Eledhwen and Christianne team up with Mittens and the Radioactive Moss Creature from the Department of Floaters to take out a confusing Twilight/Sherlock Crossover Sue.
The console in RC #170 gave a small [Bing]. Mittens frowned, got up and pressed the button to read the message, then turned to the RMC.
“It says we are to go to RC #9L0121F4114C3 and await further instructions. It also says to bring the Fictionary.”
Saxo groaned. “Not another Twilight mission.”
Mittens gave a small cough. “I’m sorry. I should have been more specific. When I said ‘we’ I only meant the Radioactive Moss Creature and I.”
“But,” James asked, “what are we, I mean, him,” the small fox-person shot a dirty look at Saxo, “and me supposed to do in the meantime?”
“Don’t kill each other,” Mittens replied.
“Read a book,” the RMC suggested.
“Keep an eye on the minis, Aniseed and the Prefect Badger,” Mittens continued.
“Or watch a movie or play a game.”
“Don’t break anything.”
“One cannot know too many canons.”
“And for the love of whatever …”
“Just …”
“Don’t get into trouble!” the two agents finished together.
James saluted. Saxo just nodded once.
“Good,” the RMC said. “Mittens, will you get our equipment and then we’ll be on our way?”
A couple of minutes later, the door slammed shut behind the two agents and Saxo and James were left to eye each other nervously.
~~
“You think they’ll manage?” Mittens asked. Both he and the RMC were walking backwards, having found that this was the fastest way to get to their destination in HQ. Constantly walking into walls, furniture and occasionally other people, was very distracting.
“It’s a swim or sink situation,” the RMC replied. “They’ll have to learn eventually. One more mission and they’ll be full agents and then they’ll probably be assigned to …” It bumped into what turned out to be some female agents and turned to apologize before continuing. “To their own RC and won’t have us around to keep them in line anyway.”
“Yes, but …” Mittens would have liked to talk this over some more, which of course meant that when he bumped into something and turned to look at it, it was a door with RC #9L0121F4114C3 written on it; they had arrived. They turned around and Mittens knocked on the door.
~~
After a long and terrifying [BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP] from the console which ended with Christianne hitting it repeatedly with a katana (relic from her Naruto days), the tired agent sat down heavily and stared at the fic that came up.
“Fuck,” she muttered. Her partner Eledhwen raised an eyebrow as she looked up from where she lay, almost corpse-like, on her bed.
“Sevin dhaw?” asked the elleth.
Christianne blinked. “You only taught me cursewords. What?”
“May I?” Eledhwen snickered.
Christianne raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you swung that way.”
“What does my swinging have to do with things?”
“…” Christianne rolled her eyes. “Never you mind. Are there gay Elves?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” replied Eledhwen, shrugging. “No one has ever been marginalised for it, if that’s the case. We are all Eru’s children.”
“Yeah, I wish some people would remember that sort of thing.” Christianne turned back to the console. “That’s…” she paused, blinked, and tried to read it again. “I… what on earth… I’m confused…”
Eledhwen got up and walked over to the console, looking at the screen with a frown.
“Twilight… and Sherlock,” she mumbled, grimacing. “Sparklepires, hm?”
Christianne made a gagging noise. “At least we’ll have some help with this from some Floaters in RC… 170, wasn’t it?” she reasoned. “Can’t be that bad –”
She was interrupted by a knock at the door and faint cackling from above, which signified that the Ironic Overpower was about to become very, very active.
Eledhwen leapt to her feet. “That must be the Floaters,” she reasoned, nancing over to the door (Christianne scowled at that) and opening it. “Suil! Ni veren an gi ngovaned. Im Eledhwen Elerossiel.”
The two agents standing on the other side of the door only stared blankly at her. Christianne rolled her eyes.
“Ellie, they don’t understand Sindarin.”
Eledhwen huffed in annoyance. “Greetings,” she repeated, in a much less chipper tone. “I am happy to meet you. My name is Eledhwen Elerossiel.”
One of the agents, a very unremarkable looking young man, took a step forward and held out his hand in an awkward way that suggested that while he had heard of the concept of handshakes, he had never actually tried it and furthermore, he was not sure what it was supposed to be good for. Eledhwen took his hand, trying to look polite about it, and then let go.
“I am Agent Mittens,” he said. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Agent Elerossiel.” He gestured next to him and downwards. Both Eledhwen and Christianne tried hard to not stare at the green anteater with the brown fedora on its head. And was it made of… moss? Even for the PPC, that was weird.
“This is my partner, the Radioactive Moss Creature.”
“Radioactive?” Christianne echoed, noticing to her own annoyance that her voice sounded a tiny bit squeaky.
“It’s not at a dangerous level,” Agent Mittens said. “Just enough to let a Geiger counter know it’s there.”
“Oh,” Christianne said, looking at the Moss Creature curiously. It was kind of cute, with big soulful eyes, even though it was hard to tell how eyes made of moss could be soulful. A small cough from Eledhwen brought her back to the present situation. She looked up.
Mittens had his hand stretched out towards her and an uncertain look on his face, as if he was wondering if he had messed up this handshaking thing. Christianne quickly grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously.
“I’m Christianne Shieh,” she said.
“Pleased to meet you, Agent Shieh.”
“You too, Agent Mittens,” Christianne said, making up for her lapse in manners. “And you, Agent Radioactive Moss Creature.”
It nodded its head at her. It was amazing that the hat didn’t slide off.
“So, with the introductions taken care of!” Eledhwen beamed, walking back to the console. “Crossover between BBC Sherlock and Twilight. I know Chrissy is very cynical about Sparklepires –”
“So are you –” cut in Christianne.
Eledhwen glared at her. “I know we only know enough about the Twilight canon to be cynical about it. What about you, then? How much do you know?”
“Er, not much,” Mittens replied. “But we have this thing called a Fictionary that tells us everything we need to know in a canon.”
“Interesting,” Eledhwen said. “How does it work?”
Mittens looked down at the Radioactive Moss Creature, which said something that sounded like: “Ike a cao asys evice.”
“Like a Canon Analysis Device,” Mittens translated. “Only it gives longer descriptions.”
“Sounds useful,” Christianne observed. “That is, as long as it doesn’t short out near OOC canons, or…”
Mittens shrugged. “Right now it seems that all it does is get us sent into Twilight crossovers.”
“Sounds like fun,” Christianne deadpanned. “Well, it seems like we’re all set to go. We’ve got a Crash Dummy, for the first-person nature of the fic, too. So if you’re packed and ready as well, then maybe we should just hop to it?”
“ouns ike a lan,” the RMC said.
“Sounds like a plan,” Mittens translation-repeated.
“You have your Bleeprin?” Eledhwen asked, her hand hovering over the console.
“Copious amounts,” Mittens replied.
“Good.” The elleth wasn’t quite sure about the two agents they were about to go on a mission with, but anyone who knew to bring large quantities of Bleeprin couldn’t be completely wet behind the ears. “Disguises, then? I could be wrong, being from Arda and all, but the people of Forks might not consider a mossy anteater-creature a normal fixture of the local fauna.”
“Uman dsguses fr you n me,” agreed the RMC.
Nodding, Eledhwen pressed the corresponding buttons. She then opened the portal, set the Me Crash Dummy on the other side, and pulled the string. “Onwards to Forks, then.”
~~
“So, exactly what century are we in?” demanded Christianne as soon as the portal faded and the four humans – or one human, two humanoids, and a plant-based creature disguised as a human – landed outside an ordinary-looking house in the sun-deprived town of Forks, Washington.
“I should hope I set the time to twenty-first century,” Eledhwen replied, drawing out her long-neglected Polaroid and taking pictures of the trees. Everything was so green; it was so refreshing!
Christianne groaned with the air of someone whose friend had missed the joke. “Just look at the words, lembas-head,” she grumbled.
“I could be wrong,” Mittens mumbled as he pulled out of his word-reading trance, “but it could indicate a German-speaking background…”
“Well, as long as she’s not using the long S we’ll assume this isn’t the seventeenth century,” grumbled Christianne.
“Look on the brighter side,” Eledhwen chirped from above them – the agents looked up to see their Elvish colleague sitting in a tree, peering into a window at the side of the house. “At least the Sue uses some dialogue punctuation. As opposed to, you know, dropping it completely.”
Christianne rolled her eyes. “Like we needed to be reminded of that,” she muttered. In a louder voice, she asked, “Well, then? What’s the Sue up to?”
“She’s calling Sherlock,” Eledhwen reported, already jotting down charges as the Crash Dummy continued her call, evidently in hysterics of some sort. “I think she told us to ‘answer the damn phone’ earlier. Is that a charge?”
“Probably,” agreed the RMC, who, in human form, still bore a brown fedora. It looked suitably androgynous, with green hair that would look, to any onlookers, like a rather bad dye job. It was also clad in green clothing.
“A foul scent lingers in the air,” Eledhwen declared suddenly, as the Sue hung up. “It has the odour of Stulock.”
“Not again!” complained Christianne.
Eledhwen shrugged. “It could just be out of character behaviour,” she reasoned. “Hard to tell from one call. She’s now turned into Cat, with a capital C.”
“What?” The RMC demanded, and then checked the words. “Oh, right. Feline grace. I see.”
Eledhwen was frowning again. “I think she’s in two places at once. Isn’t her room on the second floor?”
“Isn’t that where bedrooms tend to be?” Christianne wondered.
“She said she was rushing downstairs, and then she starts replacing things in her room, which suggests that she went back upstairs, because Charlie’s calling from downstairs, but –” Eledhwen cut off. “I have a headache.”
“You mean to say she’s defying the laws of physics?” asked the RMC.
“Possibly, yes,” Eledhwen replied, jotting down the charge. “Is that what you call it?”
“Being in two places at once, defying gravity, those sorts of things, yeah,” agreed the RMC. “Either that, or she actually has all of her personal belongings in the bathroom.”
Eledhwen nodded, and resumed spying on the Sue’d Crash Dummy.
“I’m confused,” Mittens said suddenly, looking up from the Fictionary. “Is she or is she not Bella Swan?”
“Excellent question. I’m not sure.” Christianne checked the words. “Looks like a character replacement to me, considering her situation. She’s supposed to be in hiding as Bella Swan, right?”
“Yes, she took out a set of dice from her hair a couple minutes ago,” Eledhwen called. “But if she’s in hiding to the point where she maintains the persona even at her house, then why tell Charlie that Sherlock was coming over? Wouldn’t that defeat the purpose of hiding the skull?”
“Why would she even own a skull? It’s not a Holmes accessory,” sniffed Christianne.
“And why is she in hiding to begin with? And why is it suddenly more important to get Sherlock over, than to remain incognito?” Mittens added.
“The Cullens just showed up,” Eledhwen announced.
“I’ll go have a look,” the RMC agreed as it got the Fictionary from Mittens and climbed up next to her. A few moments later it was shaking its head as it checked the Fictionary. “If she never tried to kill herself, then there’s no reason for them to return. And why is she acting like she doesn’t care about them, when she was heartbroken a minute before?”
“Did Emmett just call her Belly-Bean?” Eledhwen asked, disgusted.
Both Christianne and Mittens looked at the words. Bella was asking Charlie if she could ‘deduce’ Edward.
Mittens facepalmed. “You know him. You’ve been in a relationship with him. What do you think you’ll be able to deduce that you don’t already know?”
“That’s a dangerous assumption, that Bella thinks at all,” muttered Christianne.
That question was never answered, as Bella was interrupted by her phone.
“Trying to hide the fact that she couldn’t deduce her way out of a paper bag,” Christianne snarked. Mittens smirked.
“She just told them to leave and now she’s taking a bath. Again,” the RMC reported from further up. “This time she shaved. I suppose it is refreshing to have a Sue who isn’t naturally smooth as a marble statue.”
Eledhwen made a disgusted noise. “Mycroft is being all warm and fuzzy.”
Christianne and Mittens checked the words again, just in time to raise their arms to protect them from a minor punctuation rain and then hold their ears to block out the bellow of an author’s note.
“New chapter, incoming!” Christianne yelled.
~~
“She spelled Stephenie Meyer’s name wrong. Why am I not surprised?” Christianne demanded as soon as the disclaimer of the second chapter ended and a mini-Sparklewolf called ‘Stephanie’ dropped out of nowhere.
“Poor mini has nowhere to go,” lamented Mittens. “Can’t be adopted, and there’s no OFU for Twilight… is there?”
“Let’s not discuss what they’d attempt to teach there,” Christianne grumbled as the glittering canine nipped at her ankles.
There was a lurch in the ground suddenly, as the story inexplicably skipped to a week after the first scene. Eledhwen retched, fumbling for the motion sickness pills in her bag. She nearly upended the entire bottle into her mouth.
“You all right?” asked the RMC.
“I’ve been worse,” Eledhwen replied, shrugging.
“DoSAT’s trying to work on a set of LCD shutter glasses that might be able to help with spatial distortions, but I’m not sure about temporal ones,” Christianne added helpfully as Eledhwen clambered down from the tree, the RMC in tow.
“We should portal to the airport,” Mittens added. “She’ll be there in a moment.”
Eledhwen looked at the words. The Sue had gotten dressed, describing her outfit in painstaking detail, and then –
“Rhiach!” swore the elleth, as the ground lurched again – a bit softer, this time, but still noticeable. Isabella-Sue had more or less driven herself and her car to the airport via temporal distortion, and Eledhwen certainly looked worse for wear for it. With shaking hands, she opened a portal to the airport, and the four of them stepped through.
15 minutes and 39 seconds later My impala was parked in front of the Airport, waiting for Mycroft, Sherlock, and John’s plane to land.
The RMC consulted the Fictionary. “Bella Swan’s car can’t be a Chevrolet Impala,” it said, as the Sue’d Crash Dummy left her car to get a coffee.
“No, isn’t that the car that the Winchesters use in Supernatural?” asked Christianne.
The RMC nodded. “That’s a little ironic,” it snickered.
“Admittedly, though, since she didn’t capitalise Impala, it’s safe to assume she actually meant the animal.” Eledhwen pointed out, and sure enough, the sleek yet slightly outdated (it was an old model, according to John) automobile turned into a grazing African impala.
“Have fun explaining that,” snickered Christianne as they entered the arrivals terminal of the airport. Up ahead, Isabella saw a curly head that, apparently, belonged to Sherlock.
“Sherlock!”Running as fast as I could towards him, I jumped on him, hugging the daylights out of him.
The agents were treated to a not-very-pretty scene of a Crash Dummy with curly black hair and blue eyes tackleglomping Sherlock and squeezing rays of sunlight right out of his body. And for some unexplained reason, Sherlock didn’t seem to mind.
Eledhwen’s heavy-duty CAD screeched. The elleth yelped, ducking behind a generic baggage carousel and pulling out the device. It flashed at her:
[Sherlock Holmes. Human Male. Canonononono what is going on? He can’t touch canon with a 221-metre long pole at the very LEAST. Out of Character 78.49950349823847% CHARACTER RUPTURE!]
“So snarky,” grumbled the elleth as she straightened up and aimed the CAD at Mycroft and then John.
[Mycroft Holmes. Human Male. Canon???? Length of pole needed to touch canon: 150.33242343 metres. Out of Character 67.2474747474747474747% CHARACTER RUPTURE!]
[John Watson. Human Male. Canon. Length of pole needed to touch canon: 95.32454764321456432465. Out of Character 49.9999999999%]
“It’s always the Holmeses,” Christianne remarked, leaning over Eledhwen’s shoulder to peer at the screen.
“Admittedly, it is rather hard to write insufferable geniuses right, especially in canons that seek to develop their personalities,” Mittens pointed out.
“Doesn’t excuse what Izzy-Sue’s doing to Sherlock and Mycroft,” Christianne grumbled as Eledhwen pocketed the CAD.
Meanwhile, back with the Sue, it appeared that her cheeks were now composed of acute and obtuse angles, and that she had temporarily fused herself with Sherlock only to ‘detach [her]self from Sherlock’s body’ to hug Mycroft.
John then used the wrong form of ‘two’, causing four identical cringes a couple feet away, and fused himself with Izzy-Sue in a hug. Four agents reached for their Bleeprin.
“Hello, Izzy! I missed you. You were the only one that kept Sherlock in line.” He smiles and let go of me. “Why don’t we head to you home and settle in, then we can catch up, okay?”
For a moment, the world shifted into present tense, and Eledhwen rushed for the nearest toilets. “She has it bad,” remarked Mittens sympathetically, patting Christianne’s back. Christianne shrugged.
“I’m trying to figure out what she can do to get rid of it,” she replied, shrugging.
“Have you tried chocolate milk?” the RMC suggested. “Could help a bit with the timey-wimey things.”
“I thought that was a symptom of someone fucking with time, not a cure,” Christianne pointed out.
“Chocolate’s a cure-all,” declared Mittens, grinning. “Or at least that’s what Johanna tells me all the time.”
“Johanna?” Christianne looked at him curiously. “Your girlfriend?”
Mittens blushed a rather unfetching shade of scarlet. “Nonono, she’s not. She a friend of my boss. Former boss, I should say. Wait,” he looked at the Sue, “did she just say it would take them an hour to drive back to Forks? Even though it took her just over 15 minutes the other way?”
Christianne raised an eyebrow. “Nice try, but I still want to hear some more about your not-girlfriend. And banging your head into the wall isn’t going to distract me either.”
“Mittens,” the RMC snapped, “just have some more Bleeprin and lets portal back.” It looked around. “Once Eledhwen gets back from the restroom.”
“There’s a cliffhanger at the end of the chapter,” Christianne added, as Mittens downed a tablet of Bleeprin.
“No kidding, Sherlock,” Eledhwen deadpanned as she returned from the restroom. She was looking almost as green as the RMC’s hair.
“At least she didn’t write ‘Dun-dun-dunn!’ at the end,” the RMC pointed out. “Incoming author’s note!”
~~
“Well, that was stupid,” Mittens said when it was once again safe to remove one’s hands from one’s ears. They’d portalled from the airport back to the Swan residence, just in time to see…
Moriarty stood above Charlie’s body, laughing. I felt the tears begin to pool in my eyes, but I fought to hold them back, refusing to show weakness in front of him.
“Sh-sherlock!” I screamed in hopes of getting away from Moriarty, the only man I had ever feared.
“Oh, great,” Christianne grumbled, pointing to Charlie’s corpse. The Crash Dummy Sue was sobbing and screaming for Sherlock, as if just yelling Sherlock’s name would protect her from a deranged criminal mastermind. “Now we got a dead canon on our hands.”
“We’ll just take him to Medical. I hear they’re really good at fixing these things,” Mittens stated matter-of-factly.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Eledhwen said stiffly, “because then we can focus on how complete and utterly wrong it is for Moriarty to get his hands dirty like this.”
“Is that … is that ‘worry plastered across his face’?” Mittens asked, pointing at Sherlock. They all stared, then reached for some more Bleeprin.
“At least she didn’t say that he had it staple-gunned on his face,” Christianne said, through a mouthful of pills.
“You’ve actually experienced that?” the RMC asked.
“No, but now that I’ve mentioned it I’m sure the Ironic Overpower will make sure it happens,” she replied with a sigh. The RMC and Mittens cringed; Eledhwen was too busy trying to remember what a staple gun was.
Moriarty then somehow managed to take out the blood from his knife without the handkerchief he’d just pulled out. Because he had his lines in three separate paragraphs, that only added to the confusion by creating three Moriarties.
“Well, you know, there were three James Moriarties in the original canon,” Christianne muttered, rolling her eyes.
Mittens raised an eyebrow. “There were?”
“Two,” Eledhwen amended. “Two James Moriarties, and a third Moriarty brother everyone just assumes to also be called James.”
“I bet that made calling for them around the house extremely easy on his mother,” deadpanned Mittens.
“Now Sherlock, Who’s more important your Dear Baby Sister or your Dear Doctor? Tik-tok, Sherlock, Tik-tok”
And without further warning, the song “Tik Tok” began to play. “Why do we never think to bring Glopsnerch?” demanded Eledhwen to Christianne, who had her fingers plugged into her ears. Much to Christianne’s chagrin, the annoyingly autotuned voice of Ke$ha could still be heard.
“Because you’re a forgetful idiot!” Christianne shouted back. Mittens and the RMC watched them rather bemusedly, both of them having produced matching sets of Glopsnerch earmuffs.
The Crash Dummy Sue started to cry, somehow ‘ruinging’ her makeup. The following bits of dialogue had other people’s actions tagged to them, making it seem as if Mycroft, who was then running through the door looking uncharacteristically ‘worried and angry’, was saying Moriarty’s lines.
“I have a headache,” Christianne grumbled as the Sue turned ‘parylized with fear’. Exactly how one turned parylized was a mystery, but it looked extremely painful.
Mycroft then made some ultra-dramatic declarations about having guards everywhere (Christianne valiantly resisted banging her head against a nearby tree trunk and resorted instead to wringing and ripping leaves and blades of grass as if they were the Sue), the Sue was shot in the arm, and the cops showed up to arrest Moriarty, accompanied by a mini-Hound called LeStrade. Moriarty made some stupid clichéd dramatic statements at Sherlock, and Lestrade – LeStrade, apparently – had the gall to call the American police force ‘incompetent idiots’.
“Character Replacement,” Eledhwen said immediately as Christianne put the drooling mini-Hound into her pack. “We’re going to have to split up. Mittens, you and Chrissy can charge the Sue. The RMC and I will find the plothole that contains Lestrade.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Mittens gave a smart salute. Eledhwen shot him a puzzled look, but followed the RMC into the house. Mittens started fiddling with the Remote Activator.
“What are you doing?” asked Christianne.
“Oh, I’m separating her from the canons.” He pressed the button and with a small yelp of surprise, the Sue fell into the hole. Nobody heard her over the sound of an author’s note declaring that the author now had major writer’s block.
“You mean, you’ve written yourself into a corner,” Mittens remarked dryly. “And that is why we should always outline before writing.” He pressed the buttons to summon another portal, this one vertical, and stepped through with Christianne.
~~
They landed in the forest surrounding Forks. The Crash Dummy Sue was sitting on the ground, looking thoroughly confused. “Are you vampires?” she asked.
“Oh, now you remember that they exist.” Christianne rolled her eyes.
“No,” Mittens growled. “We are something much worse. We are from the PPC and we are here to charge you.”
“Charge me? But it’s Moriarty who’s the criminal.”
“And he’ll get what’s coming to him in series two,” Christianne assured her. “But right now, we want to talk about you.”
“Bella Swan,” Mittens said, “or perhaps Isabella Holmes… you are charged with replacing the real Bella Swan and with having a backstory that’s really stupid, totally inadequate, and made less and less sense as the story went on.”
“Also with being the gratuitous younger sibling of Sherlock and Mycroft,” Christianne chimed in, “and with making up the names of the Holmes’ parents without any reason.”
“Not to mention,” Mittens added, “that in the intro, you made it sound like you were the offspring of Sherlock and Mycroft. You’re also charged with having the Cullens return without explanation and with ignoring Edward and anything else having to do with the Twilight plotline, even though you were in tears over it a moment before.”
“Changing the laws of physics, or perhaps just having all your personal belongings in your bathroom.”
“In fact,” Mittens frowned, “it seems that you don’t even care about Twilight, which is normally not a charge, except when you’re writing a Twilight fanfic. You are also charged with having Emmett call you Belly-Bean, having it take a week to fly from London to Forks, being seriously inconsistent with how much time it takes to drive to the airport and with killing Charlie Swan.”
“Thus giving the already overworked people in Medical even more to do,” Christianne added.
“I didn’t kill Charlie!” Bella Swan/Isabella Holmes cried. “Moriarty did! I’m …” Mittens smacked her with the notebook until she fell quiet.
Christianne continued: “You’re also charged with creating the poor homeless mini-Sparklewolf Stephanie and the mini-Hound LeStrade, with replacing Lestrade with some idiot who brings a plothole full of British police to America, with cheapening the friendship between Sherlock and John, with upstaging John by claiming that you’re the one who keeps Sherlock in line. You’re charged with making Mycroft act all warm and fuzzy, with throwing Moriarty wildly out of character by making him kill someone in person and then get caught in the act, with ripping off the scene at the swimming pool in ‘The Great Game’, and with causing a Ke$ha song to play.”
“Then there are all your crimes against grammar, punctuation and spelling. Too many to mention, so I’ll just point out your extreme cruelty to homonyms and the fact that you capitalized words after commas. What do you think this is, the seventeenth century? It wasn’t even correct back then.”
“And we almost forgot,” Christianne finished, “the most important. You are charged with being an insufferable Mary Sue.”
“I thought the most important was ‘annoying PPC agents’?”
“Well… yes, that too.”
“Any way, for that you are sentenced to die. Any last words?”
“I want my big brother!” the Crash Dummy Sue shouted.
“He’s not your brother – and believe me, as soon as he snaps out of it he would not want you,” Christianne snapped, voice oozing with acid.
“How should we kill her?” Mittens asked. “The Radioactive Moss Creature and I usually go for something canonical.”
Christianne mused over this for a moment. “I suppose we could stuff her in the apartment next to the old lady’s right before everything blows up.”
“She’s a Crash Dummy. DoSAT will have our heads if we destroy the dummy.”
“Point.” Christianne sighed, and nodded at Mittens. “Shoot her.”
Mittens raised an eyebrow, taking out his Five-Seven. “You sure you don’t want to?” Behind them, the Sue continued to blubber and wail. She even tried to escape, but Christianne had her gun aimed at her in an instant.
“I insist,” drawled the assassin, so Mittens did. The Dummy crumpled to the ground as the Sue Spirit screamed in agony, rushing out of the Dummy and exploding in the air right before their faces. As the last bits of Glitter floated down, the Dummy folded itself back into a cube.
Christianne picked up the cube. “Well, that’s that. Let’s get back to the house.”
~~
Meanwhile Eledhwen and the RMC had located the plothole holding the real Bella Swan and Lestrade. It turned out to be in the gravity defying bathroom, where the Sue had tried to keep all her personal belongings. The RMC pocketed the skull; it would make a nice souvenir for Mittens.
“Right,” Eledhwen said, turning to Lestrade, flashing the Neuralyzer. “You have never been to Forks, and even if you had, you would know better than to bring British police with you and order the local force around. This has all been a rather strange dream brought on by too much coffee and doughnuts. Now back to London with you.” She opened a portal and waved him through. Then she handed the Neuralyzer to the RMC, who turned to Bella.
“Bella Swan,” it said. “Edward is still gone and – much as I’m averse to telling you this – you’ll soon jump off a cliff in an attempt to hear his voice in your mind again,” It grimaced. “The things we have to tell the Twilight canons to do,” it muttered.
“Speaking of which,” Eledhwen said, “we still have to find Edward and the rest of the Cullens.”
“She threw them out, so I’m guessing they are somewhere outside the house waiting to be used again.”
It didn’t take them long to locate the Cullens; the sparkling vampires were wandering aimlessly through a different part of the forest. They were near the infamous meadow in which Edward and Bella stared at each other; Edward was now looking tall, sparkly, and broody. Eledhwen had to suppress the bile threatening to rise.
“Cullens! If you can all look here, please,” she instructed, waving the Neuralyzer at them. Another flash. “This has all been a very strange dream. You will not discuss anything about Isabella Swan looking any more different than before. You will all go your separate ways until Alice receives the vision of Bella jumping off a cliff. Rosalie will tell Edward that Bella has committed suicide, and Edward, that’ll be your cue for you to make a fool of yourself in Volterra.”
“Do not bother contacting Bella until then,” added the RMC. “You are canonically obliged to remain oblivious to her suffering, thinking you left her for her own good. Don’t worry; you’ll be back by the third book.”
Eledhwen opened a portal, and the Cullens stepped through. Once the last one – Edward – had disappeared, she opened another one to the front of Charlie’s house, where Christianne and Mittens were dispatching the other Sherlock canons.
“How’s Charlie?” asked Eledhwen, as Moriarty left through the fading blue doorway. Christianne gestured to the corpse on the table next to them.
“Dead,” she pointed out bluntly.
“Very helpful. Let’s get him to Medical.”
~~
“Oh, it’s you two,” Nurse McKay remarked drily to Christianne and Eledhwen as the four agents dragged in Charlie Swan’s corpse. “You couldn’t have stepped in before he got killed?”
“The fact he got killed at all was the breach in canon,” Eledhwen replied cheerily. “How is little Muriel doing?”
“She’s fine,” replied the nurse, scowling over the paperwork for Charlie. “Run along now.”
Once out of Medical, Christianne groaned. “She makes us sound like naughty children.”
“It’s because you are,” Eledhwen replied calmly. The RMC huffed in laughter, and the four of them made their way back to RC #9L0121F4114C3.
Once back at the RC, Christianne opened her pack and took out LeStrade; it bounded over to Mittens and licked his face quite thoroughly. Mittens laughed, ruffling the mini-Hound’s fluorescent green fur.
“So…” he remarked as LeStrade drooled all over his face, “you’ll be taking care of the mini-Hound?”
Christianne rolled her eyes. “He seems to like you. Sure you want me to drop him off at the Modern Baker Street Fanfiction Academy?”
“I…” Mittens trailed off, looking at the RMC nervously. The RMC shrugged as well as it could, being back in its original form. Mittens looked down at LeStrade longingly. “I’ll keep him,” he said after a moment. “That is, if it’s not too much trouble…”
“I’m sure Messrs Ben and Marty have enough minis on their hands,” Eledhwen replied bracingly.
“No, I meant if it’s not too much trouble for my partner. Is it?” Mittens turned to the RMC again, the expression on his face rather reminiscent of the ‘puppy dog eyes’ look.
“Ure,” said the RMC. Mittens beamed, and packed LeStrade into his own pack. “So I spose thi s t, fo now,” the mossy Floater added, shuffling its paws a bit awkwardly.
“It has been a privilege to work alongside you,” Eledhwen replied, putting a hand to her chest in farewell. “If you ever need help with anything Sherlock related …”
“Or other stuff!” Christianne chimed in. “We can do lots of other stuff!”
“Yes, thank you,” Eledhwen muttered, frowning slightly. “As I think my partner was trying to say, if you need our help with anything, do not hesitate to contact us.”
“E won’t,” the RMC said. “Bye fo …”
[BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!]
“Betr get tha,” it finished. “E’ll be off.”
“Not a moment’s peace,” Christianne muttered as she pressed the button and started to read the Intelligence Report. “Not a damn moment’s peace.”
[Lily’s Notes: For the morbidly curious, as always: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7922325/1/The-Strange-Life-Of-Isabella-Holmes
I, er, have no sarcastic comments about this fic that weren’t already said in the Consulting Sue Slayer report of the fic. So yeah. Obligatory apologies to Emma-Queen of the Nerds.
Elvish, as always, is brought to you all by the fantastic people at Merin Essi Ar Quenteli. This mission has most of the Elvish translated in-text, and ‘Rhiach’ means curses.
For my Agents, this mission should take place before “The Missing Tales of Winnie Breccan”. Timey-wimey shenanigans for the win!]
[Eileen’s Notes: (I say, Author’s Notes at the end? What a novel idea!) This has been my first collaborative mission and it was a lot of fun to write. I’ll not go into how horrible this fic was and how glad I was to kill it, but just note that if someone is writing a Twilight fanfic, they should love the canon, or failing that, hate it passionately; being ‘Meh’ about it makes for a very confusing fic. Oh, and the Fictionary was invented by Tungsten Monk and is used with permission.]
RC#170 