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Rise of the Ancient Ones and Other Really Bad Ideas

Chapter Text

John went into the travel themed coffee shop he'd inherited from his father – the Have Roast Will Travel – when the Nazi's kidnapped him.

"We aren't actually Nazi's, our tailor has gone insane from wyrding energies," explained Stamford, who'd been coming into the coffee shop for years. "We're Muvians in the service of Ghatanothoa, who is trapped under the craggy tip of the unearthly Mount Yaddith-Gho that peaks above the eldritch dark waves of the Atlantic. All that is left of the lost continent of Mu. Waiting, waiting all these long centuries until the Unpresented One once again walked among us. Pardons your holiness, but I have a terrible sense of smell, or I would have know you were waiting for your moment of sacrifice all this time."

"Ta," said John, who was wondering why he'd bothered to get out of bed this morning.

He was staring at the sad little coffee machine in the steamer ship's galley, when a tall thin Beta was shoved by a Muvian thug inside the room. The thug, whose name oddly was Thuggeeth said, "Behold, the last Beta descendent of the priest T'yog from before the fall of the hidden kingdom of Yuggoth." He waved at John, "Behold the fortold Unpresented One."

The Beta snorted. Turning to John, he said, "Italian or French roast?" He pointed at the stain on John's shirt.

"Italian," laughed John, looking down at the stain on his shirt from he'd been abducted. "But how did you know?"

"It's a party trick. Although, that's the first time it has worked in doing anything other than annoying anyone." The Beta looked thoughtful. "I'm Professor Sherlock Holmes. I shall be your fellow kidnappee for the journey. Now," he looked thoughtfully around, "If you give me a moment, I'll tell you where they've hidden the real coffee beans."

It didn't take Sherlock long at all. He was an archaeology professor, but he had a fine appreciation for coffee. The lazy git refused to make the stuff given that John was a professional.

John didn't mind. They chatted about coffee and travel. John had always wanted to, but his gender got him enough looks at home.

Sherlock said very gravely over a demon black cup of coffee, "John, you should know that there were some ancient societies that revered the Unpresented. Some," he lowered that coffee rich voice of his and whispered, "practiced human sacrifice." He winked at John.

John threw a packet of sugar at him. "You enormous tit."

"No, whispering," rumbled Thuggeeth.

Sherlock leaned back in his chair and said in a louder voice. "Have I told you about the time I saw the Vatican Cameos. They had some amazing properties."

He hadn't. They spoke of the Vatican and the passages underneath.

Finally, they arrived at the island, which every member of the cult assured them was covered in dread terror.

It was actually quite nice. Full of lush undergrowth and birds. "The Birds of Madness," chanted several Muvians.

The dread leader of the cult, Incardinal Moriarty, finally made himself known. He was wearing something out of Doctor Who, which given the Nazis wading whatever around him was a bit jarring.

They were dragged before the ancient crypt of Ghatanothoa. Moriarty pointed at Sherlock and said in a sort of sing song, "Say the wyrding words. Tick. Toc. Tick. Toc."

Sherlock said, "It's bad enough that you've disrupted my work cataloguing the wear patterns on the contents of an three thousand year old tip, which I might add is the actual work of archaeologists, but you are holding that dagger entirely incorrectly."

John said, "You're right. That is all wrong." He held his hand out and the hapless mook actually handed the sacred dagger of the Mi-go to him and was stabbed for his troubles. John had fenced when he was younger and this wasn't much different.

However, since the mook was a Beta and not the foretold Unpresented One, his spilled blood did not cause the ancient crypt to open and reveal the dread form of Ghatanothoa.

Sherlock yelled, "Vatican Cameos," and they both dove for the ATV Moriarty had ridden in on and raced down the stone channel of insanity, or some such name.

They were on the ship and sailing away when a very unlikely tidal wave tossed the ship up and down. What was very odd was when John glanced in a shiny metal sphere that was in the wheelhouse, he saw a gelatinous form that briefly rose above the water, howled and sank below the waves. He had to think they were all a bunch of great tits for trying to raise something like that. Sherlock said something to that effect, but with more vowels.

The remaining Muvians on the boat had all turned into Mummies – with the exception of Stamford who had been getting a cup of coffee and had declared himself John's minion. The Mummies were more than a little creepy.

Sherlock was like a kid in a candy store. "This is amazing. This level of mummification should take years to achieve. Also, they're still alive."

"That is a bit not good," said John, but as he looked around their boat, he said, "This could be nice. This could be very nice. I've always wanted to travel. Dedicating myself to preventing the rise of the old Ones sounds worthwhile.

He slid a glance at the very knowledgeable Professor Holmes who was trying to decide which of the scrolls on the shelves of Moriarty's cabin would not result in madness. "It could be dangerous."

The good Professor bit his lip and said, "It's really not my area," and leapt at the chance.