Sleepless
part tenStrictly speaking, it was not a good idea to be found wandering the Ark halls outside his prescribed areas. Risks to his health were not in the least a concern but the risks to his position in the current political climate were. Mycroft was better off having the absolute minimum of interaction with his brother if he was to maintain a distance that would do credit to his unbiased opinions. But Sherlock Holmes was on Chapman's schedule and the man seemed curiously pleased. Whatever course of action meant to put them together, Sherlock had to find another way. Chapman was not to be trusted and certainly not to be interfered with. He was Mycroft's problem and his to undo. A meeting with Sherlock was simply out of the question.
He was sitting at the table when they came back from the cafeteria. It seemed the best time to drop by, knowing what they were like. It gave him the upper hand, making their territory his. Sherlock's cat-like bristling from the moment they stepped inside the crowded room was proof enough of the effectiveness of the tactic though John simply looked confused above the mild tell of surprised curiosity. Mycroft wasn't welcome but that was hardly new. He didn't make social calls so, of course, his presence could only mean a handful of things to them. He smiled slightly, tapping his fingertips against the tabletop as he enjoyed a few seconds of the underlying panic in the air. "No decisions have been made," he said, not even attempting to hide the pique of pleasure that existed in knowledge.
John visibly relaxed, scowling in disapproval as he edged around and towards the bed where the three of them could converse in a little triangle of bodies rather than stacked around the door. Sherlock stood unchanged with challenge still stiff in his joints as he made sure the door closed behind him, his eyes never leaving his brother's. "Why are you here, then?" he asked, then, as though his tongue had gone out of turn, his eyes rolled and he fell back against the wall with arms crossed over his chest in contention. "Ah, of course. You've heard."
Mycroft smiled a little at the misstep, his fingertips tapping once more. "Of course I have. Diana has many good qualities but silence is not one of them." He stood up, both signaling that his intentions were not to linger and that there was to be no argument against his shared judgement. He wasn't tall enough to eclipse his brother but what he lacked in superior height he more than made up for in years of conditioning. He looked down his nose at his younger sibling, his impeccable manner elevating him far above their equal stature. "Find another way," he commanded, disguising concern under a veil of contempt.
Sherlock forced a smile in kind. "If that's your way of saying you're willing to offer up information, be my guest. Otherwise, you'll have to excuse us." He whipped around Mycroft, steeling his way towards the table and chair to best abandon the walkway towards the exit. "We've got far more important things to be getting on with than entertaining dignitaries."
Mycroft sighed, shoulders dropping. He'd never been fond of the contrary. "You know I can't. But Chapman has more to gain from you than you do from him. I will handle him in my own way."
"Your way's too slow."
"Politics, brother mine, is rarely a realm for those who demand speed of action." Mycroft didn't bother glancing over at John. John was not going to be his ally in this particular battle--not at this juncture. Not yet. Maybe in the end if he had the sense to remember who was in charge and who was generally right about these things. Until then he was just a blue lump in his peripheral vision while Sherlock leaned his hip against the table in a facade of ease.
"You want me working on this but you don't want me to interview the only other person who has the information I need. What's this really about?" Sherlock asked, always hinting but falling short of grasping.
Mycroft rather missed the occasion for the use of an umbrella. He was far too young for a cane but missed the prop at his side to lean against in disinterest. "You presume far too much. Chapman is a puppet figure--he knows nothing. And thus he will act foolishly and in ways that I cannot counter. If you seek Chapman, you will be outside my power to protect," he cautioned, adding to his case in details he knew would capture at least one of them. However, it was just as important to counter misconceptions for the other. He frowned, his forehead lengthening with a sigh. "Sherlock, if you can manage to orchestrate timed blackouts with the surveillance equipment, getting access to the computer systems should be a fairly simple operation."
"Timed blackouts?"
Mycroft rolled his eyes, looking down at John who was perched on the edge of the bed with annoyance. "Let's not with the whole feigning ignorance. No one else knows. Would be nice if you would put such resources towards more pressing concerns, however."
"What are you--"
Sherlock cleared his throat, the sudden sound stilling the words in John's throat as they both looked to the detective instead. Sherlock looked back at them both as though he hadn't made a sound, his eyes lingering on John with quiet words shared between them. So Sherlock wasn't working with John on this. It was a curious thought. Of all the things that Mycroft felt sure would not be held as a secret between them, the plans for their survival were highest among them. John's confusion was real, though. The man lied like a crumb-faced five year old with both hands still stuck in biscuit tin. He didn't know. It was hardly Mycroft's place to scold Sherlock on his methods but it was... curious. The fact that he could not see a benefit in leaving John out only made Mycroft more interested in the plot. But he was alright in discovering it in the aftermath. Whatever it was, it wasn't interfering with his own plans. Pursuing Chapman did.
"Do I have your word that you will cancel this meeting?" he asked, allowing the subject of the camera blackouts to be silenced.
Sherlock tore his eyes from John's and tilted his head in contemplation. "Diana can put us on the books but it's hardly going to go unnoticed unless he's signed off on the idea in the first place--he wants to see us. You can't advise him to stay away from myself and John without showing your hand, and so you need us to cooperate in order to keep a meeting from happening. Bit of an effort just to maintain a level of ignorance, though I'm beginning to wonder on which side you're operating from," he said, his lack of trust seeming to extend in all directions.
Mycroft took a deep breath, considering his last plan of attack on the idea with carefully constructed words. "If you must go, know you do this alone, and the consequences of dealing with scared, power hungry individuals lies on your own heads."
"Occupational hazard," John said, the voice of reason failing to come to Mycroft's final aid. He shrugged, his face scrunching with its companion expression. "Thanks but... yeah, we need this. And we're going to go."
"You were supposed to be the sensible one."
John shook his head. "No, I'm the one who hopes this ends in a fire fight. Stand a much better chance and then at least I'd know what was coming. But, ya know, barring all out war, I'll take a bit of intrigue to get by."
Sherlock chuckled, not more than a few notes on a breath, but his smile pulled every wrinkle of his chin into full and present view. Mycroft rather hated that expression. It was as close to love-struck as his brother got but it reeked of adoration. In many ways it was far more intimate than walking in on a kiss to see his eyes squint with proud possession. Absolutely indecent. Though, in truth, Mycroft had seen enough of them that just seeing them in the same room seemed like overexposure to their atmosphere.
"Promise me you'll try to behave like adults," he conceded, knowing a lost cause when he saw one--two of them, as it seemed. He could work with this. He was going to have to. He was better than to be beaten by his own uncooperative brother.
Sherlock looked away with the posturing of annoyance. "We won't embarrass you, if that's what you're asking. This has nothing to do with you. Just a couple of test subjects looking to explore our political options and meet with our representative about our concerns."
Yes, of course it was. On one side. But there still remained the motivations which fueled Chapman's own actions in agreeing to meet with the very people he seemed to most fear. "Since you won't take my advice... good luck."
"Mm. I'd walk you out but you're closer to the door than I am," Sherlock said with a wave, shooing Mycroft away with stiff fingers extended on a wagging wrist. "Goodbye."
Whatever he was planning, whatever secret he was keeping, whatever strange rules he felt he alone could operate under, Mycroft could not deny the strange feeling that in this, as in many cases before, he simply had to trust in Sherlock Holmes. His brother hadn't exactly let him down in the past--not often enough to bare remembering in any detail. More than that, he'd never let John down. Far from feeling confident, Mycroft felt unnecessary. He couldn't help them. No one could. Not until they said so. Not until Sherlock decreed it. He looked at John with a parting expression of warning, knowing perhaps better than anyone that he would be the one to pay for this all in the end if Sherlock's secrets lead to ruin. But on their own heads be it.
With a nod to both in parting, Mycroft let himself out of the tiny little room. He didn't suspect they'd keep the ashes once they were both dead and cremated. He wasn't even sure he would care to keep them. But it might do to ask. Just to know. It was always good to know one's options.