Title: Agent 221 with a License to Spy

Pairing: None

Spoilers: Some slight ones for ASiP.

Warning: Some language. Also, beware of OOC-ness – this is crack, after all.

A/N: I know that the dates mentioned won't be accurate, I just plucked them out of thin air, but let's pretend, shall we?

You might recognize this story from LJ, where it's posted under another pen name.

Chapter 1

"So, Doctor Watson, have you been thinking over my offer? Maybe changed your mind, by any chance?"

John sighs. Things were so much easier a few weeks ago, when you could exit the supermarket in peace without being picked up by a big black car, with an antisocial beauty inside, and taken to a creepy place – this time the parking lot outside an IKEA, where scarily happy nuclear families are buying bookcases called Billy and storage entities called Trofast – where a smug, mighty bloke with an umbrella is waiting to bring down your day.

"I haven't…" He quiets off, as a memory hits him.

"Did he offer you money to spy on me?"

"Yes."

"Did you take it?"

"No."

"Pity, we could've split the fee. Think next time."

"You haven't…?" Mycroft raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow and doesn't finish the sentence.

John takes a deep breath. "I haven't decided yet. How much?"

"Well, let's say that you give me one report each week, plus extra information when you estimate it as important… between 200 and 250 pounds a week."

"400."

"270."

"360."

"295."

"310,20. And a month supply of Darjeeling."

"Agreed." Mycroft's pleasant smile reminds him of a cat that's got the cream. "I'll be expecting your first report this weekend, then."

It's not until the car has left that Mycroft comes to wonder why John would want one month supply of Darjeeling every week.

"Sherlock?" John calls out when entering the flat. (On his way back Anthea has, as usual, turned down his offer of a drink. John can't understand why – how could any woman resist his best party trick, consisting of him touching their legs in four places resulting in their stockings falling down?) "Sherlock? Where are you?" I hope he hasn't run off again, so I have to go after him. I have my limits – I'm not shooting more than one cabbie a fortnight.

"Hm?" mumbles a voice from the kitchen. Sherlock stands leaning over the counter, fully immersed in an experiment that apparently includes dirty socks, a stuffed barn owl, hydrocyanic acid, and enough molars for a whole school class.

"What are you doing?"

"Oh, nothing special. You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

Sherlock rolls his eyes in a manner that makes John roll his eyes as well. "I'm trying to establish whether Richard Barnes's alibi will prove stable in court. That man's future might depend on these results."

"And you need an owl to do that?" That comment earns John a look that couldn't be any clearer in its meaning of duh, what are you, stupid?

"Well, obviously. Seriously, John." And with a sigh and a muttered "Told you you wouldn't understand," Sherlock turns back to his experiment.

"Sherlock, wait! I've spoken to your megalomaniacal brother." The detective's head whips up again.

"What?"

"Yeah, I was kidnapped on my way home from Tesco's – the milk went sour in the car, of course – and taken to IKEA –" (Sherlock winces in sympathy) "– where he offered me money again to spy on you. And I took it."

"Did you?"

"Yes."

A satisfied smirk takes place on Sherlock's face. "Excellent."

To: mholmes (at) secretlygov. co. uk

From: jwatson (at) temporaryspy. co. uk

Date: 21-02-2010

Subject: Report

Hello M, (is it OK if I call you M? I was thinking James Bond, plus, it fits with your name)

Here's the weekly report on your brother (from now on called "the subject").

Monday: The subject went up at 02:34 and started screeching on his violin until 06:30, when my alarm clock went off. ((-Not screeching, John! –Oh yes, you were so screeching. I should know, you kept me awake with it. –The fact that I kept you awake doesn't mean I was screeching. –Well, you can suck it up and deal with it, 'cause I'm not deleting that word. And stop sulking.)) Of course, he stopped by then, when I had to get up anyway. He spent the rest of the midmorning blowing up the toaster, being bored, staring out the window, being bored, and refusing to clean up after himself. (I had to leave for an hour to buy a new toaster, so I don't know what he was doing between 11:30 and 12:25, but I suppose he was being bored.) ((-That's not actually an hour. –What do you mean? -From 11:30 to 12:25. It's only 55 minutes. Your report is inaccurate. –What does it matter? It's all made up anyway!))

During the afternoon, the subject found a cat on the street and decided to teach it some martial arts, so that it would be able to defend the flat from intruders. ((-Are you sure he'll buy that, Sherlock? –He will.)) The animal turned out to be disinterested, so the subject grew bored with it and threw it out the window. ((-At least he'll buy that. It would be just like you.)) Then there was a shout from the street and the subject poked his head out the window, only to immediately pull it back in and telling me to stay where I was. He wouldn't tell me why. ((-Let's leave that to his own imagination.))

The subject took me out for dinner and as we were walking down the street, we fell down a manhole. The subject took the fall rather well since he landed on me. When we went to climb up, we discovered that someone had pulled the manhole lid back on. The subject deduced that it obviously had to be a cunning trap set by some ill-meaning individuals. Even I could have reached that conclusion. ((-That's only what you'd like to believe, John. –Why, thank you, Sherlock.)) We had to go looking for another manhole and since the subject didn't want to get any filthier than he already was he made me carry him. He's heavier than he looks. After three hours we finally found our way out. Unfortunately, said way out led down into the river rather abruptly. The rest of the night was spent cleaning our clothes and ourselves. The subject tried to sneak away but Mrs. Hudson forced him to stay and do his part of the job. ((-Disgusting parts aside, I kind of wish this had actually happened. Seeing you doing some cleaning would've made my day. –You don't need to sound so smug, John.))

Tuesday: The subject went up at 02:46 and screeched on his violin until 06:30, when my alarm clock went off. ((-I wasn't… -Shut up.)) He ate two pieces of toast before DI Lestrade called with a case. Since digestion apparently draws energy from his brain the subject stuck two fingers down his throat and threw up the toast. ((-That part is actually true, John. –I know, I was there. Pity about the toast though.))

The subject and I went to New Scotland Yard and met up with Lestrade, Donovan and Anderson. Donovan called the subject a freak and the subject retorted by commenting on her sister's silicon breasts exploding on an airplane in that very moment. ((-That's a myth. –What is? –Silicon breasts exploding under changed air pressure. –So?)) Lestrade and I then had to hold Donovan back for a full 15 minutes so that she wouldn't strangle the subject. The subject spent said 15 minutes solving the case (the butler was the murderer), declaring it boring and a waste of time.

When we came home the subject started researching Hong Kong. When I asked why, he said that the crime rate – or at least the rate of "exciting" and "interesting" and "worth his time" crimes – had to be higher there. He said he was planning on us emigrating. ((-Which is actually something you would do, deciding on us moving across the globe without talking to me about it.)) I protested, pointing out that I have my job and my sister and my friends here in the UK, and he deemed my points moot as 1) they need doctors in Hong Kong too; 2) I so seldom see my sister that I can barely remember what she looks like, ergo leaving wouldn't make any difference; 3) he'd be there, so I wouldn't need any other friends; and 4) he had already booked us tickets anyway. ((-Plus, you always come with me. No matter what. –Yes, I know. *sigh* No one's perfect.))

After going through the stages of denial, realisation, anger and acceptance, I packed our bags and sent the subject down to Mrs. Hudson to inform her of the recent developments. Judging from the lack of raised voices, I believe she took it rather well. When the subject came back, though, he said that Mrs Hudson had promised not to rent out the flat to anyone else, as we'd probably be back sooner than expected. He looked confused as he said it, but I can sort of see what she meant. ((-What do you imply by that? –That we wouldn't be able to stay away from Baker Street for any longer period of time if we tried. –Are you going emotional on me, John? -… no.))

The plane left from Heathrow at 17:00 on the dot, or at least it would've if the subject hadn't gotten into an argument with the pilot. (Apparently, he – the pilot, not the subject – has been embezzling money from the pizza restaurant where he has his additional job.) As it happened, the plane actually left at 17:42. The subject got bored after twenty minutes and the next fourteen hours were hell. ((-Would it really be that bad going on a long flight with me? –No. It'd be worse.))

Wednesday: We landed at Hong Kong International Airport at 08:15 (local time) and the subject ran off while I was waiting for our bags. When I found him again he was busy pointing out drug smugglers. The people working in customs were grateful (if a bit flabbergasted) until he insulted their boss. I then had to pay the amount guaranteed to bail him out of jail – fortunately, it's much cheaper in Asia. ((-You don't think he's going to check this up, Sherlock? –Nah.)) By then, our suitcases had been stolen so the subject had to track the thieves down. We'd been in the country for less than five hours and we were already chasing criminals. ((-Which wouldn't surprise me. –Shut up, John.)) After a few hours we found them. All our stuff was left, apart from the postcards from Sussex, because the thieves had sent them to their friends already. ((-Why would we bring our own postcards? That's illogical. –Shut up, Sherlock.))

On our way to find the thieves the subject had solved a minor case for a hotel owner, so we got to stay in a nice suite at her place for free. I went to bed at 22:10, but I don't think the subject did.

Thursday: The subject arrived "home" at 05:16, smelling like a strange mix between vanilla, gravel and apple juice. (No, he wouldn't tell me where he'd gone.) He crashed on the couch and slept like a log all midmorning – at least I believe so, since I went out to have breakfast at 08:30 and didn't come back until two hours later, and he was still in the same place. When he finally woke up at noon, he told me that he'd spent the night solving two murders and one kidnapping case. When I asked him how he could've done that since he didn't know the police force here, he said that since the "moronic" policemen hadn't let him participate he'd been hanging around the crime scenes with a pair of binoculars, solving the crimes from a distance of 40 yards. No-one would believe him when he informed them of the identities of the guilty parties, but that was their loss. ((-Well, it would be. –You're just sour because I'm not having them showering you with praise. –No, I'm not. –Yes, you are. And that's childish; it's all made up anyway!))

During the afternoon, we went out sight-seeing (my idea, obviously). The subject figured it was boring but came along anyway. He almost got sunstroke as he refused to take off his coat since it apparently gives him a certain amount of je ne c'est quoi. I put on my best "I'm a doctor, hear me roar" face until he took it off (the fact that the heat almost made him pass out might have had something to do with it). ((-Calumny! I never pass out. –You do when you've been up for sixty hours straight without sleeping or eating. –Maybe, but not from heat. –Well, how lucky then that this is all made up!))

We walked past a group of toddlers and the subject suddenly decided that this would be an ideal moment to try out the accuracy of the expression "easy as stealing candy from a child". So he did. The child started screaming, which made all the other children scream as well, which caught the attention of a constable standing nearby and it all ended up with me having to bail the subject out again. His only comment was that "the expression was inaccurate". Well, apparently the actual stealing was very simple, but getting away with it was more difficult. I sincerely hope that he won't do it again. ((-Though I wouldn't dare hoping for too much.))

I dragged the subject back "home", refusing to go anywhere with him and/or letting him out by himself for the rest of the day. I had him swear on his skull (the one on the mantelpiece at 221B, not the one on top of his spine) that he wouldn't leave the hotel. I then went out for a walk to soothe my nerves, and when I returned the subject had been pouring stock cubes into the hotel Jacuzzi out of "curiousity". ((-Hm… -Don't. Even. Think about it. –But think of all the possibi… -You'd have to explain it to Mrs Hudson.)) I have never seen that much stock in my entire life. The only thing that saved the subject from getting arrested was that the hotel owner still owed him one. Plus, apparently she found the idea interesting and used the stock in the hotel restaurant. (Of course, that last part might only be a rumour. But I refused to order anything with stock for the rest of our stay, just to be on the safe side.)

Friday: The subject went out and took me with him at 06:30. By 20:05, he had solved every crime in all of Hong Kong and declared it boring. He'd been arrested three times during the day and the people at the police station and I are on first-name basis by now. When I'd bailed him out for the 3rd time, we went straight back to the hotel, where the subject proceeded by booking flight tickets back to the UK. I had, as usual, no say in the matter (even though I didn't really mind). ((-What does it say about me that I've simply resigned to the fact that you're dragging me across the world as you please? –I thought this was all made up? –Yes, but… *sigh* Go away, Sherlock.))

We came to the airport by 23:05 and I managed to keep the subject from making a scene, at least until the plane had taken off. Then he insulted 42 passengers within half an hour (yes, I kept count) and I had to go to my happy place. ((-Happy place? How could you go somewhere else when you were on an airplane? –It's an expression, Sherlock. –Oh, "popular culture"? –No, it's just… never mind.))

Saturday: We were switching planes in Zurich and, of course, the subject found a body. He had me deducing the cause of death (skull crushed by a pineapple) and then started figuring out who the murderer could be and had almost reached a conclusion as a Swiss DI showed up and told us to go away. When the subject began to explain who he was and what he was doing, the DI firmly informed him that the case had already been solved and that it was none of the subject's business anyway. The subject sourly left but not without informing the DI that his Ninja Turtles boxers were visible. ((-What's Ninja Turtles? –Popular culture. You wouldn't understand. –Isn't that usually my line?))

We FINALLY arrived home at 16:24 and I barely managed to walk up the stairs before I fell asleep.

Sunday (today): I woke up at 10:22 by the subject doing experiments on my toes. I don't know what he'd been doing while I was asleep and I. DON'T. CARE. Then I sat down to write this report to you.

Now where's my money and tea?

Regards,

Agent 221

END CHAPTER 1

A/N: I know nothing about Hong Kong, but considering the nature of the story that's supposed to be kind of irrelevant. I sincerely apologize if I've offended someone.

I realize that I've probably screwed up the time of the flights, what with the world spinning and all, but please just humour me here.

Oh, and I DID warn you about the characters being OOC! ;)