Chapter Text
[Narration by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esquire]
One of the things that my beloved John often remarked on during his writings was that he considered himself putty in my hands, in that I only had to look at him to get him to do exactly what I wanted. Mostly I did not abuse this Great Power and restricted it only to extremely important things, like bacon. Hardly ever for anything else.
I just know he is shaking his head at me. All right, I used it for That as well. But not that often.
Still shaking. I do not know why, he enjoyed it when I used it for That!
What very few people seem to have noticed is that I actually had to make a conscious effort to achieve what I wanted when it came to John. He would hardly ever ask me for things and would more often than not keep things from me rather than (as he saw it) bother me, but his silent distraction worked far more effectively than anything I could do, and I would have gone to Timbuctoo and back if it would have brought a smile back onto that beautiful face of his (I always used the word 'handsome' to John, for obvious reasons!).
Thus John's sadness after my sheer stupidity and utter recklessness had nearly cost me my life on Tonbridge Railway Station hurt me far more than any bullet could have done. That I had made the man I loved suffer was something that caused a sharp ache in the pit of my stomach, and I knew that I would have to put in some serious effort to put things right. What I needed was some time away from the constant demands on my time and abilities so I could devote myself to what really mattered. The love of my life.
I was to get my wish – courtesy of the end of the world!
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Chapter Text
God did not smirk as his son sat down extremely slowly on the couch, letting out a pleasured sigh when he was safely down.
“So”, He said with a knowing smile. “How are you and Gadreel working out?”
Lucifer groaned.
“I was sure those muscles were just for show!” he gasped. “Seriously, what are you teaching angels these days?”
“You are too young to be told such things”, Mrs. God said with a smile. “It is just that hardwiring into their vessel's human psyche tells them all sorts of things, especially with this Interweb thingy.”
Lucifer groaned again.
“He wanted sex all this morning”, he sighed. “I said that I had to come upstairs and see you first. Two weeks non-stop! Where does he get the energy?”
“Fortunately we have a little assignment for you involving my sweet little cutesy-wootsy angel”, Mrs. God trilled (the devil was quietly impressed that his Father managed to keep a straight face at that). “We need your character to help smooth over a slightly less than calm patch in his relationship with his hunter after that silly paintings lark.”
“It will involve a lot of travelling for your character”, God said, “so I am afraid that Gadreel will just have to wait for you to be done.”
“I am done!” His son groaned. Then his eyes widened in horror. “Oh Hell!”
“What is it, dear?” Mrs. God asked.
“I let him know and he told me to come back so he could 'say goodbye properly'!”
Mrs. God snickered and pressed a button on the table next to her. Across the room the tinny sound of 'The Last Post' rang out. Lucifer scowled at that, especially because he had a horrible feeling that it might be all too appropriate.
And it was!
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Chapter Text
[Narration by Mr. Byron Blackwater, Esquire]
It was horribly bad timing that Mr. Holmes' letter arrived when it did, as Jaime – I could never think of him as Neil although I had conditioned myself to call him that whenever there was anyone else around – was still two days away from the end of one of his heats. Fortunately Mr. Holmes who had helped our recent move to Wigtownshire in southern Scotland very kindly paid for a first-class sleeper from Stranraer to London and back, although the southbound trip was pretty much wasted because, as you can guess, I got very little sleep.
As I limped down the absurdly long platform at Euston Station what was left of me worried just what Mr. Holmes had to tell me that was so important it was both urgent and could not have been done through our usual system of couriered letter. I could I suppose have waited for Jaime's heat to burn itself out but I knew that he needed a few days and preferably a whole week with me after heats for the reassurance, especially after what had been done to the poor boy 'in the name of science'. So we had had to come to London.
The address that we went to was, it turned out, a high-class molly-house in Mayfair of all places. Mr. Holmes was there but not Doctor Watson who was away treating a friend of his. The detective introduced me to Mr. Sweyn Godfreyson, a tall well-set Saxon fellow, and his younger lover a strikingly handsome fellow called Mr. Lloyd Jackson-Giles, though of course not a patch on my Jaime. They were apparently the co-owners of this and several other places (over twenty, I found out later).
I ruffled Jaime's long hair, which I knew he loved me to do when he was feeling unsettled.
“Mr. Holmes”, I said warily. “What's all this about?”
“I trust that the new house in Wigtownshire is all right?” Mr. Holmes asked. “We do have some documents concerning it that you can sign while you are here, but something else has happened which rather necessitated your presence and quickly.”
I felt even more nervous. Jaime moved closer to me; he often went silent when he was uneasy which given the way that he had been treated in the past was understandable.
“Following Mr. Lannister's escape I had my friend Miss Bradbury run checks on the institution that had so foully abused him”, Mr. Holmes said. “She was behind the American newspapers finding out the sordid details which forced them to shut down; incredibly some declined to publish at first but finally enough did to get the story out and to force the government's hand.”
“We were both grateful for that”, I said, wrapping an arm around Jaime who was now trembling slightly. I kissed him again. “What of it?”
“Miss Bradbury is, incredibly, even more cynical than my good self when it comes to governments”, Mr. Holmes said. “She had a feeling that the Americans would try to restart the programme in some way and they did not disappoint, thinking to hide their activities by using a small Caribbean island that they had rented from its private owner. Most of the original test subjects had either died or had become so integrated into society that their removal might have been problematic but they did retain one gentleman who had 'worked' alongside Mr. Lannister for some time. His name is Mr. Arthur Dane and he too managed to escape.”
“Arthur?” Mr. Lannister exclaimed. “He's here?”
Mr. Holmes was looking at me in a way that said he knew full well what I was thinking, worse luck. Jaime was such a stunningly handsome fellow and I had always found it incredible that he had fallen for someone like me with what my own father (and more than one of my teachers) had told me was a train-crash face. A handsome man being brought back into his life..... of course I would not like it one little bit.
Then I saw Jaime's hopeful expression and felt like a heel.
“How did he escape?” Jaime asked (I had been wondering that myself).
“The island was near a small British holding and the governor there assisted him”, Mr. Holmes explained. “The fact that this happened a year ago – I am sure that we can all work out what the governor got out of it!”
“Soreness most likely!” Mr. Lloyd Jackson-Giles muttered. I could not help but snigger and I was pleased to see that Jaime smiled for the first time that day.
“The governor helped Mr. Dane come to England”, Mr. Holmes said, “and since in his time here he had used Mr. Godfreyson's establishments it was here that he was sent.”
“Can I see him?” Jaime asked eagerly.
“Not until later, possibly tomorrow”, Mr. Holmes said. “I too wondered at his story and I had Miss Bradbury check it, but she has vouched for him. The governor faked his escape to seem to be on a cargo ship that later sank off the Azores – quite convincingly according to her and she has very high standards in such things – so the Americans are not looking for anyone although we shall maintain our communications system just to be on the safe side. As for seeing him.... I am afraid that since you were on the same programme that your heats are both synchronized to be close to the full moon. His own is just ending.”
As he said that the door opened and another tall fellow limped in, possibly an older brother of Mr. Lloyd Jackson-Giles as they had similar facial features, skin tone and musculature. The newcomer looked absolutely terrible.
“Ben?” Mr. Lloyd Jackson-Giles asked, clearly worried.
“I have no brother!” 'Ben' said. “Lloyd, next time you find someone who can keep it up for over an hour, do us a favour and warn a fellow first! He's still going even now; I had to set both Castor and Pollux onto him!”
Mr. Holmes and I both chuckled at that. And that was how Mr. Arthur Dane came into our lives – and very soon after, into our bed.
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I had been wrong; it was possible for me to be even happier.
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