?

Log in

No account? Create an account
 
 
29 August 2013 @ 06:11 pm
FIC: Human Nature (7/11)  
Title: Human Nature (7/11)
Author: joonscribble
Fandom: Good Omens & Sherlock (BBC)
Rating: R for language
Timeline: Set 20 years after the events of Good Omens. Set two months after "The Great Game."
Spoilers: All of Good Omens. Spoilers for only season 1 of Sherlock.
Disclaimer: See the first chapter for it.
Summary: The world was saved back in 1990. It all went downhill from there
Author's Note: Many thanks to awanderingbard who gave me some good advice about not trying to force characters into things. Once I stopped trying to get Sherlock to do something he clearly didn't want to do, he became much more cooperative. Or at least enough so that the story could continue. Just to bring people up to speed, Sherlock nearly became pavement paste but was saved by Aziraphale. Instead, his assailant Marcus took the concrete nap. Sherlock decided this whole angels and demons thing was thanks to a head injury, which annoyed Crowley greatly. Also, it turns out the paintings from the robbery that Sherlock was investigating are all of Lower Tadfield, which unsettled Crowley greatly. Lastly, Adam and the Them played some games.


“It was 20 years ago. How can we be certain that Adam would still be in Lower Tadfield?” Aziraphale questioned to Crowley.

They were all back at Baker Street. Or rather, Sherlock had decided to travel there as part of his hallucination and the rest had little choice but to follow, despite Crowley’s protests that they should continue alone. Now they were huddled in the main living area where Sherlock was laying out the contents of Marcus’ wallet.

“You said he was 11 when the world nearly ended,” John said. “He would be 31 now. He might have moved.”

“Possibly…” Crowley said. He showed his phone to Aziraphale with a grim look on his face.

Crowley had entered search after search for Lower Tadfield into his phone and came up with broken link after broken link. It wasn’t like the place had fallen off the face of the earth but more like it had fallen behind a large metaphorical cabinet. The small town was still listed in various directories but other than that not a single bit of information could be gleamed. Not even in a town website or local paper online.

“Possibly what?” asked Sherlock, looking up from tattered business card Marcus had been carrying around.

“Possibly Adam might have moved as he’d be an adult now,” Aziraphale answered for John.

Sherlock snorted as he took the business card and sat down at the table with his laptop. “Oh, yes. The Anti-Christ.”

On the drive back Aziraphale had been kind enough to fill Sherlock in, much to the detective’s scornful amusement. John had merely given a defeated sigh.

“I’m not sure if I’m comforted at the idea of the Anti-Christ being out and about,” supposed John.

“He was a very bright young man,” Aziraphale assured with a smile. “Very well behaved.”

At that John laughed, sounding less amused and more fed up. “Angels and demons being best friends and the Anti-Christ has good manners. My old Bible studies teacher would be having kittens at this.”

“There are 27 Adam Youngs aged 31 from the United Kingdom living in the world right now,” Crowley announced, reading off his phone’s app. “And none of them have contributed much. Most of them are in graduate school or employed as midlevel office workers. If Adam was going to step into his Anti-Christ role, he’s being pretty laidback about it. By now he should be in line for becoming the Prime Minister or at the Vatican or something.”

“Because he isn’t going to become the Anti-Christ, Crowley,” Aziraphale insisted. “He chose to remain human and harmless.”

Sherlock didn’t pause in his typing to scoff, “Since when are humans harmless?”

“The first sensible thing he’s said since this entire nightmare began,” Crowley added. “But even if Adam had chosen to become an office drone, where is he?” At least Lower Tadfield still existed. Technically.

“Maybe he changed his name?” John guessed at the same time Sherlock said, “Name change?”

“Ah, very good!” Aziraphale replied. “I always said that humans are best at finding each other.”

“That doesn’t help. If we don’t have the name as it is now, my app is useless,” said Crowley, darkly. “And he’s hardly going to go through deed poll to do the change. He’s the Anti-Christ. He can conjure up whatever he wants.”

“Oh, for god’s sake!” Sherlock snapped as he continued to type furiously on his laptop. “You said you know his old home address. Simply go there now or run a check on it. Either way, shut up and let me work.”

John peered over Sherlock’s shoulder at laptop screen. While the name on the business card had been scratched off, the address and contact phone number was still faintly visible. Sherlock had traced it to an accounting firm in London. “Wait, you said Adam Young was his name?”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale.

“Part of the agreement means you will stop talking,” Sherlock retorted.

“Not you,” John snapped. “Nevermind. But look.”

Ignoring Sherlock’s protest, Crowley and Aziraphale crowded around him and peered down at laptop screen.

It featured the website of Smith, Taylor, and Foster Accounting. Sherlock had gone to the page which featured the list of employees. At the end of the medium length list was the name ‘Robert Young.’

“I know Young is a common name,” John hedged.

“But his dad is called Robert Young and he does work as an accountant,” Aziraphale said, sounding a trifle ill at ease. “Mr. Holmes,” he addressed Sherlock who glared irritably at him. “Why did you take on this case? These painting thefts.”

“It was an interesting case,” Sherlock answered, looking annoyed.

“I thought robberies made you suicidal with boredom,” John accused.

“Word has it that robberies make you suicidal with boredom,” Crowley relayed.

Sherlock looked momentarily confused when he looked up to where Crowley loomed over him. But a stubborn expression settled over his features as he pulled his gaze back to the website.

“This was different.”

“How? How was it different?” Azirphale insisted.

“There was more to the robberies. I could see…feel it.” It was clear the explanation didn’t satisfy even Sherlock. But having skimmed his file, Crowley knew feelings and emotions weren’t exactly the man’s strong suit. Which was why the demon found it a great joke that He had deigned to gift Sherlock Holmes with an unusually expressive face.

“Click on Robert Young’s name,” Crowley instructed.

When Sherlock hesitated, he half expected to hear more grousing about not telling him what to do. But instead the man just sat there, staring straight at the website as if genuinely apprehensive.

Next to him, John frowned. “Sherlock, are you alright? Is he alright?” he redirected the question to Aziraphale.

“Mr. Holmes? Is something the matter?” queried Aziraphale.

Sherlock blinked hard and shook his head as if waking himself from a momentary dream. “No,” he answered with more force than strictly necessary. He moved the cursor over Robert Young’s name and pressed.

The letters changed color momentarily and an indicator that the system was connecting showed up on the bottom left hand corner. This was quickly followed by the sound of a sharp pop that made everyone start before an acrid smell filled the room. The screen went black.

**

Adam awoke to a slight chill in his bedroom. Peeling open one eye, he saw that the sun was just rising and had yet to warm up the earth. The air smelled sweet, though, indicating it would be another perfect spring day in Lower Tadfield.

Adam stretched and contemplated going back to sleep but felt too awake for that. He decided to have an early breakfast instead. It would be a couple of hours yet before his Mum and Dad would wake up but he could do toast and tea. He hadn’t yet mastered the omelets his Mum could do but he could manage scrambled eggs.

Shuffling downstairs in his slippers and robe, he was making his way into the kitchen when he noticed a figure sitting in the armchair in the living room.

“Dad?” Indeed it was his father, still in his cardigan from last night, his pipe sticking out of one of the pockets. “What are you doing up so early?”

His father blinked and stared at his small son who now stood next to his arm. “Is it early? I thought it was rather late?”

“Didn’t you go to bed last night?”

Looking confused, Robert Young absently cleaned his pipe’s mouthpiece on the edge of his cardigan. “I…uhm…that is…” he faltered.

Adam sighed. “You shouldn’t stay up all night. It’s not good for you. You need at least seven hours.”

“Yes, right. Seven hours.” Mr. Young nodded. “Well…I guess I best get ready for…work?”

“You should work from home today,” Adam advised.

“Yes. Yes, that sounds right. Home.”

“I’m making toast and scrambled eggs. Do you want some?”

“Do I?”

Adam frowned. “You should. You like toast with marmalade. You have it every morning.”

Mr. Young nodded again at the reminder, a vague smile crossing his face. “Yes. Marmalade. Lovely.”

NEXT

 
 
 
The Writer They Call Tayawanderingbard on August 29th, 2013 10:23 pm (UTC)
Yayyayyay! I am so pleased you're writing this again, both because it is awesome and because I know it was looming over you. I know you said you had trouble getting the four characters in, but you did it really well, everyone sounded just like himself. Including Sherlock, who I know is being difficult. I quite like that he's still steadfastly refusing to believe this isn't a hallucination, and everyone just humouring him.

Also, all the stuff with Adam is very unsettling. I do like Aziraphale's cheerful optimism in regards to him, however. It's adorable.
formerly lifeinsomniacjoonscribble on August 29th, 2013 10:33 pm (UTC)
Thanks! I'm glad everyone sounded like themselves at the very least. This was the most difficult chapter because now the action is going to more or less roll along on its own.

I do like Aziraphale's cheerful optimism in regards to him, however. It's adorable.

He's about half right. But then, so are Crowley and Sherlock.
aelfgyfu_mead: Sherlock and Johnaelfgyfu_mead on August 30th, 2013 12:15 am (UTC)
HUZZAH! You're back! They're back! And they're still at it!

Has Adam got them all trapped in some sort of time field? Is he . . . using his powers?

Poor John! The frustration!

I'm not sure what to feel for Sherlock, quite possibly because he's not sure what to feel either.
formerly lifeinsomniacjoonscribble on August 30th, 2013 12:47 am (UTC)
Yes, back and hopefully rearing to go!

Adam is doing something alright. And reality can only take so much.

Poor Sherlock is going to get more hassled than originally expected. But he refused to stay in the car so that's what he gets.