Title:

"The Man"

Summary:

The entire Nation is at his knees. John Watson, The Master, professionally known as The Man is on the possession of very compromising photographs that could destroy the most powerful family in Britain and Sherlock Holmes' name has arisen.

Rated:

M

Genre:

Drama/Romance

Warnings:

Mention of sexual situations, sex scenes, spoilers of ASiB.

Disclaimer:

Neither Sherlock (BBC) nor the respective characters belong to me.

Author's Note:

This is completely based on the first chapter of season two of Sherlock. If you haven't seen it, don't read this! Not an English speaker, I apologise beforehand for any mistake.

"My employer has a problem."

Before Sherlock Holmes could have asked, a man seated next to his brother expressed the motive of his required visit to the Palace which represents the very heart of the British Nation.

"A matter has come to light of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature and in this hour of need you, my dear brother, your name has arisen," Mycroft, the older Holmes said, keeping his diplomatic and straight face.

Sherlock looked at him. "You have a whole secret service, why come to me? The police force of sorts, even the marginally secret service."

"This is a matter of highest security and therefore of trust."

The man next to Mycroft made a little gesture, and the older Holmes opened his suitcase and handed Sherlock a picture. "What do you know about this man?"

Sherlock Holmes only looked at it. It was a picture of a blond, blue-eyed man. He had short hair and pale complexion. "Nothing whatsoever."

"Then you should be paying more attention. He's been in the center of two political scandals in the last year and recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist by having an affair with both participants, separately."

"You know I don't concern myself with trivia. Who is he?" asked Sherlock, still holding the picture.

"John Watson. Professionally known as The Man."

Sherlock frowned. "Professionally?"

"There are many names for what he does. He prefers Master."

"Master..."

The word seemed to struggle in the detective's mouth, and Mycroft smiled. "Don't be alarmed. It's to do with sex."

"Sex doesn't alarm me."

Sherlock used to believe sex was something that would never alarm him.

Until now.

"How would you know?"

A few seconds of silence and Mycroft handed him a brown envelope with more photographs. "He provides, shall we say, recreational scolding for those who enjoy that sort of things and are prepared to pay for it. These are from his website."

The envelope had pictures of John Watson, the Master, wearing provocative underwear and a riding crop, in many suggestive positions. Offering what he does. There was also an inscription:

"Some are born to rule,

Some are forced to serve.

When you worship at the feet of the world,

You will be in the presence of your God.

You will whimper. You will cry. You will feel every hit,

Physically and mentally.

You will know when you are beaten."

"And I assume this Watson man has some compromising photographs," said Sherlock as he placed the photographs into the brown envelope.

"You're very quick, Mister Holmes," said the man sitting next to his brother, impressed. Certainly he didn't know in depth anything about Sherlock Holmes' brilliant, magnificent brain.

"Hardly a difficult deduction. Photographs of whom?"

The man looked down, clearly embarrassed, hurt. Everything was about a person of significance to the man who clearly was working for the family for most of his life. "A person of significance to my employer. We'd prefer not to say any more at this time."

Sherlock curled his lips, looking at the man until Mycroft spoke again. "I can tell you is a young person... a young female person," explained Mycroft Holmes, not pleased by the requirements of information of his younger brother.

"How many photographs?"

"A considerable number, apparently."

"Do Mister Watson and this young female person appear in these photographs together?"

Mycroft nodded. "Yes, they do. In an imaginative range, we are assured."

"And I assume in a number of very compromising scenarios."

"Can you help us, Mister Holmes?"

"How?"

"Will you take the case?"

Now he was enjoying it. The man was desperate as Mycroft. Two men, probably both were the left and the right hand of the most important old lady in the country and they were practically begging for his help. "What case? Pay him now and in full -"

"He doesn't want anything. He got in touch. He informed us the photographs existed. He indicated that he has no intention to use them to exhort either money or favour," explained Mycroft and Sherlock smiled.

"Oh, a power play? A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that is a Master. Oh, this is getting rather fun, isn't it?"

Sherlock Holmes loved to play games. He loved mysteries. He loved to prove how clever he could be and how clever he was. And this game, this particular game was good enough for him. He stood up from his place in that fancy and posh sofa ready to leave. Ready to play the game. "Where is he?"

"He's in London. He's staying at -"

"Text me the details. I'll be in touch by the end of the day. Laterz!"

John Watson really missed London. He could see, appreciate its characteristic cloudy sky, the red buses, the dark cabs. His driver was glancing at him at every minute, when his BlackBerry went off. His sources were working as he expected. They sent him the pictures of his new enemy.

Pictures of Sherlock Holmes.

He smiled at them. This was getting fun.

Once the car pulled in front of his place, he ran directly to his room. His navy blue suit and his striped tie wasn't good enough to receive the famous Sherlock Holmes. Because John Watson knew he was going after him. He was coming for the photographs.

"Kate. We are going to have a visitor. I'll need a bit of time to get ready."

A red haired woman appeared and smiled at him, while crossing her pale legs and standing in the door frame of his room. "Is he good?"

"A bit not good," replied John as he started removing his clothes.