Human Trigger

[madimpossibledreamer]

See y'all on the other side.  Hopefully I won't die from workload.
~Dreamer~

Main Points:
BBC's Sherlock, Standverse (John has a Stand)
Summary: Mycroft has to explain John and Stands to Sherlock (and would have preferred if John had done so).
Word Count: 975
Rating: Gen

          Instantly when John hangs up, Sherlock’s on him, a starving predator coming on a meal.  “What was John talking about?  What have you always known?”
          Mycroft manages a smile.  “Fortunately, for your little stunt I had cameras placed.”
          He pulls up the feed.  It’s easy enough, when he’d been desperately scouring it himself, trying to find something, anything to indicate that yes, it had been John, that it all hadn’t been for naught.
          Other than the one installing the camera, no one enters the house.  Sherlock insists on watching the whole video, eyes narrowing the instant the explosion occurs.  Seemingly, without a trigger.
          He instantly rewinds, watching the moment, looking for something, anything.  Then he turns to Mycroft, hesitant.  “I—I’m not familiar with this type of explosion, but…”
          “It looks like a mine’s explosion, yes.  I believe you witnessed one on your excursion to Baskerville.”  Mycroft, for comparison, brings up other footage.  Ordinarily, he wouldn’t show his little brother the inner workings of his organization, but at the moment he’s trying to keep the man from getting himself killed.
          He spends altogether too much time on that objective.  Sherlock looks confused after watching.  The scenes are exactly the same, but…  “…But a mine requires a trigger, doesn’t it?  Pressure of some kind.”
          Mycroft sighs.  “And John supplied the trigger.”
          “Explain,” his brother brattily demands.
          “I can only explain what I have been told about John’s abilities, by John himself.  I have other information, contacts and information, and I can even show you…another I have found, with similar capabilities.  But I have no direct footage of John himself at work.”  Now, where to begin?
          Perhaps at the beginning.  Lay the foundation.  “I assume you’re aware that the entire period of six months, one week, and two days after John was wounded was not spent in convalescence.”
          Sherlock’s eyes sharpen, and he looks like he’s about to say something particularly nasty.  Maybe not, then.  Mycroft holds a hand up.  “A large part of this was spent training at something called the Speedwagon Foundation.”
          “They’re one of those international aid organizations,” Sherlock states dismissively.  Which is a bit of a reassurance; Sherlock had made the mistake of dismissing them, too.
          Though it is also a blow that his assessment is nearer the mark.
          “They also do research on people like John and provide assistance, should they prove to be worthy of it.  They also deal with criminals who gain such abilities.”  They were also friendly, if a little wary of Mycroft’s intentions when his request for an agent or two was finally brought up.  Still, they seemed to see the sense that those in power needed some sort of protection from this sort of thing, and deploying people to deal with the problem could take too long.
          Sherlock scoffs.  “Tales of experimentation?  Really, Mycroft?”
          Mycroft resists the urge to bring up other feeds that aren’t relevant.  Sherlock’s uncertain, scared.  Of course he’ll lash out.  Mycroft’s own responses to John were relatively the same.
          “He wasn’t shot with a bullet.  I’m sure you’ve examined the scar.”  With or without John’s permission.
          The psychosomatic limp.  The scar on the shoulder.
          “Yes, but I wasn’t sure what would…”  Sherlock trails off, as Mycroft brings up another image.
          A large, golden arrow, covered with intricate designs.
          Sherlock’s brain is quickly examining the picture, matching it to the wound, finding that it fits.  “It’s not very aerodynamic.  It would have had to have been shot from close by.”
          “I haven’t been able to reconstruct that part yet,” Mycroft admits, “…but I wouldn’t assume it follows conventional physics.  You’ve never seen its like before?”  It would be useful to have one on hand, even if his words to John weren’t a lie and he’s not about to just use it on his agents.
          “No, should I have?” Sherlock shoots back, but he’s distracted.  Understandable.
          “Not really.”  At least if he hadn’t seen one, maybe Moriarty or his network were unable to find one, too.  “And here’s the part of the tale you’ll find hard to believe.”
          “Just say it, Mycroft.”
          “Impatient as ever, Sherlock.”  He shakes his head, but it’s true, it’s been long enough.  “The Foundation wasn’t forthcoming with information about its origins, but once shot with it, one develops, shall we say, abilities?  I’m told that they decided to name it a Stand.  Those without one cannot see it.  I only saw John use it to pick up a book, but of course it is far more deadly.  He described it as ‘your fighting spirit’.  I gather they are extensions of your life force that follow their own rules.  John’s brings the battlefield.  He has some sort of means of protecting people—hence why you have been relatively unharmed since he came along, including surviving the strangling incident—but he told me himself that using any of his other abilities in London would be too dangerous.  The explosion was his doing, brought on, I assume, by stress and fear, which is a good indication that he was not exaggerating.  And he would’ve noticed when his protection was no longer working, which is why he knew without a doubt that you were still alive.”
          Sherlock doesn’t respond—verbally at least—so Mycroft brings up his camera feed from that day and opens the folder named Jung.  He quietly copies it onto a flash drive as Sherlock watches the conversation, wide-eyed, and plugs it in to a laptop—Sherlock’s laptop, for when he visits and needs information.  Mycroft can’t just allow him access to all of his systems.
          He instructs Alondra to keep an eye on his brother to make sure he doesn’t try anything irreversible and leaves—he’s fairly certain Sherlock would wish to be alone, and if he wishes to talk about the information, he can contact his brother though her.