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amediaStory title: Savant
Author: Amedia
Rating: G
Fandoms: Tin Man, Sherlock
Characters: Mycroft Holmes, Glitch, Anthea
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Imagiquest, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and the BBC. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: Glitch has an occasional visitor. Mycroft has a consultant.
Word Count: 638
Author's note: Prompt response ficlet.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ladynyks requested Tin Man with the prompt, "something mixing Mycroft Holmes and Ambrose (and/or Glitch)."
The sleek black limo pulled up. Glitch didn't question it. Wherever he roamed across the O.Z., Mycroft had some way of knowing how to find him.
The procedure was always the same. Anthea would drive up; one of the back doors would unlock. Glitch would climb in to the spacious back seat, where Mycroft would be waiting with a small notebook. Mycroft would begin the conversation without preamble. Where most people would say, "Good morning," Mycroft would say, "There was a murder yesterday," or "An important figure has been kidnapped." Today it was, "The man in charge of a critical document has disappeared, and so has the document."
Then the game began. Glitch would ask for details, and Mycroft would supply them, carefully avoiding specific names and places, but providing unusually specific information otherwise. "We found coarse red and gold threads in the trunk of his car," or "There were indentations in the carpet that did not appear to be standard footprints; here are the measurements." Glitch would make some observations. Mycroft would listen patiently. Eventually, Glitch would say something that sparked that essential movement: Mycroft would reach for a pen. That was the signal that Glitch had proven valuable; the conversation might end there, as Mycroft jotted down a single word, or might continue for another hour.
Then Anthea would get out of the car, open the trunk, and take out a basket for Glitch. Usually food, sometimes other supplies. Practical necessities for a zipperhead on the run.
This day was like any other, until Mycroft finished writing in his notebook. Glitch watched him more carefully than usual. Mycroft tucked away pen and notebook both and looked up to see Glitch still staring. "What?" Mycroft asked, puzzled.
"This event took place in New York City, didn't it?" Glitch said.
"I beg your pardon?" said Mycroft. One of his well-manicured hands twitched ever so slightly.
"You've been at great pains to conceal from me who you really are and for whom you work. That's not unexpected, and it really doesn't matter. You could be anything from a well-funded revolutionary to a dignitary from a foreign state. But I've also been noticing a pattern in the details you won't give me about cases. Specific locations, I can understand. But specific forms of technology? Six months ago a case hinged on a phone call, but you wouldn't tell me what kind of phone it was made from. Two months ago there was travel involved that spanned hundreds of miles and was accomplished in hours, but you wouldn't reveal the mode of transportation. Today you described a fear that could only be realized if information could be disseminated near-instantly--without the assistance of telepaths.
"In other words, you come from a place very similar to the O.Z., but one that has slightly more advanced technology and no magic. You've been at great pains to conceal it, but you're from the Otherside. And so are the cases you're working on."
Mycroft looked down, a curious expression on his face as if a smile and a frown were fighting for control of his mouth. Finally he sighed. "I shouldn't be surprised," he said. "Your lucid moments are becoming more frequent and connected. It was only a matter of time before you had the mental continuity to put two and two together."
"Does this mean an end to our consultations?" Glitch asked.
Mycroft shrugged. "Possibly. Not necessarily."
"It's not like there's anyone here I could tell," said Glitch. "And you'd rather talk to me than your brother. Less baggage."
Mycroft looked genuinely startled. "How did you know--" He stopped. "Don't tell me," he said. "It will be an agreeable puzzle figuring out how you made that inference." He inclined his head graciously. "Thank you for the diversion."
"Thank you," said Glitch. "Always a pleasure."
Author: Amedia
Rating: G
Fandoms: Tin Man, Sherlock
Characters: Mycroft Holmes, Glitch, Anthea
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Imagiquest, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and the BBC. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: Glitch has an occasional visitor. Mycroft has a consultant.
Word Count: 638
Author's note: Prompt response ficlet.
ladynyks requested Tin Man with the prompt, "something mixing Mycroft Holmes and Ambrose (and/or Glitch)." The sleek black limo pulled up. Glitch didn't question it. Wherever he roamed across the O.Z., Mycroft had some way of knowing how to find him.
The procedure was always the same. Anthea would drive up; one of the back doors would unlock. Glitch would climb in to the spacious back seat, where Mycroft would be waiting with a small notebook. Mycroft would begin the conversation without preamble. Where most people would say, "Good morning," Mycroft would say, "There was a murder yesterday," or "An important figure has been kidnapped." Today it was, "The man in charge of a critical document has disappeared, and so has the document."
Then the game began. Glitch would ask for details, and Mycroft would supply them, carefully avoiding specific names and places, but providing unusually specific information otherwise. "We found coarse red and gold threads in the trunk of his car," or "There were indentations in the carpet that did not appear to be standard footprints; here are the measurements." Glitch would make some observations. Mycroft would listen patiently. Eventually, Glitch would say something that sparked that essential movement: Mycroft would reach for a pen. That was the signal that Glitch had proven valuable; the conversation might end there, as Mycroft jotted down a single word, or might continue for another hour.
Then Anthea would get out of the car, open the trunk, and take out a basket for Glitch. Usually food, sometimes other supplies. Practical necessities for a zipperhead on the run.
This day was like any other, until Mycroft finished writing in his notebook. Glitch watched him more carefully than usual. Mycroft tucked away pen and notebook both and looked up to see Glitch still staring. "What?" Mycroft asked, puzzled.
"This event took place in New York City, didn't it?" Glitch said.
"I beg your pardon?" said Mycroft. One of his well-manicured hands twitched ever so slightly.
"You've been at great pains to conceal from me who you really are and for whom you work. That's not unexpected, and it really doesn't matter. You could be anything from a well-funded revolutionary to a dignitary from a foreign state. But I've also been noticing a pattern in the details you won't give me about cases. Specific locations, I can understand. But specific forms of technology? Six months ago a case hinged on a phone call, but you wouldn't tell me what kind of phone it was made from. Two months ago there was travel involved that spanned hundreds of miles and was accomplished in hours, but you wouldn't reveal the mode of transportation. Today you described a fear that could only be realized if information could be disseminated near-instantly--without the assistance of telepaths.
"In other words, you come from a place very similar to the O.Z., but one that has slightly more advanced technology and no magic. You've been at great pains to conceal it, but you're from the Otherside. And so are the cases you're working on."
Mycroft looked down, a curious expression on his face as if a smile and a frown were fighting for control of his mouth. Finally he sighed. "I shouldn't be surprised," he said. "Your lucid moments are becoming more frequent and connected. It was only a matter of time before you had the mental continuity to put two and two together."
"Does this mean an end to our consultations?" Glitch asked.
Mycroft shrugged. "Possibly. Not necessarily."
"It's not like there's anyone here I could tell," said Glitch. "And you'd rather talk to me than your brother. Less baggage."
Mycroft looked genuinely startled. "How did you know--" He stopped. "Don't tell me," he said. "It will be an agreeable puzzle figuring out how you made that inference." He inclined his head graciously. "Thank you for the diversion."
"Thank you," said Glitch. "Always a pleasure."
