taste and after passing through Anthea at the door and steadying himself in the entryway of the living room he felt -or realized rather- that whatever it is that got him there so quickly was something he never quite understood. He’d have to bother with that later, though.

"Brother dear.." He said, in a way of greeting, his shoulders drawing back into his full height as he worked off his coat.

[occupyaminorposition]

"Sherlock." Mycroft answered. And he frowned at his own voice, ragged and tired. He sighed quietly before he opened his eyes and glanced over to his brother, alive and breathing and well. "Good. You've not changed much have you, little brother." He stated, nodding approval as he shifted, forcing himself to sit better, straightening his back.

"I imagine mummy has been unbearable. I do apologize for that." He responded after a long pause, giving him a strained smile. "And your cases? Have they been going well?" He asked.

[abidos]

About Redbeard and his last vow

I’ve been driving myself crazy with speculation as to what Mycroft’s role might be in “His Last Vow" and I think there might be a hint in one of the last things Mycroft says to Sherlock in "The Sign of Three".

Oh by the way, Sherlock.  Do you remember “Redbeard”?

Redbeard, or “Barbarossa”, were two Ottoman pirates/corsairs, who used the name at different moments.  I found three facts about their lives that might have induced the Holmes brothers to use the name as a code word for a particular situation, much like “Lazarus” in The Empty Hearse.  If we look at Sherlock, right after he hears the word, he pauses for a second and nods absentmindedly, before retorting.  This could be taken as him needing a second to register the meaning of the word, or me seeing things that aren’t there, both explanations are perfectly plausible, I assure you.

Knights of Saint John. At the beginning of their career both men had a number of encounters with the privateering Knights of St. John.

The message could be that John is somehow in danger.  I am less inclined to this option since Sherlock does not appear to become more protective of his friend after hearing it.

Capture.  Both Redbeards were brothers.  The elder, Aruj, who used the title first, during one of the battles with the Knights, was captured by them and held prisoner for three years.  The younger, Hizir, once he learned where his brother was kept, helped him escape.

This message would be clear, the older brother is somehow held prisoner, and needs the younger to save him.

So how those this fit in with what we have seen in the trailer?

We see Mycroft at his home, so he is not physically restrained. We know that Magnussen is a blackmailer, so he might have information that coerces Mycroft to stop Sherlock interfering with him.  

I find it unlikely that this information would be something personal about Mycroft.  Blackmail comes, generally in two varieties.  One is the secret one doesn’t want their loved ones to know, the other is when the information might endanger one’s career.  Since Mycroft only has one loved one, the first doesn’t apply.  As for the second, since he is not a public figure he does not need to fear a scandal, so anything that would threaten his job would have to be of the “I’m actually working for Iran” caliber. Improbable, I think. I believe Magnussen has information about members of the government, enough that he could seriously unstabilize it, or, he has information on some of Mycroft’s “masters”, to get them to order him to stop his brother.

There is a second issue that might support this idea.  Remember in “A Scandal in Belgravia”, when Mycroft wants Sherlock to stop investigating?  He simply orders him to do so.  But here he says that that going against Magnussen will mean Mycroft will try to stop him.  And there is little Sherlock enjoys more than going against his brother.  This would be Mycroft goading Sherlock on, while giving the appearance of trying to warn him of.

Death.  Eventually the elder brother, Aruj, dies.  Leaving Hizir to inherit his place, his name, and his cause.

This is just one big ball of nope for me, and I refuse to acknowledge the possibility. Ok?

[ibelieveinmycroft]

This is very interesting, if terrifying. ‘Red Beard’ will no doubt prove important next episode - this show isn’t one to throw around lines like that for no reason.

I’m rather worried about what’s going to happen next week. It won’t be an easy one. We know that Mary canonically dies, and she seems to be Magnussen’s target at the moment. However, there has been a lot of focus on Sherlock and Mycroft’s relationship this series, and mostly on what Mycroft means to Sherlock. We’ve seen evidence of Sherlock worrying about his brother, and, yesterday, we saw how large Mycroft looms in Sherlock’s mind palace, a voice of authority and guidance inside his own head. I can’t help but feel that we’re being led somewhere…

[thehigh-functioning-sociopath]

Rehab And Relapse | Sherlock And Mycroft

[thehigh-functioning-sociopath]

He was scolded into silence by Mycroft’s words, listening to the repeated pleas for his own sanity that his elder brother had put him through time and time again. The words felt almost song-like, coming through his senses around the ragged and boring rhythm of his own heartbeat pounding sympathetically against his chest. 

As the song ended he watched Mycroft excuse himself, eyeing the tailored suit that hugged his too-tight shoulders. “You’re so worried,” he hears himself exhale, and he drops his legs from the hold of his arms, letting his sock-clad toes hit the floor with a dull-thud. The fingers that run over his face are rough against his own cheeks, but he shakes it off, his own voice steady, deep and pointed as he continues to scrutinize the others stance. “.. But you keep me caged here. As if all this nothing is of any help. I need WORK,” he emphasizes, his accent breaking the word into two prominent syllables.

[occupyaminorposition]

Mycroft’s eyes narrow slightly, pressing aside the urge to snap and snarl at his brother. To prove just how worried he is for his younger brother. However, his gaze catches sight of the paper in his hands, of the recent murders being investigated by the MET and a soft sigh of possibly something slips past his lips. “I find means to supply you with work. Will you consider improving?” He asks quietly. 

He is past trying to push his brother with worry and threats. Clearly his brother no longer cares enough to listen to them and understand their meaning. So… If Sherlock wants work then Mycroft will find him something. Or try to at least. At this point he’s willing to run a criminal organization just to please the man.

"However…. You must stay sober if you do this. It’s the only way I will allow it." He stated softly, an after thought just to prove he can take away this option he is presenting to his brother.

[thehigh-functioning-sociopath]

"Fair enough," Sherlock says, without so much hesitation, and his fingers tap against each other in a pleased dance he refuses to show on his face. Pushing himself into a stand, he makes his way over to Mycroft, extending a hand thats far too wiry, with fingers a bit too long. It’s as good a promise as any at this point.

[occupyaminorposition]

Mycroft eyes the hand, exhaustion lining his features. Too many fingers in too many pies. Mycroft has a feeling he’ll die from heart failure because he cares too much. But it’ll be Sherlock in the end that sends him over. He sighs deeply, almost a pain filled sigh before he accepts his brother’s hands, gives it a firm shake before letting it go. “I’ll inform you when you will be allowed to work. I will start you off with cold cases and if you continue to improve, you will allow visit outside of this facility to actual crime scenes. Will that please you?” He asks quietly, face placid in wait of his little brother’s response.

[thehigh-functioning-sociopath]

Sherlock wipes his palm off on the side of his pant leg without too much indiscretion. There’s a sort of drama to this now that he’s getting attached to and he falls back into the old chair behind him with such little grace it’s a wonder he doesn’t fold entirely in half. He eyes Mycroft, watching the hesitation, watching his slow-forming regret and smiles. “We’ll see..” he says, and then draws his fingers into a point with each other with practiced ease.

[occupyaminorposition]

"Sherlock."

And Mycroft's tone is warning and low, his eyes flashing his displeasure as he takes a slow step toward him. "Do not take this lightly. If you are so displeased with it then I will gladly have you locked up here till the end of your days. Mark my word." He states coolly, grip around the handle of his umbrella tight, his knuckles going pale from the force of his grip.

[occupyaminorposition]

It Keeps Him Occupied ll DarkMycroft

[thehigh-functioning-sociopath]

The rise and fall of his chest was shallow, and with every passing moment of unperturbed silence he found himself drowning slowly inward. Consumed with self-pity, he let the hum of the telly dull out into a thin line over his consciousness, settling him into a state of in between nothingness that numbed him enough to be content -if only for the next few minutes. 

But the ring of the mobile broke into his reprieve, crooning over all of it with a blaring desire to be given attention. Holmes let his eyes open enough to view the name on the screen, any anticipation in their coloring fading at the text glaring back at him.

"Mycroft," he spoke, just as the receiver met his lips, his voice a detached deepness that bowed over his thin lips with a habitual sarcasm.

[occupyaminorposition]

"Little brother. A pleasure to hear your voice as always." He stated slowly, shifting to slowly sign his name on a paper before he reclined in his chair, eyes narrowed slightly. "I imagine you have pressed John to his weak points these last few weeks, haven’t you?" He asked, voice lazy as he started to grin.

He tapped his fingers slowly against the curve of the arm of the chair before he hummed softly, “My surveillance has seen an increase of activity of a gang that takes residence in a warehouse near the harbor.” He added after a pause in conversation. 

[thehigh-functioning-sociopath]

"Not all of his limits," Sherlock admits, attempting -though failing- to refuse is brother all the good parts of this conversation. He sat up however, pushing himself to his feet and walking over to the desk to toy with a pair of scissors while Mycroft attempts to throw him a bone.

"Gangs. Not entirely my thing. I’m sure you’re aware," Sherlock quips, twirling the handle of the scissors between his fingers. "Terrorism, small circuits, finding the actual hideout, yes. But as you already have some idea to the activity of this ‘gang’ and the whereabouts then there’s not much for me to truly play with is there?" 

[occupyaminorposition]

Mycroft makes a small noise, a hum of amusement before he speaks, "Just because the surveillance has increased does not mean I know what they're doing. I'm aware there's shipments of something being handled. But that, brother, is foot work I'm in no mood to engage in." 

"Now, still interested or should I present you with something else and have John deal with this gang? I do believe I have something for you, such as this evidence of a sex trafficking ring taking place in lower London." He purrs, his eyes going narrow as his stares at the screen in front of him. 

[occupyaminorposition]

Not Your Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Post-Reichenbach ll Sherlock & Mycroft

Three long blasted years. (And how he had gotten a filthy mouth from it too). Mycroft let out an exhausted sigh as Anthea slipped out the door and held it open for him, helping him along (because at some point he'd broken his foot and kept running anyway) and now it was letting him know just how much it was broken.

He limped his way along the halls of his home. Dust clothes laid over every and showing evidence of his long departure. Yanking one from a chair he fell into and groaned.

Utter relief.

Home again.

That was until he had to explain how he actually wasn't dead. Well, explain to his brother and family that he wasn't. He sighed painfully, rubbing at his temples as old headaches started to let themselves be known. Trading one pain for another and barely a time to relax in between.

Mycroft let out a small noise as he leaned back in the chair and let his eyes close before, after a few moments, they slide open and he searched for his mobile in his too baggy clothes before he glanced through his contacts and selected his brother's number.

'We should talk.' He typed out before he hit sent, letting his head fall back and rest against the seat again. His brother would be here shortly and Mycroft would need all the energy he could get.

[thehigh-functioning-sociopath]

Rehab And Relapse | Sherlock And Mycroft

[thehigh-functioning-sociopath]

He was scolded into silence by Mycroft’s words, listening to the repeated pleas for his own sanity that his elder brother had put him through time and time again. The words felt almost song-like, coming through his senses around the ragged and boring rhythm of his own heartbeat pounding sympathetically against his chest. 

As the song ended he watched Mycroft excuse himself, eyeing the tailored suit that hugged his too-tight shoulders. “You’re so worried,” he hears himself exhale, and he drops his legs from the hold of his arms, letting his sock-clad toes hit the floor with a dull-thud. The fingers that run over his face are rough against his own cheeks, but he shakes it off, his own voice steady, deep and pointed as he continues to scrutinize the others stance. “.. But you keep me caged here. As if all this nothing is of any help. I need WORK,” he emphasizes, his accent breaking the word into two prominent syllables.

[occupyaminorposition]

Mycroft’s eyes narrow slightly, pressing aside the urge to snap and snarl at his brother. To prove just how worried he is for his younger brother. However, his gaze catches sight of the paper in his hands, of the recent murders being investigated by the MET and a soft sigh of possibly something slips past his lips. “I find means to supply you with work. Will you consider improving?” He asks quietly. 

He is past trying to push his brother with worry and threats. Clearly his brother no longer cares enough to listen to them and understand their meaning. So… If Sherlock wants work then Mycroft will find him something. Or try to at least. At this point he’s willing to run a criminal organization just to please the man.

"However…. You must stay sober if you do this. It’s the only way I will allow it." He stated softly, an after thought just to prove he can take away this option he is presenting to his brother.

[thehigh-functioning-sociopath]

"Fair enough," Sherlock says, without so much hesitation, and his fingers tap against each other in a pleased dance he refuses to show on his face. Pushing himself into a stand, he makes his way over to Mycroft, extending a hand thats far too wiry, with fingers a bit too long. It’s as good a promise as any at this point.

[occupyaminorposition]

Mycroft eyes the hand, exhaustion lining his features. Too many fingers in too many pies. Mycroft has a feeling he'll die from heart failure because he cares too much. But it'll be Sherlock in the end that sends him over. He sighs deeply, almost a pain filled sigh before he accepts his brother's hands, gives it a firm shake before letting it go. "I'll inform you when you will be allowed to work. I will start you off with cold cases and if you continue to improve, you will allow visit outside of this facility to actual crime scenes. Will that please you?" He asks quietly, face placid in wait of his little brother's response.

[occupyaminorposition]

Ooc

Tumblr app... why the fuck are you acting like this is a brand new blog?

[cumberbum]

[thehigh-functioning-sociopath]

Rehab And Relapse | Sherlock And Mycroft

[thehigh-functioning-sociopath]

“Much more fun this way,” he mutters, and his breath leaves him like it hurts to pass over his lips, his toes curling against the end of the chair cushion. Silence bit at the air then, and he let it settle, flicking his gaze over the front cover of the paper Mycroft happened to be reading and giving it a good once over. 

“I’ve quit University,” he said abruptly, with a finality so settled it turned to fact the moment it hit the air. “Decided to make my temporary leave permanent.”

[occupyaminorposition]

Mycroft snorts, casting his eyes back to his brother before he rolls them and shakes his head. “If you were trying to shock me, I’m afraid to inform you that you failed.” He answers, gaze turning back to the paper before he sighs and folds it closed.

“Sherlock, you do understand, causing yourself trouble here will only prolong your stay. Which, at some point I imagine you will snap and start biting. Or assume you are a pirate once again. I imagine you won’t be boring.” He hums, flashing his brother a sharp smile.

[thehigh-functioning-sociopath]

“Not likely,” Sherlock hummed through an exhale, his lips parting into a lazy circle that he traced his tongue along. “Therapy is an acquired taste.. and I’ve no intent to acquire it,” He adds, and the raise of his eyebrow follows Mycroft as he flips the page of his newspaper, his own eyes scanning over the front page with a hungry calculation in those marbled eyes. “Not that you can count Dr. Harrison’s poor attempt at ‘finding my inner-damage’ as therapy..”

[occupyaminorposition]

"Dear God. You can at least act like a grown adult and realize that you have placed yourself in this situation. It is entirely your fault. And the hell you’ve put our mother through.” He states sharply, drawing himself up in the chair as he stares down his nose at his brother.

"I have no care or concerns for what Dr. Harrison is doing. I have no care if you even go to your bloody therapy sessions. I want you to realize, Sherlock Holmes, that you will stay here until you grow up and realize that you were killing yourself with drugs, despite your words that they were diluted or pure or well regulated. That you had is under control.” He snarls, fingers white where they curl on the edge of the arm rest.

"You pride yourself in your mind, Sherlock. But if you continued down the path you were going, one day your mind will not be looking for knowledge and answers. It will be looking for the next row. The next needle under your skin. And you will crave it so badly that you will drive yourself crazy with want and need until you seek even the cheapest of it to give you your high. That you would do whatever it takes to have that next rush until you kill yourself from it.” He rages, nearly out of his seat before he is standing, tucking the paper under his arm and grabbing his umbrella.

"Do not think that I placed you here because I hate you, Sherlock. It is because I love you and I am lost as to were to turn to next. If you will not stay sober for me. Then do it for our mother. Please." He begs softly before a sigh, strangled and pained, falls from his lips and he starts toward the door.

"I will see you next week, baby brother."

[thehigh-functioning-sociopath]

He was scolded into silence by Mycroft’s words, listening to the repeated pleas for his own sanity that his elder brother had put him through time and time again. The words felt almost song-like, coming through his senses around the ragged and boring rhythm of his own heartbeat pounding sympathetically against his chest. 

As the song ended he watched Mycroft excuse himself, eyeing the tailored suit that hugged his too-tight shoulders. “You’re so worried,” he hears himself exhale, and he drops his legs from the hold of his arms, letting his sock-clad toes hit the floor with a dull-thud. The fingers that run over his face are rough against his own cheeks, but he shakes it off, his own voice steady, deep and pointed as he continues to scrutinize the others stance. “.. But you keep me caged here. As if all this nothing is of any help. I need WORK,” he emphasizes, his accent breaking the word into two prominent syllables.

[occupyaminorposition]

Mycroft's eyes narrow slightly, pressing aside the urge to snap and snarl at his brother. To prove just how worried he is for his younger brother. However, his gaze catches sight of the paper in his hands, of the recent murders being investigated by the MET and a soft sigh of possibly something slips past his lips. "I find means to supply you with work. Will you consider improving?" He asks quietly. 

He is past trying to push his brother with worry and threats. Clearly his brother no longer cares enough to listen to them and understand their meaning. So... If Sherlock want work then Mycroft will find him something. Or try to at least. At this point he's willing to run a criminal organization just to please the man.

"However.... You must stay sober if you do this. It's the only way I will allow it." He stated softly, an after thought just to prove he can take away this option he is presenting to his brother.

[thehigh-functioning-sociopath]

Caring Is Not An Advantage | Kidlock

[thehigh-functioning-sociopath]

“Hmm,” Sherlock hummed lazily, his head tilting back just as the swing brought him up so that he could see Mycroft from the odd angle. “It doesn’t matter anyway, I’m going to be a pirate,” he commented, with an air of someone who had already set themselves into something, and wrinkling his nose before letting his chin fall back to place, he watched the kids in the sandbox mutter amongst themselves.

[occupyaminorposition]

Mycroft face faltered for a moment before a short laugh slipped past his lips and he gave a small shake of his head. “A pirate?” He asked, curious as to how his brother came to choose such an occupation. “I do hope you enjoy swimming, little brother.” He added, a smile curving his lips upward.

[thehigh-functioning-sociopath]

“I do, I’m a great swimmer,” he assured Mycroft, as if it was truly something he needed to keep him at bay about. “Pirates are more fun than other people. They get to travel and fight and get loads of gold,” he added, explaining his new-found profession with only the highest of regard, the swing swaying him back and forth in a steady rhythm that whipped his tangled hair from his rounded face.

[occupyaminorposition]

There was an amused noise that passed Mycroft’s lips as he came a slight shake of his head, “Oh Sherlock.” He stated fondly shaking his head as he gave a slightly harder push. “Is this act of piracy to continue for the rest of your life? Or just for your childhood?” He asked.

[thehigh-functioning-sociopath]

"My whole life, of course," Sherlock mused, enjoying the floating sensation that came with the swing as it carried him upward and then back down into the dutiful palms of his brother. "You can come too, you can scrub the poop deck," he supplied, with a barely-suppressed laughter tickling his lips. 

[occupyaminorposition]

"How kind of you to consider me a member of your crew." Mycroft hummed, giving a firm push to raise his brother just a little higher. "Who shall be your first mate then? He will be your most entrusted member after all. Someone who's opinions are important to you." 

[mydearchevy]

[occupyaminorposition]

.

[faalcoh]

Look, there is President Snow

[domsantiago-deactivated20160321]

the iceman.

[vincentvang0gh-blog]

[occupyaminorposition]

bond air is go.

[solrosan]

[twothreeonesevenfoursixoneo-blo]

occupyaminorposition came to beg for mercy

[occupyaminorposition]

"If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the years of working politics, Mr. Khan…" He stated, tone lazy and slow as he turned to watch him with a knowing look, “Is that you must start very small and work you’re way up." He added as he took a PADD that was handed to him from his assistant and then passed it to Khan.

"If you will join me in my office, I will happily discuss with you the things you will need to repair your ship. I’m sure the best of your cr- Starfleet, will be brought in to aid you in your repairs." He added, giving a mild raise of his brow before he turned, waving for Khan to follow him as Mycroft’s assistant kept a close eye on Khan as they walk.

[twothreeonesevenfoursixoneo-blo]

Reluctantly he complied, taking the PADD that was sent his way. Of course, his attention was jolted with the correction to Mr Holmes’ sentence; Khan had to urge himself not to glower in the direction of the government official, for the topic of his crew was a sensitive one. To be working with Starfleet in the meantime was a misery in itself.

"Then so be it; I can comply, Mr Holmes, though I am certain that you are aware that my co-operation with Starfleet is going to be a difficult one." The once-tyrant king of old came to warn.

[occupyaminorposition]

Mycroft made a vague amused noise, casting his gaze to his assistant who gave a nod of her head and stepped away, pulling a communicator from her belt and talking quickly into it before she disappeared. "She's the best of her class. If not easily distracted by the modern technology." Mycroft murmured, tilting his head as he pressed the button to a turbolift and waited.

"And it's quite a shame that not everyone pays attention, Mr. Khan." He stated, turning to look at the other before the door slide open and he stepped in. "I do believe I was trying to inform you that your crew would be helping you. I find Starfleet engineering lacking. Beside for the work of Montgomery Scott. But he's with his crew."