madimpossibledreamer: Sherlock staring at the ceiling. (bored)
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Main Points:
BBC's Sherlock, Standverse (John has a Stand)
Summary: Mycroft and John come to an understanding.
Word Count: 1398
Rating: Gen
Notes: IT'S JOHN'S STAND.  He doesn't pull it on Mycroft, though.  UMBRELLA STANDS FTW
I may have been staring at journal articles for long enough I'm getting silly...

 

            It’s a surprise when Mycroft has them meet in his office, rather than a warehouse.  Maybe he thinks it’d be easy enough to pull off…whatever ridiculous fears a Holmes mind has conjured up, while an office is a bit more high profile.  It probably is a useless precaution against some Stand Users, though Mycroft might not know that.  John is beginning to suspect that the man doesn’t know everything, just enough to be dangerous.  Certainly he might be one of the most dangerous normal humans Watson has ever met.  Either that, or he’s confident enough in his Stand that he’s not worried.  If Mycroft ever did have a Stand, John would put his money on the ever-present umbrella.

            When he sits down carefully, uses slow movements to avoid setting him off, John is almost entirely certain that it’s the former.

            “John, how nice to see you.  How can I help you?”

            John clears his throat.  “Your brother sent me to pick up the facts about…whatever case you were offering him.”

            That earns a smile.  “I see.”  It’s not a very nice smile.  But a Holmes, when cornered, is not a very nice man. 

            “But I came to have a conversation we’ve been putting off for far too long.”

            “Oh?”  He’s definitely on the edge, now.

            “Yes.  Tell me, what do you know about…”  He stops again, clears his throat.  “About what I can do.”

            “Why?”  It’s about as suspicious as Mycroft can get.

            “So I don’t waste your time telling you things you already know,” he responds matter-of-factly.

            There’s dead silence for about a minute.  Then Mycroft nods.  “Not much.  I know that there are those who—forgive me for the melodramatic phrasing—have powers that are essentially impossible for those without to detect.  I know that, as with the rest of the populace, there are those who use those for good or ill.  I know that you acquired this power in Afghanistan, causing you to be invalided from the army, and I know that after this you had a period of…” he glances at notes, “…six months, one week, and two days during which nothing is known.  I have been told that yours is one of the more dangerous of these powers that exists.”

            John nods.  It’s almost a relief to know Mycroft doesn’t have a Stand of his own.  Almost.  Assuming he’s not putting on an act.  “What do you know about the Foundation?”

            “The Speedwagon Foundation?”  The way the man pronounces it, he finds it as ridiculous as ‘221B’.  “They’re your average foundation providing for research and the advancement of humankind.  Is my information incorrect?”

            Oh.  So this isn’t common knowledge.

            He’ll warn them later.  “They also have helped remove several dangers to the world, like a few vampires and evil Stand Users—that’s the term for us.”  He nods.  “They also find newly awakened Stand Users and help train them, so they’re not lost, alone, or dangerous.”

            “Which is where you came in.”  The understanding crosses Mycroft’s voice, and all of a sudden the distrust and menace always present in the room when the elder Holmes had been there disappears.  John finds himself taking in a deep breath, now that the air feels lighter.

            “Yes.  For the record, I don’t think they’d mind working with you as long as you don’t try anything too shady.”  He’s still a little, for lack of a better word, Mycroft.

            “John, I’m hurt.”  It’s almost a joke between the two of them.

            “As the matter stands, I’m not a danger to your brother.  I never have been.”

            He’s interrupted.  “The explosion?”

            “Not me.  I’m afraid of it happening, but I would know.  I would’ve felt it.”  He’s as sure of that as he can be of anything, and it has to be enough.

            A smile.  A true one that almost doesn’t seem to fit on Mycroft’s face.  He’s probably not used to using it.  “Continue.”

            “The difficulty is that Stand Users attract other Stand Users.  I know you kept throwing us on those cases so that Sherlock might get the hint, but even stopping doing that…eventually we’re going to run across one.  And, unless you can get at the User, only Stands can defeat other Stands.  Mine’s not suited to London.”  He’d miss London, couldn’t bear to be away now that he’d found his reason, but it would probably be safer.

            “The process probably involves the long amount of time you spent nearly deceased,” Mycroft breathes, deducing.  There are similarities.  “I’d hardly want to put any of my agents into a position where they might die.  It’s always so hard to explain, and there’s the time and effort to train new ones to consider.”  Worry about him constantly, indeed.  That’s Holmes code for ‘I care but I’m too stubborn of a git to admit it’.

            “Yes, it does.  It was the worst experience of my life…” Truth, “…but I don’t regret it.”  Truth again.

            “Interesting.”  Mycroft nods.  “I suppose I could always ask if they would be willing to spare someone for my staff.”  Asking is beneath him, but he’s considering it anyway.

            “My Stand—Citizen/Soldier.”  John wets his lips.  “I’d call him out, but if you can’t see him there’s not really a point.  They’re…they’re you.  A part of your soul, I suppose.  I never really asked.  Your fighting spirit.  They can pick up objects, interact with the environment or other humans, but those without Stands can’t see them.”  A demonstration, he decides, wouldn’t hurt, and soon Mycroft is staring fixedly at a book seemingly floating in space.  “Mine is…destructive.  The Foundation has come up with a set of classifications, quantifiable numbers to compare Stands.  They’re all dangerous, even the silly-sounding ones, because they’re your will to fight taken form, and as long as you have the imagination to use them I’ve been told you can do a lot of harm.”

            It’s a testament to the trust that Mycroft’s showing that he’s not more on edge at the sight of a floating book, trusts John to keep it in check.  But then, John’s putting himself on the line as well, telling the Holmes things he’s never told anyone.

            “My Stand isn’t very precise.  It means I’m not all that good at hitting the targets I want to with it.  Usually I just use Right Where I Belong, that’s…I can protect people, other people, with it.  Damage to it means damage to myself, so it’s not easy…”  He coughs, shrugs it off.  He hadn’t meant to say that.  “…but they’re…they’re capable of many things.  Mine, I can.  I can bring the battlefield back with me.  And, I’m sure you can imagine…”  Maybe he’s not doing well, allaying Mycroft’s fears, “…an air strike in the middle of London.  Or the crossfire, or.”  He shakes his head.  “I’ve never used my Stand in actual combat, just training.  I could use the dangerous abilities, but I don’t.  This isn’t the place for that, and usually my gun and protection to Sherlock…that’s all we’ve ever needed.”

            He’s rubbish at explaining it.  He knows there’s a file at the Foundation that explains it all, better than he could, but Mycroft is listening to him now.

            “No, John, you’re not as bad as you think you are.  I have a clearer picture of the matter now.”  The smile he gets actually is friendly, not just the grimace.

            “How—no, never mind.”  John shakes his head.  “…the difference between a magic trick and this is that explaining it doesn’t make it any less amazing.”

            “I’m sure you prefer it from my brother,” Mycroft comments.  “Speaking of which, you should really tell him before he has a chance to find out.  He’ll take it better if you tell him yourself.  And don’t hesitate to come to me for help if you need it.  I know Sherlock would rather die first, which, unfortunately, is a possibility.  I trust you’ll keep him safe.”

            John hides a smile.  “I think you’ll agree that I’ve done a fine job so far.  And you never had to ask.”

            Mycroft nods and moves on to what he ostensibly came for as if nothing had happened.  Sherlock will probably be very unhappy that they’re no longer snipping at each other, but John will tell him about the hastily (and badly) hidden slice of cake on Mycroft’s desk.  That might help soften the blow.


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