Two Brains are Better at Plotting than One Lone Heart

by Mika_or_else_I_dunno

Summary:

What happens when a SYSTEM glitches?

Well, a lot of things. Bad and good alike.

Outsiders getting access to two 'transmigrators-but-not-really's chat room? Who knows which one that really is. For now, the outsiders take it as a blessing.

-

Albert J. Moriarty: Have you unlocked the OOC feature?

Sherlock Holmes: Yep

Albert J. Moriarty: … WHAT.

Albert J. Moriarty: HOW

Sherlock Holmes: Dunno, by meeting eyes with Liam?

Albert J. Moriarty: @SYSTEM 001 WTF IS THIS WHY IS IT HE GETS TO ACT OOC AND I DON'T

SYSTEM 001: User 001 has not yet reached the key quest to unlocking OOC feature.

Albert J. Moriarty: WHERE THAT KEY FUCKING QUEST AT

Notes:

• Inspired by Show The Screenshots by A_Non_ymousWriter

Brainrot has clawed its way deep into my being. I'm so sorry my hands slipped lol

Chapter 1

It all started one random sunny day, a day or two after the play on the Noatic had reached its end, as William was minding his own mathematical business (a.k.a. writing a thesis). 

 

A strange, glowing blue tablet appeared out of absolutely nowhere in his head. At first, William truly thought it was just the sunlight affecting his eyes. Turned out… it wasn't. 

 

There was no way his brain could possibly come up with this: 

 

 

 

[SYSTEM 001 has joined the chat.] 

 

[SYSTEM 002 has joined the chat.] 

 

[SYSTEM 001 has added User 001.] 

 

[SYSTEM 002 has added User 002.] 

 

SYSTEM 001: Welcome to the new Chat Room feature. It had been decided that transmigrators be provided a feature to help them in their task of rewriting the plot. This feature is still being worked on, so please do expect updates to occur. 

 

SYSTEM 002: If Users have questions, please feel free to @ your respective Systems. 

 

User 001: What the fuck 

 

 

 

William, like many other people in his current situation, shared that same sentiment. Albeit with a less crude wording, perhaps. 

 

 

 

User 002: I'm not the only transmigrator here? 

 

User 001: Apparently no 

 

User 001: Although can I really be called a transmigrator if I'm just the same guy but 2 lives older & yeeted into young-me's body 

 

User 002: … Omfg 

 

User 002: Me too bro 

 

User 002: Who're you?? 

 

User 002: Wait hold on @SYSTEM 002 will we get punished if we tell each other the truth 

 

SYSTEM 002: No non-User is allowed to know about the SYSTEM's existence. As such, Users have full freedom of expression in this feature. 

 

User 001: Cool 

 

User 001: @SYSTEM 001 Can we change our username? 

 

SYSTEM 001: Yes. Simply select the setting tab. 

 

[User 001 has changed their name to Albert J. Moriarty.] 

 

User 002: WHAT THE FUCK. 

 

 

 

What the fuck indeed. And this time, William agreed with the exact wordings. What was this trick? If this wasn't a trick, it'd be understandable that Albert hadn't tried to tell even his little brothers, but this was going against all logic. Well, all logic that William himself was aware of, at least. 

 

 

 

[User 002 has changed their name to Sherlock Holmes.] 

 

Albert J. Moriarty: What the actual fuck bro 

 

Albert J. Moriarty: Which version did William meet on that damn boat 

 

Sherlock Holmes: 2 lifetimes-old me 

 

Albert J. Moriarty: So technically you cheated at that time 

 

Sherlock Holmes: Nah I was racking my brain to give him literally any other clue than the golden number thing I hate cheating when it comes to him 

 

Sherlock Holmes: Might have to to prevent him from jumping off that bridge tho 

 

SYSTEM 002: Warning: The Final Problem is an obligatory plot point. User must ensue that 'William' James Moriarty be publicly considered dead by the end of the plot point. The punishment protocol will be enacted if Users fail to meet the plot's requirements. 

 

Sherlock Holmes: STOP TREATING OUR LIFE AS IF IT'S A FUCKING GAME 

 

Albert J. Moriarty: That's what I've been trying to tell it for the past two decades. It never works, bro. 

 

Albert J. Moriarty: Why do you think the whole Noatic fuckery happened. 

 

Sherlock Holmes: And you didn't even try to find a loophole or smth??? 

 

Albert J. Moriarty: When tf did your ass get transmigrated into here? 

 

Sherlock Holmes: 3 weeks ago

 

Sherlock Holmes: Apparently Victorian era-me died of a particularly nasty cold and the System couldn't get to boyo in time to keep him in his boyo body and had to go get a similar soul or smth instead 

 

Sherlock Holmes: 21st century-me, also dead, just happened to be the first to meet the criteria 

 

Albert J. Moriarty: Ah ok so I'm your senior 

 

Albert J. Moriarty: Died in the 21st century too, got back here as a baby 

 

Sherlock Holmes: Oml poor you 

 

 

 

William frowned. If this thing in his head said the truth, then it'd have meant that his big brother had experienced death two times already. How did he appear so unbothered? 

 

 

 

Albert J. Moriarty: Back to the point. 

 

Albert J. Moriarty: Have you unlocked the OOC feature? 

 

Sherlock Holmes: Yep 

 

Albert J. Moriarty: … WHAT. 

 

Albert J. Moriarty: HOW 

 

Sherlock Holmes: Dunno, by meeting eyes with Liam? 

 

Albert J. Moriarty: @SYSTEM 001 WTF IS THIS WHY IS IT HE GETS TO ACT OOC AND I DON'T 

 

SYSTEM 001: User 001 has not yet reached the key quest to unlocking OOC feature. 

 

Albert J. Moriarty: WHERE THAT KEY FUCKING QUEST AT  

 

Albert J. Moriarty: YOU MEAN 

 

Albert J. Moriarty: TO TELL ME 

 

Albert J. Moriarty: THAT I HAVE TO PUSH MY LITTLE BROTHER FURTHER AND FURTHER INTO DEPRESSION AND DUDE HERE GETS TO ACT HOWEVER TF HE WANTS WITHOUT KILLING OFF SOMEONE DEAR TO HIM??????? 

 

Albert J. Moriarty: WHAT BULLSHIT IS THIS 

 

[Albert J. Moriarty has changed Sherlock Holmes's name to Lucky mofo.]

 

[Albert J. Moriarty has changed their name to Victim of injustice.] 

 

Lucky mofo: Wait wait wait wait what did it threaten you with 

 

Victim of injustice: What did it threaten me with?? 

 

Victim of injustice: WHAT DID IT THREATEN ME WITH??? 

 

Victim of injustice: IT WENT "oh you gotta make Will the Lord of Crime and set everything up for him to get suicidal thoughts or I'll kill off both of your dear brothers plus one Mycroft Holmes :D" LIKE WTF WHY 

 

 

 

The blonde professor could only stare straight past the page he had previously been so focused on like an idiot. 

 

According to this 'chat room', Albert… became a murderer… to protect him and Louis? 

 

He was having trouble processing that. A lot of trouble. The two men conversing in that strange blue sheet seemingly had no idea that someone else was witnessing their whole dialogue, though, and thus continued without a care. 

 

 

 

Lucky mofo: … Ah. 

 

Lucky mofo: Mine threatened me with offing Liam Mycky & John if I didn't get my ass onto the Noatic. 

 

Victim of injustice: … Ah. 

 

[Lucky mofo has changed their name to Not so lucky.] 

 

Victim of injustice: So our punishment protocols are essentially the same? 

 

Not so lucky: Yup. 

 

Not so lucky: And by the look of it, the OOC feature removal doesn't remove whatever those so-called obligatory plot points are 

 

Victim of injustice: Anyway. 

 

Victim of injustice: Expect the worst from that dog shit eater thing. 

 

Victim of injustice: None of the loopholes I find end up having any actual impact on the overall course of things. The one time I tried to interfere in a major event? Louis nearly died. And IK it was the System because it. Announced. Enactment of the "punishment protocol". 

 

Victim of injustice: And y'know what hit hardest? It all was for nothing. The major event still occurred with a three-month delay. 

 

 

 

The pen William previously held slipped from his hand and fell onto the page with a small clatter, smearing ink everywhere, effectively ruining it and obliging him to rewrite two entire pages, but he couldn't care less. He cared infinitely more about what had just been revealed. 

 

That resurgence of Louis' heart illness, just three months before they burned the original Moriarty mansion. It had come out of absolutely nowhere. The boy hadn't been breathing at all anymore. It had been a miracle that he had survived in the first place. At that time, everyone had merely assumed that the surgeon hadn't done good enough a job. Everyone except Albert, who had immediately summoned a doctor, while looking in a horrible emotional state himself. William had been partly blinded by his own worry for their youngest brother, but even then, he could see what he had perceived back then as an unreasonable amount of guilt in that cocktail of feelings. 

 

And now, they were telling him this had happened because of this entity called the 'System'. This same 'System' that apparently wanted the three of them to become the criminals they now were. It took no genius to figure out that the brunette had tried to prevent that from happening, and it had lashed out on Louis as a punishment meant for their older sibling. No wonder Albert had felt guilty! 

 

William had many incertitudes about this whole thing, even if this was a truth. That the System was an enemy wasn't one of them. Nor was that Sherlock Holmes was soon to become one of its victims. 

 

 

 

Victim of injustice: Trust me bro I want to get William a happy ending. 

 

Victim of injustice: You were the only one who succeeded at that in the previous version. You're my only hope now, dude. 

 

Not so lucky: Welp now I wanna beat this thing to fucking smithereens. 

 

Victim of injustice: 🤝 

 

Not so lucky: 🤝 

 

 

 

It was fortunate that the blonde was in his room. That whiplash of going from horrified for the life of him to utterly confused was scribbled on his face like an open book, he could feel it. In his defense, what did they mean, they wanted to give him a happy ending? That loving eldest sibling, he could understand, but the detective? From the hints he could get in those texts, that man had somehow been particularly close to William, in another life? 

 

The System was a pressing concern, but William would be lying if he said his interest in the dark-haired man wasn't growing stronger and stronger. 

 

 

 

Not so lucky: Now that we're united under the 'protecc Liam' banner, we need a plan 

 

Not so lucky: @SYSTEM 002 Give us a list of all obligatory plot points, counting now on. With precisions as to what needs to happen in them. 

 

SYSTEM 002: 
Obligatory plot points: 
- A Study in 'S'
   -> Sherlock Holmes must successfully pass the Lord of Crime's trial, proving himself to fit the role of the Lord of Crime's nemesis 
- A Scandal in the British Empire
   -> Irene Adler must enter the picture, via her request for help 
   -> By the end of the plot point, Irene Adler is to be publicly dead 
- The Phantom of Whitechapel 
   -> Charles Augustus Milverton enters the picture 
   -> Jack the Ripper must reintegrate into his role as an ally of the Lord of Crimes 
- The Knight of London
   -> Adam Whiteley must die as a hero 
   -> The Lord of Crime makes his first public appearance 
- The Sign of Mary 
   -> First official confrontation between Sherlock Holmes and 'William' James Moriarty as nemesis 
   -> By the end of the plot point, the Lord of Crime's identity must be revealed to the public 
- The Final Problem 
   -> Closure to the play begun by the Lord of Crimes 
   -> By the end of the plot point, 'William' James Moriarty is to be publicly dead 
- The Adventure of the Empty Heart 
   -> After three years of being presumed dead, Sherlock Holmes makes his grand return 

 

Not so lucky: So y'all telling me Liam and I still have to fuck off to America or god knows where else for 3 years 

 

Victim of injustice: That's a buck load of plot points… 

 

Victim of injustice: Wtf this is straight up the thing asking us to copy-paste that whole Lord of Crime 1.0 thing to this timeline! 

 

Not so lucky: Not really 

 

Not so lucky: Whatever plot point thing you couldn't prevent got delayed, right? So, technically, we can modify the course of events as long as it doesn't affect the obligatory plot points 

 

Not so lucky: The wording leaves a lot of room for version-divergences btw if you haven't noticed 

 

Not so lucky: I'll have to get John's ass comfortably settled in my flat tho, we need him and his books for the Final Problem thing 

 

Not so lucky: @SYSTEM 002 Do we need to keep the 'William' in Liam's official name in the reveal? 

 

SYSTEM 002: As long as it is 'James Moriarty the Lord of Crime', User may feel free to either keep, modify or omit his first name. 

 

Not so lucky: Just testing my luck but @SYSTEM 002 is there any way to change the obligatory plot points? 

 

SYSTEM 002: Users aren't allowed to change the obligatory plot points. 

 

Not so lucky: @SYSTEM 002 Does that mean a non-User can change the plot points? 

 

Victim of injustice: Holy shit 

 

SYSTEM 002: Non-User are allowed to change the obligatory plot points. However, they must do that of their own accord. 

 

Not so lucky: @SYSTEM 002 That means we can still make subtle suggestions and the like, right? 

 

SYSTEM 002: Non-User are allowed to change the obligatory plot points. However, they must do that of their own accord. 

 

Not so lucky: @Victim of injustice The thing is exactly like a law book AI bot bro 

 

Victim of injustice: …

 

Victim of injustice: I've never felt more stupid in my three lives. 

 

Not so lucky: Operation 'wink wink nudge nudge'? 

 

Victim of injustice: What the hell kind of a name is that 

 

Victim of injustice: Ok yea operation 'wink wink nudge nudge' 

 

Not so lucky: Shit miss Hudson's here 

 

Not so lucky: Gotta act like a manchild bye 

 

Victim of injustice: You??? Literally??? Unlocked the OOC feature??? And you're still acting in-character??? 

 

 

 

That was the last peep from any of the 'transmigrators' for the time being. No new text appearing, nothing, the 'chat' seemed to have fallen dormant. Meanwhile, a certain blonde was still trying to process what he'd learned from this strange thing in his head - the reliability of which was still to be verified. A task that demanded him to set logic aside. 

 

Assuming that this was real, should he go speak of this with someone? It was a very risky thing to even think of, since this 'System' seemed to want no more than the strict necessary people to know of its existence. But why would this 'chat room' appear in his mind, then? Was it a mistake on the System's part? Was this intentional? What was he truly going to do with this doubtful data he just got? 

 

He was given no time to think further, though. Someone knocked at his door. 

 

"Come in." 

 

The door slowly swung open, as if the person behind it was hesitant. 

 

Turned out, it was Louis. Whiter than usual, with worry displayed all over his demeanor. "William… may I talk with you for a bit?" 

 

The older blonde smiled reassuringly. "Do you even need to ask?" 

 

"… Right." Louis slowly stepped toward the desk where William was. "… Do you… Have you ever experienced having a strange blue tablet in your head?" 

 

"… You too?!" 

 

Both pair of crimson eyes could only dumbly stare at each other in bewilderment. 

Chapter 2

Notes:

Sorry I couldn't help myself 😂

Sherlock had died. 

 

Mycroft's little brother had died, and he didn't even know about this until this strange flat box showed up in his head. Granted, he had heard about Sherly getting a cold, which provided this thing some credibility, but to be unaware of his death? Granted, the man who replaced him was just an older version of Sherly himself, if this was to be trusted, but… 

 

It wasn't going to be the same again. 

 

It was never going to be the same again. 

 

Good grief, Mycroft was going to be the only one mourning the younger version of his brother, and not even because of any conventional reason. How lonely would that make a dead soul feel? 

 

The man shook his head. It was going to do nobody any good to continue dwelling on that. If this box in his head was a real deal, then the best he could do right now was to try helping this older version of Sherly fight against this System restricting both him and colonel Moriarty. After confirming the veracity of this 'chat room' being an actual conversation between the two men, of course. And the best course of action to begin everything with was to observe. 

 

(For some reason, instead of fearing for his life, Mycroft focused onto the fact that the System deemed both 'transmigrators' to cherish him enough that it'd be worthwhile targeting him. And that warmed his chest just a bit more. There must be something wrong with himself.) 

 

Also, it was refreshing to witness colonel Moriarty act just that much less composed and sly compared to the man Mycroft got in their usual interactions. 

 

 

 

Detective: Now that I think about it, I'm both the youngest and oldest sibling between us Holmes 

 

Detective: Died at 78 1st life & 24 2nd and all 

 

Detective: Technically I'm older than him 

 

I WANT MY WINE: Still this beat-the-big-bro complex? 

 

I WANT MY WINE: How did you die so young tho 

 

Detective: Electricity 

 

Detective: I was writing a report for my job, wanted to have some instant noodles 

 

Detective: The noodle cup fell on my PC, I wanted to save my report, but then the PC was plugged and it all went BZZZZZZZZZZZ 

 

I WANT MY WINE: … 

 

I WANT MY WINE: That's a much less un-dignifying death than I got. 

 

Detective: How did you die 

 

I WANT MY WINE: Choking on my daifuku 

 

Detective: Lmao what 

 

I WANT MY WINE: In my defense I was punching up a dissert on a deadline, I was under stress, ok? 

 

I WANT MY WINE: Couldn't pay attention to what I was downing and ended up choking on my pastries 

 

Detective: That's still ridiculous lmao 

 

I WANT MY WINE: Stfu 

 

Detective: Why a daifuku tho 

 

[I WANT MY WINE changed their username to Japanese boy.] 

 

Detective: Oh. 

 

Japanese boy: Shinomoto Akizuki here, although I prefer to be called Albert 

 

Japanese boy: James Moriarty 

 

Detective: Yo 

 

[Detective changed their name to Kinich Saab.] 

 

Kinich Saab: <- (I prefer Sherlock Holmes), American 

 

Japanese boy: Lol why d'you have the same name as that Genshin guy 

 

Kinich Saab: Idk, coincidence perhaps 

 

Kinich Saab: Didn't help that I had black hair green eyes 

 

Kinich Saab: Ended up teased by my whole team when dude's official design was released 

 

Kinich Saab: "HeY mR. rEaL lIfE kInIcH" 

 

Japanese boy: That actually makes it even funnierWHY IS WILLIAM HERE 

 

Kinich Saab: ? Where you at 

 

Japanese boy: THE ARMY MINISTRY SEAT WHERE ELSE AM I AT WHY DA FUK IS HE HERE 

 

Japanese boy: ??? And now he's gone???

 

Japanese boy: Wtf 

 

Kinich Saab: Can't be him trying to send you a message if sb from the literal LoC gang didn't understand it first try 

 

Japanese boy: Yea that's real weird 

 

Japanese boy: ??????? Now it's Moran barging in????? With a wig??????? 

 

Japanese boy: Alert OOC bro's inviting me to a pub 

 

Kinich Saab: Wtf is happening today 

 

 

 

What the fuck was happening indeed, Sherly. 

 

(Mycroft didn't regret pulling an all-nighter to deduce what each of the abbreviations the two 'transmigrators' constantly used stood for. Perhaps those might even become handy, if he wanted to indirectly let them know he knew about them.) 

 

—————————

 

Japanese boy: Pls send help it's stargazy pie tonight 😭😭😭 

 

Kinich Saab: My condolences bro 

 

 

 

Louis was struggling more than he'd like to keep his frown off his face. Albert was visibly doing the same, albeit for a very different and much more harmless reason. Though, perhaps he was seeing this only because he now had a more direct access to his eldest brother's real thought. Who knew anymore. 

 

Now that both of the younger brothers had established that this chat room was, in fact, very real, they needed to keep observing what was happening in there, as it provided them with real-time information, from two points of view. On this aspect, one can only consider it a blessing. 

 

But the existence of this higher entity called the System made it very dubious as to whether it truly was such a blessing for the two 'transmigrators' (whatever that meant), or if this was simply another chip that it could take away from the two men as a punishment for not bending to its will. After all, it took little to no squinting to see that this chat room wasn't merely a way to exchange information and plan ahead for their next move. No, this chat room was a means for the two men to give each other the support they needed, thinking that they were alone against this entity. 

 

(It didn't sit well with Louis that the brunette had become a murderer not for their shared ideal, but because it was the only choice he was given to protect his two younger siblings.) 

 

William and Louis, for one, could not directly offer their help, for fear that the System will lash out and harm their brother or an innocent ally as a punishment. It had already done so with the youngest Moriarty once, nothing prevented it from doing so again. 

 

 

 

"So. We both agree that this 'System' is an enemy of the Lord of Crime, right?" 

 

William nodded. "We will need to be careful. So far, the System doesn't seem to notice that we have access to this chat room. The best we can do for now is to observe… and perhaps eventually try to nudge the course of events away from that list of obligatory 'plot points', too, and see if the System was telling the truth. At worst, there is always enough room to twist things around in Albert's favor within the confine of those events, as Holmes said." 

 

Louis frowned. "Holmes… Are we sure that man is truly an ally?" 

 

"We won't know unless we respect that first 'plot point'." The older blonde then smiled, "Don't worry. He may be bound by the obligation of entering our play, but I have a way to test his trustworthiness while allowing that to happen." 

 

 

 

Louis was still not too sure about this. Perhaps it was just because this man seemed too familiar with his brothers, was all. Even though he understood that Albert needed to let off steams, and that Holmes was currently the best, if not the only, option. 

 

(Perhaps he simply feared that the detective would make a mistake costing William's life one day. That could also be said of Albert, but Louis just had that much more faith in him.) 

 

Meanwhile, it was clear as day the detective was trying his best to distract Albert from his dinner. 

 

 

 

Kinich Saab: Speaking of food, what is it with you Japanese ppl and putting random representations of sushi everywhere 

 

Japanese boy: Life is much less boring like that loldadasasfdkjlfxdkl 

 

 

 

That text had appeared right after Albert had closed his lips on his first mouthful of stargazy pie. Louis was struggling once again, but this time to hold down a laugh. A look to the side told him that William wasn't fairing much better, and Moran had let out a snort out of nowhere for some reason. 

 

 

 

Kinich Saab: Again, my condolences 

 

Kinich Saab: Back to the subject 

 

Kinich Saab: Less boring I can agree but 

 

Kinich Saab: Wait a second 

 

Kinich Saab: Holy shit 

 

Kinich Saab has sent a video.

 

 

 

A picture had appeared, just like that. Masked by a white triangle. Curious, Louis tried to prod around, mentally pressing on the shape… only to instantly regret having done it at the table.

 

Why? 

 

Because the picture had begun moving the moment he had done so, the triangle having disappeared from view. And there were sounds coordinated with whatever was happening on the picture. It was… so lifelike… 

 

He had a pressing urge to react. But alas, he was at the table with the other residents of the mansion, eating and occasionally chatting, although today was suspiciously silent. As such, he can only stare at his own part of pie like an idiot, mechanically moving to feed himself, while his mind was staring uncomprehendingly at the displayed metal contraption, the top rug-y surface of which was moving on its own, transporting quite a few object that looked like box-shaped luggage bags and… an unreasonably big plate of two obviously fake rice balls covered under one fake slice of fish each? Was this what they called a 'sushi'? 

 

Also, he knew this plate was oversized because there was a strangely-dressed man standing just beside the contraption, trying to remove the plate from there, to no success. Must be because the thing was glued to that black rug. 

 

 

 

Japanese boy: Wait wtf how did you send a video from 21st century of all things 

 

Kinich Saab: Go to settings tab, scroll down, there's a picture icon, press on it and it'll ask 'allow access to library' 

 

Kinich Saab: Back to the point, why tf is there a plate of sushi on the damn conveyor belt 

 

Kinich Saab: Ik there are restaurants that serve sushi on conveyor belts, Ik what this thing's primary role is, but why a random plate of sushi 

 

Japanese boy: Lol is THAT more random or is THIS more random 

 

Japanese boy has sent a video. 

 

 

 

Louis knew he shouldn't attempt to prod on that triangle again. He really shouldn't. He'd have to do more effort to prevent himself from reacting. 

 

He proceeded to anyway. 

 

The very first thing he noticed, once the picture started moving, was a… black-haired Asian version of himself, sitting at a table, his dark brown eyes wide like saucers, dumbly staring at a much smaller copy of those rectangular luggage bags randomly sitting there amongst several of those plates of - this time real - food, as it was transported by another - also smaller - version of that contraption they called a conveyor belt. Someone else suddenly appeared in the picture, right beside Asian-him (?), as they reached for the small box thing, and- was that an Asian version of William?! 

 

Amidst it all, Albert's - or, well, his Japanese incarnation's - snicker could be heard. 

 

 

 

Kinich Saab: Lmao Louis.exe had stopped working (understandable, that luggage was so damn random lol) 

 

Kinich Saab: Why's it both Japan-him and Japan-Liam were there tho 

 

Japanese boy: Well, we siblings reincarnated as bros by blood

 

Japanese boy: I was the only one to remember, tho, so uh… 

 

Kinich Saab: Ouch 

 

Kinich Saab: Same for me, but with Mycky 

 

Kinich Saab: + He was only 3 years older not 7 

 

Kinich Saab: That was him you saw try to lift the sushi plate up btw 

 

Japanese boy: WHAT 

 

Japanese boy: NO NO NO SEND ME A FULL PIC OF HIM PLS I BEG YOU 

 

Kinich Saab: Will do if you send a full pic of Japan-Liam 

 

Japanese boy has sent a photo. 

 

Kinich Saab: Lol that was quick 

 

Kinich Saab has sent a photo. 

 

—————————

 

That was quick indeed. 

 

William wanted to pay attention to Louis' delicious stargazy pie, he really did, but this chat room was just that distracting. And the new - this time unmoving - pictures were adding to that. 

 

And yes, he knew it wasn't wise to interact with this blue tablet, he knew that there was a risk of the System realizing that he was in the known, and thus putting both Albert and Louis in danger. Who knew what that entity wanted, but letting William take all the information he needed was very obviously not one of them (or was it?). 

 

He couldn't resist. It wasn't just the Japanese version of himself on that picture. Louis and Albert were also there, all three of them widely grinning at the camera lenses, Japanese Louis sandwiched between the other two and holding a baby fox. The resemblance between all three siblings was striking; even without Albert having told Holmes beforehand, it was crystal clear that all three of them were blood-related. 

 

Not going to lie, it was a bit strange to see Albert with his hair so straight. And with a green strand standing out amongst that mass of black. And- how was it he was holding the camera by himself? What technology was that? 

 

The conversation between the two 'transmigrators' had already resumed, but the blonde suddenly found himself curious about how the youngest Holmes' twenty-first century incarnation looked like. And so, ignoring the background dread about the System, he (mentally) prodded on the following picture. 

 

And he wasn't disappointed. 

 

There the man was, looking so much like the version William had met on the Noatic, but with his raven hair much less curly than then. And, true to his description of himself, he had deep forest green eyes. He was grinning towards the camera lens, standing in front of a statue William couldn't recognize for the life of him. Also, true to the detective's promise, his brother was also there. William had yet to meet him directly, but he could imagine that the man would look similar to the one rolling his eyes in the picture. 

 

The professor ended up having to tear his eyes from the younger Holmes' face, lest he missed entirely the rest of the conversation. 

 

Imagine his surprise when the very first text sent after that photo ended up being this: 

 

 

 

Japanese boy: Aljsaslkfdfdsjklljfds he's so aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

 

Kinich Saab: I'm supposed to be the manchild simp here why's it I have a less violent reaction than you 

 

Japanese boy: Probs cos you actually can squeal outside of the chat I'm literally surrounded 

 

Kinich Saab: Nah I was just staring at Liam's face with a dumbass grin 

 

Japanese boy: Yea no surprise lol I mean you did jump off the whole-ass Tower Bridge after him 

 

 

 

He what?! 

 

 

 

Kinich Saab: Oh you shush 

 

Kinich Saab: When do you plan to confess tho 

 

Japanese boy: Wtf dude just because you love Will doesn't mean Mycroft's gonna love me 

 

Kinich Saab: Tf you even talking about have you seen him 

 

Japanese boy: Very little in this life 

 

Japanese boy: Imma get my ass shipped to prison anyway so yea no not a chance 

 

Japanese boy: Well yea I did receive notes from him in the prev time while I was sitting in prison, and I'm forever grateful, they kept me sane enough to continue atoning and all that. But not sure he was doing that out of any more than some level of respect or smth. Def not out of love. 

 

Kinich Saab: Unbelievable 

 

[Kinich Saab has changed Japanese boy's name to Dumbass.] 

 

Dumbass: Tf is that for 

 

Kinich Saab: Both Liam and you are so fucking oblivious it hurts my soul 

 

Kinich Saab: Before you say anything Ik Liam's gonna be blind af about this whole gay thing TOWARDS HIM he was exactly that while recovering in New York 

 

Kinich Saab: BEFORE YOU SAY ANYTHING yea Ik this ain't gonna be the same Liam but this is still Liam if there's anyone I know better than I know anyone else it's him 

 

Dumbass: What does Will's obliviousness have to do with me 

 

Kinich Saab: Havve you seen how prev version Mycky looked at you 

 

Dumbass: Yes? Like a normal guy? 

 

Kinich Saab: This is exactly what I mean. 

 

Kinich Saab: I pray to God that Louis didn't inherit you guys' obliviousness. 

 

Dumbass: ??? 

 

Dumbass: Hello??? 

 

Dumbass: Elaborate pls??? 

 

Dumbass: HELLO????? 

Notes:

There are several references in here, letting you guys to pick em up

Chapter 3

Notes:

Er… lol, here have some hint of angst, I guess. The angst I wanna write ain't here yet but it's mentioned

Dumbass: With all that weird talk about obliviousness, I completely forgot 

 

Dumbass has sent a photo. 

 

Kinich Saab: You??? Have??? A sushi-shaped luggage??? 

 

Dumbass: Wanted to follow the trend lol 

 

—————————

 

Done: Bruh 

 

Done: Forgot Myriam was no better than you 

 

Done has sent a photo. 

 

Done: He. Bought this. For 6yrs old American kid me. 

 

Dumbass: Lmfao he did not buy you a burger-shaped bag 

 

Done: He so fucking did 

 

Done: I'm so gonna get my revenge by beating up Mycroft's ass 

 

Dumbass: Good luck bro lol 

 

Done: Oh you forget that I technically have a bit more exp than him 

 

Done: Looking forward to testing my luck :)

 

Dumbass: On that note, bro, you got Mr. Watson as a flatmate yet? 

 

Done: Nope but today is the day 

 

Dumbass: Yo congrats now operation 'wink wink nudge nudge' can move forward 

 

Dumbass: Brace yourself btw :) 

 

Done: Oh fuck it's the trial thing ain't it 

 

Dumbass: :) 

 

 

 

William seriously wanted to go and give his oldest brother a betrayed look. Was it truly necessary to give the detective a head-up? 

 

He could only hope that the trial will be different enough from what the two transmigrators remembered. If it was the essential same, he was going to eat his hat. No joke intended. 

 

(He was still struggling to comprehend what was happening in the texts of the previous night concerning Holmes' intentions towards him. What did they mean the man had feelings for William? What did they mean he jumped off a literal bridge for the blonde? Why? What- 

 

Okay. He needed to focus on business. He'll come back to that one later.) 

 

((Perhaps not. His brain might actually implode.

 

This trial was an excellent distraction from that, if anything.)) 

 

 

 

Fortunately, God had decided to be merciful today and grant William his wish. 

 

 

 

Done: Wdym there's 1 more framed suspect 

 

Done: Bruh the hat looks so randomly-stolen-from-random-guy I'm sobbing 

 

Done: Tf is this 

 

Dumbass: Y'know I'm not supposed to help you, right? 

 

Done: Stfu just lemme put my thoughts here 

 

Done: … 

 

Done: Oi oi oi why the differences tf is happening 

 

Dumbass: Idk 

 

Dumbass: Truth to be told, in none of the 2 times I was all that involved in the planning 

 

Dumbass: Can't help you even if I wanted to 

 

Dumbass: Good luck amigo

 

Done: … 

 

Done: D'you think you can handle a Scotland Yard hate rant 

 

Dumbass: No thank you 

 

Done: Those fucking stupid braindead asses can't even go check their suspects' background before throwing them into prison damnit. What effort does it take to skim through the victim's less public deeds and skim through the suspect's history of interaction with the victim?? Okay, it takes sharper eyes to spot the less obvious on-field clues, but what does it take them to dig up background, THEY LITERALLY HAVE THE FUCKING RESOURCES FOR THAT!! THE CLUES ARE LITERALLY RIGHT IN THERE THE ACTUAL CULPRIT'S NAME MIGHT AS WELL BE SPELLED OUT LETTER BY LITERAL FUCKING LETTER Who tf thought it was a good idea to hire these fellas this is like giving 3yrs olds university math problems and expecting them to solve said math problems this hurts my fucking soul 

 

Dumbass: Aaaaaaaand he went and gave a hate rant anyway 

 

Done: Y'know what's funny 

 

Done: This ain't gonna be considered a perfect crime in 21st century bro 

 

Dumbass: Bro this is already not the perfect crime with you involved 

 

Done: Nah no I'm talking DNA tests 

 

 

 

That piqued William's interest. What was a DNA test? 

 

(Unfortunately, it wasn't as if the two men were going to give him an answer, they didn't even know they weren't alone in the chat room.) 

 

 

 

Done: Funniest thing is that I actually CAN conduct a DNA test given the materials I was a forensic pathologist with investigator consultant side-hustle 

 

Dumbass: Ok Mr. I'm-my-Liam's-perfect-nemesis 

 

Dumbass: Apart from that, you anywhere further in your trial yet 

 

Done: Yea everything actually kinda stayed in the same general frame if you don't count all the hustle Liam went through to frame a suspect +1 

 

 

 

"… William? Why're you nibbling on your hat?" 

"I promised myself I'd eat my hat if I ended up giving him a 'previous test copycat'. Or whatever he'd call it." The blonde answered his younger brother, and then resumed gnawing on his headwear's brim under said younger brother's nonplussed gaze. All his hopes, down the damned drain. Okay, half his hopes, but still. 

 

—————————

 

Done: When's the Fred guy arriving 

 

Dumbass: Why're you asking me 

 

Done: I'm bored 

 

Dumbass has sent a photo. 

 

Dumbass: Entertain yourself with this 

 

Done: Not like I'm not grateful but are you fucking kidding me why a photo of baby Japan-Liam 

 

Dumbass: You're Will's Simp #1 ofc you'd be entertained by a Will pic 

 

Done: Ok Mr. Mycky's Simp #1AKDFSLFKSFDSN

 

Done: WTF IS MYCKY DOING IN BAKER STREET 

 

Dumbass: Idk wtf is happening but there, more entertainment for you 

 

Dumbass: Just don't forget to send me a pic of him afterwards 

 

Done: THIS SO WASNT SUPPOSED TO BE HAPPENING NOW 

 

 

 

Mycroft swept his gaze across the street surrounding his little brother's flat, searching for that familiar mop of curly dark amongst the crowd and within the shadows of the hidden dark alleys. To his dismay, it took him so much longer than it usually did to find a glimpse of said mop covered under a dark blue coat, right before said glimpse disappeared further from his sight, becoming practically invisible. Seemed like Sherlock wasn't lying, when he had said he was now experienced enough to stand a chance against the older Holmes. 

 

That reaction in tandem with him exiting the carriage, in addition to that slippery sight, was everything he needed. Was everything he came for. The chat room was as real as it could get. 

 

Which meant, everything said in there was as real as it could get. 

 

Colonel Moriarty loved him. Romantically. Enough to have the System threaten his life as a way to placate the brunette. 

 

For some reason beyond his understanding, the director found himself overly focused on that particular detail. He didn't even know what to do with it, why did his mind decide to hyper-fixate on that? Please don't tell him it was because of repulsion, he liked to think of himself as particularly open-minded compared to most people of this era. On second thoughts, the idea of colonel Moriarty being in love with a man made nearly no difference in how Mycroft perceived him… It had to be specifically the colonel being in love with Mycroft himself, then. But what was he to do with that? 

 

He found he had no idea. 

 

(Somehow, he found himself envying Sherlock. He didn't even know why.) 

 

Having obtained what he wanted, the older Holmes decided to act out of character, once again, and entered the same carriage he had just gotten down from. A double-check was better than a single one. 

 

 

 

Done: Wtf 

 

Done: He??? Came to Baker Street??? Only to leave right away??? 

 

Done: I mean it could be cos he realized I wasn't in my flat but I'm literally right here??? Bro literally saw me damnit??? 

 

Done: Alert OOC alert OOC alert OOC 

 

Dumbass: If this continues this is gonna be the "OOC week" 

 

Done has sent a photo. 

 

Dumbass: Thanks 😃 

 

Done: Just don't physically squeal out of nowhere 

 

—————————

 

Dumbass: Are you fucking serious 

 

Done: What 

 

Dumbass: "Sorry, but I already promised someone that I'll catch the Lord of Crime in my own way." 

 

Done: Wtf you were listening??? 

 

Dumbass: I so fucking was dude I was there behind a wall 

 

Dumbass: Moving on 

 

Dumbass: Da fuck was that line poor Fred is now confused thanks to you 

 

Done: I just wasn't in the mood for "fuck you it ain't interesting to be given the answer" shit ok 

 

Done: Liam is on the line 

 

Done: Also I wasn't lying they just don't know it was to Liam himself that I made that promise 

 

Dumbass: Yea but what about the System, dude? 

 

Done: That mf can't do anything if what I said is too vague to be considered a clue 

 

Dumbass: … 

 

Done: … The System still punished you the last time you did that type of shit, didn't it 

 

Dumbass: … You might escape that, actually 

 

Dumbass: Your line's much more vague than what I tried 

 

Dumbass: Plus you don't have the OOC lock 

 

Done: … You still near that church? 

 

Dumbass: Yea 

 

Done: How about we go have a drink 

 

Dumbass: Lemme guess, a pub? 

 

Done: Welp. You have better go get yourself crappy clothes 

 

Dumbass: Where at what time 

 

 

 

True to Sherlock's words, it was a crappy pub like most others. Discrete, with quite a few inconspicuous corners to hide at. Most of the customers were crowding the center of the room, chatting and screeching away over poker. Even so, Albert was glad he had brought his ass over to the younger transmigrator's confrontation with Hope dressed in mediocre cotton, for quality suits and all that would bring eyes on him regardless of where he chose to sit. Now if only his body didn't automatically revert to the aristocratic demeanor that had been drilled onto it, the second he paid just a bit less attention to the way he acted. It was annoying, if anything. 

 

Sherlock was already there, at the entry, waiting for him, his hands in his pocket. Anyone who'd known only the pre-Final Problem version of him would find it slightly weird that the guy was just… standing there, peace on his face, with no cigarette in sight, but the brown-haired transmigrator knew better. And so, he stepped toward the detective. 'Stepped', because he was already near the door himself. 

 

"Yo." He began, feeling quite awkward. It was one thing to type up slangs and all that in his head, it was another thing entirely to speak them out loud when he hadn't been able to do so for twenty-seven years. 

 

Fortunately, the detective didn't nick-pick on that. Instead, he raised his fingers in greeting with an entirely relaxed demeanor. "Yo. That table there?" 

 

The spot he just designated happened to be one of those inconspicuous places Albert himself had spotted beforehand. So he shrugged, "Fine by me." 

 

Without another word, both men proceeded to walk up to that chosen table. Well, Albert did, Sherlock made a beeline for the bar, because obviously, what was the point of going to a pub and have no drink. Soon enough, they were settled as comfortably as they could, a beer in hand. Wine wasn't something they'd find in this kind of place, so the brunette didn't mind. 

 

(Also, he couldn't help noticing how the detective had started sitting down using actual aristocratic manners, switching to the more profane ones only halfway through the action. As though the former version was the one inscribed into his being, instead of the latter. 

 

And Sherlock had spent most of his life with William, in the previous version of their Victorian era lifetime. With William, who very obviously had been the one to teach him proper manners, even just within the three years of their absence. With William, for the sake of whom the dark-haired man had been willing to change his entire lifestyle from the one the overview of which Albert remembered Louis throwing hissy fits after hissy fits at. 

 

It seemed that, with the OOC lock removed so early on, the subconscious affected the body much more than one would've thought.) 

 

It was only then that Sherlock spoke up again, voice low enough not to attract attention, leaning in… to say the unexpected. "So. Go on. Talk your mouth off at me, and see if that works better than just DM-ing." 

 

Albert blinked. And then leaned in, too, a sweat threatening to break down his forehead. "Whaddya mean, 'talk your mouth off at me'? We're in a public space!" 

 

"That's still better than at my place." The detective was quick to point out. "John and Ms. Hudson could potentially walk in, there. Group behaviors are a mess, but crowd control techniques exist for a reason. And we have the noise to mask our own yapping." 

 

"Still!" 

 

"Look, we can still get back to my flat if it helps. But right now? Everyone is busy betting money at card games, so this is your best chance at letting off steam if you want to." 

 

It was true. Every customer ever was hustling themselves at the better-lit center, still screaming, some trying to denounce cheating. William's only peer would know better than his older brother if someone was paying any attention to them. 

 

Still, he needed to test the waters first. "Y'know you nearly gave away your more proper demeanors, right? If that was so obvious to me, what did Will say?" 

 

To that, the darker-haired man grinned, taking a sip of his beer. "T'was me relaxing a bit too much, actually. Liam still grilled me 'bout it on that boat, though, even with all the precautions I took. Trust him to see past me when nobody else does." He then sighed, "Unless we're talkin' about my feelings for him, of course. Was blind to it until I got him his first New York Christmas gift." 

 

Still nobody paying them an ounce of thought. So they just gotta be vague enough for their conversation to be interpreted as catch-up gossip, isn't it? 

 

Albert relented, and downed half of his beer in one go. And then stared at the now halfway-empty cup. "… Y'know, I'm envious. You don't even know how lucky you are." 

 

Sherlock perked up, serious and all ears, surely having already guessed what the brunette was going to talk about. 

 

Nonetheless, he said it. "Your lock got kicked off so early… y'know you'd have gotten your ass punished for that quote without that happening, right? And here I am, confined to the defined characteristics of the man I once was. Forced to leave my brother to suffer alone, because that past me had been too much of a coward to step up and dirty his hands without assistance." He looked up at the detective, pleading. "… We'll get him out of there, right?" 

 

The man nodded. "We'll get him out of there. I swear on everything I have." 

 

That reassured the noble just a bit more. "… You have my blessings, if you ever think of asking to live with him again." 

 

Sherlock snorted, "Not sure Lou does. If anything, he might kill me with a butter knife." 

 

"I'll hold him back if he tries it." Albert took another sip, his mood lifted by the topic. "He can be persuaded, anyway. Might be a lot of a mother hen, but he wants his loved ones to be happy." 

 

"Speaking of his loved ones," The detective raised a brow, "When d'you plan to ask him out? You have my blessings too, y'know." 

 

If Albert's body was any less trained, he might've spit out his beer on the spot. Instead, he just choked on the beverage, landing him a coughing fit. Stupid bodily reaction and its stupid restrains. 

 

"What the actual fuck, Sherlock." He managed after a good amount of coughing. "I thought we discussed this before! There's no guarantee he feels the same way! I haven't even interacted that much with him this time, the fuck are you on about!" 

 

To that, the darker-haired man gave him an unimpressed eyebrow raise. "Like brother, like brother. No wonder Liam's so oblivious." 

 

"Excuse me, why the hell are we talking about this?! I thought we were here to talk about how much that dog shit thing sucks ass!" 

 

"And we are here to talk about that. It's just…" Sherlock sighed, taking a sip of his beer, nearly slipping back to nobility manners in the process. "I don't actually know much yet about it, yet I dread it… I fear the knowledge of what it'd make me do to Liam to get what it wants. Perhaps that's what pushed me to sidetrack just now." He then cleared his throat, realizing his mistake, "Wait, gotta talk cockney, sorry. So, what's that dog sucker servin' apart from life threats?" 

 

"Nightmares." The aristocrat-in-disguise huffed. "The kind that serves ya trauma on a silver platter. I really don't think you'll get that right now, though. As I said, you were too vague and lacking a lock. Unlike me." 

 

"Meh. Unless Liam catches on that 'ere's some fishy shit goin' on with 'at line. Which is hella likely, 'at bloke's sharp as fuck." A sigh, and the guy took another sip. For someone supposed to act brash, he sure was taking his sweet time with his drink. "Ain't sound like nothin' I'd like 'a get, though." 

 

"Yeah, trust, you don't. Figure, last time I got that, t'was Mycky offing himself. Sounds unreal, but that does leave an everlasting impression, especially since, well…" 

 

"Since that one gave you as the cause?" 

 

"Yeah. That." 

 

The detective sighed. "Eh. Got a feeling I know exactly what that bastard's gonna serve me." 

 

… Albert had a feeling that he knew, too. 

 

It was going to be that, wasn't it. 

 

Before he could make any comment, though, a 'ping' resonated in his head. It was the System, because of course. The only other entity able to ping him was right in front of him, and it looked like the guy also got that. 

 

 

 

SYSTEM 001: @Dumbass @Done Important announcement! 

 

SYSTEM 002: The Chat Room feature now has an update! The Chat Room will be temporarily closed to Users as the update is downloaded and installed. 

 

Dumbass: ??? Now??? 

 

SYSTEM 001: It is most efficient to update as soon as possible. 

 

Done: How long will this take? 

 

SYSTEM 002: The update downloading process will take a few hours at least and a day at most. 

 

Done: Eh, as long as a phone takes, ok 

 

SYSTEM 001: The update will begin now, thank you for your patience. 

 

[SYSTEM 001 has removed Dumbass.]

 

[SYSTEM 002 has removed Done.]

 

[SYSTEM 001 has left the chat.]

 

[SYSTEM 002 has left the chat.] 

 

[SYSTEM ??? has temporarily closed the chat from public view.]

 

 

 

"… Ya saw that 'thing question mark' thing, right?" 

 

Albert was blinking, his head hung and supported by both of his hands, confused. "Yeah. Never heard of that one. And what does it mean, 'public view'?" 

 

"Dunno." Sherlock hummed, his hands joined in that pose the modern era fan community had long since designated as his signature one. "Whatever that is, it has been here since the beginning, possibly even before, since there's no mention of adding that to the chat just now. I suggest we continue as normal as to not alert the thing, we might not be supposed to have seen it." 

 

A groan pushed itself out of the aristocrat's throat, before he downed whatever remained of his drink. And then let the cup fall down with no care. "Why must it give us so many headaches." 

 

"Go ask it, not me." 

 

—————————

 

In the privacy of his office, Mycroft couldn't help but frown at the chat's sudden disappearance. 

 

Or, well, not 'disappearance', exactly. It was still there somewhere in his head. Practically invisible, just like Sherlock had been when the older sibling had paid his residential street a visit, but it was still there. 

 

Dimmed. Frozen. When it had been so visible and constant for nearly one week straight. 

 

He was now alone in his head once more. Omitting the faint presence remaining there, of course. 

 

It unsettled him. 

 

He couldn't see what Sherlock was doing anymore. He couldn't see what funny shenanigan (for the only crumb there was about information related to the Lord of Crime's actual future criminal activities was the list of 'obligatory plot points', which amounted to nearly no proper information, mind you) colonel Moriarty was up to anymore. He… 

 

He couldn't see how they were doing anymore. Emotionally and physically alike. 

 

It was going to be only for one day at most. It shouldn't make him this uneasy. 

 

Except it did. 

 

He hadn't realized how much he had come to rely on the chat to see if his new younger (older?) brother was fairing alright, in this one short week, even while unsure of this chat's credibility. At the very least, as long as the transmigrators were chatting away, Mycroft could read between the lines, gaze past the jokes they threw at each other to distract themselves from their surely difficult situation, and reassure himself on both of their well-being. 

 

And now, for the first time in almost one full week… he was alone in his head. 

 

And it unsettled him so much more than he'd have liked. 

 

He could only hope that it wasn't because the System had noticed him. 

 

—————————

 

"Is it gone? … No, I still can sense its presence…" Louis was mumbling, as much to himself as to his brother sitting just beside him. "Fainter, but… there." 

 

"Indeed." The older blonde was frowning, visibly as unsettled as Louis was. "You have noticed that new System appearing out of nowhere before the chat was closed, right?" 

 

The youngest Moriarty nodded. "… Brother? Do you think the System has noticed us?" 

 

"… I hope not. Even though it's likely, with that mention about public view." 

 

They both were hoping that it didn't. In the short… almost one week of spying on the chat, they'd gotten a glimpse of what the System's potential modus operandi was, and they both were almost sure that Albert would be in serious danger, were that entity to learn that anyone else than the 'Users' knew about its existence. If this update had occurred because of any reason related to that spying, they could only expect trouble. That scenario was only a possibility, but it was a possibility nonetheless. 

 

That, and… they both had severely underestimated how much that short week had gotten them so used to having the two transmigrators' constant chatter in their head. They had underestimated how much they had been relying on the chat as a means to check on their eldest brother's emotional wellbeing when he was talking his head off on that tablet. Now that they were deprived of said means… 

 

Louis shook his head. It was going to be merely for some hours, one day at most, he reminded himself. The chat would be back. With an update. Hopefully one that'd bring a positive influence to the two transmigrators. The possibility of that serving as a bargaining chip was better than to give them a punishment right away, it put them in less of an immediate danger. 

 

He clung onto that hope, that the chat would be back. For his own sanity, he had to. 

Notes:

Ok so:

1. You're so not fuckin tellin me that William wouldn't try to push the whole 'Sherlock in love with him' to the back of his mind and eventually perish the thought (or at least try to). Not doing that would be SO OOC for him what with him being the depressed lil angel he is lol

2. Y'all ain't gonna tell me that Sherlock didn't learn to be more mature in spirit either. The guy jumped down a fuck ass 200ft tall bridge for one blonde guy, why tf wouldn't he change the way he lives in its entirety when said blonde guy needs stability and smb that could take care of him

3. Hope Albert's frustration of still having the OOC lock got across lol I tried

Chapter 4

Notes:

This wasn't supposed to be entirely lighthearted in the first place but I really didn't intend to write a post-transmigration Sherlock self-study so soon your Honor. My hands slipped. I swear my hands slipped.

Fortunately for the sanity of everyone with a blue tablet in their head, the chat did come back after the promised one day. 

 

 

 

[SYSTEM 001 has joined the chat.] 

 

[SYSTEM 002 has joined the chat.] 

 

[SYSTEM 001 has added User 001.] 

 

[SYSTEM 002 has added User 002.] 

 

SYSTEM 001: Update complete! We hope Users will enjoy the new features! 

 

User 002: Bruh 

 

User 002: Couldn't you save our username 

 

[User 002 has changed User 001's name to Mr. Blind.] 

 

Mr. Blind: BRUH 

 

Mr. Blind: TF IS THIS FOR 

 

Mr. Blind: WHY YOU STILL INSISTING ABOUT MY LOVE LIFE STUFF CMON DUDE 

 

User 002: Because: 

 

[User 002 has changed their name to No shit Sherlock.] 

 

Mr. Blind: HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU HE DOESNT RECIPROCATE GODDAMNIT 

 

No shit Sherlock: You don't get to say anything, Mr. Blind. 

 

Mr. Blind: LISTEN HERE YOU LITTLE- 

 

No shit Sherlock: Oooh why don't we check the features 

 

[Mr. Blind has changed their name to Aristocrat.] 

 

[No shit Sherlock has changed Aristocrat's name to Mr. Blind.] 

 

[Mr. Blind has changed their name to Wine supremacy.] 

 

[No shit Sherlock has changed Wine supremacy's name to Mr. Blind.] 

 

[Mr. Blind has changed their name to Respect your senior, brat.] 

 

[No shit Sherlock has changed Respect your senior, brat's name to Mr. Blind.] 

 

Mr. Blind: Where tf did the serious mature Sherlock Holmes I had a drink with go I want him back 

 

 

 

It took William a lot, and he really meant a lot, to restrain himself from sighing in relief in front of Fred. 

 

"… William? Are you alright?" 

 

Oh damn, was he still that obvious? 

 

"I am." The blonde smiled reassuringly. 

 

That wasn't enough to sate the Moriarty mansion's youngest resident. "Are you sure? You were staring off to nowhere just now…" 

 

"I assure I am quite alright. I'm merely… distracted by some intrusive thoughts." 

 

That would technically be the truth. It was just that the 'intrusive thoughts' weren't actually a product of his mind. Fred didn't need to know that, though. 

 

And Fred didn't need to know just how much the reappearance of the chat, and the way the two transmigrators continued their banter as normal, alleviated William's worries. Okay, the lingering dread induced by the System's presence was still there, but more important than that right now was that the two men were actually alright. Who knew when Albert hid things from everyone else anymore. 

 

(Also… serious mature Sherlock Holmes? William had spotted glimpses of Holmes actually hiding his gentlemanly demeanor behind brash and nowhere-near-refined behaviors, and the texts he sent had an obvious Queen's English base behind the abbreviations and slangs, like Albert, but… did he, just like Albert nowadays, hide his true personality too? 

 

Just how'd Holmes act like without the System breathing down his neck? 

 

William felt like he was missing out on something. If only the System didn't insist on the 'plot'.) 

 

—————————

 

Mr. Blind: We ended up checking jack shit didn't we 

 

No shit Sherlock: Wouldn't have happened if smb here wasn't that obsessed with changing his username lol 

 

Mr. Blind: You stfu brat 

 

Mr. Blind: … 

 

Mr. Blind: Say… 

 

Mr. Blind: Why's it you kept your aristocratic manner? 21st century technically don't require those 

 

No shit Sherlock: That's one of the things I had left of Liam, so I kept going, Ig 

 

Mr. Blind: Man. 

 

No shit Sherlock: Got called Mr. Classy by Myriam multiple times for that but no regret 

 

No shit Sherlock: Speaking of Myriam 

 

No shit Sherlock has sent a video. 

 

Mr. Blind: Lmfao why is he squabbling with a literal bunny 

 

No shit Sherlock: Rip bro's slippers lmao 

 

No shit Sherlock: Gotta be curious about the new feature tho 

 

No shit Sherlock: Wait 

 

No shit Sherlock: Oh. 

 

No shit Sherlock: My. 

 

No shit Sherlock: Fucking. 

 

No shit Sherlock: God. 

 

No shit Sherlock has started a voice call. 

 

Mr. Blind: Omg we can do voice calls now??? 

 

Mr. Blind has accepted the voice call. 

 

 

 

«Ayo bwahahaaa welcome! We're telepath-ing, pal!»

 

Louis nearly dropped his spatula at the voice that came from absolutely nowhere except his own head. 

 

The two transmigrators were able to communicate with each other with their voice, now?! Just via the chat? Was this what 'voice call' meant in the twenty-first century? It had to be a concept from the twenty-first century, why would they react as if this was something coming back into their life otherwise? 

 

If Herder had gotten ahold of this chat, Louis was betting his entire skill set that the man would be elatedly fussing over this glimpse of future technology. 

 

«Holy shit. There is an actual voice call!»

 

It had been weird to see Albert write swear words for the first time. It was even weirder now to actually hear the brunette cuss. 

 

«I know, right?» Holmes was laughing. «Okay, this can't exactly be called a 'voice call', we're still keeping this in our head. I'd know, I'm keeping my mouth shut, John is, like, in the room right beside mine.» 

 

«Me too, I'm at the Army Ministry and all that. Kinda weird for a voice call, but who's gonna complain. This is going to be useful in the future. Knowing the System, though…» There was a groan resonating in Louis' head. «This might be a dangling carrot.» 

 

«Bruh, you really had it hard, eh?» 

 

«Yeah. Zero fond memory of that shit. Zilch. Nada. On an unrelated note, is that the only time Myriam fought a bunny over something?» 

 

Now that both of the noble's younger siblings were used enough to the two men's way of distracting each other, it had become so much easier to spot when they were doing exactly that. Right now was one of those instances. 

 

The detective snorted, «Oh, about that.» 

 

 

 

No shit Sherlock is streaming. 

 

 

 

«Just found out about this feature. The update sure has been thorough.» 

 

There the teenaged version of the man named Myriam was, displayed on that moving picture called videos (Louis was still so not used to this), once again shouting and chasing a light-brown rabbit (or was it actually blonde?) across the room they were in. The bunny, funnily enough, had a box of cigarettes between its teeth. Both Holmes' (or, well, Holmes' and Saab's) snickering and Albert's laughter could be heard, and only one was from the video itself. 

 

(Mycroft was blankly staring at the paperwork before him to preserve his composure, while his mind was torn between mirth and bemusement. Was it really possible for any version of him to act that silly?) 

 

«Funny just how silly not having a generational punishment on your shoulders can make you.» Holmes pipped up, fond amusement in his tone. «Guy wanted to see what was so enjoyable about smoking, since Dad did that a lot, but apparently our bunny Haxxor wouldn't have that.» 

 

Albert was still laughing. «Sounds like a- pfft- smart-ass little guy, that one.» 

 

«Let's see if you still think him smart after this.» 

 

 

 

No shit Sherlock is streaming.

 

 

 

It was that same rabbit… jumping straight into a bin. Near-vertically. In a way that almost succeeded in breaking Louis' much-trained straight face. 

 

(In another part of the house, William was trying - to very little success - to repress his giggles.) 

 

Albert himself was barking out a laugh. «Okay I take it back, your bunny is silly as hell!» 

 

«I have an entire album of him if you want.» 

 

And that was how both youngest Moriarty siblings (plus one eldest Holmes) ended up with their head filled full of bunny shenanigans for the rest of the day. 

 

—————————

 

"… And that's why you might want to resolve as many cases as possible." 

 

Sherlock sighed, giving up. He really didn't want the sheer popularity that would steam from his flatmate's obvious attempt at getting prose material for his novels, but at this point, what choice had he left? If it wasn't going to be Liam pulling the strings towards his own death, it was the System breathing down his neck and forcing him into the limelight for the sake of the 'plot'. What choice had he but to acquiesce? 

 

"Mng, fine. Go publish 'at announce or whatev'. Imma join ya later if ya need." 

 

John, thankfully, took it as the dismissal sign it was, and marched out of the room, not without a last word mostly there for himself, "So! Let's work hard!" 

 

And then he was gone. And boy wasn't there a lot more room to think when one was alone. (Either that, or the additional presence was soothing enough that large room for thinking was left, but Sherlock wasn't going to have the only person capable of that by his sides for a long, long time-) 

 

And so he thought. He thought, for it was the only action he could properly call his own, these times. 

 

It had been nearly five weeks since he transmigrated back to his… birth era? Original life? Can it even be called his original life anymore, even just counting his own input? and the System had been practically nothing but a nuisance ever since, going on and on with the 'plot' that, according to it, should be kept. And it considered Liam being miserable one of the plot points, apparently. 

 

Sherlock knew he was lucky that his OOC lock had been kicked off so soon, Albert was the proof of how shitty it was, being restricted to a (admittedly long) series of actions and personality traits that had brought cherished ones nothing but pain in the past. Still, the detective couldn't help but question it. What was the purpose of unlocking OOC for him? Why him, and not Albert? If anything, Sherlock was the one most likely to try pushing the events from their original happenstance, he knew he was quite the entitled bastard in nature (There was no correcting that flaw, it was what had helped him save Liam). Why give him so much more freedom, if the System wanted to keep the 'plot' on track? 

 

His gaze fell on his Stradivarius. One of the many perks of going back to his old life in the nineteenth century. 

 

Unfortunately, the perks could not outweigh the potential cost. They never will. The cost was too great. The cost was three lives. 

 

The very three lives he cherished the most. 

 

(Funny, how one didn't realize how much one held something dear, someone, until one actually lost that which one cherished.) 

 

The instrument found itself nestled on his shoulder. A tune had begun singing in the room, but Sherlock was deaf to it. He let his body play, let muscle memory take control of what his violin would voice. 

 

His mind was elsewhere. His mind was reaching towards a certain blonde professor. 

 

Liam. Liam was suffering. Sherlock would never claim to know just how much his beloved professor suffered, he wasn't him, but he knew of the nightmare. Of how, back in Brooklyn, Liam would be tormented by his past sins every single night, and seek refuge in either the candlelight or Sherlock himself. He remembered the shivering man he had held close each night, in the dark, himself desperately trying to help through whatever means he could. 

 

Liam had never truly gone and sought comfort in his brothers, in the previous timeline. The detective didn't doubt that he wouldn't do that in this one either. The man was so very stubborn on trying not to 'burden' his loved ones, to his own detriment. 

 

Liam was suffering. 

 

And for now, Sherlock could do nothing about it. He couldn't go and barge into any of the Moriarty residences to try comforting him. Screw the risk that the both of them be killed, by the Lord of Crime's organization and the System alike, Liam would not take that well. 

 

There was nothing he could do but wait. Bide his time, until the circumstances left room for Albert and him to intervene. 

 

He had never found himself so frustrated in his entire existence. 

 

All melody stopped. The violin was put aside, as its owner tiredly sat onto the room's loveseat with a sigh. This was getting him nowhere. Nothing would get him anywhere for quite a few months. 

 

Nicotine, his body needed nicotine. His body, his addicted body, was screaming for him to go get his pack of cigarettes. Or better yet, drugs. 

 

He resisted. He was an entitled bastard, yes, and hell if he didn't put that to use. A number amongst the select few people he held close to his heart needed stability. Falling back into his old addictions would be the surest way for him to fail them. 

 

He turned his mental gaze towards the System's chat room. One of the dangling carrots that fuck ass thing used to have the two transmigrators obey it. A perk that could transform into a devastating loss anytime, for this was the only way they had to freely provide each other emotional support. 

 

Emotional support that he knew Albert needed. Emotional support that he knew he himself might need one day. 

 

…

 

Would it hurt to go on the chat and try distracting himself? 

 

… 

 

It wasn't as if he hadn't been doing that all the time ever since the thing appeared. 

 

 

 

No shit Sherlock: I miss Liam 

 

I WANT MY WINE has sent a photo. 

 

No shit Sherlock: Al I appreciate your attempt but I wasn't talking about Japan-Liam 

 

I WANT MY WINE: I have a total of zero photo of blonde Will in my library, sorry dude 

 

No shit Sherlock: Lol you might get strangled by Lou if he ever finds out about you sending me Liam pics 

 

I WANT MY WINE: Not like he'll ever find out with the System but ok fair 

 

No shit Sherlock has sent a photo. 

 

I WANT MY WINE: Thx! Teheheheheheheheheheheh

 

No shit Sherlock: Suddenly I fear for that dearest brother mine 

 

 

 

Bah. Mycky would manage. 

 

(It was kind of funny how the actual meaning of the word 'simp' would have applied to Albert if Mycroft hadn't returned his feelings in kind in the previous timeline. Unless one was talking about showing it, of course. Either Mycroft was even more emotionally constipated than Sherlock thought, or Albert was just that blind. 

 

And yes, Sherlock was fully confident that his stuck-up brother would also reciprocate in this life. He didn't have tangible proof… but that was what fraternal intuition did, one could guess.

 

And they will get together this time around. He'll make sure of it.) 

 

—————————

 

[100th case has changed their name to WAIT IS OVER.] 

 

WAIT IS OVER: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN 

 

WAIT IS OVER: (ignore the 'ladies' part pls) 

 

WAIT IS OVER: AFTER ENTIRE MONTHS OF RESOLVING MISERABLE NOTHINGS, HERE WE ARE 

 

WAIT IS OVER: TODAY IS THE DAY 

 

I WANT MY WINE: Lmao you still remember the exact day you met Will on the train? 

 

WAIT IS OVER: Of fucking course I do lol this is the first case Liam and I solved together 

 

WAIT IS OVER: I just hope the System won't butt in and decide that I gotta be an asshole to John today I don't need my joy to be so mercilessly murdered 

 

I WANT MY WINE: Nah you have no OOC lock the System won't be buggering you on that one 

 

I WANT MY WINE: Is your hair still a bird nest 

 

WAIT IS OVER: ??? No??? 

 

WAIT IS OVER: You have no idea how uncomf it was for the 3 first weeks, I got too used to a decently-combed ponytail 

 

I WANT MY WINE: There. 

 

I WANT MY WINE: You'd be in trouble for those details if you still had the OOC lock. 

 

WAIT IS OVER: Just wanna be sure you know I share your opinion, the System sucks ass 

 

WAIT IS OVER: I gotta kick my ass off my bed if I wanna get there in time tho 

 

 

 

It was hella easy to get time alone in 221B. It had been so, so easy to get that, ever since he got his flatmate back, with how considerate John was, and how Sherlock had been actually paying rent for the last months with the stable income trickling down his pockets from resolving (already boring in the past, now even more bland (the only difference was that he now had enough patience to endure it. Liam had needed his time, and the only way for a human being to be capable of giving of their time was to be patient)) cases after cases. 

 

Just like now. The doctor had just disappeared to the lower floor, leaving Sherlock alone to his thought, just like he had requested. 

 

He remembered nearing madness, back then when he had gotten to this point for the first time. Building frustration, the frustration of chasing an unreachable shadow, had stacked, until it had become too much for a mind that had yet to have the patience it took to deal with said frustration. 

 

(He hadn't truly needed that patience, until Liam came in with his package of sufferings and traumas, the kind that needed its victim to have a stable pillar to rely on in order to heal from. Would things have been different, if Mycroft hadn't shielded him that much from the Holmes' generational punishment?) 

 

Now? Now, it was just a blank. There was joy from knowing that he'd meet Liam again today. There was joy… a joy that was too easily squashed by his knowledge of the blonde suffering all this while, of his own inability to do anything about it. 

 

Okay, it wasn't a blank. It was just as frustrating as back then, just in a different way, for a different reason. But Sherlock would manage. He had to. 

 

On the bright side, his body's begging for nicotine and drugs was less violent, now. Much less violent. It was still there, it was still insistent, but more muted. That was something. 

 

But he digressed. Today's topic wasn't how well he was fairing; today was the day he'd see Liam again. But for that to happen…

 

Sherlock's gun was in his hand, barely one second after that thought. Helped that he permanently kept it hidden on his person nowadays. 

 

Lestrade should be nearby by now. If Sherlock wanted to get his attention, now was the best time. 

 

Sorry, Ms. Hudson, but being an ass to this house is the only way to go. 

 

It was absurdly easy to imagine the System's screen, hovering on that targeted wall, daunting. Constantly whispering into his brain the consequences that'd result from him fucking up. It was too easy to pull the trigger on that imagined blue screen, on which missions were written and B-points were flaunted, a reminder of what would happen if the amount fell to zero. 

 

(Liam would die. Mycky would die. John would die, never to meet the love of his life.) 

 

It was so easy to let his frustration show, as the two other inhabitants of 221B barged in, panicked by the sound of gunshot. Seated on the loveseat's armrest, he waited, remaining unresponsive to the two worried individuals eyeing him. 

 

He remained unresponsive until Lestrade came barging in, sweating buckets. 

 

He didn't even leave the inspector any time to process what may have happened. "Took your sweet time. Care to tell me 'bout any case related to nobles?" 

 

—————————

 

WAIT IS OVER: Just to verify, Liam's gonna be on that train today right 

 

STOP ASKING: This. Is. The twenty-fourth time you've been asking that. In the span of three hours. 

 

STOP ASKING: Three. Fucking. Hours. Sherlock. 

 

STOP ASKING: You know he's gonna be there why tf do you even ask 

 

WAIT IS OVER: I'm nervous damnit 

 

WAIT IS OVER: The Hope debacle already diverged from prev time. What's telling me he's gonna be there 

 

STOP ASKING: I am. Telling you I mean 

 

WAIT IS OVER: Thx 

 

WAIT IS OVER: Alleluia the System didn't make me piss John off 

 

STOP ASKING: Called it 

 

STOP ASKING: Enjoy your not-date 

 

WAIT IS OVER: Wtf bro this is too early 

 

 

 

It was growing increasingly more difficult to ignore the fact that Holmes apparently harbored romantic feelings for William, and had one of his brother's full blessings. Especially right now. 

 

William was trying to mask his idiotic staring at his plate, he really was. But really, what was he to do when his head was constantly invaded by either pictures of his own Japanese self and Mr. Holmes the eldest's American self, texts gushing about said pictures (primarily in Albert's case. Holmes was much more controlled, much to Louis' surprise. It took next to nothing to figure out that it was because Albert had hidden his feelings from the world for two lifetimes straight, only really being able to talk about it now, but did Holmes not have to do the same? (William was adamantly ignoring the implications that no, it wasn't the case)), or instances like… this one. Where that traitorous eldest brother of his was straight up spelling out his blessings and well-wishes. 

 

That made the professor nervous, if anything. What if he wasn't the 'Liam' Holmes expected him to be? Would he lose interest? That would be bad for the Lord of Crime's plan… 

 

(Please don't lose interest don't leave me don't please-)

 

Any hope of having just a bit more time to prepare himself went up in smokes the second he caught a glimpse of that dark-blue vest in a corner of his eyes. There the man was, standing in the doorway, his stance not quite elegant but far from the brash mask he'd worn the day they first met by a long shot, staring directly at him. It was a chance William was facing the door where his nemesis would come from, but he couldn't help but shift a bit at the sheer intensity of the man's gaze on him, even from afar. 

 

Apparently, that was enough to tell Holmes that the blonde had spotted him. As expected of the peculiar individual William had met on the Noatic. 

 

The detective crossed the compartment towards William, practically hooping like a rabbit (joke intended), contrasting entirely the calm demeanor he had previously adopted. William really would have to side with Albert on this one; now that Holmes was allowed to act out of an already defined past self's character, why did he insist on keeping his uncouth facade? Why not just act like the man he had become, instead of spending any amount of effort putting on an act all the time? Was this because there were still restrictions Albert hadn't been told about for he was still under OOC lock? 

 

Although… there were elements that contradicted the way the man acted. His hair, as Albert had unknowingly gotten his little brothers the information just this morning, was well-combed and well-kept, unlike the bed head William remembered seeing on the Noatic. The same could be said for his clothes; the closer he came, the more apparent it was that all the pieces he was wearing had been ironed with care. 

 

It seemed that he did, in fact, make use of his lack of OOC lock. 

 

If Holmes had noticed that William had noticed the contradictions present on his appearance, he gave no hint of it. Instead, he went to sit down right beside Louis (the face he made even though he knew Holmes was going to get to them at one point was honestly quite the funny one), rather impolitely so. 

 

"Yo, professor! What a coincidence, eh?" 

 

(Coincidence my ass, Louis wanted to blurt out. He really had learned a lot from his eldest brother… and certainly not for the best.) 

 

Well, William had nothing better to do anyway. Holmes had said they'd be resolving a case on this train? The blonde would help him stall for time until it happened. 

 

"… You're… the consulting detective I met on the Noatic… Sherlock Holmes, am I right?" 

 

"Excuse me, we're eating." Louis tried, not too happy about this despite all the reassurance William had given him beforehand. "May I ask you to-" 

 

Only, he was interrupted. "But the dessert hasn't arrived yet. Just listen to me first, okay?" 

 

The poor youngest Moriarty wasn't appealed by the idea in the slightest. But William had set a little mission for himself. And Holmes' company wouldn't hurt, anyway. 

 

(He wanted to stay with Holmes. He wanted to know what it felt like, to resolve mysteries by the detective's side.) 

Surprisingly enough, as Holmes spun some story about having come to investigate about a noble's death (that tale surely came from the previous version of events), the chat remained silent. Was it because Albert, the damned traitor, wanted to give his fellow transmigrator some space to talk with his little brother? 

 

(Was it because Holmes wanted to give William all of his attention?)

 

—————————

 

WAIT IS OVER: Aaaaaand here comes the case 

 

STOP ASKING: Are you gonna cheat for this one 

 

WAIT IS OVER: Lol nah I barely even remember any detail beyond 'John got framed' and 'Liam solved it with me' 

 

 

 

Louis couldn't help but blink. Holmes could remember the exact date this had happened in the previous version of events, the train he had taken, even the exact story he had told William in another lifetime (there was no way the detective they knew from the chat had actually gone to York for that), and the fact that his best partner was framed, but he couldn't remember the rest of how it all had gone?? 

 

That man sure was selective in what he registered. 

 

For some reason, William had decided to play along and entertain the detective, even though this wasn't their business. Perhaps was it because he was amused? Perhaps was it because he planned to use Holmes' feelings to his advantage? 

 

… Perhaps not. There were a lot of things Louis' beloved brother would do, but this wasn't one of those. 

 

The youngest Moriarty held no interest in this case, but he trusted his brother's judgment. Perhaps it was a good idea to go ahead and indulge the detective, after all. 

 

Now if only he'd send his deductions onto the chat. Louis needed to know if Holmes really was William's peer. 

 

—————————

 

WAIT IS OVER: Lmao those gloves don't even have any hole 

 

WAIT IS OVER: Gotta wonder if the trace of blood on his glasses are really Redwood's or if it's Liam's tho 

 

[STOP ASKING has changed their name to Context pls???.] 

 

 

 

It took William a lot to not quirk up a brow. No, he wasn't talking about Holmes noticing the trace of blood he had left before he himself pointed it out, if anything, that was to be expected, with the man being the closest thing he could witness to being a time-traveler. No, he was talking about the former observation. Why send that one on the chat instead of directly saying it to the audience's face? Not to mention, the man did actually know how William worked. There really was no lie on that chat, was there. 

 

Was Holmes waiting for William to point it out himself? 

 

 

 

WAIT IS OVER: Ok nah it's Liam's blood 

 

WAIT IS OVER: That bastard (fondly) 

 

Context pls???: <- Hello??? 

 

WAIT IS OVER: The case Liam & I are on 

 

WAIT IS OVER: Some jeweler got accidentally murdered by a train staff member 

 

WAIT IS OVER: Apparently Liam went to meet all staff members, there's a trace of blood on each of them 

 

Context pls???: Ok Mr. I-know-my-Liam-too-well but why're you yapping in here instead of doing whatever you're supposed to be doing (ignore my having requested for context lol 😅) 

 

WAIT IS OVER: I AM technically doing what I'm supposed to be doing, I'm waiting for Liam's comment 

 

 

 

He was. 

Well then, time to shine, wasn't it? 

 

—————————

 

Hours later, way past midnight, in his bed in London, Louis was still very much awake and one hair away from kicking and tossing around. 

 

Holmes was truly an equal to William, that much was clear as day if he managed to notice such small details as those blood traces, but to deduce right away that it was William's doing, just like that? With not even a second of hesitancy before? 

 

Just how close had he been to his brother? 

 

—————————

 

Mycroft was only halfway out of the royal reception hall when this showed up. 

 

 

 

SYSTEM 001: @Context pls??? IMPORTANT NOTICE: The quest "A Scandal in the British Empire" has begun for User 001! Mission: obtain ally 'Irene Adler' and successfully convince the public of her death! Reward for successful completion: +5'000 B-points. Sanction for failure: -10'000 B-points; death of Mycroft Holmes. 

 

WAIT IS OVER: ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING US 

 

[Context pls??? has changed their name to Fuck the System.] 

 

Fuck the System: I wish it was. 

 

Fuck the System: Apparently it wouldn't take away more than double the points it gives but it doesn't want to give too many points either so it does this. 

 

[WAIT IS OVER has changed their name to System is a prick.] 

 

System is a prick: I'm gonna get that treatment very soon Ig 

 

System is a prick: Good luck bro 

 

Fuck the System: Thanks. 

 

 

 

It was by sheer willpower that he didn't stop right in his track, keeping his pace steady as he fully exited the hall instead. 

 

… Well damn. He really had planned to keep his brother out of this. 

Chapter 5

[Fuck the System has changed their name to Mycroft supremacy.] 

 

Mycroft supremacy: Oh my gyat he's so beautiful 

 

System is a prick: For the love of God pls focus on whatever tf is happening on site I beg you 

 

Mycroft supremacy: I am focused 

 

System is a prick: No you aren't you're in here in this chat 

 

Mycroft supremacy: Bruh I just opened the door for him dude gimme some time 

 

System is a prick: I srsl don't know which would be worse, you not paying attention to what he might be saying or you spamming gayness the second you so much as SEE him 

 

System is a prick: More reasons to try having you confess 

 

Mycroft supremacy: Wtf dude we already talked about this 

 

System is a prick: We didn't now get tf outta here 

 

 

 

Mycroft seriously didn't know how he managed to keep a straight face. Especially with the text that had been sent the very second (former) colonel Moriarty had laid eyes on him after having opened the door. Was it just experience or was it the looming threat of raising the Earl's eyebrows? 

 

(Moriarty called him beautiful holy fu-)

 

"Mr. Director…" Earl Moriarty greeted, politely smiling, no sign of that internal gushing on his face (either because he was just that good, or he had experience. For some reason, even though the latter was more likely, Mycroft wished it wasn't the case). "When I receive a telegram right before dawn, announcing an urgent visit from your part, the least I'd expect is for this to be for a matter of high importance." 

 

… Right. He wasn't supposed to have already known what Mycroft came here for. 

 

And who knew what the System might do to both the youngest (eldest??) Holmes and the eldest Moriarty, if Mycroft left in the open any hint about him being aware of its existence. 

 

"Then I shall reassure you right away, M. I wouldn't have allowed myself to drag you out of bed before dawn if this case wasn't a serious one." 

 

"Mm. My apologies for having doubted you, then. You'd only come to the MI6 personally for important matters anyway… Please come in." 

 

 

 

System is a prick: I just had a thought 

 

System is a prick: If the System considers our whole life to be nothing but plot, it should be something akin to game lore with how the bastard work, shouldn't it 

 

System is a prick: In that case, Mycky should be something like a quest-giver NPC, no? 

 

System is a prick: Why is it the System announced that mission before he got to you then 

 

Mycroft supremacy: Dunno but perhaps it might've been triggered by the Queen herself 

 

Mycroft supremacy: If we follow that line of logic, then pretty much any non-transmigrator would be a quest-giver NPC, so it'd make sense she herself is one 

 

Mycroft supremacy: More importantly, HOLY HELL THAT SHARP GAZE 

 

System is a prick: Are you fucking serious 

 

 

 

(It was amusing to see how upside-down reality was compared to Mycroft's expectations, actually.) 

 

—————————

 

Mycroft supremacy: Ok ok more importantly 

 

Mycroft supremacy: That's it I officially got the Adler mission 

 

System is a prick: Glad to see you actually were focusing on Mycky's speech 

 

Mycroft supremacy: I had to dude I literally forgot the specifics it's been too long 

 

System is a prick: Wait 

 

System is a prick: Is he gone 

 

Mycroft supremacy: He so fucking is why'd I be able to type if he wasn't 

 

System is a prick: Oh I dunno you were gushing over him just earlier 

 

Mycroft supremacy: That's because we weren't discussing the actual serious matter yet ok?

 

Mycroft supremacy: Gotta go ask Fred to investigate about her tho, we aren't even sure she's going to pull the "live at Sherlock Holmes'" coup 

 

System is a prick: Gotta reassure you on that point: she WILL be pulling that coup. That's the ult plan she could pull to try protecting herself 

 

System is a prick: Knowing her, I won't be able to refuse at all 

 

System is a prick: Speaking of her, she's gonna be my quest-giver for sure, no way Mycky turning up to warn me about her is gonna be anywhere near enough to make HIM the quest-giver here 

 

Mycroft supremacy: Apparently the Queen asking Mycroft to get that document back was enough to make her my quest-giver so who knows 🤷

 

Mycroft supremacy: Regardless I gotta go ask Fred to find the girlie, it'd be weird for me to know where the heck she is without having moved a finger beforehand 

 

System is a prick: Fair 

 

System is a prick: Wish me luck for enduring the taste of defeat 

 

Mycroft supremacy: ??? I thought you were experienced enough to deal with him now??? 

 

System is a prick: Me defeating him just like that is going to raise eyebrows, this is Mycroft fucking Holmes we're talking about 

 

System is a prick: Better try to go progressive, that'd blur away any suspicion a bit more 

 

Mycroft supremacy: Then good luck in that endeavor lol 

 

 

 

Within the privacy of his carriage, Mycroft frowned. 

 

All this while of being excited to see what his brother was now able to do, and then they were telling him said brother was planning to hide his capabilities? Now it wouldn't do! Mycroft wanted to see how far his brother had progressed! And to say that he had complied to the previous version of event, by asking his carriage driver to go to Baker Street, specifically for that! 

 

No, nuh-uh, it wouldn't do at all! 

 

No, it was still possible to force Sherlock into showing his progress. Mycroft's best bet would be combat prowess, since it was significantly easier for a person to play dumb than to play weak. It was easier to set up the circumstances for someone to show their physical abilities, and much, much more difficult to set the right circumstances for someone to show their intelligence in broad daylight. Especially if said someone was skilled in deceit. Mycroft only knew what twenty-four year-old Sherlock was capable of, not what one-hundred-and-two year-old Sherlock was capable of, he had to be prepared for anything. 

 

With that decision in mind, the frown on the eldest (??) Holmes' eyebrows eased. 

 

Sherly better be prepared for a particularly ferocious Mycroft barging in. 

 

—————————

 

"Sherlock! Read your letters later! The breakfast Ms. Hudson prepared for us will be cold!" 

 

"Yeah yeah." Sherlock replied absentmindedly, opening his letter without a single second damn thought. 

 

John sighed. It had always been like that, ever since he moved into 221B, Baker Street, with Sherlock. The man constantly acted eccentric and brash and utterly impolite, and seemed to be elsewhere a big half of the time, surely daydreaming about resolving cases related to that Lord of Crime. Yet, there was some consideration in some of the things he did. Like right now, with him stuffing his egg right into his mouth as he read that letter he had in hand, half-heeding the doctor's words. 

 

Seriously, couldn't the man fully commit to it like with his cases, instead of doing most things only halfway? 

 

"Speakin' o' food, John, ya should prob' reduce yer portions or somethin'. Or exercise more. Or both. Ya gained seven pounds, innit." 

 

Typical Sherlock, dropping facts you were sure would go unnoticed just like that as if it was a mundane exercise. 

 

"Wh- How did you know?!" 

 

"Yer belt, now go exercise, yer a doctor damnit." 

 

His belt? His belt?? The guy pointed out his belt and expected him to figure out the rest?? 

 

Before John could say anything, though, someone knocked at the entry door. 

 

"Sounds like someone's at the door downstairs." He stated, "I'll go." 

 

"Don' forget ter repeatedly run up 'n down the stairs!" 

 

John was only half-listening to that sentence (the guy sure knew which exercise was effective) as he went and opened the door. "Yes? How may I help you?" 

 

It was… someone looking a lot like Sherlock? But, like, more elegant? 

 

"Good day. Is Mr. Holmes in?" 

 

"Yes." The doctor replied, "You're a client, I suppose? Come in, may I take your coat?" 

 

The man complied easily. "You're the doctor who came back from Afghanistan?" 

 

"You've read my books, I see." 

 

The man pleasantly hummed. "This is rather impudent of me to say, but one shouldn't neglect one's own health. You have gained seven pounds, it seems…" 

 

John stopped dead in his track. 

 

"H… How did you know?" 

 

"Your belt is old, yet you're using a new hole." The man replied, still politely smiling. "A simple calculation taking into account your waist measurement and height does the rest… It is seven pounds, isn't it?" 

 

This deduction?? Sherlock had pointed out the writer's belt as a clue… had he used that same method too?? 

 

"Who are-" John was about to ask… 

 

Only to find the guy already climbing up the stairs. "I'll show myself upstairs, if you will allow it…" 

 

"Wait what?!" 

 

But he didn't have time to actually do anything. The man was already up, and kicking the door to the room where Sherlock was still having breakfast. The next second, loud brawling noises ensued. Hastily, the doctor jumped his way up the stairs, and barged into the room to find both men fighting each other. And, okay, he'd have gushed about the absolutely precise techniques they were both using in any other circumstances, but even ignoring that right now said techniques were being performed too rapidly for him, this was a stranger damnit! 

 

He had to stop this somehow! 

 

Before he could even begin to think of any action in the first place, a loud slam was heard, and the stranger was on the floor, straddled and held down by Sherlock. 

 

"Heh. Me win, for once. Gettin' rusty, big bro?" 

 

—————————

 

System is a prick: ALERT WEIRDNESS ALERT WEIRDNESS ALERT WEIRDNESS 

 

Mycroft supremacy: ???? Explain 

 

System is a prick: Mycky??? Was??? Forcing me to defeat him??? As in not even like the usual brawl??? As in he suspects me of hiding something???

 

System is a prick: Ik this has been 24 years since I last fought him but wtf 

 

 

 

Mycroft had half a mind to just blurt out a cuss. 

 

Sherlock had noticed. And here he was, thinking that the physically-younger man wouldn't. 

 

At least his brother was giving him an excuse. 

 

 

 

System is a prick: Is it because I was too obvious??? 

 

Mycroft supremacy: Bro I'm not even there I have 0 idea of what he could be thinking 

 

Mycroft supremacy: Sorry but I can't help 

 

 

 

Sherlock had already gotten off him. "So? Ain't ya no gettin' up?" 

 

"Heh, I am." Mycroft huffed, standing up and dusting himself, smiling. Genuinely so. What, allow him to be a proud big brother! (Even though said brother was technically older than him, of sorts-) "Finally decided to give me a taste of defeat? Six hundred seventy-two to one in my favor." And, as Sherlock would judge him out of character for not doing so, he added, "I have got to wonder, though, where did you learn that technique?" 

 

 

 

System is a prick: Halp he sniffed up my Aikido 

 

Mycroft supremacy: You??? Think??? I??? Would know??? What to do??? With that??? 

 

 

 

"Heard some interestin' yap somewhere 'bout usin' yer opponent's strength against 'em, so I did some lookin's on the topic." Was the answer Mycroft was given outside of the chat. Hmm, perhaps he'd have to do some readings on his own about this 'Aikido' technique Sherlock had mentioned. Interestingly, Earl Moriarty seemed familiar with that name too… Asking him would be a risky idea, though. 

 

It probably wasn't the only thing Sherlock used to defeat him, but Mycroft couldn't recall what else to point out, despite racking his brain to full capacity, so he gave up on that endeavor. Instead, he observed everything else about his brother, as said brother huffed up a quick introduction of him to his flatmate. 

 

The flat itself? Tidy, contrasting entirely with the one Mycroft had last seen nearly a year ago, but that could be attributed to Dr. Watson, so it couldn't be a valid clue into a glimpse of that gentleman demeanor the two transmigrators had mentioned once or twice. The clothes? Could be a valid hint, they were better-ironed than the last time he had properly seen the man (no the 'trial' instance didn't count, what was he to do when he could only see a glimpse of his brother for not even half a second). The hair, as had been mentioned much more recently, was well-maintained and- wait, had Sherly actually been using hair conditioner? 

 

Not to mention… Sherlock seemed to actually have been getting off both drugs and cigarettes, if his healthier skin tone and the lack of cinders in the ashtray were anything to go by. Probably since… that same month when the chat had appeared in Mycroft's head for the first time. 

 

His posture? His dialect? Mycroft had better look anywhere else. Literally anywhere else. The transmigrator was a good actor if he had ever seen one. Perfect cockney, no hint of that abbreviated and slang-stuffed Queen's English anywhere near his vocabulary. His stance, as he went and sat on his loveseat, was careless and improper as the government worker remembered, showing no hint of refinement anywhere no matter how much he squinted. It was a lost cause, searching there. 

 

And so, he stopped searching. And started internally lamenting about how he'd have to wait three years at least to see his little brother act like a proper gentleman. 

 

—————————

 

System is a prick: Ik you wouldn't be able to help me even if you tried but 

 

System is a prick: Is that me or was he searching for something 

 

 

 

It took Mycroft everything to keep a steady pace as he exited the building of 221B. 

 

Sherlock had noticed. Mycroft could only hope that the System saw nothing. 

 

 

 

Mycroft supremacy: Might be because you've let something slip somewhere? 

 

System is a prick: Possible, but why that slight disappointment in his stance then 

 

 

 

He really would have to be careful the next time he faced the transmigrated detective, wouldn't he. 

 

 

 

SYSTEM 002: @System is a prick IMPORTANT NOTICE: The quest "A Scandal in the British Empire" has begun for User 002! Mission: deliver Irene Adler to the Lord of Crime and successfully convince the public of her death! Reward for successful completion: +5'000 B-points. Sanction for failure: -10'000 B-points. 

 

System is a prick: YOU FUCKASS I ONLY HAVE 5300 POINTS DO YOU ACTUALLY HATE LIAM THAT MUCH 

 

 

 

This. Was. The second time. A quest got triggered while Mycroft was crossing a doorway. In one day. 

 

 

 

Mycroft supremacy: This is literally still in the morning?? Didn't Adler arrive at your flat at nighttime last time?? 

 

System is a prick: Gotta be the letter, I picked it back up right after Mycroft kicked his own ass out of my flat and the System sent me THIS 

 

System is a prick: @SYSTEM 002 You can go fuck yourself 

 

Mycroft supremacy: I wish it would 

 

—————————

 

System is a prick: Omg that neck the lack of adam apple I should've noticed it sooner 

 

Mycroft supremacy: You didn't notice it the first time??? 

 

System is a prick: I SO DIDNT THE ABSOLUTE SHAME 😭 

 

System is a prick: Now I gotta hide the fact that I know it's her damnit 

 

Mycroft supremacy: Just spit out what you said last time 

 

System is a prick: I don't even remember what I said bro 😀 

 

Mycroft supremacy: Ok fair but still 

 

 

 

If Mycroft could count on an advantage provided by this chat, and a gargantuan advantage at that, it was that he could directly follow what was happening in real time, when the transmigrators kept consistently texting each other. Like they were right now. 

 

 

 

System is a prick: Lmao I forgot how hilarious her story was 

 

Mycroft supremacy: Are you even listening?? 

 

System is a prick: I am. An advantage of being able to multitask if anything 

 

Mycroft supremacy: Then what was that silence while on the train huh? 

 

System is a prick: Liam. 

 

System is a prick: Self-explanatory. 

 

Mycroft supremacy: Ok bro 

 

System is a prick: Bruh John looks so tempted by the 1'000 bucks Idk if I should like act impressed or smth

 

Mycroft supremacy: Don't do anything, it'll have you look cooler 

 

System is a prick: Lmao "don't do anything" I still have to accept the mission buddy 

 

System is a prick: Anyway 

 

[System is a prick changed their name to Mission FIRE.] 

 

Mission FIRE: Let the operation "burn Adler's house" begin! 

 

Mycroft supremacy: YOU BURNED HER HOUSE???????

 

Mission FIRE: I thought you knew 

 

Mycroft supremacy: I DIDNT I JUST KNEW ADLER SOMEHOW CONVINCED YOU TO LET HER LIVE AT YOUR HOUSE 

 

Mission FIRE: Uh now y'know Ig 🤷

 

Mycroft supremacy: SHERLOCK 

 

Mission FIRE: Look it wasn't my fault ok she had probably prepared something that easily caught fire as one of the many traps she must've had there 

 

Mission FIRE: The difference is that this time I'll actually do it on purpose 🙂 

 

Mycroft supremacy: I'm srsl torn between wishing you luck and just giving you the silence treatment 

 

—————————

 

Mycroft supremacy: How's it going pal 

 

Mission FIRE: It's kinda funky acting as a brash prick trying to act like a gentleman but I'll manage 

 

Mission FIRE: I might've made the mistake of tying my tie correctly first try in front of John tho like I'm not supposed to remember how to do that shit 

 

Mycroft supremacy: Lmao at least he isn't the type of guy to question it 

 

Mission FIRE: Yeah, but there's the possibility of him beginning to question it if I ever have to act like I forgot how to put on a tie in front of Ms. Hudson 

 

Mission FIRE: Or Mycky 

 

Mission FIRE: Or Liam but that's the least likely rn 

 

Mycroft supremacy: Would you be able to convincingly fumble on the tie tho 

 

Mission FIRE: … 

 

Mission FIRE: Ok no I wouldn't 

 

Mission FIRE: Speaking cockney? Acting careless? Leaving some buttons out? Fuck yea no problemo amigo

 

Mission FIRE: Actually fumbling on dressing up? Now I regret having kept being a gentleman for 2 lifetimes straight 🫠 

 

Mycroft supremacy: Lol you say that now but how many bucks do we bet that you'd choose to stay that way anytime 

 

Mission FIRE: Ok ok you win f off 

 

Mission FIRE: CRYING SOBBING HER ENTIRE FLAT IS IMBIBED WITH PETROL HOW TF DID I NOT NOTICE IT THE FIRST TIME 

 

Mycroft supremacy: Omg this is peak cinema lmao 

 

Mission FIRE: Bro she so did research on my tendency to play with fire damnit why did I not figure it out sooner was I such an idiot (T`M´T)

 

Mycroft supremacy: This is what getting peerless and then suddenly getting thrown back to the time when you were just good does Ig 

 

Mission FIRE: That's it tho John did put her flat on fire 

 

[Mission FIRE has changed their name to Mission successful.] 

 

Mycroft supremacy: Again, Idk if I should congratulate you or if I should give you the silence treatment 

 

—————————

 

SOS: Get me outta here pls I'm about to get murdered by 2 women 

 

Mycroft supremacy: I'm busy eating popcorn, sorry 😄 

 

Mycroft supremacy: More srsl tho why is it you still can't deal with women after 2 lifetimes 

 

SOS: Isn't it obvious it's because most of my dear ones are men and I'm too used to the the only woman (Adler doesn't count) in the bunch constantly screaming at me 

 

Mycroft supremacy: Lmao poor you 

 

—————————

 

SOS: When are you arriving buddy 

 

Mycroft supremacy: Bro I so aren't supposed to be following you guys around I have to wait at Baker Street 

 

SOS: HELP ME 

 

Mycroft supremacy: WTF DO YOU WANT ME TO DO 

 

Mycroft supremacy: GO TF ON YOURE SUPPOSED TO BE AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN 

 

SOS: YOU FORGET THAT IM VERY MUCH NOT. SUPPOSED. TO BE. ANYWHERE. NEAR. BEING A GENTLEMAN. AT ALL!!! 

 

SOS: CMON YOU GOT GUD WITH WOMEN I NEVER DID I GOT GUD WITH LIAM HELP ME BRO 

 

Mycroft supremacy: IM. STUCK. AT. BAKER STREET. DUDE. 

 

SOS: *Internal screaming noises* 

 

 

 

If anyone asked William how he wasn't laughing at this, he would have no answer to give at all… or even worse, he'd just straight up burst out in an unstoppable fit of mirth. His stomach and cheeks hurt from holding himself back. In his defense, it was just so funny to see his brother and his cru- nemesis panicking like that just because one apparently couldn't deal with women. 

 

Perhaps he'd even have said that this was 'peak cinema', if he knew what 'cinema' meant in the first place. 

 

"Will? Why do you look so constipated?" 

 

Forgot that Moran was here. And laughing at his face, surely because of the funny sight 'constipated William' made for. 

 

"Uh, nothing, nothing." was all the blonde could provide in lieu of an explanation before running off. 

 

He would've wanted to be careful and lock himself somewhere far from prying eyes each time the two transmigrators were in the chat, but that would've meant locking himself up all day, since they interacted nearly all the time, unaware that someone else could see the chat room. 

 

Sometimes, he cursed that he could see the thing. Only sometimes. 

 

 

 

Mycroft supremacy: I just remembered 

 

Mycroft supremacy: Wtf were you doing running around in only your underwear the prev time 

 

 

 

To his shame, William tripped on his own feet. It was only by the reflexes drilled onto him that he managed to not fall face-first onto the ground. 

 

(Mycroft nearly choked on his tea.) 

 

 

 

SOS: Look she jumped into the Thames ok? 

 

SOS: And then Idk why my brain decided that I'd give her all my clothes, perhaps I was too lazy to unpack that mountain of shopping boxes or smth 

 

SOS: I better do the jump before she does this time 

 

SYSTEM 002: @SOS Warning: Act 3 of "a Scandal in the Britain Empire" is important to Irene Adler's character development! If Irene Adler doesn't rescue Kate, 100 B-points will be deducted! 

 

SOS: @SYSTEM 002 How about you go take a dip in the Thames 

 

SOS: Better start unpacking innit (T`_´T)

 

Mycroft supremacy: Hold on a sec who's Kate

 

SOS: Trainee actor lower-class kid drowning. 

 

Mycroft supremacy: Ah ok understandable 

 

Mycroft supremacy: Pls don't tell me you're gonna undress yourself again tho 

 

SOS: Nah f you only Liam is allowed to see my pecs 

 

Mycroft supremacy: Understandable have a good day and never talk about showing Will your pecs again I don't need that image in my mind thx 

 

SOS: Bro you asked 

 

Mycroft supremacy: It was a mistake. I regret it. 

 

 

 

The professor couldn't help his blush. He really couldn't help his blush. He probably looked like some tomato wrapped in yellowed paper right now, but he really really couldn't help it. Look, how would one even repress all that blood from flowing into one's face when someone plants the idea of seeing a man's pectorals directly into their mind?! No, being a man oneself changed nothing!! Especially not when it was someone like Holmes one was talking about!! 

 

(He wouldn't turn down the opportunity if it ever showed itself though-)

 

Something else. He needed to think about something else. Right, plans, plans. Plans, plans plans plans- 

 

He buried his face into his hands. Both of his hands. At this rate, either he would be able to adapt to keeping a straight face glued permanently to his head, or he'd lose his composure entirely at the worst time possible, no in-between. 

 

—————————

 

Mycroft supremacy: FINALLY 

 

[Mycroft supremacy has changed their name to Delivered for the afternoon.] 

 

Delivered for the afternoon: Now I can go and enjoy some WIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINE 

 

SOS: Lol what did you even give her 

 

Delivered for the afternoon: An invitation to a masquerade, what else 

 

Delivered for the afternoon: Girlie wouldn't so readily come if it didn't look to-her-advantage-ish, would she 

 

Delivered for the afternoon: I need liquid courage to deal with nobles shit and murdering sb tho 

 

SOS: Good luck mate 

 

Delivered for the afternoon: Thx, good luck for convincing Ms. Hudson that it'd be a good idea to blow up the flat 

 

SOS: She accepted the prev time, she'll accept again, no worries about that 👍 

 

 

 

What the actual fuck, was the collective thought of all those with a tablet in their head. 

Notes:

Had to cut this arc in 2 parts or it'd be too fucking long

Also I'm bullshitting when it comes to cockney, has anyone noticed

Chapter 6

[Delivered for the afternoon has changed their name to Nobles SUCK.]

 

Nobles SUCK: Sb get me outta here pls 

 

Mission blow up a flat: Lmao how the tables have turned 

 

Nobles SUCK: I regret everything. 

 

Nobles SUCK: Sherlock, come kill me pls. 

 

Mission blow up a flat: Enjoy your soirée. 

 

Nobles SUCK: Is this payback for not having come to your aid at the shopping malls 

 

Nobles SUCK: More importantly 

 

Nobles SUCK: 🎶 TIME FOR ME TO ✨SHINE✨ 🎶 

 

Mission blow up a flat: ??? Bro what are you? 

 

Nobles SUCK: Stfu I need a distraction from 

 

Nobles SUCK: <- 

 

Mission blow up a flat: You're a noble. 

 

Nobles SUCK: And I suck 

 

Mission blow up a flat: Louis might throttle you if he ever hears you say that 

 

Nobles SUCK: That is if he ever hears me say that directly into his earshot lol 

 

Mission blow up a flat: Then let me turn it another way: 

 

Mission blow up a flat: I might throttle you if I ever catch you thinking that again 

 

Nobles SUCK: It's true tho 

 

Mission blow up a flat: Liam is a sinner just like you are. 

 

Mission blow up a flat: Does he suck 

 

Nobles SUCK: WHAT THE HELL KIND OF A FUCKING UNFAIR QUESTION IS THAT 

 

Mission blow up a flat: The kind of question that will help Mycky ease you into the idea of being loved by him 

 

Nobles SUCK: We ALREADY talked about that!!! 

 

Mission blow up a flat: No we didn't we will when you're less blind 

 

Mission blow up a flat: Now enjoy your soirée, I have a flat to blow up. 

 

Nobles SUCK: SHERLOCK COME BACK HERE 

 

Nobles SUCK: DONT IGNORE ME YOU BASTARD 

 

Nobles SUCK: OY 

 

Nobles SUCK: WANNABE DETECTIVE GUY 

 

Nobles SUCK: OY 

 

—————————

 

Nobles SUCK: Lol her flabbergasted face was worth it 

 

Nobles SUCK: How's it going with your blowing up the flat 

 

Mission blow up a flat: Lmao she isn't even here yet why'd I blow up my damn flat now 

 

Mission blow up a flat: Shouldn't be long tho 

 

Nobles SUCK: Sucks that I can't go and witness the glorious sight, I'm in the carriage with everyone else 

 

Mission blow up a flat: Is this because of the Mycky thing 

 

Nobles SUCK: Yes. 

 

Mission blow up a flat: Welp, time to redouble my efforts convincing you to confess 

 

Nobles SUCK: 🖕

 

Mission blow up a flat: Ok more srsl 

 

Mission blow up a flat: Beginning countdown 

 

Nobles SUCK: Do we need that 

 

Mission blow up a flat: Shut up it's for the mood 

 

 

 

Perhaps it was because this was a long shot away from being the most absurd thing they'd said since the beginning, or perhaps it was practice, but Louis could hold himself back from raising a brow without much problem. It didn't change that, seriously, 'for the mood'? Seriously, Holmes? 

 

 

 

Mission blow up a flat: 3 

 

Mission blow up a flat: 2 

 

Mission blow up a flat: 1 

 

—————————

 

[Mission blow up a flat has changed their name to Mission successful.]

 

Mission successful: One French Revolution documentation coming up be ready 

 

Nobles SUCK: 👍 

 

Nobles SUCK: Teamwork is dream work 

 

Mission successful: You did not just quote Bennett out of nowhere lmao 

 

Nobles SUCK: Technically it wasn't out of nowhere, you delivered her to us LoC bro that's unconventional teamwork if I've even seen one 

 

Nobles SUCK: Anyway see you later I got The Role again 

 

Mission successful: Was hoping all the differences would extend to Liam being the one to come get that doc but wouldn't be logical Ig :/ 

 

 

 

Comfortably seated in his office, Mycroft raised a brow. Reading that document (either in their previous time or just now, although the former seemed much more likely at least for one of them), even though they knew it was a top secret one? They really weren't scared of attracting the Government's ire, were they. 

 

(Sherly knew. 

 

Sherlock knew. 

 

Mycroft had failed as an elder brother.) 

 

—————————

 

Mission successful: Lol hello there~ 

 

Nobles SUCK: Good evening, Mr. Holmes~ 

 

Nobles SUCK: Wait no Imma stop here or I'll just burst out laughing lmao 

 

Nobles SUCK: No calling me "my Lord"? 

 

Mission successful: Nope, that title is reserved for Liam 

 

Mission successful: Tossed that one in your face last time because I didn't know that was you 

 

Nobles SUCK: [Insert dramatic act here] Ouch, the favoritism~! It hurts~! 

 

Mission successful: I thought you were gonna burst out laughing if you kept it up 

 

Nobles SUCK: At least I'm getting my fun 

 

Nobles SUCK: You do NOT know how I've been dying to just be silly ol' me dude 

 

Mission successful: I do not know 

 

Mission successful: I can relate tho 

 

Mission successful: You do NOT know how I'm dying to drop the unrefined prick act my back fucking hurts from the postures 

 

Nobles SUCK: Then why do you keep it up 

 

Mission successful: Simple 

 

Mission successful: Would you risk acting OOC in front of Liam even if you got free of that lock 

 

Nobles SUCK: … 

 

Nobles SUCK: Good point 

 

Nobles SUCK: Aaaaaaaaand here we go now I just gotta explain everything to Mycroft all over again 

 

Mission successful: Just don't give me another gay crisis pls 

 

—————————

 

[Nobles SUCK has changed their name to Mycroft supremacy.] 

 

Mission successful: I said DON'T GIVE ME ANOTHER GAY CRISIS 

 

Mycroft supremacy: I CANT RESIST IT OK LOOK AT HIS EYES LOOK AT THAT EBON HAIR 

 

 

 

And there they went. Yet another day of Mycroft having to strain himself in order to keep a straight face, while the two transmigrators were being their usual self. 

 

(He envied Sherlock. Why did he envy Sherlock so much?)

 

((Both William and Louis would side with Holmes on this one. Really, big brother?)) 

 

 

 

Mission successful: I LITERALLY HAVE THE SAME DESCRIPTION DUDE IM HIS YOUNGER BROTHER 

 

Mycroft supremacy: YOURE NOT HIM THIS IS DIFFERENT 

 

Mycroft supremacy: He hasn't started talking yet anyway lemme gush over him in here I can't gush in real li

 

Mycroft supremacy: Nevermind he's talking bye 

 

Mycroft supremacy: Wait just lemme add this here before: 

 

Mycroft supremacy: His heavenly deep voice 🥰 

 

Mission successful: Unbelievable. 

 

[Mission successful has changed their name to Third wheel.] 

 

[Third wheel has changed Mycroft supremacy's name to Mr. Blind.] 

 

—————————

 

SYSTEM 001: @Mr. Blind Quest "a Scandal in the British Empire" completed! B-points: +5'000. 

 

SYSTEM 002: @Third wheel Quest "a Scandal in the British Empire" completed! B-points: +5'000. 

 

Mr. Blind: Time to expect "death of [insert name]" in the list of penalties for you bro 

 

Mr. Blind: The reward never goes further than 5000 B-points 

 

Third wheel: Bruh 💀 

 

—————————

 

SYSTEM 002: @Third wheel Warning: Sherlock Holmes doesn't know yet about the existence of James Bond! B-points: -50. 

 

Mr. Blind: Sherlock WHAT DID YOU DO 

 

Third wheel: IT WAS A STUPID SLIP OF TONGUE IM SO SORRY 

 

Third wheel: I WAS AT THE DOOR I WAS DISTRACTED BOND CAME I SAID HI 

 

Mr. Blind: WDYM YOU WERE DISTRACTED WTF WERE YOU EVEN DISTRACTED BY 

 

Third wheel: SELF-ANGST + COMEBACK WAVE OF NICOTINE NEED 

 

Mr. Blind: WHAT COMEBACK WAVE OF NICOTINE NEED 

 

Third wheel: BRO IM TRYING TO GET OFF DRUGS CIGARETTES AND ALL THAT SHIT OFC THERE ARE GONNA BE COMEBACK WAVES 

 

Mr. Blind: Oh. 

 

Third wheel: This has gotta be the worst night since I got back here (T`M´T) 

 

Mr. Blind: Good luck dealing with the shit that comes with this my guy 

 

Third wheel: Wait, you mean-??? 

 

Mr. Blind: Yea. 

 

Third wheel: At least it affects only me Ig (T_T) 

 

 

 

What shit that comes with this?! Earl Moriarty, Sherly, can't you two at least elaborate?! 

 

If anyone saw Mycroft right now, they would have some trouble recognizing the man frenetically pacing around in his room as the Queen's right hand. And he was in this state for what he deemed a good reason, mind you. 

 

There was another punishment coming along with that loss of B-points. A punishment that came because Sherlock, in a moment of what was clearly fatigue, had let his tongue loose. A punishment that would theoretically affect only him. And that was frying Mycroft's nerves more than the prospect of a punishment shared between the two siblings would ever do. Because he didn't know what Sherlock was going to face. Who knew what the System was capable of, if it had already been restricting Earl Moriarty since his rebirth. 

 

And now Sherlock was about to face one of its punishments. Not really alone, but in a way that rendered Mycroft unable to protect his little brother- No, do not think like that! Surely there was a way to at least do some damage control! 

 

That was then that a very much half-cooked idea came to him, and he made a quick work dashing toward his mahogany desk and grabbing pen and paper. 

 

He couldn't stop whatever that punishment was from happening, but he could at least alleviate the follow-ups. 

 

—————————

 

Turned out, the punishment (it had to be a punishment, Albert seemed too negatively familiar with it) Holmes had to endure was much less physical than William had thought. And much more psychological. 

 

The receiving of those news had started at one in the morning, while William was hunched over his desk, trying to draft up a plan to salvage the situation (Holmes couldn't die yet, he was needed in the Lord of Crime's plays (William didn't want him to die, William needed him-)). 

 

 

 

Third wheel has started a voice call.

 

Mr. Blind has accepted the voice call. 

 

 

 

«Sherlock, you alright?» Albert jumped in. «Wait, no, the fuck am I saying, you aren't alright but uh-» 

 

If anything, this reinforced William's guess that his older brother had already had to deal with this before. And it reinforced the dread, too. 

 

Said dread was doubled up when Holmes' voice came in; it was trembling. Only slightly, but trembling. «Nah, I get what you're saying, dude. I-» A deep breath could be heard, even though this 'voice call' was supposed to be akin to telepathy. «Sorry for waking you up at this hour, heh. I wasn't exactly thinking at all…» 

 

«I was already awake, don't worry. You need to talk; go the hell on, bro, spill.» 

 

«Hah, thanks.» Holmes was trying to keep his tone lighthearted, William could tell. And it was nowhere near successful, because of the slight tremor also present there. And the underlying pure distress. «… Guess kind-of knowing what to expect doesn't make it any easier to go through, eh? You were right, this serves trauma on a silver fucking platter.» 

 

«… It was that one, wasn't it.» 

 

«Yep. Liam and me, falling off the bridge. Except Liam didn't survive.» 

 

Oh. 

 

The System used nightmares as a punishment. Nightmares the scenarios of which apparently took place in real events of the previous timeline. And apparently modified to fit the victim's fears, if the increasing shudders in Holmes' tone were anything to go by. 

 

«It- He-» The man continued, his voice less and less steady, «It wasn't even a clean death in the water. He- I watched him die. There was no Billy, I somehow stayed conscious and pulled the two of us to the nearest drains and he was injured and also conscious and-» A sob. «He died with his intact eye open, Al. I was there, I was trying to provide first aid if you could even call it that, and it didn't work, he was just staring at me with his only eye left and a sad smile and he- he couldn't even get a quick clean death, it just had to be an agonizing fucking slow one and I could do nothing but fumble around and watch him suffer-» 

 

At this point, Holmes was fully crying. Crying, genuinely crying, and trying to keep it as quiet as possible, for he wasn't alone in his flat. Even his telepathic voice couldn't hide the quiet sobs. 

 

«At one point, I wasn't even staring into that Liam-y red I knew anymore, I- that red was still vibrant one second and suddenly it was empty and lifeless and his body was like a rag doll- He had no pulse anymore his chest wasn't lifting up and down anymore and it all felt so real I- I genuinely thought it was real, Al. I genuinely thought that whole New York thing and everything that came afterwards was a daydream or something. Nothing else sucked like that one. I don't even know how long I spent just- crying over his corpse before waking up…» 

 

«… Yeah. That's fucked up alright, dude.» Albert said, somber. «Not gonna lie, I wasn't expecting the slow agony part. Nor did you, I imagine.» 

 

«Yeah, no, I didn't. I- I honestly had expected the System to have him die like right away in the waters or something. We- we need to change the damn thing, we have to stop Liam from getting to that bridge during the Final Problem-» 

 

[Warning,] A horribly soulless-sounding female voice suddenly chimed up, earning a jolt from William. [User must ensue that 'William' James Moriarty be publicly considered dead by the end of the plot point. The punishment protocol will be enacted if Users fail to meet the plot's requirements.] 

 

«SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU ASSHOLE!!» Holmes snapped, screaming, and- That… that raw anger and desperation and pain in that rasp voice- 

 

«Sherlock?!» A new voice, much more distant, suddenly chimed in, «Are you alright?! What happened?!» 

 

«No no, nothin', jus' me brain fuckin' with me!» The detective hastily declared to whoever this newcomer was (it had to be Dr. Watson), trying his best to mask away all that emotion in his voice, only half-successful in that endeavor, «Go back ter sleep, Imma be a'right, don' worry!» 

 

«No, I very much should be worrying, what's that broken-sounding voice!!» 

 

«Sleep-induced brokenness! Go back to sleep, Imma sort 'is out real quick I swear! I jus' need time alone like the other times!» 

 

«Huh?! But- you sure?» 

 

A sigh. «Yes, now go sleep damnit John.» 

 

«… If you're sure…» 

 

There was but one second of pause before Holmes sighed again. «Fuck. Shouldn't have lost my cool. Now John will be fussing over me for an entire day.» 

 

William only barely registered clutching on the paper he had in reach so hard it was being torn apart. He couldn't care less about damaging some paper, not when the raven-haired man's voice was so raspy and tired and sad and- 

 

«Back to the point, we… Al, John's Final Problem book is the only hope I have left. We gotta get Liam and the other Lord of Crime gang people to follow its plot. That's the only way to ensure that he goes nowhere near that bridge.» 

 

[Warning: User must ensue that 'William' James Moriarty be publicly considered dead by the end of the plot point. The punishment protocol will be enacted if Users fail to meet the plot's requirements.] 

 

«I know, shut. The. Fuck. Up. Liam will be presumed dead with that damn book.» 

 

«Welp. Now, the question is to talk-no-jutsu Watson into writing it. Gotta count on you for that one.» 

 

«Hell if you can't count on me.» 

 

The professor gripped on whatever paper he had in hand even harder. His jaw was clenched, there was a lump in his throat, guilt was threatening to make him dizzy. 

 

Sherlock loved him. 

 

Sherlock loved William, enough so that the very idea of William's death scared him so. 

 

William didn't deserve this. 

 

This man, who had so readily jumped into being Albert's most trustworthy friend the second he got wind that they both were in the same boat… This man, who had been trying to talk Albert into seeking happiness for himself… William didn't deserve this man's love. William, filthy criminal William, didn't deserve to have any person at all dread his well-deserved death as if he was the one holding his soul. Especially not such a man as Sherlock. 

 

William didn't deserve to be loved by him. 

 

And yet, somehow, for some reason, another version of him had dared to seduce Sherlock. Had dared to steal this man's heart, make his way of atonement something Sherlock dreaded. Had dared to go nest within Sherlock's chest, when Sherlock deserved someone better. Someone pure. 

 

William should stop this madness somehow. He really should. 

 

And yet he couldn't find the resolve to. 

 

He was just that much of a bastard, wasn't he? 

 

(He didn't want to. He wanted to stay by Sherlock's side. 

 

But that would never be possible. He was tainted with blood.) 

 

—————————

 

«It's still late, though. Sleep, you will need that to not look like a zombie in the morning. We'll discuss this later.» 

 

«Yeah, good night… Thanks for listening to my yapping, between.» 

 

«Anytime. Now go to sleep. Good night.» 

 

 

 

Third wheel has ended the voice call.

 

 

 

Once again, Louis found himself the sole voice in his own head, seated up in his bed clutching his sheet. 

 

When he had been woken up by Holmes starting a voice call, he hadn't expected to wake up to that level of distress. Perhaps was it because he was biased and blinded by the anger that Holmes had dared lose precious B-points when he had so few of those, but that raw desperation really had caught him off-guard. 

 

The blonde knew Holmes had feelings for William. 

 

He never expected it to go this deep. He never expected it to go so deep the man had broken at the idea of William dying, lost his composure enough to alert and worry someone else than Albert. 

 

… Perhaps it would be a good idea to entrust William to the detective, after all. Screw everything else that could potentially come with this, the professor's life was much more important. His happiness was much more important. And Holmes sounded like the type of person who'd stop at nothing to give William both. 

 

 

 

Third wheel: Wait wtf is Mycky doing in Baker Street 

 

 

 

?????

 

—————————

 

Mycroft had to hold back a curse. 

 

So now, not even a full dark brown coat, hat and mask combination could hide anything from the transmigrator anymore? He was painfully aware that his idea to doing damage-control was half-baked at best, but come on! What gave him away, anyway? A combination of height, jawline, fabric quality and shoes? How would a human even see the two last details from this far?! Even worse? That text had been sent the second Sherlock had poked his head into the window frame! 

 

Ugh. Anyway, he came here with a mission. 

 

He had pebbles to toss. And so, toss pebbles he did. 

 

Or, well, toss one pebble he did. Sherlock had caught onto his message that he had some important message to throw into his room at half past one in the morning, and fumbled to open his window right after the first of Mycroft's little rock hit the glass. 

 

(For the very first time in Mycroft's whole life, Sherlock seemed whole decades older than he physically was. He looked like the elderly man he now was in soul. And he looked horribly tired. 

 

Because of a dream. A nightmare induced by the System for his slip of tongue. 

 

He should never have had to look that way.) 

 

With renewed vigor, the government worker threw the most important of the pebbles he had in his possession - the one around which his missive was wrapped - at Sherlock, and then turned away and left as the (physically) younger man caught the rock mid-flight. 

 

That coded message will have to do. 

 

—————————

 

Third wheel: Why tf is bro telling me about Bond 

 

Mr. Blind: Wtf 

 

Mr. Blind: Explain 

 

Third wheel: Bro fucking threw a coded letter at my window and then left 

 

Third wheel: Like 

 

Third wheel: ????? Wtf why's he telling me about Bond now this never happened in the prev version 

 

Third wheel: Not like I'm not happy to have an excuse but 🤨 ??? 

 

Mr. Blind: Everyone be acting weird these days 

 

 

 

Within the privacy of his carriage, Mycroft smiled. 

 

The message had served its purpose. 

 

(In the Moriarty mansion, two red-eyed blondes were staring at the blue tablet, nearly nothing but confusion in their mind. Although, the older one might have begun to form a little theory about this.) 

 

—————————

 

Third wheel: ALBERT 

 

Third wheel: WHAT 

 

Third wheel: THE 

 

Third wheel: FUCK 

 

Third wheel: DUDE 

 

Third wheel: WHY ARE YOU FLUTE SOLOING ON FRED BUILDINGS ROOF AT 3 FUCKING AM 

 

Mr. Blind: Since everyone has decided to act weird, Imma join the trend 

 

Third wheel: I THOUGHT YOU TOLD ME TO SLEEP HOW TF DO I SLEEP WITH THIS NOISE PLUS YOURE WAKING UP THE WHOLE DAMN NEIGHBORHOOD STOP IT 

 

Third wheel: ALBERT 

 

 

 

Still comfortably seated where they were, three men witnessed these texts continue scrolling down, bewildered by the sheer whiplash. How did these two go from such a heavy conversation to this?! 

 

(Mycroft, freshly back to his flat, dearly regretted having left so soon.) 

Notes:

… In my defense, I really didn't know where else to insert this. I just knew I had to do this BEFORE chap 31. Enjoy.

Chapter 7

Third wheel: Screaming in the middle of the fucking night really is the big fluke ever 

 

Third wheel: Now I have to deal with a doctor glueing himself to me 😐 

 

Mr. Blind: Not really your fault but lol 

 

Mr. Blind: How's it going btw 

 

Third wheel: Well enough 

 

Third wheel: At least I'm able to hold up my uncouth manchild thing for now 

 

Third wheel: Might not be able to look Liam in the eyes without crying tho 

 

Third wheel: That shit just felt so real 

 

Mr. Blind: Relatable 

 

Mr. Blind: Remember that delayed major incident thing? The System once cooked up a nightmare about it 

 

Mr. Blind: Thinking back, I really should've expected the System to make you watch Will die 

 

Third wheel: Wanna talk about that one? 

 

Mr. Blind: … 

 

Mr. Blind: Yea, I don't think DM-ing is gonna work 

 

Mr. Blind: And we both need a drink. Mainly you need a drink but still. 

 

Mr. Blind: It's on me this time 

 

Mr. Blind: Dress yourself comfy cos it's gonna be on a roof 

 

Third wheel: Where at what time 

 

—————————

 

"Enter." 

 

The door to Mycroft's office opened, and professor Moriarty walked in along with the youngest Moriarty brother, a polite smile plastered on his face. "Director Holmes. Thank you for receiving us, especially within such a short notice." 

 

Short notice it was indeed. Mycroft was very much not happy about it, since the telegram announcing the professor's request for a meeting had arrived right after Sherlock and Earl Moriarty had decided for a time and a place to meet. A request for a meeting at the exact same time the two transmigrators were to be off for commiserating about the System being an absolute dog-fucker (yes, Mycroft had learned a lot from his younger (?????) brother, and not for the best. And yes, calling the System that was very justified in the eldest (?????) Holmes' humble opinion). There went Mycroft's plans of being a stalker for the day (in his defense, Sherlock didn't look like he was alright at all the last time Mycroft had seen him, less than twenty-four hours ago. He wanted to make sure his brother was actually going to be alright. Especially after having heard that negatively wrecked voice). To think that he had taken a leave, even unpaid, specifically for that. 

 

"Mr. Moriarty. I do hope that you have a good reason for having your brother spy on me, and aiming for my off-work time to request this meeting." 

 

The eldest of the two blondes didn't remove his polite smile from where it was. "On that point, I can't promise you anything yet. But, perhaps I can if you can answer this question…" 

 

Did Mycroft expect what was to come right afterwards? 

 

No. Absolutely not. And for a reason, mind you. 

 

"What is my older brother's Japanese name?" 

 

Mycroft's eyes widened. "… Wait. You…?" 

 

It was only then that Moriarty wiped his smile off his face. "So you do see the chat too." 

 

"Wait. What was Sherlock's very first action right after the chat was updated?" 

 

"Complain about how the chat hasn't kept their username, and then change Albert's to 'Mr. Blind'." The blonde answered without a single ounce of hesitation. 

 

"Big brother Albert had complained and then repeatedly tried to change his username to something else right after that." The youngest man in the room added. 

 

Mycroft frowned. "Who else can see the chat?" 

 

"Only us, as far as we know." Professor Moriarty brought a hand to his chin, also frowning. "We can safely assume that Bond doesn't see it, he's the most confused one among the MI6 about Holmes knowing his new name. Moran is out of the question too, he joined Bond in his confusion." 

 

"I see… Come, sit, make yourself comfortable. Tea?" 

 

"It would be appreciated, thank you." The young professor replied with a polite nod, stepping over to the  closest couch, his brother following along. 

 

"So. Do you plan to use my brother's feelings for your goal?" 

 

Right off the bat, the professor's expression morphed slightly, just slightly, but that slight shift was enough of an answer for Mycroft. That slight shift expressed disgust at the very idea. 

 

"No. I need him as the detective figure in my plan, but I won't stoop to using his feelings." 

 

The dark-haired man could feel tension leave his body. 

 

"Good." 

 

"Will you? Use my brother's feelings, I mean." 

 

"I don't even understand my own reaction to said feelings in the first place, Mr. Moriarty. Though, you have my words that I will not use them against him." 

 

There was a pause. A very long, awkward pause, as Mycroft prepared tea for everyone. None of them knew what to say to continue what the oldest blonde had brought up by coming here. 

 

It was the youngest one who eventually saved them three. If one could call it that. "So. We now know all three of us are in the same situation. We have reached an agreement concerning each other's sibling. Cool. Now what?" 

 

The professor raised a brow, "I didn't know you've begun using our two transmigrators' dialect, Louis." 

 

"Go blame big brother Albert." 

 

"I don't blame you for picking up on it." The government worker chimed in, a hint of amusement beginning to show itself. "I myself have grown so used to it, I'm fairly sure I'd blurt out some of that dialect were I to lose my composure. Which, admittedly, wouldn't be all that improbable considering the kind of yipping our respective brothers are so often up to in there." 

 

"Oh yes, that." The youngest Moriarty deadpanned. "To be honest, I got close calls way too many time with that lot." 

 

"Relatable. I don't even know how I manage to keep acting as normal, in the face of what Sherly calls Earl Moriarty's 'gay crisis'." 

 

That prompted a snort from professor Moriarty. "Oh, poor you." 

 

"William, you do not get to act as if you didn't trip on thin air when Holmes mentioned showing you his pectorals." 

 

"Oh shush- Wait, you saw that?!" 

 

"No, Moran told me about you tripping over your own feet. The rest was 'elementary, my dear brother'." 

 

"You shut up, you-" 

 

Mycroft snorted. Perhaps not playing stalker today wasn't that bad, after all. 

 

—————————

 

Mr. Blind: Would you happen to have any coffee chocolate recipe 

 

Third wheel: ??? Why do you ask 

 

Mr. Blind: Well it's Mycroft's birthday soon and I just happened to remember that he likes both black coffee and dark chocolate so uh 

 

Mr. Blind: I just want to give him something he might like 

 

Mr. Blind: And curtesy and "I saw this somewhere and bought it" will do fine enough as an excuse so yea 

 

Third wheel: Oh. My. Fucking. God. Albert. 

 

Third wheel: My username has never been truer. 

 

Third wheel: I'll give you the recipe I have if you can prove me you won't be setting your kitchen on fire accidentally or not 

 

Mr. Blind: Bro how tf do you think my Japanese siblings and I would've survived if I didn't get decent at cooking 

 

Third wheel: Japan-Louis

 

Mr. Blind: Bitch Ryosuke was still too young for the kitchen when our parents taught me cuisine 

 

Third wheel: Haruka 

 

Mr. Blind: Haruka was ONE YEAR OLDER THAN RYOSUKE. AND I WAS THREE YEARS OLDER THAN HARUKA. 

 

Third wheel has sent a photo. 

 

Mr. Blind: Thx but why do you have a photo of a printed recipe on which you did annotations 

 

Third wheel: Precautions ofc 

 

Third wheel: Not unjustified since Haxxor ate the paper some weeks later 

 

Mr. Blind: Lmao why is your bunny such a savage 

 

Third wheel: You think THAT is savage? 

 

Third wheel has sent a video. 

 

Mr. Blind: Bro didn't just throw a cup off the nightstand?! 

 

Third wheel: That was Myriam's fave candle cup btw 

 

Mr. Blind: How tf has he not ended up as rabbit stew by any of you guys' hands 

 

Third wheel: Who tf knows 

 

Third wheel: Good luck for that chocolate 

 

Third wheel: And don't burn down your house 

 

Mr. Blind: Will you spare me about my prev time self's abysmal cooking ability you bitch 

 

Third wheel: No I won't, Mr. I-managed-to-melt-a-frying-pan 

 

—————————

 

Mr. Blind: I just realized 

 

Mr. Blind: Why is it you actually have an annotated coffee chocolate recipe in the first place, I wasn't actually expecting more than the standard recipe or smth 

 

Third wheel: It's literal midnight dude 

 

Mr. Blind: Were you sleeping 

 

Third wheel: No but wtf are YOU doing awake at midnight 

 

Mr. Blind: Have to be, the integrity of the LoC gang is out there playing mouse for Scotland Yard and Whitechapel's vigils I don't want them to question my making chocolate thank you very much 

 

Mr. Blind: + apparently being bad at cooking is comprised in the list of my prev self's character checkpoints to respect 🫤 

 

Mr. Blind: Now answer my question pls 

 

Third wheel: Myriam ofc 

 

Third wheel: 10yrs old him once complained about how all the chocolate we find is too sweet so 7yrs old me set out to make bitter chocolate for him 

 

Third wheel: Bro asked for more and he's got essentially the same tastebuds as Mycky so I can guarantee you that recipe does its job 

 

Mr. Blind: What the actual fuck dude you sure you weren't his older brother? 

 

Third wheel: Would Louis make chocolate for you guys 

 

Mr. Blind: Yes? 

 

Third wheel: There. 

 

 

 

Comfortably sat on his bed with a cup of tea in hand, still a bit affected by sleepiness, Mycroft couldn't resist quirking up a smile. He had had the same question as Earl Moriarty indeed, but he really hadn't expected to be given the answer at a quarter to one in the night, right after being awoken by a strange nightmare he couldn't remember well enough to recount. Especially not such a heartwarming answer. 

 

Honestly, he quite looked forward to trying this birthday gift of theirs. Yes, theirs. Mycroft was only decent at cooking, enough to live without much problem even without domestics to cook for him, but he was also decent enough at it that he could recognize Sherlock's annotations as actual modifications to the recipe. This was, in his opinion, enough to count the physically younger man's contribution into the making of that present. 

 

And… Earl Moriarty was personally making that chocolate for him… Even though it would, in the brunette's mind, forever be disguised as something brought from a random chocolate factory or something similar. 

 

For some reason, Mycroft found himself quite giddy about the former thought. And quite pained about the latter. 

 

But very well, he shall respect the Earl's wish for silence. 

 

For now. 

 

Only for now. And only because of the System's looming threat. 

 

 

 

Mr. Blind: Help how do you do crunchy outside creamy inside type of balls 

 

Third wheel: Do you have heavy cream 

 

Mr. Blind: Yea 

 

Third wheel: Dump some of your coffee chocolate into that 

 

Third wheel: I trust you'll be able to determine the right proportions since you haven't burnt down your kitchen yet 🙂 

 

Mr. Blind: SPARE ME 

 

Third wheel: Why do you wanna do chocolate balls tho regular tablets would've done the job 

 

Mr. Blind: For my own contentment, spare my perfectionism would you 

 

Third wheel: I do not consider that an answer 

 

Mr. Blind: Fine!! 

 

Mr. Blind: It's just that those balls remind me of Mycroft himself, ok? Hard and cold outside, softie inside and BEFORE YOU SAY OTHERWISE remember those lil notes he didn't have to send and yet still did?

 

Mr. Blind: (+ I don't have the mold for tablets) 

 

Third wheel: Sir at this point just confess already 

 

Mr. Blind: No??? Why would I do that??? 

 

Third wheel: Jesus Christ 

 

Third wheel: God give me more patience 

 

 

 

Needless to say, Mycroft got swooned back to sleep. 

 

(For some reason, right before he did fall into slumber, his mind conjured up the image of him hugging Earl Moriarty. And for some reason, he imagined himself doing that from behind.) 

 

((Both of the younger Moriarty siblings would, once again, side with the (physically) youngest Holmes on this one. Louis, in particular, wanted to scream.)) 

 

—————————

 

Mr. Blind: Not like I'm complaining but why tf isn't the rest of the gang back yet 

 

Third wheel: Dunno, I'm stuck in my flat, but at this point minor event divergences are common occurrence for all I care 

 

Third wheel: How are these chocolate balls going 

 

Mr. Blind: A lot of edible fails, but I think I figured out the right dosing 

 

Mr. Blind: Gotta begin cleaning up tho they will be back at any moment and they see this and I'm dead 

 

 

 

Well, there went the two younger Moriarty siblings' intention to buy their big brother more time. 

 

"Will, not like I'm complaining, but what are we still doing outside?" 

 

"Ensuring that no overly visible signs of our involvement is left." William easily answered Bond, even as he was breaking cold sweat inside. 

 

If being so bad at cuisine as to set kitchens on fire at each attempt, as Louis and William had previously known Albert to be when it came to literally anything else than his signature crème brûlée (that also had a lot to do with fire but somehow Albert excelled at making that), was comprised in Albert's OOC lock, then disaster could potentially happen if the rest of the group came back to Albert peacefully making chocolate in an intact kitchen despite his - very much supposed - notoriously abysmal performance in cooking. The System had already imposed a downright horrid punishment on Sherlock for literally just saying hi to someone at the wrong time, who knew what it would do to the brunette if someone (other than his two younger brothers, apparently) realized that he was a decent cook before his OOC lock gets lifted. And thus, yes, the two Moriarty blondes had agreed on keeping the whole group near Whitechapel under all valid pretexts they could find, so their big brother could prepare his thoughtful gift in peace. 

 

It wasn't much of a need for much longer now, it seemed. Still, it was best to wait at least half an hour before letting the rest of the crime organization go back to the Moriarty residence. They couldn't risk it. 

 

Especially not after seeing just that tiny bit deeper into the System's way of punishment, of which they had only read the tales from Albert until then. 

 

(Especially not after witnessing the System's cruelty towards Sherlock, using a fear he wouldn't have had felt weren't it for another version of William having been too selfish and greedy as to dare steal the heart of someone who deserved so much better.)

 

—————————

 

Third wheel: After all this time I still wonder if Liam was using this to test me a 2nd time 

 

Mr. Blind: No version of him ever told us outright but I think he kinda was? 

 

Mr. Blind: Anyway good luck on talk-no-jutsu-ing Watson again into NOT writing a book about this 

 

Third wheel: You give me too much credit bro, John decided on his own to forego this one in his saga 

 

Third wheel: This will be a stepping stone into getting us that juicy Fake Final Problem bookie tho 😀 

 

Mr. Blind: Great to know 🎉 

 

Mr. Blind: In the meantime, I'll just keep looking for loopholes I could use Ig 

 

Mr. Blind: Fr tho my part is so damn lame 🫤 

 

Third wheel: Ah cos you think MY part is any less lame? Like literally the only things I do are 1) bide my time and 2) talk John's ears off 😑 

 

Third wheel: And 3) let Liam lead me by the wrist but that kinda is the same thing as just biding my time 

 

Third wheel: And 4) dump all of my OOCness on John's name but that has nothing to do with Liam 

 

Mr. Blind: That's still more work to do than me 

 

Mr. Blind: Literally the only thing I do is keep looking for loopholes that then get revealed to have like nonexistent impact like f off 

 

Third wheel: … 

 

Third wheel: Tf are we even doing 

 

Mr. Blind: Who tf knows, a who's-the-lamest contest? 

 

Mr. Blind: In that case, I still say I win 

 

Third wheel: Albert I swear to fucking God I will actually punt you in the head if I ever catch you thinking that about yourself again and you know damn well I'm capable of it 

 

Mr. Blind: Why tf am I getting shut down so damn fast I'm saying the truth 

 

Third wheel: You know what 

 

Third wheel: This is exactly what had held Liam down from romance 

 

Third wheel: Like brother, like brother, they say 

 

Third wheel: Perhaps I tried to push the wrong person into making the first move after all 

 

Mr. Blind: ???????

 

Mr. Blind: Explain?????

 

Mr. Blind: Sherlock????? 

 

Mr. Blind: Don't just leave me like this you dickhead I know you're still reading the chat 

 

Mr. Blind: SHERLOCK 

 

Mr. Blind: MR. WANNABE DETECTIVE 

 

Mr. Blind: OY 

 

Mr. Blind: HELLO??????????

Notes:

Lmao this chap exists purely for me to insert MycLouLiam solidarity, Albert being a decent cook & Sherlock being at the very least a decent cook somewhere. Albert being a decent cook exists purely so he'd be able to gift Mycroft homemade choco cuz that's damn more meaningful than buying choco somewhere. Sherlock being a decent (at the very least) cook is here because WILLIAM (self-explanatory if you've seen my reasoning for gentleman Sherlock, although knowing me you'll get a chef Sherlock and no less). And since I have no fucking idea what month Jack the Ripper arc takes place in, I'll just make bullshit up and say it's January so I can insert thoughtful Albert in here and not reduce him to just some fangirl when it comes to Mycroft.

I'm finished with my rant. Bye 🙂

Chapter 8

Third wheel: Boyos let's be ready for uncovering the fake Jack the Ripper affair I see the newspaper boy from here 

 

Mr. Blind: Sherlock wtf it's 5 A.M. 

 

Mr. Blind: Do the newspaper boys cross your street at 5 fucking A.M. 

 

Third wheel: Bold of you to assume I'm in Baker Street lol 

 

Mr. Blind: Da fuk you doing stalking the edition houses at 5 

 

Mr. Blind: Wait is it still that nightmare keeping you awake? 

 

Third wheel: Yea 

 

Third wheel: Got that one again except it's my own brain cooking it up based on the mats given by the System 

 

Third wheel: This is only as bad as when I got hallucinations from my drugs but apparently it's enough to keep me awake 

 

Mr. Blind: Bro… 

 

Third wheel: Anyway 

 

Third wheel: Did you MI6 ppl get commissioned for this the prev time 

 

Mr. Blind: Yup 

 

Third wheel: Then don't give me yet another gay crisis pls 

 

Mr. Blind: Ah-ah, can't promise, this is the only place where I can vent my gay crisis off 

 

Third wheel: You. Can vent. To Mycky's face. 

 

Mr. Blind: No. 

 

Third wheel: Yes. 

 

Mr. Blind: No. 

 

Third wheel: You're gay. Be gay do crimes. 

 

Mr. Blind: I'm bi. And no. 

 

Third wheel: You WERE bi until you got your boycrush on Mycky. Now you're very much gay. 

 

Mr. Blind: Bitch how tf do you know about that minute detail 

 

Third wheel: ????? You literally scream it on my roof for only my ears to hear at this point????? 

 

Mr. Blind: I can and will go back to flute soloing on your roof 

 

Third wheel: Try me bitch 

 

 

 

What the fuck had Louis waken up to. 

 

—————————

 

Mr. Blind: Those ink-blue sharp eyes 🛐

 

Third wheel: GET OUT. 

 

—————————

 

Third wheel: When is the Patterson guy sending Lestrade here, I still have Mycky's gift to prepare it's literally tomorrow 

 

Mr. Blind: Fuck if I know, this mission has been transferred to Bond 

 

Mr. Blind: Surely not long tho 

 

Third wheel: Ah wait there he is 

 

Third wheel: Lmao let's see if I can spot any MI6 member in that bunch of kids this time 

 

Mr. Blind: No "let's see if I can get my hand on that bookie before the MI6 does"? 

 

Third wheel: As if I can manage that without coming off as absurdly powered-up 

 

Third wheel: Liam is kind of a 🤷 situation but if Mycky sniffs up that exploit my weaker-than-big-bro manchild cover is getting very screwed 

 

Mr. Blind: Shame, would've liked to have him express some pride 

 

Third wheel: Awww 

 

Mr. Blind: You shut up you brat 

 

—————————

 

Mission uncover foul play: Albert wtf are you doing here disguised as a Scotland Yard guy 

 

[Mr. Blind has changed their name to Undercover guy.] 

 

Undercover guy: Here to watch the spectacle unfold ofc 😀 Wouldn't want to miss it 

 

Mission uncover foul play: Tf even is there to watch 

 

Mission uncover foul play: … Apart from Lestrade playing madman 

 

Undercover guy: You just recommended me a worthy spectacle hope you know that 😀 

 

Mission uncover foul play: Why tf is my current life bestie such a minx 

 

—————————

 

Mission uncover foul play: Did 

 

Mission uncover foul play: Did you just 

 

Undercover guy: Worth it 👍

 

Mission uncover foul play: My bestie ain't no minx he's an orange cat 

 

—————————

 

Midnight chocolate: I FUCKING DID IT 

 

Mission successful: 🎉🎉🎉 

 

Midnight chocolate: Omfg shame that I can't take a pic of these choco balls I'm so damn proud 

 

Midnight chocolate: How's it going with your gift 

 

Mission successful: It's going wonderful since right now it's just a package waiting to be delivered 

 

Mission successful: A bit OOC for me to be giving him a damn tea set of all things but it's like once in a year so whatever 

 

Midnight chocolate: ??? He already has a tea set, no? 

 

Mission successful: Another set won't hurt him lol 

 

—————————

 

When Sherly had said that his gift would come in the form of a package, Mycroft hadn't expected the way it would actually be delivered to him. 

 

It started at six in the morning, with a seemingly normal-looking postman like Mycroft had expected. Brown-haired, blue-eyed, looking like a junior employee who just got admitted into the job. With your usual express delivery cardboard box in hand. There was also a fragile object warning on the box, so the government worker could narrow down the possibilities closer to the tea set Sherlock was going to give him. And so, with not much objection, he took the box in and went through the usual official procedure. And then closed the door as the mailman took his leave. 

 

Had he said he hadn't expected the actual truth? 

 

And no, it wasn't that he hadn't expected it to be delivered by a mailman. If anything, it was one of the most likely possibilities. 

 

No, when he said he hadn't expected the actual truth, he was saying he hadn't expected the mailman to be a fake. 

 

 

 

Mission successful: Lmao mission "give Mycroft his box" completed 

 

Mission successful: Bro saw absolutely nothing this has gotta be the most hilarious feat I've ever accomplished 

 

Midnight chocolate: Tf GIMME THAT TEA DUDE. 

 

Mission successful: So y'know I intended to give him a tea set package right? 

 

Mission successful: I didn't trust the usual mailmen to get the thing to him without damaging it so I went and got the thing to him myself. Disguised as a mailman. And bro fell straight for it. Saw literally nothing else than "oh it's a mailman, hmm doesn't seem sus, looks like I'm safe for now" and took the box in with zero question. 

 

Mission successful: You do not know how much my stomach hurts from me trying to repress my laughter rn it'd give me away 

 

Midnight chocolate: Lmao what are you, Bond 2.0? 

 

 

 

If anyone could see Mycroft right now, they'd be confused as to just why on Earth the man was standing there, straight like a baton, still holding the cardboard box, his expression most likely hilarious to witness. A chance, really, that Sherlock had chosen a role that would oblige him to leave straight away. 

 

Sherlock. Was there. Personally delivering his gift to his brother. And said brother got fooled like an absolute idiot and let the man pass straight under his nose. 

 

If this wasn't humiliating, Mycroft seriously didn't know what was. 

 

(And perhaps he might be proud of his brother, too. That feat wasn't something twenty-four year-old Sherlock could accomplish.) 

 

… Well, the box won't be opening itself, will it. 

 

Still holding the package in both arms, Mycroft strode straight toward one of his closets, and gently put the box on the floor before reaching for the handle of a drawer. From there was taken a knife, and in no time, the cardboard box was wide open as he took out a set made of ceramic and admired it. 

 

It was an unusual set, if anything. Yes, the general shape was that of the standard plain china set one could commission from an artisan, but neither was there any of that complicated pattern one would usually find in fancy tableware, nor was it blank. No, what was to be found on each piece of the gift was a spaced succession of fine ink-blue lines, linked to each other near the edge by lancet arches drawn with the same fine tracing, and with a little diamond shape added at the end of each line near the bottom. All in all, a set most nobles would find bland, and yet was actually kind of tasteful in Mycroft's honest opinion. And… wait. 

 

He squinted a bit more, bringing the cup he was holding closer to his eyes. 

 

There were inconsistencies in the tracings. Subtle, little inconsistencies that full-time, certified artisans wouldn't do, but that were insignificant enough that it couldn't be done by an inexperienced amateur. Whoever had drawn these patterns had already painted on ceramics several times before, enough to do a clean job yet not enough to be someone of the profession. And had stopped for a long time before going back to it again with this tea set. Either that, or… 

 

… Or they had been transferred into a body that had no muscle memory of this practice. 

 

… Trusting the care of this set to Jane was never going to be a possibility, was it. 

 

—————————

 

It was later in the day that Mycroft got a visit from Earl Moriarty. 

 

"Good day, Director." The brunette said right after Mycroft opened the door, the usual little smirk on his face, his hand holding a square-shaped, flat midnight-colored box wrapped in a ribbon a lighter shade of blue. "I sincerely hope that I'm not imposing on you." 

 

Weirdly eno- Thankfully, there was no gushing from the earl's part in the chat this time, so it wasn't difficult to keep a straight face. "You aren't. Though, I'm fairly curious about the lack of warning beforehand. Not even a telegraph… surely this isn't for an urgent matter?" 

 

"It isn't." The M replied with a light voice, handing out his gift with both hands, his expression ever-unchanging. "I simply came here as an acquaintance… to wish you a happy birthday." 

 

"How thoughtful. Thank you." The darker-haired man stepped aside, if just to hide the genuine smile he knew had appeared on his face. "Where are my manners, do make yourself comfortable, Mr. Moriarty." 

 

As the earl stepped into Mycroft's office, the latter reached out to take the gift intended to him, using the angle as an opportunity to… brush fingers with the noble. He didn't even know why, he just knew he wanted to do that. For some reason. And he would be a horrendous liar if he said he didn't appreciate the way said noble's fingers were warm despite the cold outside. Thankfully, Earl Moriarty didn't seem to realize that the brushing was intentional, and simply let go of his gift on his way to walking towards the closest settee. 

 

"Tea?" 

 

"You needn't bother, Director." 

 

"Please, you bothered to make your whole way here. It would be impolite of me to forgo returning the effort in kind, wouldn't it?" 

 

"… Then some tea would be appreciated, thank you." 

 

The chat stayed unusually silent as Mycroft went to his kitchenette, and he could feel the earl's gaze linger on him as he prepared tea. Had this utter absence of comment come to be because Sherlock wanted to leave the two of them be? He seemed so very convinced that they would end up a couple… 

 

(Was Earl Moriarty holding off from his gushing because he wanted to properly be there with Mycroft? 

 

… Why was Mycroft hoping that it was the case?) 

 

Just for good measure, the government worker also took out a bottle of wine. And two glasses. 

 

When Mycroft came back with the pair's beverage (the tea wasn't in Sherly's set, he hadn't had time to properly wash it yet), the aristocrat was still sitting where Mycroft had last seen him, legs elegantly crossed, his smirk of supposed hidden deviousness never changing. Yet, those verdant green eyes spoke of something else. Something… much softer. 

 

The darker-haired man didn't realize that he was staring until his guest quirked up a brow. 

 

Way to make for an awkward situation. Bravo, Mycroft. Truly. 

 

Acting as if none of that short pause had happened, Mycroft strode his way to the coffee table, and put the beverage tray down. 

 

Instantly, amusement seeped into the physically younger male's demeanor. "Wine? Beware, Mr. Holmes, the tea you had bothered to prepare might end up forgotten." 

 

Mycroft smirked. Right, the brunette's utter addiction to wine. "We shall see that. In the meantime, may I open your mysterious gift?" 

 

"It's called a gift for a reason, Director." 

 

With that having left the earl's mouth, said director pulled on the ribbon decorating the box. There was no additional paper wrapping whatsoever, so all Mycroft had to do was flick the cover up, revealing at least two good dozens of those expected chocolate balls. Adorned with stripes of a darker hue, because apparently the noble was that much of a perfectionist. 

 

Earl Moriarty took Mycroft's purposefully-raised brow as the silent question the latter had hoped it'd be interpreted as. "I was just passing by the chocolaterie selling this when I remembered your birth date. Coffee pralines, they call those." 

 

"Oh?" The director said, and picked up one of those little orbs. 

 

The aristocrat tensed. Subtly, but he did. His facial expression didn't change, but there was a silent confusion in those eyes of his. 

 

Ink blue and emerald stayed fixated on each other, as Mycroft slowly brought the 'coffee praline' to his mouth. Earl Moriarty was showing no sign of dropping that blend of mischief and smugness that made up his usual mask, and yet, there was a faint, barely visible pink gently dusting his cheek as a piece of his work touched his director's lips. 

 

It was only then that the chat came back to life. Via the earl gushing. 

 

 

 

Midnight chocolate: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

 

Mission successful: GET THE FUCK OUT. 

 

Midnight chocolate: YOU DONT UNDERSTAND I HAVE TO SCREAM HERE OR ILL BE SCREAMING TO HIS FACE 

 

Mission successful: THEN SCREAM TO HIS FACE DAMNIT 

 

Midnight chocolate: NO NEVER THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE HIS DAY I DONT WANNA RUIN HIS DAY I NEED TO SCREAM HERE HES EATING THAT CHOCOLATE LITERALLY IN FRONT OF ME OH MY GAWD THIS IS THE SEXIEST THING TO HAVE EVER SEXIED IN MY WHOLE EXISTENCE 

 

Mission successful: I DO NOT NEED TO HEAR THAT ABOUT MY BIG BROTHER. GET. THE FUCK. OUT!!! 

 

 

 

Any amusement about the brown-haired noble's reaction - and everything else, really - dissipated into sheer nothingness the very second Mycroft's teeth crushed away the chocolate shell that was now in his mouth. And for what he'd consider a valid reason: 

 

Earl Moriarty's hard work had kicked apart the frontier of Mycroft's expectations and gone beyond it. The shell? Bitter just as he liked it, with an aroma of coffee harmoniously mixed to that of the chocolate, and easily melting away to leave place to the creamy core just a subtle touch sweeter, in a way that set the ensemble miles away from irking his palate like the usual delicacies did. 

 

And Sherlock's recipe gave instructions only for the chocolate itself. Earl Moriarty had to fumble around and find out for the rest. And he called himself a mere decent cook?! 

 

"Is the chocolate to your taste?" The brunette asked, zero hint whatsoever of that internal screaming in his demeanor. At this point, there was no way the sheer solidity of his facade didn't come to be from experience. 

 

… Would it be possible to make that mask wobble at the very least? 

 

With a thumb, Mycroft slowly, deliberately, swiped his lower lip. "It is delectable, to say the least… I'd suggest you try it, Mr. Moriarty." One swift, controlled swatting later, and the box found itself facing its maker. 

 

 

 

Midnight chocolate: AADSKJDASKJFDJSDLHJASKLNFDLSFDLHJDFLJDFSJLYFDJLH 

 

Mission successful: I DONT CARE IF HES ACTUALLY RIZZING YOU UP JUST GET THE FUCK OUT I DONT WANNA HEAR THAT SORT OF THING ABOUT MY BROTHER 

 

 

 

To Mycroft's disappointment, his guest's poker face was still just as tenacious as it had been since the beginning of the day. "If you don't mind having less of your gift." 

 

In one swift motion, much swifter than the director had done it, one of the chocolate balls disappeared into the brunette's mouth. And by the way he was munching, it was pretty clear to the observant eyes that he was more focused on keeping his facade than enjoying his hard work. 

 

"I see what you mean." No, you don't. "It's fairly good." 

 

The darker-haired man had to hold himself back from a sigh. If Earl Moriarty wouldn't appreciate his own effort, then Mycroft shall do it in his place. 

 

—————————

 

Midnight chocolate: Ok so 

 

Midnight chocolate: Had been a while since the actual happenstance, but Mycroft did something weird today 

 

Stop gay-panicking pls: ? 

 

Midnight chocolate: Just what tea set did you gift him for him to ask gift advice from a stranger 

 

Stop gay-panicking pls: I just gifted him a hand-painted set, not like he'd know I was the actual artist, he'd probably just think I commissioned it from some acquaintance who regularly paints on ceramic as a hobby or smth 

 

Midnight chocolate: ????? When did you even learn to do that????? 

 

Stop gay-panicking pls: That's a good way to practice gesture coordination especially for small details so 21st century me regularly gifted hand-painted ceramics left and right 

 

Stop gay-panicking pls: What did you recommend him tho 

 

Midnight chocolate: Sir, do I look like I know what you like apart from William, extremely hard cases and strong af darjeeling? I just told him to get you whatever tf he thinks you like 

 

Midnight chocolate: That brings the question tho, what realistically obtainable b-day gift do you like apart from darjeeling? 

 

Stop gay-panicking pls: Liam got me into strategy games so a Go set and a good playmate will probably send me to the clouds 

 

Midnight chocolate: Why tf must it be literally THAT one you're Will's match in heaven for fucking real 

 

Midnight chocolate: Anyway be prepared to have me barging in tomorrow Mr. B-day Boy 😀 

 

Stop gay-panicking pls: Not even gonna give me a time? 

 

Stop gay-panicking pls: Albert??? 

 

 

 

"Moran, Moran please calm down, my brother isn't actually in any danger!" 

 

"Then why the fuck did he just scream murder like that?!" The elite gunner cried out, stress and panic displayed on his face with no restraint. "Nobody does that for no reason, much less him!! Let me go check, you little-" 

 

"Moran, I swear on my life that William is in no danger!" Louis exclaimed, trying to block the black-haired colonel's way to the living room's door, sweating entire buckets all the while. Did William really have to react that way to Albert's latest text on the chat? "It's just him allowing himself to be silly for once I really swear-" 

 

And the professor just had to choose that exact second to bolt downward straight past the stairs (in the exact same fashion Louis had just a moment ago, right after that scream got out of the older blonde's throat) and continue that streak barreling his whole way to the mansion's entrance. And then past it. And barely missing Jack on the way. 

 

To say that Jack was confused was an understatement. "Wha-?! Why is little Will running like the Devil is on his heels?!" 

 

Louis was still desperately trying to cover for his brother, "For the love of God up there in the sky, my brother is just doing a silly reaction to remembering a small crime-unrelated detail! Will you please leave him alone!!" 

 

That wasn't actually anywhere far off the truth, if anything. Still, the scarred blonde wished the professor would've had a less… dramatic response to suddenly getting reminded that the physically younger Holmes' birthday was the very next day. And now, he wasn't even here to deal with the consequences of his reaction, leaving it all to his younger brother as he went and (probably) scoured all strategy games books for information about whatever the hell the Go game was. 

 

Damn you, big brother. 

 

Louis was very much going to walk up to Mycroft and take some of that chocolate afterwards. 

 

—————————

 

Turned out, taking some innocent chocolate from the clutch of one Mycroft Holmes was much harder than Louis would ever have expected it to be. 

 

"Come on, Mycroft." The blonde took one step further toward the man, careful as if approaching a spooked cat. "I just want to have a taste. Just one of these balls, what's the harm?" 

 

(Yes, the three of them were on first-name basis, and so what?) 

 

"No." The dark-haired man declared, resolute, firm, stubbornly standing before his desk the drawers of which hid Albert's gift, newspaper roll in right hand acting as a sword, ready to defend his stock of delicacies from one prying Louis. "This is your brother's gift to me, Louis. Tailored to suit my palate. Why'd I share?" 

 

"Come on. Sharing is caring, brother dear." 

 

"No. Go look for chocolate somewhere else." 

 

"Hell if I put my big brother in danger by digging up his room for those 'edible fails' of his." 

 

"You technically can, Louis. The System bans only Users from things that it considers as making no logical sense. Us non-Users have none of that restriction, as long as we're providing Users with credible excuses." 

 

Louis attempted another step towards the government worker. "You're being ridiculous for some pieces of chocolate." 

 

That newspaper roll was pointed straight ahead at the blonde and dangerously close to his glasses now. "I am not. I'm simply protecting a gift that, must I repeat, both Sherly and your eldest brother have taken utmost care to shape into the specific purpose of pleasing my demanding palate. Go indulge in your chocolate cravings with something else, I'm sure he won't question you 'assuming' that he'd bought all of his leftovers in secret. As for the matter of finding those leftovers in the first place, I'm sure William will have no problem helping you." 

 

"Hah. If he was here to help me indulge in my cravings right now, that was." 

 

That made Mycroft quirk up a brow. "Where has he gone?" 

 

"Apparently, the reminder that your brother's birthday is right after yours was enough to send him into a panic." The youngest Moriarty huffed, adopting a deadpan expression. "He's probably running around like a headless goose trying to get that 'Go game' detective Holmes had stated appreciating in the chat." 

 

"Ten pounds that he doesn't even realize what he's actually doing." 

 

"You don't get to make a bet both you and I know you'd win, Director Holmes. Try something else." 

 

"Pity. And don't. Get. Any. Closer." 

 

"Aurgh. Come on, you have an entire stock of that!" 

 

"A stock that I'll hoard like an evil dragon. So no, no one gets to touch my chocolate." 

 

All of that for a stock of chocolate. What the hell. 

Notes:

Yeah, the first part with that Fake Jack affair was there as filler so I'd be able to insert orange cat Albert, could you tell

Also, hear me out, Sherlock might be looking mighty Gary Stu rn but I promise you he ain't no Gary Stu. He's still horrendous at math beyond the basics.

Chapter 9

When Albert had told Sherlock to expect him at 221B today, the latter had been far from expecting the brunette to pull up at six in the morning. With a wig and in worker-class-quality cotton, sure, but not at six in the fucking morning. 

 

"Yo, B-day boy!" The guy enthusiastically chirped. 

 

Sherlock could feel his brow actually twitching, not like he'd hold it back from that, anyway. "… You do realize I'll have to act like an asshole towards you in front of Ms. Hudson if she pokes her head outta her room, right?" 

 

Speak of the devil and she shall appear. "Sherlock? Who's that?" 

 

"Some ol' acquaintance I caugh' up with!" His answer swiftly came, disgruntled and huffy as if he had been sleeping instead of pacing around in his room like a madman since two in the morning. "Get back t'yer beauty sleep, Imma deal with 'is bloke meself!" 

 

"That ain't no asshole response, man." The noble-in-disguise remarked, smirking, as Sherlock closed the door behind him. 

 

"Oh shut up 'n move yer butt. Tea?" 

 

"Oh no no no, don' bother, I'm just here to see your reaction to my gift! Imma stay in the hall till you open this lil' guy here," Albert lifted up a fairly big cardboard box, wrapped in cheap ribbon so his excuse would be more valid, "And then I'll kick myself out. Sounds good?" 

 

To that, the detective deadpanned. "… Yer lucky I was awake, or you'd have received a punch in the jaw." 

 

That prompted a frown from the fellow transmigrator. "That one again?" 

 

"Nah, jus' me self-angstin' about Liam's birthday." Sherlock huffed, and then shamelessly took the box from Albert's arms, pulling on one of the ribbon's ends and lifting the lid open. "Le' see what y'ave 'ere… Are you fucking serious, Albert." 

 

The guy had the absolute fucking audacity to snicker at him. "Why, I very much am. You just made it worth it if anything." 

 

"Yeah, and how do I explain this to literally anyone?!" The detective gestured at the box's opening with one hand, the other arm still occupied with holding the whole thing in place (due to the box's size, it'd end up falling straight down to the floor if Sherlock tilted it). And his reaction was very much warranted, mind you. 

 

Because Albert's gift - or, well, gifts in plural, peacefully seated within the cardboard box, were two plushies made entirely of silk - yes even the eyes - the size of Sherlock's entire torso. Overlooking what they were made in the image of, there were signs of them being hand-sewn, with some occasional stitches visible (even though a normal pair of eyes would judge those to be barely so) even with all the precautions taken by the maker, obviously someone who had enough practice to do a good job yet not enough to be a full-time professional. In any other case, this would make for a fairly harmless, if not wholesome prank hand-made by a friend. But that was without counting the two plushies' overall appearance, because: 

 

They both were anime-chibi versions of Liam, made in a fashion reminiscent of those doll bombs in… Star Rail, that game's name was? Each of them representing one of his incarnations: one had its hair made of stuffed blocks of a dark yellow nearing gold in color, its eyes made of crimson fabric, and was wearing a dark brown typical British gentleman suit with a red tie, while the other had pitch-black hair, chocolate-colored eyes, and a black kimono - or was it a yukata? It seemed too light to be a kimono - with a red haori on top (and yes, Sherlock knew these Japanese terms, go ask Myriam why). John had already seen what Liam looked like, and even outlooking that, at least one of these plushies represented an existing person the random low-class worker Albert was disguised as had no business knowing the exact appearance of, so this was definitely not something Sherlock could explain to anyone else but Albert himself. 

 

Speaking of Albert, the bastard had a self-satisfied smirk on his face. "Just say that you gushed to my face 'bout some equal of yours, and I happened to see some bloke with that description and based myself on it." 

 

"Yeah yeah, and the Asian one? How d'ya explain this shit?!" 

 

"Badshit wild fantasy." The dude had the audacity to do a double thumbs-up. "It'll work, trust me bro." 

 

The detective huffed. "Do you do this type of stuff for Liam and Louis too?" 

 

"Yup." Albert took off one of his thumbs, but the other one was still there as a fucking taunt. "First time I did, I did it as a Christmas prank to the two kids. Blood-bro and all that stuff, I'm talkin' about. Paid the price with bandage sausages for fingers, but t'was worth it so I continued." As the remaining thumb dropped, his expression morphed to much less cheerful and much more a mix between a snarl and a deadpan. "Didn't get a chance to do that since that happened, though, fucker insists on me having to knit up ridiculous pullovers instead of cute dolls." 

 

"Hah! At least you're aware of them being ridiculous! You were so obvious to it, the previous time!" 

 

"Shut the fuck up, brat. Well, I gotta make good of my promise, don't I-" 

 

A series of straightforward knocks made itself heard, right as Albert finished his sentence. The two transmigrators exchanged a glance, before Albert shrugged and practically swatted the door open. 

 

Turns out, it could become Albert's biggest mistake at any second. 

 

Why? 

 

Because it was Mycroft pulling up. 

 

"Good morning. You do seem diligent in receiving guests early today, Sherly." 

 

Fuck it all. The older Holmes was so going to see past Albert's miserably lacking disguise, and then it was going to be so over for the brunette. 

 

Hell if Sherlock didn't try to salvage the situation, though. "More like, bloke pulled up 'n dragged me ass outta bed with 'is shit. Say 'ello t' Alex… Uh, yeah no, say bye t' Alex. Yo, me mate, get the fuck out." 

 

"Rude, but again yer Sherlock Holmes ain't ya." The brunette in disguise snickered in acceptable cockney accent (while sweating buckets because of the situation they were in), and then glided his way to the other side of the doorframe. "Well I ain't gettin' in the way no more, eh? Enjoy yer day, birthday boy!" And then, faster than your common bloke would manage to follow, but not quite enough against Mycroft of all people in Sherlock's humble opinion, the guy disappeared. 

 

Unfortunately for both of the older-than-their-body guys, Mycroft was sporting an amused smirk. "Interesting friend you have here. How come you have never introduced him to me?" 

 

"Ya don' 'ave ter know ev'rythin' about me, Mycky. The guy's jus' some bloke who 'elped me once or… 'kay, sev'ral times, yeah, but if it can console ya, John ain't got acquainted to 'im either. Now, the fuck yer doin' 'ere?" 

 

The man quirked a brow. "Can't I visit this dear little brother mine? Especially after you bothered to come and pass your gift to my hands yourself just yesterday… I do have to confess, though, it was a brilliant disguise. I didn't realize until later in the day. Six hundred seventy-two to two in my favor." 

 

Well shit. 

 

(Why did the whole sentence sound half-pulled out of his ass, though?) 

 

((Mycroft wasn't about to tell the physically-younger man that, in searching for the clues Sherlock had left in his disguise within nothing but memories, all for the sake of some childish comeback, he had pulled an all-nighter because of just how well-thought said disguise had been. Had Mycroft not been given that information by the chat, he most likely would've remained oblivious to his brother's impromptu visit for the rest of his days.)) 

 

"The fuck ya talkin' about?" The younger man tried nonetheless. "Ain't nowhere near yer place yesterday. Yer sure ya didn' mistake some poor bloke for me or somethin'?" 

 

"I also thought that, at first. You did do a remarkable job at hiding the fact that your uniform was a bit too small in size for you. Where did you get the legal papers for official reception of packages, between?" 

 

"Ugh, fine, fine, assume whatever ya want! Ain't answerin' me question, though: Whatcha doin' 'ere? If it's for 'at thing," The detective pointed at Mycroft's own package wrapped in blue ribbon. "Ya could'ave jus' sent it by post." 

 

"I just wanted to return the favor, what's the harm?" Mycroft said, obviously amused the fuck out of his mind. "Though, I won't be bothering you with the responsibility of being a host; my work does oblige me to keep my visit short, this time. Enjoy your read, Sherly." 

 

And with that, the guy was gone. 

 

… Why the hell would he gift Sherlock with a book, though? 

 

—————————

 

B-day boy: You sure you didn't tell Mycky to try teaching me more strategy or smth 

 

Midnight chocolate: ??? I didn't 

 

Midnight chocolate: Why 

 

B-day boy: Oh I don't know, cos his gift just happens to be a copy of Carl von Clausewitz's "Vom Kriege"? 

 

B-day boy: With a pack of darjeeling at that 

 

B-day boy: I can understand the darjeeling, and I appreciate the book, I really do, but wtf is 24yrs old Sherlock to do with a military treatise 

 

Midnight chocolate: Big brothers can sometimes be indecipherable to their younger siblings. And I say that, I'm a big brother. 

 

B-day boy: Don't add more mysticism to your existence dude 

 

B-day boy: Omfg hosting you guys in the hall was such a mistake 

 

B-day boy: Come help me pls John's dragging me around in search of good pubs to sit at 

 

Midnight chocolate: Perhaps you could've avoided that if you've told him your birthdate sooner lol 

 

Midnight chocolate: On an unrelated note, would you happen to know where the fuck William is 

 

B-day boy: What do I look like, a stalker??? 

 

 

 

William seriously wanted to scream. 

 

It was already afternoon. Both Albert and Mycroft had already given Sherlock their well-wishes and gifts, Dr. Watson was doing it now, and here the blonde professor was, still trampling places in search of that game the detective had stated to be a favorite of his, after one entire evening and one entire morning digging up information about said game in the first place. To his most miserable woe, it had to be a Chinese game (under a different name for some reason) of all things. Where the fuck was he to find an ancient Chinese game in an European country so conservative about its European values?! 

 

At this rate, he'd never be able to give Sherlock that board on time! 

 

No, nope, do not wallow in that sort of thought, it'll slow you down, William James Moriarty. Focus, you need to find the game. Focus. 

 

But where to look for it? William knew by now, after having scoured no less than ten toy stores, that there would be no finding that board game among the regular Englishmen games. His best bet would be antique stores, but that usually sold vases and other furnitures, so even that would not be a safe guarantee in the slightest. He had got only time to lose, but time just happened to be a precious resource right now. If he couldn't get that game delivered to 221B in time, he can say farewell to his only chance to see Sherlock happy in this life. And yes, it had already been decided that the Lord of Crime would be the one tasked with the delivery job, it was faster and more efficient that way. 

 

Well, he didn't have much to lose apart from time, so antique shops he went with. 

 

Unfortunately for him, he ended up wasting an entire afternoon without ever catching a glimpse of that board in any of the stores he found. 

 

By the time he stopped running around to wipe the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand, dusk was already beginning to settle in on the city. And still, he didn't have the board and bunch of round stones described in the scarce books he could find that mentioned that game. This was despairing, if anything. 

 

It was then that his salvation came, in the form of one remote store near a turn. There were all sorts of objects that were very obviously meant to be toys, and yet didn't fit the usual British description of what toys would look like. 

 

Perhaps he could find the Go game here, perhaps he wouldn't. Either way, this was his only hope left. 

 

Thus, he nearly barreled his way into the store, only barely restraining himself from full-on barging in. There, behind a counter placed among closets and displays of non-European games, stood an elderly woman who didn't seem that much of an European either. She seemed closer to being an Orient-born person, and boy didn't that fuel William's hopes further. 

 

He chanced a general glance around the room, and upon finding no gridded board, went straight to the counter. "Good evening, madam. May I ask if you happen to have a board game called Go?" Upon her confused blink and quiet 'pardon?', he added, "I believe Chinese folks also call it the… Wei Chi? My apologies if I'm butchering up the pronunciation, but of what I understand, it's supposed to be a gridded board on which two players place white and black stones to try taking more territory…" 

 

To that description, the elderly shopkeeper brightened up. "Oh! So good sir was asking about the Weiqi! This humble vendor does have a board of it here! Asking good sir to wait just a minute, please-" She then scurried to the back room, and was quick to return with both the promised board and wooden rounded boxes that surely carried the stones within them. "T'is such a surprise that good sir came in with a specific item to ask for, though. Normally, this humble vendor's customers would come in and look around for something that piques their interest, buy it if said thing happened to keep them interested, and then call it a day. Oh, apologizing to good sir, this old woman tends to ramble." 

 

"No, no, it's quite alright." William said with a smile (that just happened to have some enthusiasm within it). "In fact, I would like to know more about this game. The only things I was able to glimpse in books is that this is a two-player game with simple rules yet complex gameplay, and I don't intend to let my more knowledgeable friend be the only player of this gift. Or oblige him to explain the rules himself, for that matter. I know he'd excuse my inexperience, but I'd like to at least come to him with proper knowledge as to what this game is." 

 

That fanned her enthusiasm further, and at this point she seemed to be having the time of her day. "Of course, of course! So, see, this game was made for the old scholars of my motherland, so they could develop and showcase the agility of their mind. The friend of good sir must be quite a knowledgeable scholar himself if he still knows of this game; the four Arts are not as appreciated as it had once been in the old times anymore. But I digress; good sir has resumed the game quite well. See these lines? Where they cross is where you place the stone…" 

 

And that was how William ended up sitting there attentively listening to the passionate rambling for half an evening, entranced by the countless possibilities the Weiqi offered by its layout and minimalistic rules. He could actually see why Sherlock liked this game. Were he to have been introduced to this game sooner, perhaps he'd have been quite the regular player himself. 

 

Perhaps that was what Albert meant, when he'd said that the two of them were a match. 

 

—————————

 

B-day boy: Albert. 

 

B-day boy: Why. 

 

B-day boy: The hell. 

 

B-day boy: Did Liam get me Go material as birthday gift. 

 

Fuck nobles: Why'd I know??? 

 

B-day boy: Because you're literally the only one I've told what game is my fave??? 

 

Fuck nobles: I literally told him nothing about it, not like I'd have a reasonable explanation as to why tf I'd know that Sherlock Holmes' favorite game happens to be a widely-played Asian abstract strategy or-whatever-tf-that-is game of all things 

 

Fuck nobles: Hold on, why're you saying that it's Will, anyway? Did he leave a note or smth? Cos it's not really that much like him to, like, drop gifts somewhere and not reassure the addressee that it's no danger, considering us Moriarty's side job and all 

 

B-day boy: He did leave a note. Written with newspaper letter cuts. And signed Lord of Crimes, of all names. 

 

Fuck nobles: Bro wtf 

 

Fuck nobles: What did it even say 

 

B-day boy: Hell if I divulge Liam's words I'll just say it's very recognizably real deal-y 

 

B-day boy: Tho I'm very grateful he got me my fave game somehow, I'll still have to get him to spill how tf he got a Go board of all things 

 

B-day boy: … You know what, perhaps I should refer to it as a Weiqi board instead, didn't realize how weird 'Go' actually sound once you put it among English text 

 

 

 

('Happy birthday, Mr. Detective. Since you clearly enjoy this little match of ours, how about a formal mind game on a board as your birthday gift? I heard that this one is quite an intricate one. 

 

- Lord of Crimes') 

 

((That look of pure elation on Sherlock's face, for that short second between bewilderment and questioning, was worth both the effort and the risk taken.))

 

—————————

 

B-day boy: Have you ever experienced the woe of having written a note to smb with carefully-chosen words only to have to rewrite a new one because you wrote the first one with the wrong penmanship 

 

Fuck nobles: That sounds weirdly specific but no 

 

Fuck nobles: Wait 

 

Fuck nobles: That's happening to you??? 

 

B-day boy: Yup. 

 

B-day boy: Finished a thank-you note with carefully-chosen hella informal words, and then have to burn that one and rewrite a new one because I didn't realize I was writing in my cleaner penmanship instead of the chicken scratch Liam surely had gotten ahold of when researching on me (T_T) 

 

Fuck nobles: I'd have said I'm sorry for you but for some reason this is funnier than it logically should be lmao 

Notes:

Sherlock's birthday down! Durham and tea party to go before the big feist that… is still a goddamn mess in my head. And no don't ask how tf there's a Chinese lady in Victorian London, I needed her there so William could actually get Sherlock his gift (also yes she speaks with a Chinese accent, William just can't be bothered enough to mention it in his own POV)

Also, fucking finally, I managed to squeeze all 4 elements of my lil Sherlock - SVSSS parallel into here! Thank you Forgetful Cloud (commentator) for making me realize how much of SVSSS I had squeezed in my draft of Gentleman Sherlock! I had wanted Mycroft to get a ceramic set hand-painted by Sherlock since a while cuz I couldn't think of any other way to have Mycroft absolutely fooled by a disguised Sherlock, and he was SO obviously going to become a strategy-savvy guy from prolonged exposure to William, but I didn't realize that I could make it an entire parallel to SVSSS! He already canonically plays the violin, which is gonna count in my eyes as an European equivalent to the 1st listed criteria of THAT parallel, and then I got down to the 2 others in my draft (yes I do count painting on ceramic) and just had to squeeze calligraphy in somehow… and voila!

Yeah, I'm an ass for not conventionally spelling out what that parallel is, but I may as well have with the text wall above 😂

(Also, holy fuck it works even better than the MycAl - MoShang thing-)

Also no, I have not read 'Vom Kriege', I put that here cuz I Googled strategy books and picked one that was likely to have made it to Victorian London.

Chapter 10

Notes:

Filler chap cuz there's like a total of near-three months between Sherlock's birthday and Durham

When Louis had asked William to help him get Albert's chocolate from their fellow chat-seer, the professor really hadn't expected it to be this difficult. No, not even with the youngest Moriarty's warning. 

 

"Come on, Mycroft. One chocolate ball for each of us two youngest siblings. Just two of those disappearing from your stock, when you have plenty. What's the big deal? Come on. Please?" 

 

William's request was met with an unfortunate end, as Mycroft stood firm and tall before the place where he kept Albert's gift from two days ago, newspaper roll in hand pointed in the direction of the blonde. "How many times do I have to say this? These chocolate balls were designed for my palate, not any other's. As such, I'll respect his efforts, and allow no one else to touch his gift. Now, do back down, unless you want a paper roll in your face." 

 

"Come on, we're his siblings." The professor tried nonetheless, hellbent on having a taste of his older brother's normal unrestricted cuisine. "Pretty please?"

 

"No." 

 

Pretty please with a cherry on top?" 

 

"No." 

 

"Pretty please with chocolate icing and a cherry on top?" 

 

"No." 

 

"Pretty please with chocolate icing, sparkles of coffee and a cherry on top?" 

 

"No. And Louis, step. Away. From. The table. Do not think I don't see you, just because you're crouched." 

 

Another blonde head appeared just beside Mycroft's office desk, cursing under his breath. Seemed like the two youngest Moriarty's plan - that consisted of William distracting Mycroft while Louis went to retrieve two chocolate balls for them both - had gone into the trash bin. 

 

Still, the youngest man didn't let up, not after two entire days of trying to get his hands on that bunch of hoarded delicacies, and made a lunge for it. Unfortunately for him, Mycroft was faster and dived past the desk, forcefully placating Louis to the ground. That kind of looked painful, but William couldn't let it distract him from the two siblings' current shared goal, so he, too, dived, straight toward one of those mahogany drawers, praying that the chocolate was indeed there. Unfortunately for him, the government worker needed only one hand to restrain the glasses-wearer, and William found his right cheek pressed against the floor, unable to get back up, try as he might. Talk about a man Sherlock couldn't beat while in his actual twenties! 

 

Just before Mycroft could say anything, though (and the man really seemed to want to make a comment about the two blondes going to unnecessary lengths for chocolate that he wouldn't give), the office door swung open with absolutely zero warning, other than a short and boisterous "Yo, Mycky!". And to the brawling trio's misfortune… 

 

It was Sherlock. Slouched as William remembered his facade to be, judging from the way his legs were positioned, until the man laid eyes on what was happening in the office at least. 

 

They all had come to rely way too much on the chat to inform themselves of the transmigrators' next moves. 

 

Both parties froze, staring at each other wide-eyed like deers in headlights. Well, stared at each other, for those who could. Among the previously-fighting group of men, only two had their head above the desk level. William's face was still pressed against the floor, but if he could see Sherlock's shoes from there, there was simply no way the detective couldn't recognize who was placated against the ground behind the mahogany office desk. The sight must seem even more ridiculous since Louis' cheeks were still sandwiched between the thumb and four fingers of Mycroft's hand (the one that wasn't occupied with holding William down). 

 

It was only after a long, agonizing silence of three men dying inside of pure embarrassment (probably. William was doing that, he couldn't speak for the other two, but it was probably the case for them as well), that someone did something. With no noise whatsoever, not even from Sherlock's footsteps as he made his exit, the door slowly went back to its previous closed position. And then the quiet 'clic' of the wooden thing meeting its frame could be heard… 

 

And then nothing. For horribly long seconds, nothing, as the three remaining men in the room held their breath. 

 

And then… 

 

 

 

Doll haver: @Fuck nobles 

 

Doll haver: @Fuck nobles 

 

Doll haver: @Fuck nobles 

 

Doll haver: @Fuck nobles 

 

Doll haver: @Fuck nobles 

 

Fuck nobles: Wtf dude 

 

Doll haver: I think our existence as transmigrators broke our siblings. Somehow. 

 

Fuck nobles: ?????????

 

Doll haver: They were brawling. All three of them. In Mycky's office. Like actual kids. 

 

Fuck nobles: ???????????? HUH??????????????? 

 

 

 

"… There goes our dignity, I guess." 

 

Mycroft's quiet words prompted a just-as-quiet huff from Louis. "'I guess'? It's gone in smokes, now! What is there left to 'guess'?" 

 

Now that the dark-haired man's hold had eased (from utter embarrassment), William got up, any desire for chocolate long-forgotten in favor of the burning sensation in his cheeks. "Perhaps this wouldn't have happened if you had put up less of a struggle. I don't know how many of that you have, but surely not only five or six." 

 

"And I told you, that bunch of delicacies were designed for me. No touching." 

 

"Ugh." 

 

—————————

 

Fuck nobles: Why tf were you even at Mycroft's 

 

Doll haver: To try gauging him ofc 

 

Doll haver: Need to see whether he has already caught feelings for you or not, can't do anything if he hasn't 

 

Fuck nobles: Wtf Sherlock how many times do I have to tell you that he'll never reciprocate 

 

Doll haver: You shut your trap Mr. Blind 

 

[Doll haver has changed Fuck nobles's name to Oblivious™.] 

 

—————————

 

"Sherlock? What's that? It doesn't look like a normal chessboard…" 

 

Sherlock looked up from the board Liam had gifted him with, on which he had been simulating a hypothetical game against the blonde. "Hm? Oh. This ain't no chess, buddy. Got it from a recent mate o' mine, apparently it's lots more complicated 'an chess. More freedom does that, ain't it." 

 

Then, Liam would probably make a Ko threat here, and then I'd have to respond by connecting here… 

 

"Oh. This uh…" John was staring uncomprehendingly at the myriads of black and white stones only placed removed on the board instead of being moved at all, forming a complex pattern he had trouble understanding the purpose of (before you ask, the guy was practically an open book to the normal eyes with how honest he always was, and even more so for the observant eyes). "This seems… complicated indeed. Uh… You know how to play this game?" 

 

"Vaguely. Bloke left instructions on 'ere." 

 

The entire sentence was a lie, of course. If anything, Liam would've been the most likely person in need of being explained the base rules, even though Sherlock didn't doubt that the professor had gone and researched on this game himself before bringing it to the detective, being the meticulous person he was. And the doctor would have no way to know that the note his flatmate was waving around was written by no other than said flatmate himself, with the penmanship used for it being much cleaner, leaning more into the cursive style and consistent variations of fine and bold lines (no matter how fast Sherlock's hands went. It seemed that this handwriting was embedded much deeper into his subconscious from a lifetime with Liam than he had thought it was), as opposed to the entirely bold straight-lined chicken scratch Sherlock had gotten the guy used to. 

 

Transcribing the entirety of the Go's - okay, Weiqi's - rules was perhaps a bit of an overkill, but Sherlock needed an excuse to be seen entertaining himself with his gift, okay? There was no way he was ever going to let Liam's effort at getting his favorite official game back (even though the professor had likely not gotten him this on the basis of Sherlock even knowing what the hell the Weiqi was) go to waste! And a Weiqi board was meant to be used, meant to entertain, meant to help build the player's cognitive skills, not to sit there as a simple dumb decoration! And the only way Sherlock would be able to honor this gift was to use it for what it was meant to do, and he couldn't do that in secrecy! The Liam plushies, no problem, since one, they were one piece each, and two, John didn't really barge into Sherlock's room at night (and neither did Ms. Hudson even if she had no qualms doing so during daytime), but the Weiqi? Its bunch of stones made it mighty hard to just sweep the entire game into a hiding spot at the first sign of danger! And thus came the actual best option: display the game for the whole household to see, self-provide an excuse for his knowledge of the gameplay, and let the other inhabitants of the flat assume the rest. 

 

And it came with the reward of helping Sherlock think with even more clarity when he needed it, using the stones and the grid as reference points, so it was all worth it. He'd know it worked, he had often done that as a twenty-first century American. 

 

And then Liam would retaliate by trying to invade by here, and then I'll place my stone here and make a major Ko threat… How'd he respond to that? Ah, wait, yes, he'd do this… 

 

John, poor him, was still confused over the picture painted by the stones ever placed and removed from the wooden board, looking back and forth between that and the sheet of rules. For the average mind, it took seeing the game unfold from the very beginning to try deducing the rules by nothing but pure observation, so Sherlock didn't blame him. Not when he himself had barely managed to beat beginner AI after a whooping three days of learning and familiarizing himself with the Weiqi. This game was not for the dumb. 

 

Then I'd do this and then he'd respond with this… 

 

((Was that just John or did Sherlock seem more… elegant, playing this game? Must be the way he held the stones…)) 

 

The doctor had soon blinked out of his absolute confusion, though. "This seems actually interesting, all things considered… May I give it a try?" 

 

"Yeah, go on. Gotta warn ya though: prepare yourself for mental gymnastics big time." 

 

(John ended up making his epic entry into the world of Weiqi by spectacularly losing to Sherlock, with a score of twenty-two-and-a-half to seventy-nine in Sherlock's favor.) 

 

 

 

Later in the evening, Sherlock found his previously-emptied Weiqi board with a single black stone in position near one of its corners. 

 

He placed a white one at the opposite corner of the board. 

 

—————————

 

Doll haver: Did Liam get to the Douglas case 

 

Oblivious™: Yeah, why 

 

Doll haver: Lol now shouldn't be too long before an inspector brings his ass over here 

 

Oblivious™: ??? I don't remember us LoC ppl getting to Douglas??? Much less get you to investigate??? 

 

Oblivious™: … 

 

Oblivious™: BRO. 

 

Oblivious™: YOU ORCHESTRATED WILLS INTERVENTION DIDNT YOU 

 

Doll haver: Lmao glad to know my payback was successful 

 

Oblivious™: OH MY FUCKING GOD I SHOULDVE SUSPECTED SOMETHING THE SECOND WILL SAID LETTING THE DUDE LIVE FOR THE WHOLE DURATION OF THIS CASE WAS THE BEST WAY TO GO 

 

Oblivious™: THAT LETTER WAS ACTUALLY FROM YOU WASNT IT 

 

Oblivious™: SHERLOCK HOLMES 

 

Oblivious™: I CAN AND WILL FLUTE SOLO ON YOUR ROOF AT 3 AM 

 

Doll haver: You LoC ppl don't get to do that after one entire previous timeline of planning MY moves 

 

Doll haver: And in my defense Douglas is already the exact type of bastard Liam would usually target so 🤷 

 

Oblivious™: HOW TF DID YOU EVEN DO THIS YOURE ON YOUR LITERAL FUCKING LONESOME 

 

—————————

 

Oblivious™: You received the Douglas case files, right? 

 

Doll haver: Yes I did, and no I won't explain lmao 

 

Doll haver: It's so fucking cathartic to be the mastermind for once 

 

Oblivious™: Yea I can understand but must you also confuse Mycroft to the point of him having a headache 

 

Oblivious™: Cos he sure looked like he was having one damn monster of a headache when he handed me those files 

 

Oblivious™: How did you do this on your own, HOW 

 

Doll haver: Anyway ONE STEP CLOSER TO THAT FINAL PROBLEM BOOKIE 🎉🎉🎉 

 

Oblivious™: Yay but you HAVENT ANSWERED MY QUESTION 

 

Doll haver: John is having his world view so challenged rn with the LoC's change of methods it's kinda sad that he's looking that stricken 

 

Oblivious™: ANSWER MY FUCKING QUESTION SHERLOCK HOW TF DID YOU DO ALL THIS 

 

Oblivious™: Oh so you're ignoring me? 

 

Oblivious™: F I N E . 

 

—————————

 

Doll haver: ALBERT JAMES FUCKING MORIARTY I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU GET DOWN FROM MY ROOF 

 

Oblivious™: Lmao no 

 

Doll haver: I DID NOT INVOLVE INNOCENT PPL IN MY DOUGLAS BUSINESS (Scotland Yard doesn't count as innocent) YOURE PULLING AN UNDESERVING JOHN INTO THIS STOP FLUTE SOLOING ON MY FUCKING ROOF 

 

Doll haver: ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUSLY PLAYING DESPACITO 

 

Doll haver: Fine, you want this on the roof? THEN WE ARE DOING THIS ON THE ROOF 

 

Oblivious™: WTF IS THAT SPEED 

 

 

 

From his spot behind a chimney, not too far from 221B but still at a safe enough distance from there as to not be seen, field glasses in hand, Mycroft watched as Sherlock leapt up to the rooftop where the masked cloaked earl was, with an utmost agility the Sherlock he remembered from before the chat wouldn't have been capable of, pillow in hand, shouting profanities with feelings. His stomach and cheeks hurt from holding down his mirth lest he get spotted, both William and Louis some distance away on another roof were clearly having that same predicament, but it was worth it, mind you. 

 

This was a glorious spectacle if he had seen any. 

 

—————————

 

By now, there were six stones of each side on the board. 

 

—————————

 

Louis didn't really know what he had expected, when he had woken up on the day of February sixth, but one thing he did know was that he did not expect to have a package delivered to him. Much less for said package to contain a harmless large ceramic mug with a notebook full of handwritten, strange drink recipes. Doable, with easy-to-find ingredients especially for a family of nobles, but strange. 

 

Albert was right behind him as he inspected the package's content, and so he got his answer as to the what and why of these two items right away. 

 

 

 

Proud big bro: Dude the mug and recipe book are your doing aren't they 

 

Proud big bro: No fucking way any other Victorian Englishman would have the idea to dump melted caramel into mocha 

 

No lil bro: Is he gonna keep the mug at least 

 

Proud big bro: Why tf do you assume he even thinks it comes from you 

 

No lil bro: No need for him to think it's from me, I'm betting on whether he'd judge based on the recipes 

 

Proud big bro: Nah he's not judging yet he's just staring at the mug 

 

Proud big bro: You do know what fire means to us Moriarty right? 

 

No lil bro: Bro how tf would I dare call myself post-Final Problem Sherlock Holmes if I didn't know what fire is to you guys 

 

No lil bro: I painted that mug that way for that very reason btw 

 

No lil bro: On a lighter note, how long do you think Louis will take to find the one recipe specifically designed for Liam's tastebuds among the random others (if he doesn't discard the notebook right away) 

 

Proud big bro: You included shit like that in there??? 

 

No lil bro: Ofc this is Louis we're talking about 

 

Proud big bro: My pullover is so gonna get overshadowed to hell and back (TwT) 

 

No lil bro: You still do those pullovers for b-days??? 

 

Proud big bro: Does the System look like an entity to let sb still under OOC lock make more wholesome gifts even once 

 

[No lil bro has changed their name to System sucks.] 

 

System sucks: You can bake and pretend you bought the cake somewhere, no? 

 

Proud big bro: That cake would last for only one day 

 

Proud big bro: I want to sew my lil bros cute plushies (T_T) 

 

System sucks: Holy hell OOC locks suck 

 

 

 

Later in the day, Louis was found in the kitchen cursing the season's lack of strawberries. 

 

—————————

 

There were twelve black stones and eleven white ones on the board. 

 

The twelfth white stone was placed, capturing a group of three black stones. Only nine black stones were left. 

 

—————————

 

Fuck nobles: Another day of the Moriarty household being forgotten for tea parties 🎉🎉🎉 

 

System sucks: Lmao do you hate tea parties that much 

 

Fuck nobles: "Hate"? Tea parties are the bane of my existence bro 

 

Fuck nobles: Ik I was bi and all till Mycroft but bro women in groups are such a nightmare I die inside each time I have to deal with that I'm not built for that shit 😭 

 

Fuck nobles: And then there's the fact that Earl Rockwell will point out my severe lack of tea parties the next time I appear at a high-class event (T_T) Sherlock come kill me pls 

 

System sucks: I'll come to your help if I find a way to get my ass into the Moriarty properties and crash a party there without getting killed 

 

Fuck nobles: Ok yea no it'd be better if you don't thank you very much I'll deal with this divine retribution myself no offense but Moran might off you the second he sees you within Moriarty properties 

 

System sucks: Shame 

Notes:

I've been wanting to see some Mastermind Sherlock content but have found a total of zero on Ao3 so far so here you go have a hint of that 🙂 (srsl tho why is it I can't find half of my hcs on here)

Chapter 11

Notes:

Yeah, the chap is shorter than I'd have liked, but I really didn't know what to put that didn't make my whole phrasing pointless so yeah enjoy

With the arrival of March came a warmer breeze indicative of springtime slowly poking its nose out. This day in particular was one of England's rare sunny days, though most of Durham University students couldn't enjoy it in full, since they were in classes. 

 

Some of those classes were even bemoaning the entire morning, since they had exams. One of those classes just happened to be under the stress of William's test in particular. In their defense, he might have overdone with that one, especially on the last part. Honestly, he was still studying that problem himself, so perhaps there was some sadism in there laying somewhere… 

 

Anyway, it was time to collect the exam sheets. 

 

Predictably, the whole class was alternating between relieved sighs and complaints about how they utterly failed the exam when William entered the classroom. The retrieval itself was the affair of everyday life, a quick thank sent the proctor's way and some quick chattering with the students, every single one of them complaining about the problems he had put in there. Soon enough, the teens were off for another class, and their mathematics teacher was packing up. 

 

Perhaps William had been relying on the chat too much to inform himself of Sherlock's next move, because what happened next had very much not been discussed in there at all. 

 

There had been no mentioning the silhouette that'd appear from the corner of the blonde's eyesight. 

 

"Hey, professor… So, did I pass your test?" 

 

There had been no mentioning that William would hear that crisp, oh-so-recognizable voice today. 

 

"Mr. Holmes?" 

 

Taking the blonde's surprise for what it was, Sherlock continued his greetings, "Yo, Liam! So it's true, yer already a university teacher at yer age!" 

 

"You really are full of surprises…" The blonde half-sighed, taking the sheet the detective was handing to him, "Did you really take the exam amongst the students?" 

 

"Welp, hope yer scorin' it for me!" And the man had the sheer audacity to adopt an entirely innocent guy tone at that. 

 

"What brings you to Durham?" William asked, and only partially by politeness. A bigger part of him was genuinely curious; what was Sherlock doing here? Surely he didn't come to try comparing the Lord of Crimes' voice with William's and use it as evidence, he already knew the full truth… 

 

(Please don't tell William the man was here to confront him about that brawl with Mycroft from two months ago, he'd die of pure mortification trying to explain that!) 

 

Sherlock just shrugged, his posture as slouched as William was familiar with, and with that same familiar hint as to it being nothing but a facade. "Jus' really wanted ter see ya, 'n I was curious 'bout how ya look like in yer job, so I searched for yer class. Ain't expectin' ter get here in the middle of exams, though… Also, ain't we promised to see each other again?" 

 

The 'wanted to see how William looked teaching' part was a partial lie at the very least, that, the professor could tell, and not only because he had the chat right under his metaphorical nose. The act in itself was perfect, but there was just… something in that tone that betrayed the act of lying, although the blonde couldn't exactly place his finger on what made him say so. The excuse itself had to be something taken from the previous timeline, at least. The rest of it, though? 

 

The rest of it was strangely truthful. 

 

Once again, William was faced with the horrible fact that another version of him had managed to trap Sherlock's heart into his hands somehow. Yet again, guilt inserted a lump into his throat. Yet again, his logic was shouting, screeching at him that he should stop this folly before the ebony-haired man got hurt. 

 

And yet again, he found no strength to follow that sound advice. 

 

"I don't remember accepting your invitation, Mr. Holmes…" came out way less like the rejection it was meant to be, and way more like a tease. 

 

If Sherlock had noticed the underlying original intent, he didn't show it, instead keeping a playful worker-class mask on his face, as they walked down the hall side by side. "Aw, c'mon, don' be a killjoy! I took 'e train to 'ere! Plus, I've gotta lot to tell ya 'bout!" 

 

"That will be interesting, I don't doubt… Unfortunately, I have another class this period, and I have to score the exam afterwards." It was going to be a perfect rejection, since the Sherlock behind that brash behavior was sure to be a very courteous person, but then William's damned mouth had to slip. "But perhaps I could listen to your stories as I do the latter?" 

 

God. Fucking. Damnit. Even William's own body was going to betray the more reasonable side of himself, now? What did his logic have left by its side?! 

 

Well it was too late to take back the offer now, and Sherlock made sure of it. "Perfect! May I sit in thro' yer next class then?" 

 

And of course, the professor's instincts had to jump in before his logic could. "Of course, l'll just go trade these copies with my notes first, if you will allow it." 

 

"'Kay. Yer territory, not mine." 

 

The trip itself was a quick one, with the print employee having a fairly strange expression as the only notable element, and before long, William was back in the classroom teaching his favorite subject. As promised, Sherlock was sitting there at the furthest corner, staring at him with intent. 

 

With a lot of intent. And none of it included prying and fishing for information and clues. 

 

William didn't know how he was able to focus on teaching in the first place, with those dark sapphire eyes fixated on him as if he might disappear at any second. It wasn't that it was uncomfortable… Far from it, actually; that heavy gaze felt like a blanket. A warm blanket in the coldest night, the kind of blanket you didn't want to get out of, everything else be damned. That was what made it so distracting in the first place, and the professor had to fight to not give up on lecturing in favor of losing himself in those two dark pools of nighttime ocean. 

 

He didn't deserve to let himself wander in there. William, filthy criminal whose heart was tainted with blood, didn't deserve to have such a reassuring gaze cast on him. Sherlock deserved better than to have to lock his eyes onto a monster. 

 

And yet both versions he had encountered of William were forcing him to do just that. 

 

Once again, his reason begged him to end this lest he hurt Sherlock even more. And yet, once again, he found no strength to even muster up the resolve to do so in the first place. 

 

(Selfish, selfish William wanted to bathe under that soothing, tender gaze for as long as he was allowed to. 

 

It would hurt Sherlock. It would hurt him through betrayal and disgust, once he saw what monstrosities lied underneath what that previous version of William had undoubtedly presented the ebony-haired man with. Still, the blonde didn't have the strength it took to stop this from happening.) 

 

—————————

 

Lunch break arrived none too soon. And perhaps way too soon, too, for William would have to directly face Sherlock. At least he could hope that whatever tale (although William had an inking as to what exactly that tale was about) the detective had to tell would keep that gaze at bay, even if that might not help by much. 

 

There they were, enjoying the weather and the rare clear sky outside, even as William was more occupied scoring the various exam copies he had. 

 

"My lecture must've been boring for you, wasn't it?" 

 

"No comment." was al the detective huffed in response. And yet, he seemed… a bit more content than when he'd first revealed himself? 

 

William must be hallucinating. All that selfish wishing must be getting to his head. 

 

Well, better make good on that promise, right? 

 

"So, Mr. Holmes… What topic could be important enough that London's greatest detective would go all the way to Durham?" 

 

"Aw but ya know me…" Sherlock said, a smirk on his now-plu- (YOU SHUT UP STUPID BRAIN-) lips. "Let's talk Lord of Crimes!" 

 

"Are your investigations going well?" William asked, mainly because the System might punish Sherlock if it found William acting suspicious concerning that whole point. Once of the transmigrator crying in the middle of the night was enough, too much even, thank you very much. 

 

A lax "Eh…" was the detective's first response to that question (that was understandable, since there was no need of investigation for him in the first place concerning the Lord of Crimes' identity), but then he elaborated. "To tell ya ev'rythin', I'm beginnin' ter get a clear profilin' o' the bloke." 

 

"Yes?" The blonde prompted, partly for he was genuinely curious about what Sherlock might slip past the System's detection. Would he stick to the general profiling? Would he risk going deeper and pushing it closer than that? 

 

He immediately got his answer: a general profiling. "A justice-seeker, that criminal is. I mean, he's offin' corrupt nobles 'n puttin' 'eir crimes into the limelight like it's a stage, 'n I'm gettin' dragged along as a sure way to expose 'at even more efficiently, not 'at I'm complainin'. Ev'rythin' he does makes him kinda urban legend… som'times he's the common people's hope, som'times he ain't nothin' but a rumor… nobody ain't 'avin' a clear idea o' whether he exist at all. But he does. He does, 'n he's a justice-seeker of a criminal, that's what he is." 

 

A really safe general profiling. 

 

"A justice-seeking criminal, you say…" 

 

"Yeah." 

 

"If you're so convinced of it… What do you plan to do?" A metallic pen effortlessly glided across one of the copies, even as its owner spoke. William needed to know, William needed to hear it. William needed the answer. "If you're indeed right, it could be said that he's at the people's service, in a way. But he does commit crimes, to achieve that goal, thus you're faced with a dilemma: will you let him continue, or will you stop him? What is your stance on this, Mr. Holmes?" 

 

The answer came with no hesitation… and to William's surprise, it came with Sherlock dropping all semblance of cockney whatsoever. "I'll catch him. Supposing that all those he had killed deserved what came to them, it does not in any way mean that he had the right to kill them. A crime shall forever stay a crime… And I'm saying all that, I'm extending that to the man himself, since it's blatantly clear that he plans to add his own death into his kill count." 

 

Practice all he wanted, William could not repress the surprise in his own widening eyes, as he stared straight into the detective's sincere and serious night-blue ones. 

 

"He does not get to decide who should die." At this point, even his demeanor had completely abandoned its slouched posture, in favor of a straight back with both hands joined on the table and crossed legs, forming a picture that somehow managed to be so graceful even with the careless way his attire had been buttoned up. "No one does. Thus, he does not get to decide that he himself should die either. Who knows if he genuinely thinks his atonement lies in death, or if he just wants to escape from hypothetical pain potentially spurred by his morals - even though I'm convinced that it's the latter and he had half-convinced himself of the former, don't ask me how I came to that conclusion - but either way, he's wrong. There's no atonement in death. Only in the living can one repent. Thus, I'll catch him. I'll catch him before he successfully drives himself to his death, and I'll catch him in my own way. And I'll have him pay for his crimes in the living, even if I myself need to die for it." 

 

The criminal could only continue staring at the detective, at lost for words. 

 

Sherlock meant everything he said. 

 

He meant everything he said, enough to drop all pretense, drop the facade he had been wearing ever since his rebirth in this timeline, and lay that only ever-mentioned true self bare in front of William for even but a few second, perhaps a few minutes. He was sincere enough that he was willing to risk further punishment upon himself from the System, if only to convey his conviction in the purest form he could without putting William in danger. 

 

Sherlock meant every single word he said. 

 

William didn't deserve this. Someone like Sherlock deserved a better man. 

 

"Aaaaand 'at's it, that's me opinion on that." 

 

That broke the professor from his trance-like state with sheer whiplash. There Sherlock was, slouched and leaning on the chair, having put his usual mask back on. 

 

And the man was smirking, willfully ignoring the effect that brief glimpse into his real self had on the blonde because there simply was no way he hadn't noticed it. "Thanks fer lis'ning to me ramblin', by the way. Glad I finally got 'at out. By the way, I ain't kiddin' when I said I'm ready ter die for that goal. But I do needa solve the mysteries around him first." 

 

More like, he needed to find tangible proofs first, really. William didn't doubt that it'd have been easy for him if not for the System, since he had been so efficient at leading the blonde - and pretty much everyone else involved - by the nose against Douglas. 

 

(Did he achieve this by dispersing fragments of information across a network of people he had selected beforehand, just like William himself so often did?) 

 

William wanted to give him encouragement, if only to soothe that spirit, he really did. But it'd hurt Sherlock in the long run if William gave him false promises. So he ended up saying, "With such bravery, I can only pray for your success." 

 

The smile Sherlock gave at that could only be described as utterly angelic. Tender, soft, with that gaze once again casting a warm blanket on the blonde… 

 

… Would it hurt really that much to enjoy that warmth for one day? Only one day… even if that subtle hint of both sorrow and understanding made him doubt that he could… 

 

Whichever he would choose wasn't important. What was important was the comfortable silence they ended up falling into. That, and Sherlock's comforting gaze persistently lingering on him made it not really possible to argue his way out of it anyway. 

 

For once, William conceded to his inner demons, as he moved on to Sherlock's copy. For once, he'd enjoy this bliss in every capacity he could, as he corrected the equations that had rather obviously been solved using the Weiqi as a reference (William would know it was possible, he had pulled three entire all-nighters to try out various possible applicable strategies. A lot of them involved arithmetics, for some reason. It must be because the game had been conceived for scholars), internally chuckling at how half of those equations ended up completely misled. 

 

For once, he'd allow himself to bask in this heaven, if just to remember it in his last breath. 

 

—————————

 

Lunch break ended a little too soon, in William's humble opinion. 

 

At least he'd be able to walk away without much regret. Apart from not being able to have more than a taste of this bliss that was to be by Sherlock's side, perhaps. Well, at least he did get a taste. 

 

Just as he was preparing himself to pack up, though, his gaze fell on one particular copy. 

 

"… Now this is interesting…" 

 

"What's interestin'?" 

 

A perfect score in an exam where William had been so sure he actually had overdone the last problem's difficulty, that was what was interesting. 

 

—————————

 

Waiting for Sherlock in the privacy of an office, with most of the duties requiring his presence done for the day, sure did give William a bit more space to mull over that earlier discovery. 

 

Someone leaving a copy deserving a perfect score amongst all others. The lack of name on said copy. 

 

Sherlock's utter lack of real surprise at the news. 

 

This had to have been an event of the previous timeline. One that the System deemed unimportant, but that the detective had wanted to keep nonetheless, for some obscure reason. 

 

… Wait… could it be because… this talent was one hidden in… 

 

As if the detective had waited for William to get to that thought, the door crashed open right then, revealing said detective holding that one print employee from earlier hostage. And dragging said employee straight into the office, of course, the boy wasn't really cooperating much, and looked like a deer in headlights. 

 

Now William understood much better why the ebony-haired man wanted to keep this event in this timeline. 

 

((If Louis had seen this whole day unfold up until then and seen that look of misled understanding in his brother's eyes, he'd have smacked William in the head, right in front of everyone, coherence be damned. He very much was beginning to lose it, thank you.)) 

 

"Oh, him…" was all he could say, even if it'd be understandable to show no surprise. Mind you, better not risk it with the System since this young sir Bill Hunting had no idea of what was happening. 

 

Once again, if Sherlock had pierced past the subtle hint of acting in William's tone, he made no comment about it. 

 

—————————

 

It was only within his wagon, in the train back to London, that Sherlock could fully allow himself to mull over the few little clues he had got on hand. 

 

Liam had been acting fairly strange today. Disregarding entirely how most of the day had gone exactly like in the previous timeline, there had been… instances. Subtle, but strange instances where Liam looked particularly guilty for seemingly no reason. Instances where he looked like he knew more than he logically would, considering the context. Instances that Sherlock didn't remember being there the previous time. 

 

That in itself wouldn't have been much of a clue at all, but if put together with other cases like that downright unreal fight with Mycky two months ago, Mycky's coded message that arrived almost-too-shortly after Sherlock's mistake with Bond, and of course… that unknown System and the mention of public view… 

 

He may have a theory about this. 

 

A theory that could be easily tested with his current set of skills. 

 

—————————

 

Got the tea party 💀: Sherlock. 

 

Got the tea party 💀: Explain. 

 

My condolences: Explain what 

 

Got the tea party 💀: You know exactly what I'm asking you about 

 

My condolences: ??? I don't 

 

My condolences: Elaborate 

 

Got the tea party 💀: Why. 

 

Got the tea party 💀: The fuck. 

 

Got the tea party 💀: Is Mycroft included as a special guest 

 

My condolences: ??????? Why tf do you think I'd know??? 

 

Got the tea party 💀: I do not consider that an answer Mr. I-orchestrated-one-of-William's-plans 

 

My condolences: That doesn't mean I know why the hell Mycky will be attending the tea party 

 

Got the tea party 💀: You very much do you brat now SPILL 

 

My condolences: I. 

 

My condolences: Don't! 

 

My condolences: Know!! 

 

My condolences: Go try asking Liam or Louis or literally anyone who has a hand in establishing the guests list I have zero fucking clue why Mycroft will be there 

 

My condolences: Tho everyone is acting weird these days so I honestly wouldn't be surprised if Mycky signed up to pull some sorta prank on you 

 

 

 

(Mycroft did very much not do that.) 

Notes:

Shoutout to Ilovethissomuch (that's the guest commentator's name I'm not making this up) for unsticking me!! I needed to insert Sherlock suspecting something SOMEWHERE bc that'd contradict my entire point of gentleman-him being more skilled than Mycroft if I don't, but I was SO stuck at how to implement that and what plan he'd come up with to confirm his hypothesis 😭 That dear commentator mine my savior

(Reminder: this whole thing started on pure brainrot and my draft is half-cooked at best)

Chapter 12

Notes:

Yeah, more lengthy chappie I know, but my hands slipped 🤷

The day of the tea party arrived way too fucking fast, in Albert's opinion. Definitely too fast to prepare his mental for the task of dealing with an entire horde of females (then again, even years of prep' would be too little for him), even with his beloved siblings' help. And too fast +1 for a now-very gay heart that was never going to get sated. He could put up with flirting with one woman, yes even while feeling himself dying inside each time he did that (perhaps spamming into the chat would help. Sherlock would complain, but he'd understand), but one woman multiplied by x-number? Goodness knew he was going to pass out face-flat on the ground the second the last of them was out of the gates. 

 

The worst of this whole thing, though, was that he was going to be under Mycroft's nose the whole time. Try as he might, there was no getting the dark-haired male's name out of the damned guests list. 

 

("Big brother… the invitations are definitive. We can't remove Mr. Holmes from there." 

 

"There has to be a way to bypass that. Louis, please, I can't let Mr. Holmes go through this torture. Come on." 

 

"That is no concrete reason to remove him from the guests list. And as I said, it's impossible." 

 

"Thank you Mr. Helpful, I'll find a way to get him out if you won't." 

 

(The outcome was predictable: he ended up with nothing but wasted brain juice and wasted time.)) 

 

And as to rub on the already present wound, this fine Sunday afternoon just had to be all sunshine and warmth and nice weather. And after days and days of rain. Just like the previous time. 

 

The fucking irony of life. 

 

Albert seriously wanted to go to an obscure corner of the mansion, curl up into a ball, and rot away for the whole day. 

 

 

 

Tea day 💀: Halp me pls I am SUFFERING 

 

My condolences: They aren't even here yet but hold on till I get an opportunity to crash the party 

 

 

 

If not for the acting skills Albert had drilled into his entire being for his siblings' sake, he'd have raised a brow. Even though that isolated little change of expression wouldn't be out of place in this current situation from an outsider point of view, caution needed to be exercised with that dog shit-eater named the System around. 

 

 

 

Tea day 💀: How tf do you even know 

 

My condolences: I'm within the property 

 

My condolences: When I said I'd find a way to crash the party, I wasn't kidding 😀 

 

Tea day 💀: Moran will so kill you 

 

My condolences: He won't if he doesn't have any proof that I'm here 😀 

 

 

 

Any opportunity to make a comment on that flew out the window the second the brunette saw his fellow partners-in-literal-crimes gather. There was no forgoing the plan rehearsal if Albert wanted to get through this suck-ass day without any of the mansion's inhabitant getting exposed. Screw the risk of some random lady getting the breaking news out, the System would do them all over, by offing both William and Louis and dragging one innocent Mycroft into the crossfire in the process. The rest of the gang was as alive as grilled roast beef without at least one of the two blondes around because Albert's criminal specialties were arson and poison (… and lock-picking but Victorian Albert wasn't supposed to know how to do that, let alone be a pro at it), not prison-breaking, that was in William's arsenal (yet again), not his. 

 

(Needless to say, Albert was screeching and crying inside as he went over his own responsibilities. And sending said screeching and crying to Sherlock in text format, of course.) 

 

((The spectacle Sherlock was getting would be nothing compared to the peak cinema that shall be Albert's reactions later on, he just knew. And Liam's and Mycky's too, if his hypothesis was revealed to be correct.)) 

 

—————————

 

It was, like, five minutes after that rehearsal that Jack spoke up again. 

 

"I hope you're mentally ready…" Albert very much was not!! "It's time." 

 

And then, just like the last time it happened, all of the carriages arrived all at once, in a fucking queue, like a fucking choreography, with frightening punctuality that would've been more useful elsewhere. 

 

Except that one carriage that was still trailing a bit behind while the ladies got out of theirs, of course, but Albert had no doubt it was because Mycroft wasn't as eager to see beautiful male faces as all these ladies were, and he was even less eager to mingle into an entire horde of said eager ladies as the sole male guest in the whole list. Plus the fact that he was going to have to help the Moriarty household herd this entire troupe as a special guest and all that couldn't be encouraging in the slightest. And no Albert wasn't projecting, he knew from years of having known Mycroft in the previous timeline that the man would find himself incredibly drained after each time he had to deal with more than five nobles at once for more than one hour, and only kept up because it was his responsibility to do so. That, or having to deal with anything that wasn't stable routine for more than one day. And now, the poor guy was going to get stuck amongst a mass of pure unpredictability for an entire afternoon. 

 

That once again brought up the question: how the hell did the man find himself as a special guest? 

 

This had to be Sherlock's doing, there was no other way. 

 

Mycroft, as would be usual, got out of his carriage with nothing but unhurried pure elegance (Albert could practically see black feathers swirling around in his trail), walking unbothered towards the reception as both Albert and William were getting absolutely swamped in simping ladies. 

 

Unbothered until some of the women noticed him, that was. 

 

"Uh… Who's that gentleman right there?" 

 

"Isn't that Mr. Holmes? You know, that mysterious gentleman who sometimes stands there during parties?" 

 

In a matter of mere seconds, the ebony-haired government worker unfortunately found himself crowded too. His expression didn't change much from the stoic neutrality that was its default stance, but Albert had enough experience reading past that from years of the previous Mycroft accepting his tentative friendship to say, the poor man was not having a fun time. 

 

Welp, dude was in due need of being gotten out from there. 

 

"Please, there's no need for such hurry." The brunette said in a calm, pleasant tone, as pleasant as he could muster in spite of his own internal screaming, "The reception is this way…" 

 

He'd have loved for it to be as simple as just uttering some words. It actually took a long while, plus Mycroft's help (the poor man was having zero vacation), before the ladies accepted to queue in and await as their invitation was confirmed. 

 

And no, Albert was not going to go over how he had to flirt with ladies during his speech, and even promise to flirt more afterwards. Right in front of Mycroft while the guy was there casually sipping wine. That was it, Mycroft was going to think that Albert was a man-whore now. Which was ironic, considering that Albert was, in fact, a virgin. Had been in his two previous lives, still was in the current one. And doomed to be forever a virgin, apparently, because his stupid brain was just that romantic and refused to let him lose his V-card over any other person than the one guy he'd be forever pinning for from a distance. 

 

The eldest Moriarty seriously wanted to dig himself a hole and sleep there until the end of time. 

 

—————————

 

Outside of the mortification that was that welcome speech, everything was going well enough, all things considered. It had also gone well in the previous timeline, but do excuse Albert's gay ass for being surprised. 

 

Credit went where it was due, though, and he had to once again thank the chat's existence for helping him regulate his mental state. Via letting him scream into the chat for only Sherlock to see, whenever he could afford to send something into there. This was a dangling carrot from the System, yes, but hell if he wasn't going to use it to its fullest capacity. Dual-tasking was a bit difficult in a mission such as this one, but it was either that or he was going to pass out mid-party. The younger version of himself had still been fully bisexual until his time in prison, and had yet to taste of a life where he could be as blunt as he wanted to be (unless the topic sounded like he had smoked weird weeds), so dealing with this party had been not much of a problem, but now he was in dire need of expressing himself please and thank you. And he had to thank Mycroft's continued assistance, too, but mostly the chat since there was no surviving this day without going full drama-queen mode in there. 

 

So, he just continued what he was doing, taking a glass of wine from one of the hired maids as he flirted with a random lady whose face he was pretty sure he was going to forget the second she stepped out of his gates. 

 

Was there anything he really hadn't expected to happen, yet he should have and did happen anyway? 

 

Well yes. 

 

The text that appeared right after he finished his conversation with the random lady was what happened. 

 

 

 

My condolences: Hello I'm Sharah the maid and I'm standing right next to you right now 😀 

 

 

 

Albert.exe had stopped working. 

 

—————————

 

Liam, who had been sending subtle glances of innocent, instinctive-looking curiosity at the blonde maid that was Sherlock's disguise, froze right in the middle of picking up a chalk as if his brain had stopped computing. 

 

Mycky choked on his wine and landed into a coughing fit, disrupting entirely the (near-unnoticeable for the unobservant eyes, yet painfully obvious to those who paid attention to his every move) state of unconscious (and protective, too, as if he knew this whole party was bothering Albert) jealousy he had been in. 

 

Louis, who'd been discussing logistic with Jack by the entry door (holy hell it was difficult to get him out there, boyo sure was dutiful), stopped dead in the middle of his sentence with suddenly too straight a face. 

 

All three of those reactions happened in tandem with Albert's stiffening, right after Sherlock dropped his bomb text. And then all three non-brown heads snapped their gaze towards what was supposed to be a normal woman right beside the actual brown head, two of them more subtle than the one other (*cough* Louis, do try to be more subtle please I'm a shy maid *cough cough*) but still noticeable since Sherlock had approached all Moriarty mansion residents plus one Mycroft Holmes beforehand for bombshell effect, he'd have had a harder time spotting potential chat-seers otherwise. 

 

Guess that confirmed his theory to be correct, then. The overexertion burn in his spine and legs was worth it. 

 

Now, he should be worried about these three seeing the chat and potentially being put in dire danger (courtesy of you-know-which-abomination) because of it, but honestly? Mycky seeing the chat actually helped Sherlock's MycAl agenda by a gigantic amount. He'd never have imagined such luck, yet here they were. 

 

Now, there was only hoping that the three of them were the only one of this particular case. 

 

 

 

Tea day 💀: No way. 

 

My condolences: Yes way. 

 

Tea day 💀: NO WAY 

 

Tea day 💀: THE MAID IN FRONT OF ME DOES NOT LOOK LIKE A GUY CROSSDRESSING 

 

My condolences: Lmao I may or may not have learnt a lot from my Pinkerton + MI6 member time, wouldn't have been able to prank Mycky otherwise 

 

Tea day 💀: I CANT BELIEVE IT 

 

Tea day 💀: MY MYCROFT BDAY PRANK COMMENT ABOUT YOU BEING BOND 2.0 WAS ACTUALLY FUCKING ACCURATE 

 

Tea day 💀: WTF HOW 

 

Tea day 💀: YOU DONT EVEN SOUND LIKE A GU

 

Tea day 💀: Wait. 

 

Tea day 💀: Wait wait wait wait do you do fan dubs on YouTube too 

 

My condolences: You too?? 

 

Tea day 💀: Yeah 

 

Tea day 💀: Fan-dubbed Roguefort Cookie since bro was taking too much of his sweet time appearing in CRK 

 

Tea day 💀: Also dubbed some other characters but mostly that one 

 

My condolences: Wait 

 

My condolences: Did your username happen to be aspiringarsonist6973? The guy who normally rants about HoYo lore and all that? 

 

Tea day 💀: How did you know 

 

My condolences: OH MY FUCKING GOD I WAS SUBSCRIBED TO YOU 

 

Tea day 💀: BRO WHAT LMAO 

 

Tea day 💀: Wait back on track how tf do you even get fem voice right 

 

My condolences: So I may have tried my hand voicing Frieren and Tignari for fun 

 

My condolences: And my own re-imagined version of HH Lucifer but mostly proud of how the Tignari one turned out (perhaps I'm biased since it's mainly me making Tignari calmly cuss the fuck out of his old VA) 

 

Tea day 💀: Wait omfg you're LordOfCrimesSimp#1????? The guy who spent most of his vids angry-ranting about character designs and then redesigning them????? 

 

My condolences: Yeah! Thanks for your membership btw 

 

Tea day 💀: WE WERE THAT CLOSE TO EACH OTHER DAMNIT WTF IS THAT VOICE RANGE BTW 

 

Tea day 💀: Wait wtf I should've KNOWN with that username 

 

My condolences: Just like I should've known with that username AND voice of yours you arsonist of a devil 

 

—————————

 

Perhaps William should be focused on what was said on the chat. Or more importantly, the mission at hand. 

 

He couldn't. He was too focused on the 'maid' who had tricked Ms. Moneypenny into hiring 'her'. 

 

Sherlock looked nothing like Sherlock. Forget the blonde hair and green eyes, the way he had been hunching his shoulder, along with the way that chest had been so skillfully stuffed into existence, that softened jawline, and the surely bent knees behind those layers of the maid dress, gave the perfect illusion of a dainty feminine stature William couldn't pierce through and had only a vague feeling about until Sherlock had outright announced that he was there. 

 

Yup, he was understanding a bit better what '2.0' meant. And if that was indeed the right meaning, then Albert had a point. 

 

And… actually, the 'maid' Sherlock was disguised as looked… fairly pleasant to the eyes, dressed like that? The kind of pleasant that made one wonder what it would actually look like, if he didn't have that wi- 

 

No no, wait. Focus, he had to focus. It was primordial that these ladies got out of the gates unsuspecting of anything abnormal. 

 

—————————

 

Even though it couldn't have been done on purpose, Mycroft actually had to thank Sherlock for the consequences of that sheer shock he had provoked. Honestly, the physically-older Holmes should've thought of choking on something himself, if it gave him such opportunity to get out of that damn crowd. 

 

… Even if it meant he ended up lost in the Moriarty's rose maze for that. 

 

There he was, marching ahead like some idiot because it was the only way to cover his air-headed moment and disguise it as him willfully wandering around to refresh his mind (well, technically, he could use his own footprints left on the grass as a guide to get back near the maze's entry, but that would mean squinting at the ground and subsequently making a fool of himself the second either Sherlock, William or Louis happened on him, so no thanks). He could probably die of shame right now. He had been having his life force sucked out of him by that mass of simpering ladies and having to watch Earl Moriarty flirt with every single one of them, but that didn't excuse that instead of focusing on where he was going, he had been lost between 'oh my God why is my brother dressing as a goddamn maid' and trying to squash down his urge to brew any plan to get Earl Moriarty out of what was clear-as-day genuinely making him uncomfortable despite the man trying his best to (consciously or not) frame it as just him being dramatic. He had been seriously considering that latter while still unaware of where exactly Sherlock was, but now that the man had revealed himself to be disguised as a maid? The physically-younger Holmes was in the best position he could get to know what was happening, and when was best to send the Earl out of that crowd. 

 

But, back on track. 

 

Mycroft had no idea of where he was, other than him still being in the bigger rose garden. That was visited and maintained by a one-man team, if the size regularity of the older footprints left on the grass and the less well-kept appearance of the plants themselves was anything to go by. And, wait, wasn't this Earl Moriarty's shoes size? Much too big to be Mr. Porlock's, in any case. 

 

Was this the earl's refuge from everything? 

 

… Should Mycroft face the risk of humiliation squinting his way back to the party, or should he continue venturing around, now that was the question. One choice would preserve the chestnut-haired man's privacy… but… 

 

The other one would potentially allow him a further look into Earl Moriarty's real self… at the cost of the man's privacy. 

 

Yep, time to squint the whole way back to the main venue. Everyone point and laugh at Mycroft Holmes. Even though he had kind of been doing that to determine the older footprints' size. 

 

Just as he was beginning to look down at the grass, though, a new text from Sherlock appeared. 

 

 

 

My condolences: It's been a while since Mycky went into that other rose garden btw 

 

Tea party 💀: Oh shit 

 

Tea party 💀: No doubt he'll get himself outta there but time to fish one Mycroft Holmes out of a maze or it will take too long 

 

Tea party 💀: Def too long for my taste anyway 

 

My condolences: Lmao you already miss him that much? Thought you were going to pass out from suffering and pinning at the same time? 

 

Tea party 💀: Shut up Fred somehow got himself lost in there once and he's practically a walking compass 

 

Tea party 💀: Louis had ended up going into there a la Theseus (Will's idea) to fish him out 

 

 

 

((Ah yes, Louis remembered that incident way too well. That had definitely not been a good first-week experience for poor Fred.)) 

 

 

 

My condolences: Is that maze so hard 

 

Tea party 💀: Idk 

 

Tea party 💀: I just know I designed the layout myself, tried assigning Fred to taking care of the maze, he got lost and I took back over since I'm the most familiar with its layout (and had planted the seeds myself) 

 

My condolences: ??? When did you even have the time to do so 

 

Tea party 💀: Since I got this estate after my 3rd 18yrs birthday 

 

My condolences: And your job?? Paperwork and so on??? 

 

Tea party 💀: I'm. A. Freaking. NOBLE. 

 

Tea party 💀: Most ppl mistakenly think us aristocrat family heirs have a lot of responsibilities that eats away at our time but nope we have a shit ton of free time no kidding 

 

Tea party 💀: It's even worse when you're practically a time-traveler who remembers a bit too well the worst of all the shit show that's happening, and what once took you one entire hour to do now takes you 15min and you have to spend the rest of that time scribbling random shit or smth because it'd be weird for you to have the job done that quickly 💀 

 

Tea party 💀: Srsl I envy Will and his freedom to go get himself an actual job cos that maze? Is born from pure brainrot. 100% brainrot into which I then tossed my random essays cos that maze gotta become useful at some point. 

 

Tea party 💀: That 'toss random essays' part was done after the Fred incident btw, guess why 

 

Tea party 💀: Speaking of the essays I gotta hurry before Mycroft gets to the center of the damn thing that's where my scribblings are at 

 

My condolences: Do your scribblings contain Mycky-fanboying material 

 

Tea party 💀: EW NO 

 

Tea party 💀: … Well yea 

 

Tea party 💀: If you count drawings of Mycroft as fanboying material 

 

Tea party 💀: Wait, my absence isn't getting noticed too much yet right 

 

My condolences: Liam already noticed it he's trying to buy you time don't worry 

 

 

 

…

 

So Mycroft getting lost in Earl Moriarty's maze was going to be the excuse to get the earl out of the crowd, now? 

 

Better continue drifting around, then. The more time the earl spent out of that horde, the better.

 

(He was torn between the urge to try finding that center and the respect of Earl Moriarty's privacy, that was another factor for just continuing to do random whatever. 

 

Fortunately for him, Sherlock would unknowingly sate his brother's curiosity along with his own.) 

 

 

 

My condolences: Back on track, SHOW ME THOSE JUICY DRAWINGS 

 

Tea party 💀: Bro wtf I thought you didn't want to see your brother that way 

 

My condolences: And I wouldn't have asked if I didn't just KNOW you'd never actually draw him in that light now SHOW ME THOSE DRAWINGS I KNOW YOU DID AT LEAST SOME AS A JAPANESE GUY 

 

Tea party 💀 has sent a photo. 

 

Tea party 💀: Here have a plushie Mycroft have a good day 

 

My condolences: THIS AINT WHAT I SEEK SHOW ME YOUR ARTISTIC SKILLS 

 

My condolences: I CAN AND WILL PLAY BAD APPLE ON YOUR ROOF AT 3 AM IF YOU DONT AND NO MORAN CANT GET TO ME 

 

My condolences: You don't want to have to explain a LoC member having a shoe print on their nose due to a maid do you 😀

 

My condolences: It's not actually difficult to run and climb in maid dresses trust me I tried 

 

Tea party 💀: 🖕

 

Tea party 💀 has sent a photo. 

 

My condolences: Ok thanks now I'm happy but why digital art 

 

Tea party 💀: Cuz that's the only thing I saved into my library you ungrateful fuck would you take time to take pics of your physical sketchbooks 

 

My condolences: Yes. And in fact I did do that. 

 

My condolences: Remember, Haxxor exists 

 

Tea party 💀: My condolences dude 

 

My condolences has sent a photo. 

 

My condolences: Here since you did what you were asked of 

 

Tea party 💀: Aw how kind of you. 

 

 

 

If this had been in any other context, Mycroft would have had his fun trying to spot the differences between normal art and this 'digital art' the two transmigrators had mentioned. Key words, in any other context. Or, hell, Mycroft would've done that if this 'digital art' represented the way he typically portrayed himself to the world, but this wasn't it. This wasn't a drawing of him sitting elegantly in his full suit looking stern. 

 

This drawing was of a slightly older him in his dressing gown, his hair undone, slouched over a settee with an open book in his laps, sleeping, tired. An entirely too vulnerable look that he wouldn't have allowed the rest of the world to see, but that was very much drawn from memory instead of imagination, and he could tell because of the hair. No one else than Sherlock would know just how wild Mycroft's locks actually were and how his left bang fell over his left eye, and that was only because the once-younger sibling saw him with his bed-head every morning back when they still lived together. Yet Earl Moriarty drew that hair he wasn't supposed to know about with perfect accuracy, each stroke of brush just as precise as the last. This was by no means a product of professional hands, but it had been practiced enough to get everything right. 

 

Earl Moriarty had seen Mycroft's vulnerable side. A side Mycroft would never allow just anyone to even get a glimpse of. And he thought this was 'tentative' friendship?! This had to be at the very least very close friendship, key word 'at the very least'!! … And that group of key words was even more relevant with Sherlock's incessant attempts at getting the brunette to confess… If this was what the physically-younger man had been subjected to in the previous timeline, then no wonder he had the conviction that he had. 

 

Sherlock was right, the poor earl was too oblivious for his own mental health. Mycroft had to fix this somehow. 

 

But for that was a first step, Mycroft would have to figure out what he really felt about Earl Moriarty being in love with him. He certainly was comfortable enough at the idea, but that wasn't enough, he had to dig in deeper. If he was just comfortable with it, he wouldn't be so fixated on the idea, especially for so long… 

 

Turned out, the aristocrat didn't need much time to find Mycroft at all. 

 

"There you are. I was beginning to get worried, you know, Director." 

 

And it was said with a totally suave tone at that. Earl Moriarty hid his real self too well. If not for the chat, Mycroft seriously would've had only a gnawing suspicion at the back of the mind and not much more, not even with that discrete hint of cosmetics that were there because they had something to hide, and that the physically-eldest Holmes couldn't spot back then in the main venue because they were too far from each other. 

 

(Did the man lose sleep over the tea party? From the knowledge of upcoming plots forced by the System? Did the man begin losing sleep since after the two Holmes' birthday? Why did the two younger Moriarty's say nothing about it if the latter case was true?) 

 

"I'm sure you know that I'd have found my way out, but thank you for worrying." The government worker replied, stoic as usual because he also had a role to play here. The System and all. 

 

"Hmm, by retracing your footsteps, I'm sure." 

 

The man had the audacity to sound amused, at that. If Mycroft didn't have the chat right under his nose, he'd have assumed that the noble was just that much of a minx. Would he still be able to maintain that smug cat look and that smug tone once utterly wrecked- 

 

Hold up. 

 

What?! 

 

"Mr. Holmes?" Earl Moriarty frowned, genuine concern making its way into his voice because of course he had to notice Mycroft's abrupt stiffening. "Are you alright?" 

 

The darker-haired man cleared his throat. "I'm fine, thank you." 

 

Of course, he wasn't as fine as he said he was, but nobody needed to know that. But what in God's name was that thought?! 

 

The earl did not look like he took Mycroft's words for it, but he let it go. "Shall we return to the main venue?" 

 

(Or perhaps not. Perhaps it was a ploy to get Mycroft to that 'maid' that was posted there in the main venue.) 

 

Absolutely not. "We'd better take a breather away from the main venue, don't you think? I do find myself quite entranced by the layout of this maze." 

 

Earl Moriarty raised an eyebrow. "I may not be able to join you, were you to choose staying here. Remember, Mr. Holmes, I am the host of this tea party." 

 

"And I'm sure you're very thrilled to resume flirting with ladies." 

 

Thankfully, the brunette took Mycroft's sarcasm for what it was. "… Fair point. But it's still my responsibility, you know?" 

 

"I'm sure your two youngest brother can buy you some time to recuperate. Surely they'd know you aren't too comfortable around women, if I managed to notice it." 

 

(He had no doubt about it. And if he was wrong, he was going to throttle either William or Louis. Or both, letting one live would be the surest way to get himself throttled in kind.) 

 

((Managing the noblewomen disappointed at both Albert's and Mycroft's absence was a matter of scrapping for dear life, but it probably would've been ten times worse without those small drop-by-drop doses of methodical help from Maid Holmes. Now, Louis was going to strangle Mycroft if that man ruined all three of his allies' combined effort by letting himself get brought back to the damn tea party before its end. Come on, the man was cunning enough to have Albert stay in that miniature Minotaur maze, was he not?)) 

 

"And I'm sure they wouldn't be happy to be left all alone dealing with those indeed adorable ladies." 

 

 

 

Tea party 💀: How're my brothers doing 

 

My condolences: Kinda managing 

 

My condolences: I'm helping them, trust us and the rest of the LoC gang a little bit more and don't worry, recover your strength dude 

 

My condolences: If I see you anywhere near the main venue before the party closure I'll chuck a tray at your face, remember, it's not hard to run in dresses and the LoC gang has no idea that Sharah doesn't actually exist 

 

Tea party 💀: Do you love Will or do you want him dead?!? 

 

My condolences: You call it wanting Liam dead I call it wanting to see my dear ones happy we are not the same 

 

 

 

"Oh really? And what do you think they'd be less happy with, them having more job to do or you getting a mental breakdown over pushing yourself too much?" 

 

Even that low blow didn't make the man waver. "I can hide my mental exhaustion well enough, thank you. Now, if you wish to continue taking a breather, I can get you back near the entry of the maze, you'd have no problem getting out anytime you want." 

 

Mycroft huffed. So, it was time for dirty power play, wasn't it? 

 

He stepped closer, letting his demeanor slip just a bit away from the stoicism expected of him, but narrowing his eyes and remaining stern. The earl showed no sign of being affected by his boss suddenly trampling over his personal space, but at this point, Mycroft had learned his lesson; Earl Moriarty's facial expression was not to be trusted. 

 

The darker-haired man leaned forward to the brunette's ears, dropping his tone as low as possible so they wouldn't risk being heard. "If you're so stubborn on neglecting yourself, then let me turn this another way: I will not have you be unwell, Mr. Moriarty. Either you take it as a request from an acquaintance, a friend even, if you'd accept such thing between us, or I will give you the command to rest as your director, M. Your choice." 

 

And then he took a step back while holding his hand out for the earl to take. Just one step back so he could try gleaning for any clue of his success. 

 

(Only one step back, because the warmth emanating from the other man was actually really pleasant to feel. Really pleasant.) 

 

(Mycroft wanted to scoop the man into his arms and hold him like he very much needed.)

 

He wasn't disappointed. This time, a hint of hesitation was there in those emerald eyes, tempted to oblige to that as a request, yet held back by his sense of duty towards his younger siblings. His hand was there, slowly, timidly hovering up, as if both pulled up by the desire to let go and held down by everything else weighing on his mind. 

 

For a moment, that mask of a seductive devil wobbled as Earl Moriarty loosened his grip on it, and from that slip out a glimpse of something… vulnerable. Beautiful. Sad, yet beautiful. 

 

A glimpse of the real Albert that didn't come from the chat. 

 

A glimpse the full picture of which Mycroft - as he realized - would kill to see. 

 

Unfortunately, this day wasn't going to be the day he'd see it. Albert abruptly stiffened, his gaze suddenly seeming like there was some object between his and Mycroft's face, and the next second, that blasted facade was back. 

 

When Albert took the hand offered to him, it felt much less genuine than what it had been just before. "Then I'm afraid I don't have much of a choice, do I~?" 

 

It took Mycroft everything to maintain his calm and slip back into his stoicism in turn, instead of scowling like he wanted to. 

 

That bastard System had interfered, that much was obvious to anyone with eyes. 

 

And Mycroft was in no position to point it out, as a non-User. So, he resigned to spending the rest of the party discussing trivial matters with Earl Moriarty instead of with Albert. 

 

—————————

 

That night, one Mycroft Holmes could be found tossing and kicking in his bed in frustration. The frustration of that OOC lock blocking Albert from being himself with anyone else than Sherlock for once. The frustration of that real self being that of a hurt man because the System prevented Albert from being the brother he wanted to be. The frustration that now, all Mycroft could see behind his own closed eyelids was either Albert curled up in a ball within the dark, emerald orbs dimmer than they should be, suffering yet unable to cry, or Albert under his director, his hair a mess, his face scrunched up in pleasure, his eyes glassy. That last part was his prick thinking, as it shouldn't be. 

 

At least now Mycroft knew just what Sherlock had that he envied so much. 

 

—————————

 

Even so late in the night, William couldn't help staring at the drawing Sherlock had sent into the chat. 

 

He had plans to make. He had a curtain call to draft and time. And yet, he couldn't help continuously staring at the picture made from masterful pencil lines. 

 

He shouldn't be this entranced. The William depicted in that drawing was objectively hideous, with that scar around his left eyes. And yet, Sherlock somehow managed to convey his own thoughts into each line, managed to convey that he thought the William he had depicted was pretty. That no, the blonde wasn't disfigured at all, no matter if there was a scar right there on his face. And… 

 

… And was it really possible for William to have that sort of smile? 

 

(This shouldn't have existed in Sherlock's head in the first place. William didn't deserve to look that happy.) 

 

—————————

 

This was routine by now. 

 

The veil of darkness was as silent as usual, as Albert used it to wander within his maze undisturbed. This rose maze, his first work ever since he reincarnated back in this timeline and lost his job as an architect, the work that now served as a hideout for his too twenty-first century-ish thoughts and any proof that he knew of Mycroft's less public side, just happened to also be an excellent additional obstacle to visibility from external points of view, so Albert had no fear of being seen doing shit out of his bed in the middle of the night. 

 

Venturing amongst the roses had been routine ever since the labyrinth's creation. Venturing amongst the roses at night had been routine since a month, ever since the dread of the Final Problem creeping ever so much closer had begun to make itself more prominent, prominent to the point the System needn't cook up nightmares for him itself anymore. 

 

Laughable, that in the face of the point culminating from years of him not being a proper big brother, the only thing Albert knew to do was to avoid Morphee like the pest, and pray that whatever plan Sherlock had come up with to avoid the Thames will work. 

 

A pathetic excuse for a man, that was what Albert was. 

 

The maze's center piece, a circular pavilion made of wood, was as neat and tidy as ever (cue Albert's perfectionism for that). The paper sheets containing his more discriminating scribbles were near-invisible from the outside, placed under the benches installed along the inside walls to be protected against eventual wind, but Albert was still thankful his luck had decided that Mycroft hadn't been right in this space during his own little walk in here. The man had been way too close, and who knew what the System would've done if he had indeed discovered the countless angry essays about psychology analyses that would undoubtedly sound very novel and perhaps straight up out there for people of the Victorian era, the random modern-style buildings ideas and, of course, the drawings. The drawings of that more casual, honestly beautiful side of Mycroft. The one side that Albert was not supposed to have seen, in this lifetime. 

 

All of that, the jarring proof of him not being the man he said he was. The proof that he was a liar to his most cherished family - unless it was his best friend, of course, and even then, it was because of the camaraderie born from being in the same situation. Minus the OOC lock, for Sherlock. 

 

Try as he might, it was impossible for Albert to not envy Sherlock. The guy was still restricted by potential suspicion from those around him, yes, but at least he had full freedom to act however he liked that didn't go against the System's Number One Rule about them not being discovered as transmigrators. Albert, meanwhile? 

 

[Alert OOC! Alert OOC! Alert OOC! Albert James Moriarty would not take William James Moriarty's place in the Final Problem!] 

 

For the millionth fucking time, why the fuck not?! I already played Lord of Crimes representative more than once! What's the problem in doing that again- 

 

[Alert OOC! Alert OOC! Alert OOC! Albert James Moriarty would not take William James Moriarty's place in the Final Problem!] 

 

Albert, meanwhile, was fucking stuck as the cowardly William-worshipper he once had been. He was stuck as the guy who had failed to understand that William just wanted to be treated like the normal human dude he was, thus following his plan blindly until he'd realized the full extend of it too late. 

 

He was stuck as the man who had started this whole bullshit. 

 

There were many things that sucked more than death, and being given the illusion of being able to fix things only to have that hope torn away was one of those. And Albert knew what it was to die, mind you. 

 

And for now, he could do nothing more than suck it up, bother the closest person available (*cough* sorry Sherlock *cough*), or, in unholy hours like this, just sit there amongst his favorite flowers, his facade down because that bitch of a blue screen could say nothing if there was nobody there to watch.

 

And he hated it. 

Notes:

Prepare for random rant:

Ok so first off: I was referencing actual existing youtubers I follow, cuz like NO WAY they didn't have a social media life but my pea brain can't come up with something original myself, so I just put Sherlock as Loves Art23 (cuz like my Sherlock is an artist and all that y'know, plus we all know he WOULD go crazy over details & hints & accuracy research rabbit holes like she does) + that one guy I forgot the name of and who did voice Genshin Tignari cussing the fuck out of his old VA & Albert as Ashikai (no I won't elaborate) 🤷 Also yes Sherlock would be struggling like CRAZY to upload a vid cuz of his job, so his channel would be mostly for fun, whereas Albert would have it as a side-hustle sort-of. And no the actual youtubers don't do any fan dub.

Second, I'm so sorry but that over-detailed plan at canon chap 2 put brainrot in my head and now I can't imagine Albert as anything else than an architect. And yes I made him a genius architect, his bros (including Sherlock) + his crush are a bit too up-there, he gotta be an absolute prodigy at something else than arson too lmao (also, just realized that I hadn't really given much detail abt Albert's life as a Japanese dude at all, unlike with Sherlock, so… have this Ig 🤷 Just my luck that this WAS intended to be a MycAl-centric chap)

Third, you ain't telling me that drama isn't Albert's way of coping, no sir

And lastly, once again, shoutout to Ilovethissomuch for the idea of Crossdressing Sherlock! You have no idea how I jumped straight onto the idea after some days of ignoring it beyond my replies lmao 😂 You saved my damn life dear thank you so much-

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 6 of Some transmigration shit because author says so