Title: Valuable assets (part 1 of 'An interested party')
Fandoms: Sherlock BBC/Spooks crossover (can be read even if you've only seen one of the two shows)
Set during S2 of Spooks and pre-Sherlock series, mild spoilers regarding Ruth and Harry.
Characters: Harry Pearce, Mycroft Holmes, 'Anthea', mentions of Ruth Evershed and Section D.
Genre: Humor (verging on crack), pre-drama (yes, in my head it means something)
Rating: G
Word count: 2140
A/N: This one is for keep_counting andfueschgast and the idea came when we decided on Twitter that Valentine's Day would in fact be 'Harry Pearce and Mycroft Holmes appreciation Day' (yes, that was a while ago). We figured these two had to be written together somehow. Here is the first part, finally!




An interested party

I – Valuable assets

The first time they meet, it starts with a phone call. Late at night, when Harry is still in his office - at if Jools had known he would be there and not at home (well, he had probably guessed).

'Harry.'

'Jools,' he replies, in a seemingly cheerful tone in which you can hear all the irony he's capable off. 'To what do I owe the honour?'

'Someone wants to see you.'

'Someone? Have you become so self-confident that you speak of yourself in the third person now? Or maybe it's your boss, and you're acting as his personal secretary. You must love this.'

'Neither, I'm afraid, and I suggest you stop the cheeky manners before you meet him - you don't want to make a fool out of yourself, he'll make you feel stupid enough within five minutes. Although I shouldn't say this over the phone, he's probably listening.'

'Who is this mysterious “he”, Jools? I believe I've met every single person of importance in this country at least once – whether or not they knew who I was.'

'You haven't met the British Government yet.'

'Have you been drinking, Jools? The British Government isn't made of only one per... Oh, I see.'

'Well, glad we've sorted this out. He's waiting, and so is the car. Now if you'd please leave your ivory tower?'

'I'll be down in two minutes. What does he want?'

'How should I know?' Jools asks back, in a mysterious tone that confuses Harry a lot more than he would care to admit.

                                                                                      oOo   

He's a rumour. He's an echo, a whisper. Even when you're head of the anti-terrorist section of MI-5, you can't know if he's for real, if he's a cover, or if he's exactly what people say he is, and more. You can't even watch him, because he's watching you already, or so they say. He's not MI-6, he's not even Home Office. They say he's all of these things and nothing at the same time, because he's above it all.

The car stops in front of an ancient building, the facade of which is immaculate. 'The Diogenes Club' says the inscription on the gold plaque.

'This way, Mr Pearce,' says the woman who has accompanied him all the way, gently, but firmly. She's very young, but there is a look in her eyes that tells him she's much more aware and competent than her manners would lead people to think.

'Are you working for him?'

'Who, Mr Holmes?' she replies in a casual tone. 'Yes, sort of.'

Harry raises his eyebrows for a second, and then shrugs almost imperceptibly. He must keep his countenance, and he will, but to be fair he's already annoyed even before the whole thing has even properly started. He should have taken Tom with him, or Ruth, at least. She might look harmless, but he would have felt safer in her presence.

'Sort of?'

'He doesn't like to define things with too much precision. I think it bores him. But you'll see for yourself. And now you must be quiet.'

'Pardon?'

'It's a rule of this place, apparently. Ridiculous, if you ask me, but anyway. You can't speak in front of the other members of the club. We'll lead you to a room where you can, obviously.'

'Obviously,' Harry echoes.

                                                                                       oOo

The man has his back turned on them when they finally enter the room. He seems to be reading a newspaper, but rises up so quickly Harry cannot help but wonder if this wasn't all an act.

'Ah, Persephone. Good work,' he starts, smiling slightly at the young woman, not looking at Harry yet, said Harry resisting a sudden urge to walk away immediately. 'And Mr Pearce, of course. Mycroft Holmes, delighted to meet you.'

He offers his hand to Harry, who doesn't have much of a choice and therefore shakes it.

'Do sit down, please.'

Harry finds that the presence of an authoritative turn of phrase and the word 'please' in the same sentence is quite interesting, but he doesn't comment on it.

They observe each other for a while, before Mycroft speaks.

'So...'

'So, who are you and what do you want?'

'Never failing your reputation, excellent.'

Holmes suddenly looks like a child who's looking forward to playing, and Harry finds it both out of place and alarming.
How one can manage to look like a shark ready to attack and a little boy who has just been given a box of sweets at the same time is rather fascinating. But he doesn't have time for such trivialities, he's a senior British Intelligence Officer, and he doesn't like being played around. He starts thinking very quickly, trying to find ways to get the upper hand, and the more he does, the more the other man looks amused. Besides, he still hasn't answered the question, Harry notes. As the thought crosses his mind, Mycroft finally speaks.

'I've been told by Mr Siviter and some of his colleagues that you were likely to behave like this. I for one admire outspoken people, hence my desire to meet you.'

'Oh, so this is a social gathering. You should have said, I would have brought a bottle of scotch.'

Mycroft Holmes laughs.

'We have everything we need over here, Mr Pearce.'

'I don't doubt it. Lovely place, very...comfortable.'

'I think so too.'

'So this is where you work?'

'Oh, no, I do have an office.'

'Whitehall?'

Mycroft smiles, but doesn't answer.

'I thought they would have briefed you about me a bit more.'

'There was no need. I know about you, I know what they say.'

'Sayings are not intelligence; you of all people should know that.'

'Apparently, 'sayings' are the best we could gather about you.'

'Does that make me more dangerous than Al-Qaeda?'

'Does it? You tell me.'

Mycroft laughs again.

'Ah, don't be like this. You and I are on the same side, so where is the need to gather all this information about me?
Besides, you can access my file any time you like, I will grant you access if you so wish.'

'Why would you do that?'

'I have reasons to believe that we could work together.'

'Do you? And why would I want to work for someone who refuses to tell me what it is exactly that he is doing?'

'Because you're intrigued.'

'That or annoyed. You send a car for me at two in the morning, when I was just about to finally go home. I have an important operation to run tomorrow, I would like it if I didn't fall asleep in between giving orders.'

'Of course. You can sleep here.'

'Excuse me?'

'I'll have my people fetch a clean suit for you over at your house, and a few other items - you name them,’ he added, with a dismissive gesture of his hand.

'I am not giving you permission to break into my house!'

'I didn't mention any break-ins, did I? We have the key.'

Harry sighs. At this point in the conversation he's only a bit surprised, and that of course isn't a good feeling at all.

'Since when have you had it?'

'Since it occurred to me that I might need it someday.'

‘Obviously. What will you tell me next, that there are CCTV cameras in my bathroom?'

'Oh no, no bugs and such things. You would have spotted and removed them anyway, and we don't exactly need to waste more money than we already do, do we?'

Harry doesn't answer, stops for a bit and presses his lips together in a nervous move.

'Who are you?' he asks again.

'A valuable asset, just like you.'

'You don't work at 5, or 6.'

'And I don't work at Whitehall either, or at least not exactly. My work is to serve and protect Her Majesty's best interests, and that makes us very similar, I think.'

'You didn't exactly strike me as being similar to me, if I may say so.'

The bizarre smile appeared again, only this time it didn't reach the eyes, and Mycroft's expression took a subtle but nevertheless perceivable turn. He wasn't playing anymore.

'I was being nice, Mr Pearce, giving you the impression of a choice. I can play nasty too, if you forgive me the expression. You do not have a choice. If I tell you you're going to work with me, then you are going to.'

'Is it a threat?'

'Make an educated guess.'

Harry gets up slowly and walks towards the door.

'If there is one thing I do not like, it's being threatened. Arrogant bureaucrats and time-wasters don't get my sympathy either, and from what I've gathered tonight, you are both. Goodnight, Mr Holmes.'

Mycroft doesn’t rise from his chair, neither does he turn around. Thus Harry doesn’t see the look on his face when he says 'You should ask the lovely Ruth out on a date Harry. She obviously - what is it that they say now? - 'fancies' you, it really is a waste of time not to.'

Harry opens and closes his mouth a couple of times before he properly registers what the other man has said. Then he snaps back: 'I didn't think a busy man like you also had the time to watch CCTV of Thames House.'

'Oh, I don't. Persephone does, though. And besides it's rather obvious, Mr Pearce. I can tell from your suit, no need for video watching whatsoever.'

‘You can… tell from my suit?’

‘Hmm-mm. The best clues are always hidden in plain sight.’

‘And what are these clues that you can read on my forehead?’

‘Not on your forehead, do not worry. But there is ink on your sleeve, due to a prolonged unintentional contact with a pen, which means you weren’t focused on what you were doing. The state of your trousers indicates you’ve been shifting quite a lot on your chair today, out of nervousness, but even in a state of stress, men like you don’t show such obvious signs of physical tension. Awkwardness in a social interaction then, which is unlikely given your personality, and your hierarchical position within your section. A ‘crush’ then, attraction for a woman, something you’re not used to anymore. She came into your office to tell you something, and you got so distracted by her presence you forgot to put the pen away. She noticed this, and offered you a tissue, which you accepted and kept in your pocket since, out of sentimentality. How do I know she gave it to you? You use handkerchiefs (there is one in your trouser’s pocket), not tissues. Later she noticed you hadn’t had lunch and brought you biscuits – only she would do that, the rest of your team have long since given up on your eating properly. The tissue is one thing, but she wouldn’t try to feed you if she didn’t share your feelings. The thing is, she brought you the type of biscuit that you don’t like, because you left some of it, but in order not to upset her, you ate some in front of her, and hid the rest in your pocket with the tissue (you should bring the jacket to your cleaner, it’s not very hygienic). You see, it’s all logic.’

Harry takes a deep breath.

‘How do you know it’s Ruth?’

‘Latest female addition to your team, bright, loves the classics, who else could it be? Sam annoys you and you think of Zoe as your daughter,’ he adds, as if these facts were obvious to him as well. This time, Harry doesn’t ask. He slowly walks back to the seat he’d been occupying two minutes before and sits down again. He leans forward, and locks his eyes on Mycroft’s, neither of them lowering their gaze.

‘Tell me, then. No ambiguities, no double talk. Tell me, in plain words, what you want from me.’

Holmes bends over slightly, any sign of amusement removed from his face.

‘I need a trustworthy contact within MI-5,’ he says. ‘I want you to be that contact.’

‘How do you know I’m trustworthy?’

‘I’ve been watching you enough, and I think you are.’

‘How do I know you’re trustworthy?’

‘Ah,’ he says with a somewhat melancholic smile, ‘this I cannot prove. I hope that in time you will come to the conclusion that I am. Relationships only work if based on trust.’

‘I fight terrorism using devious methods when I have to, and you seem to rule the country without anybody knowing. Maybe neither of us is trustworthy after all.’

Holmes claps his hands like the cat that just got the mouse.

‘It’s a very interesting thing you just said, Harry. Maybe you’re beginning to understand why I think we could get along.’

‘We’ll see. So, how about you offer me that scotch?’

________________

That's for the first part of 'An interested party'. I have ten parts planned for this series, that means nine other one-shots to write. I haven't set myself a deadline or anything, I want to see this as a come-and-go verse for me, but this first part has been sleeping on my hard-drive for weeks, so I decided to publish it. Thank you for reading! 
(As for why I'm posting fic to my own journal again, I think I want wild_feelings to be a graphics comm, and writings belong here. Reviews and the like will be made public again. More Spooks/Sherlock fic to come soon, this time with Ros Myers and Irene Adler. :)