if_inconvenient | (no subject)

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As he expected, first-rate encryption; as he expected, Jarvis cracked it without much trouble; as he expected, it contained much that was of use to him.

Now, about that Beardsley fellow.

Digging up his address is the work of minutes. The real dilemma is deciding how to make the approach. Eventually, he settles on the relatively benign strategy of showing up on the man's doorstep just as he is likely to be coming home from work.

He knows the house is empty, but he rings the bell anyway. Then he tucks his hands in his pockets and settles in to wait, observing his surroundings carefully and standing where he is unlikely to be observed in return.

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It's been a long day of tying up loose ends, and Peter is ready to be home and maybe relax with a beer before he takes care of a few more details.

It almost doesn't surprise him to find the Stark kid waiting in a discreet spot out front.

At least it saves him the trouble of making a phone call.

"I do have a secure line," he says by way of greeting.

"I don't doubt it. And how was your interview with that unlucky gentleman?"

"Come inside." This conversation doesn't really need to happen out in the open.

He lets them both into the house, which involves some unlocking and the entering of a code or two. Is Peter paranoid because of his job, or does he have the job because he's paranoid? Even he doesn't know at this point.

Sherlock memorizes the codes as a matter of course. If he's feeling generous, he might mention that before he leaves.

"I'll do you the courtesy of assuming you check your own house for surveillance devices."

Not spoken: he'll also do him the much greater courtesy of assuming he does it well.

"Regularly."

Of course.

Peter shrugs off the jacket he wears to cover the gun he carries. It's still light out, so the gun is unaccompanied by a stake.

He does not remove his jacket. It gives him someplace to put his hands, and if Peter is as good as Sherlock he should be able to see that the number of weapons concealed beneath it is none.

The ultraviolet laser pointer in the right-hand pocket doesn't count, of course. Unless you're a vampire.

Naturally.

"The guy was a mercenary. Experienced. Too experienced for the bullshit set-up he had there. I suppose he thought a bunch of kids would make for an easy job."

Peter isn't much for small talk.

It would be disturbing if Sherlock didn't react to the news of the man's death. It is probably much more disturbing that he reacts with a faint smile.

"His mistake. I was right about the terms of his employment. He was hired to kill Tony; whether or not I caught a bullet along the way was explicitly mentioned to be of no consequence."

The casual way he delivers this information might be down to teenage bravado, Stark arrogance, or the fact that he's Sherlock fucking Holmes. Probably all of the above.

Considering that the asshole tried to kill Sherlock thinking he was his brother, Peter doesn't find it disturbing at all.

"It'd surprise me more if it was," he says bluntly. "Whoever hired him sure as hell isn't worried about being discreet."

And it would be tidier to get rid of them both, especially since they're the only Starks left since their parents' demise. Which Peter is suddenly finding to be terribly convenient.

"As I pointed out to Cal, no one stands to gain from my death, except in that it would prevent me from investigating Tony's."

Completely deadpan: "And very few people are willing to admit that a deluded seventeen-year-old is a credible threat."

"I bet that works out pretty well for you."

He's a kid, but he's a kid with a brain in his head who knows how to use his eyes. You can't even say that about most adults. When he grows up, he's gonna be scary as hell.

Peter wonders if the genius behind the assassination plot has figured that out yet.

He smiles.

"As often as not."

Half a beat.

"I memorized your security codes on the way in," he adds, without a trace of apology. "You might want to change them."

"Jesus."

They get changed on a regular basis anyway, but that's hardly the point.

Peter opens the door, rather pointedly.

"Don't fucking get yourself killed," he advises.

"I don't plan on it. Thank you for your time, Mr Beardsley."

Still smiling, he turns to leave. Something occurs to him before he takes a single step.

"What did you do with his gun?"

"We're tracking information on it."

Some things take time even for the Chandlers.

"I'm not holding my breath."

"Was it military issue?"

In other words, was it Stark tech?

"Matter of fact," Peter says, and lists off some specs that might sound a little familiar to Sherlock.

He shakes his head, chuckling.

"Tony will get a kick out of that, I'm sure."

They are all morbid little shits in the Stark family, apparently.

Cal's mother will be positively delighted by her son's continuing to associate with them.

"Fun for the whole family," Peter says.

"Quite."

Sherlock resumes his interrupted progress out of the house.

The door closes behind him.

Sherlock would probably be unsurprised to know that, on the other side of said door, Peter is changing his security codes.

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