A/N - Do I know anything about British politics? Nope. Do I know anything about traditions from centuries before that might cause Mycroft to dress up in a ceremonial costume? Nope. Is that gonna stop me from making something up to match the fantastic photograph you may view to your computer screen's right? Absolutely not. All blame is to be assigned to violist0419 . She showed me the picture, this story's existence is entirely HER FAULT!
It was an unfortunate fact of Mycroft's job that sometimes, ceremony and tradition from centuries before stuck around, apparently for the sole purpose of annoying him.
As Sherlock puts it, I am the British government, he thought as he tugged on the frankly ridiculous bright red jacket. I could abolish these occasions completely. He knew why he didn't; it was good policy to allow traditions to continue. It promoted nationalism, kept everyone happy and all that. And besides, he didn't have to do much. He wasn't publicly known as "The Government," merely as one of the numerous politicians holding small government offices, and appearances like today's were important for keeping up that facade. Very few of the people who would be in attendance knew who he really was - the rest would overlook him entirely - but those few would benefit from knowing that somewhere in the crowd of wigs and formal red jackets was the man who controlled them all.
He pulled on the long, curly brown wig, picked up the short scepter, and left the room.
Outside the meeting hall a crowd of dressed up politicians mingled, waiting until they were called to order to take their seats. Mycroft walked toward the doors as quickly as he could without drawing attention, preferring to take a seat rather than mix with the masses. He avoided eye contact with the surrounding people as he walked, and was therefore taken by surprise by a deep voice from beside him.
"Nice outfit, Mycroft," Sherlock said.
Mycroft looked up to his face. "Hello, brother dear," he said, smiling pleasantly even as annoyance rose up in him. His eyes flashed to the left, checking for Sherlock's constantly looming shadow, Dr. Watson.
Sherlock must have caught the glance, because the next thing he said was, "John's waiting outside. The security's rather tight on this place today."
"Yes, well, it is meant to keep people out."
"It's not doing a very good job." Sherlock lowered his voice to say, "There's going to be a murder."
"How unfortunate. Of whom?" Mycroft already had a good idea of who would be murdered, and an idea of who had hired the killer, but it hadn't been important enough for him to look into further.
"I haven't ruled out all the possibilities yet. Not you," Sherlock said.
Mycroft inclined his head in a gesture that managed to include gratitude and 'obviously'. "And do you know the identity of the killer?"
Sherlock hesitated. "No," he admitted. "But I know who hired him."
"As do I," Mycroft said with a smile. "Now, if you'll excuse me-" he broke off, looking over Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock turned his head to see. "I really should tighten the security," Mycroft noted.
Amid the crowd of politicians, a concerned looking John Watson was hurrying towards them, his mouth a grim line and his forehead a mess of worried creases. He appeared at Sherlock's shoulder, first looking up at him, then at Mycroft.
His eyes visibly widened at the long curling wig, and jumped down in a quick head-to-tie scan of the entire ridiculous outfit. His worry lines had mostly vanished into an expression of suppressed amusement, and his mouth twitched at the corner. Mycroft sighed and glanced aside to relieve the building pressure of not rolling his eyes.
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The Trouble Behind the Photos
Fanfiction"John pulled his phone out of his pocket and surreptitiously snapped a picture, only to be glared at by Mycroft an instant later." "River! What was that for?" Based on a photos of actors, some headcanons, and a dare.
