A/N: I do not own Alex Rider and Sherlock.

File: Mycroft

Mycroft Holmes never had friends. Not to say that he actually wanted friends, but he lead a lonely life, his only companions being his coworkers. Even they mildly tolerated him.

"Our greatest weapon," Tulip Jones, the recently appointed head of MI6, spoke decisively, "he is deadly. He strikes when least expected. He's clever. Intelligent."

"He?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow. He swore he saw the woman's lips ghost upwards, but it was gone a second after he noticed it.

"He," Jones affirmed, leading Mycroft up a couple steps and into the Royal and General Bank. They were silent until they reached the elevator.

"Your weapon is a person?" Mycroft asked, his eyebrows furrowing. When Jones had informed him of their greatest weapon, he'd expected a specialized gun or maybe a new sort of bomb that they'd invented.

"Yes. I called him here today," the elevator opened with a small ding, and Jones stepped out, "He's a little temperamental, especially on the weekends. That's when he does his paperwork – he has a lot, and he loathes it."

Mycroft was surprised, but he didn't show it outwardly. A deadly weapon that did paperwork? It didn't sound right.

"Here's my office," Jones said, even he'd been there before, "I've called him up. He should be here soon."

"Good," Mycroft entered in the room after Jones, declining her offer to sit. He stood by the window instead, peering out at the busy people below him.

"While we wait, I'd like to discuss the terms of this contract," Jones' voice was flat, much like his own business-like tone, "What do you need him for?"

"Serbia," Mycroft didn't want to reveal too much to Jones, "If your greatest weapon is an agent, I'd need him there to watch over a point of interest of mine."

"Serbia…" Jones mused. If Mycroft had been any less observant, he wouldn't have noticed the amusement creeping onto her face, "Oh, he is going to hate you."

The door was swung open suddenly. Mycroft jerked just a fraction of an inch at the sharp noise. He noticed the Jones looked even more amused.

"What do you want now, Tulip Jones?" A male voice snapped, evidently irritated.

Mycroft turned to study the agent. The agent was young, around twenty years old. He had blonde hair that had been cut short recently as well as dyed. Mycroft could see little flecks of brown dye in his hair.

The agent was young, but he was experienced. Mycroft could tell by the intelligent gleam in the man's eyes, and by the way the agent quickly surveyed his surroundings.

"Alex, meet Mr. Holmes," Jones gestured towards Mycroft. She reached for a peppermint. Mycroft knew this meant she was stressed or annoyed, "He asks to use you for a mission."

"Mycroft Holmes," Mycroft clarified, reaching a hand out to the younger man.

The agent gave him a distrustful look, "I know who you are," he said, "Agent Rider."

Mycroft put his hand down, knowing he wasn't going to get a handshake.

"Tulip," Agent Rider turned to Jones, giving the woman a pouty face, "You know I don't do missions on the weekend. I have a load of paperwork I need to finish."

Jones sighed, rolling her eyes. Mycroft was gazing openly in shock at her now. The woman had never shown so much emotion in the past twenty years he had known her.

"Forget the paperwork, Alex," she said, "I'll excuse you – again."

"Cool!" Agent Rider was positively beaming now, "Cheers. Send me the details."

And he walked out.

Mycroft was puzzled, "Does he always do that?"

Jones nodded, "Sit down, Mycroft. We need to write that file. He's temperamental when he goes in blind."

"He's temperamental on the weekends and when he goes in blind," Mycroft stated, "any other times?"

Jones chuckled around the peppermint in her mouth, "When he's bored."

Mycroft raised an inquisitive eyebrow, "He sounds like my brother."

"Mm, yes. Alex does admire Sherlock a great deal. Shame about his fake death though," Jones glanced at the door, "He joined a club just to hear the civilians' theories."

"Did he now?" Mycroft's question was rhetorical.

"Yes," Jones answered anyway, "and he likes to follow John Watson around once in a while. Says that he wants to see if Watson will figure it out."

"Figure what out?"

Jones shook her head, "Something about their undying love for each other."

Mycroft was amused, "He sounds like quite the fanboy. How old is he?"

Jones tapped her fingers on her desk in a slightly nervous fashion, "Eighteen next month."

Mycroft was flabbergasted, "Eighteen?"

"Eighteen!" This time, Mycroft Holmes did jump. He hadn't heard the door open or seen the grinning blonde boy.

"Bloody-"

"Tulip, James asks if you're too busy for him. He sounds pretty annoyed," Agent Rider still had that obnoxiously bright smile on his face.

"Who's James?" Mycroft asked, annoyed to be left out of the loop.

"James Bond," Jones waved him away, "Alex's on-off partner."

"And she means partner," Alex winked at Mycroft.

Jones groaned, "Alex!"

"Okay, okay. Just joking. He's her partner," the blonde laughed, retreating.

Jones was scowling at the half-opened door, "He's just bitter because Agent Daniels, his partner," the extra emphasis alerted Mycroft of her sarcasm, "is in Paraguay."

"Oi! I heard that!" Agent Rider appeared back in the doorway.

Mycroft sighed, massaging his temples as the two began to squabble. Honestly, why were the two allowed to be in the same room together?

And so the first meeting with Alex Rider was concluded.

FILE: MYCROFT

The second time Mycroft Holmes met Alex Rider was a month after their mission in Serbia. Mycroft hadn't seen the boy at all throughout his time in Serbia, but he must have done something right because Sherlock was finally back in London.

It was a coincidence that they met, but it was not a coincidence that a bunch of armed men had quickly stormed in after him.

Mycroft enjoyed going out for tea once in a while in a little shop around the corner of 221B Baker Street. He liked the quietness and the properness of the shop.

And then Alex Rider came.

"Anything else, sir?" the waitress was by his side again.

"No, thank you," Mycroft smiled falsely, sipping the steaming cup of tea in front of him.

The bell in the doorway of the shop rang as another customer made his way in.

Tall, fair haired, young man. Recently injured. Athlete. Horse lover? Pokémon card collector.

Mycroft stopped deducing the boy as soon as he recognized that it was Agent Rider. The boy was panting a little as he scanned the room, his eyes landing on Mycroft in his corner. A smile made its way on his face.

"Mycroft!" Agent Rider sat down across the unamused man, "I haven't seen you in a while. How have you been?"

"Fine, thank you," Mycroft replied, inwardly sighing, "Why are you here?"

The spy looked offended, "What? I can't enjoy some tea once in a while?"

The window in the front of the room exploded, shards of glass raining in. Instantly, the civilians began screaming, and Mycroft was beyond annoyed. Both he and Agent Rider had ducked, but Mycroft had been slightly late to dodge the glass. He could already detect that his suit was ripped up in three different places.

"Alright," Agent Rider said from underneath the table, "I lied – I accidently got some people mad at me."

Another exploding window.

"Well, maybe more than some people," he amended, scrambling out from under the table. He hastily called a goodbye to Mycroft before sprinting off, shouting, "OI, PEABRAIN! OVER HERE!"

Mycroft slowly got up, shaking his head in disbelief.

That little bugger was a trouble magnet.

File: MYCROFT

The last time Mycroft met Alex was entirely voluntarily.

Mycroft was concerned about his brother's sanity. It was well known that Sherlock was brilliant, but completely mad, unlike his brother (who was simply brilliant).

He was sitting in the same shop he had last met Agent Rider in, sipping on the same kind of tea in the same booth with the same waitress shooting him funny looks.

The bell above the door rang as a familiar young man made his way in, smiling charmingly at the workers before slipping into the seat across from Mycroft, "What do you need?"

Straight to the point. Mycroft liked it.

"I want to hire you for a week or two."

Agent Rider gave him an uninterested stare.

"I already cleared it with Mrs. Jones. She said that it was fine," Mycroft cleared his throat, "And I'll pay you double what MI6 pays you – just for the two weeks."

Agent Rider raised his eyebrows, impressed, "That's a lot of money you're promising there."

"Half a million pounds every day," Mycroft nodded, "to babysit my brother for two weeks."

Agent Rider leaned back in his chair, thinking, "And why would I want an extra seven million pounds?"

Mycroft was stunned, but he recovered quickly, "You don't – that's just the bonus. You get to meet Sherlock. Mrs. Jones said that you admire him."

The spy shrugged casually. The action was so natural that Mycroft couldn't deduce if it was part of his act or a genuine action, "Again, why would I want to meet Sherlock? I can admire him from afar. Plus, I heard he's a real ass."

Mycroft had to pause this time to actually think. What else could he tempt the devil with?

"No paperwork," he remembered the first incident with the spy, "for the two weeks."

Agent Rider studied Mycroft's face intently, his expression unreadable. After a two minute stare down, the spy nodded and stood.

"Half a million pounds per day, a chance to live with Sherlock, and no paperwork," he grinned wildly, "You lot are all too easy to mess with!"

"Excuse me?" Mycroft stood too.

"Err… Nothing," Agent Rider shook his head, before making his way to the door, calling over his shoulder "I'll start tomorrow, yeah?"

The spy was gone before Mycroft could answer, leaving his last words lingering in Mycroft's head.

"Damn!" He realized with a small jerk what the boy had meant by 'nothing'. Agent Rider had conned him, getting all the benefits he could from him.

"That bastard," Mycroft scowled, pulling out his phone, fully intending to ring Mrs. Jones.

"Excuse me!" An astonished voice from a couple tables away called out to him.

Mycroft peered at the brunette woman, his mouth in a perfectly 'o' shape as his gaze shifted to the two children in earshot of him.

"Bastard, bastard, bastard!" the children cheered as Mycroft hurried out of the shop, his cellphone tucked back in his pocket, "Bastard!"

A/N: Well, some of you wanted more of this crossover, so here ya go! Tell me if that was good/bad. I'm currently very tired, so I'm going to go on a date. With my bed.

-Alice xx