Glass: Reader Requests

In Law

Margaux & Mycroft
for shezzaspeare

*

Sherlock Holmes was partial to a disguise. Throughout his career as a consulting detective, he had been known to don a moustache or a costume, an accent or a character. He had been a spy, an informant, an undercover sleuth. But in all his years, he had never been a stowaway. Until now.

His case had led him inside a shipping container aboard a large cargo ship, searching through stacks of crates and boxes for clues that would help him solve the mystery. He crouched down, running his fingers over the markings on the side of one of the boxes, about to speak, when suddenly there was a loud, metallic clank as the container plummeted into darkness, the heavy door slamming shut behind him.

He made his way quickly through the darkness and gave a push on the door, but it was locked, and with the loud blast of a horn, the cargo ship began to move.

"Well that's not good," he said plainly as he turned around, blowing out a puff of air to lift the curls out of his eyes. "It seems we are on our way to France."

A bright white light began to shine from the back of the container, illuminating John's unimpressed face.

"I'm going to bloody kill you," he hissed as he held his phone's torch beneath his chin.

"It's fine."

"It's not fine, Sherlock! This is anything but fine."

"You're panicking, John."

"Of course I'm flipping panicking. I'm on my way to France inside a shipping container like a piece of bloody cargo." He looked around. "Oh god, what if we lose air? What if we freeze?"

"The fact that those questions are coming from a doctor is quite concerning."

John approached him quickly, stumbling as he went, and pushed his finger into his chest. "Get us out, Sherlock. Preferably while we're still on this side of the boarder."

"We snuck onto a barge manned by dangerous criminals," he replied. "I doubt knocking and asking them to let us out would go down too well."

"Brilliant." John shook his head, walking away and sitting down on the cold, steel floor. "This is just brilliant."

Sherlock sat down beside him and groaned. "I'm going to be in so much trouble."

"You just said it'd be fine."

"Oh, this will be fine. No, I'm not worried about this at all. My wife, on the other hand..."

"Ah, yeah, she's going to kill you."

Sherlock pointed to the phone in John's hand. "Do you have signal on that?"

He nodded and handed it over. "Who are you calling?"

"My brother."

"Oh good. Do you think he'll be able to help?"

"With this? Probably," he replied as he raised the phone to his ear. "But that's not why I'm calling him."

"Well then why are you-"

"Mycroft, can you hear me?"

"Barely," Mycroft replied, his voice muffled by the poor signal.

"Listen, I've found myself in a rather precarious situation-"

"Really? Well, goodness me, I am utterly surprised to hear that," he said sarcastically.