This is a very important case, Sherlock. You should show a bit more respect than this.
-MH
After a series of calls, voices messages, and texts, Sherlock finally broke his concentration to glare disdainfully at his phone. Mycroft had been hounding him about this case for days. It seemed that he did not understand that Sherlock simply wasn't interested. And why would he be? This wasn't the first time that a foreign agency had contacted him in hopes that he would be their problem solver. Perhaps if the case was more interesting, he'd be willing to fly across the sea to the United States. But in Sherlock's mind, a string of unexplained disappearances did not a worthy case make.
New information has come about. I obviously cannot discuss like this. Call me.
-MH
Mycroft was out of his mind if he thought that Sherlock would take such plain bait. Obviously his elder brother was trying to tempt into the case by offering something of interest, but knowing Mycroft, it was nothing more than an obviously wrong possibility being ruled out. Even if there was new evidence, it would have to be pretty spectacular to get Sherlock on a plane.
Sherlock, if you don't call me, I will have you escorted to my office. I know where you live.
-MH
Oh, for heaven's sake, if it would get Mycroft off his back, Sherlock supposed he would have to call him. He dialed his brother's number, only having to wait through one ring before the other end was picked up.
"Why didn't you get back to me sooner?" Mycroft's voice carried an annoyed edge to it. Sherlock loved when that happened.
"I was in the middle of an experiment." For once, though, this wasn't true. Sherlock had been surfing the web looking for an interesting case when his brother decided to interrupt him. Honestly, he would have called him back earlier, because he was dead bored, but making Mycroft upset was one of his favorite hobbies. "I wanted to see how long it took a certain species of beetle to strip a human body down to the bone. Surprisingly short amount of time, really."
"Oh brother, don't lie to me. I have cameras set up in your house, as you are aware. You were on the computer."
Now it was Sherlock's turn to be annoyed. "Why must you always invade my privacy?"
"Because, Sherlock, this is a case of the utmost importance, and you decided on ignoring me. You have responsibilities, you know," Mycroft said, his voice taking on that irritating older-brother quality. Sherlock despised his lectures.
"So you seem to think. But what responsibility could I possibly have towards the American FBI? They're not even within your jurisdiction."
"I am aware of this. However, many foreign agencies have been following your accomplishments, and the United States has a particular interest in you. They have been trying to solve this case for several years now, and they've finally gotten to the point where they need outside help. This could be an opportunity for you to branch out."
Another thinly veiled lie. Mycroft had no interest in making Sherlock's career international. The only time Mycroft called his detective little brother in was when it would benefit himself and himself alone. Certainly, if Sherlock solved this case, the U.S. would be in Mycroft's debt for borrowing him out. And as annoying as the country's public's officials were, it was never a bad idea to have a favor owed by America.
"If I have refused this case before, what makes you think I would take it now?" Sherlock asked flatly.
"Because I am asking you to."
To this, Sherlock openly laughed. "Try again."
"Fine. Because, brother of mine, this one has even me stumped. There is a certain piece of information that was revealed to me that brings this case to a whole new level of… absurdity. It is right up your alley."
For a moment, Sherlock silently weighed his options. He could refuse the case again, but Mycroft would unquestioningly be on his tail about it in no time at all. He could take the case and fly to America, only to find it of no interest to him. He settled on finding out the new information that had Mycroft so convinced Sherlock would want the case in the first place.
"Where should I meet you?" Sherlock sighed, rubbing his eyes. He wasn't nearly as bothered as he let on, but if he put on a show for the cameras, Mycroft would make more of an effort to win his favor. And it was always fun to see his brother beg.
"I'll be there in ten minutes," Mycroft decided. Giving Sherlock no time to argue, he hung up. Sherlock supposed he should get dressed.
"John!" Sherlock called, making his voice sound strained and panicked. That would make John hurry. He began to walk towards his bedroom, so he might put on a suit, when he heard shuffling above him, and then feet pounding on the stairs. Just as Sherlock was pulling off his robe, John rushed into his bedroom, out of breath. His eyes were wild.
"I thought you were being murdered!" John said angrily, getting in Sherlock's face. "Why do you always do that to me?!"
"To make you hurry," Sherlock said indifferently. "Mycroft is going to be here any minute to debrief us on a new case."
"You're actually taking a case from Mycroft?" John asked, looking away when Sherlock began to peel off his shirt. His ears were pink with embarrassment, just the reaction Sherlock was looking saw naked bodies all day in surgery, but he couldn't handle the detective's bare chest. It made Sherlock laugh (on the inside, of course.)
"Well, he hasn't given me much choice. He called me seven times today just to get me to take it."
"Must be pretty important," John concluded, chancing a glance at Sherlock. Now he was stripped down to his underwear. "He's not one to appear desperate like that."
Sherlock couldn't help but chuckle at John's red face. He took such joy in making his friend uncomfortable. "You are correct about that," the detective agreed.
"So any idea what the case is about?" John inquired, ignoring Sherlock's snicker. The stupid git took any chance he could to make the doctor blush.
"A string of seemingly unrelated disappearances in the United States. Their FBI won't tell me why they think they're linked until I have gone there to investigate myself. They must think it's some sort of incentive, but if anything, it's bothersome." Sherlock tucked his now buttoned shirt into the trousers he had already pulled on. "You can look at me now."
John looked cautiously in Sherlock's direction, ready to avert his eyes if the detective proved to be nude. But much to his relief, Sherlock was fully clothed.
"Mycroft is being rather secretive about it as well, which leads me to wonder how it could possibly be so important. He's not usually one to get mixed up in American business; he had quite the argument with one of their past presidents, and hasn't seen eye to eye with them since."
The doorbell rang just as Sherlock was shrugging his jacket on. It had only been five minutes since he'd hung up with Mycroft; obviously his brother was already on the way here when Sherlock finally decided to call him back. Of course he had been.
"Mrs. Hudson, get the door, will you!" Sherlock shouted, straightening his collar. John raised an eyebrow at him. "What?"
"She's not the maid, Sherlock."
"Of course she's not. If she was, this flat would actually be clean," Sherlock replied matter of factly. John rolled his eyes.
Just as they entered the living room, the door to 221b opened. Mycroft stood in the doorway, his arms crossed in an impatient manner. His umbrella dangled from his left hand, though it wasn't raining outside. Much like Sherlock and his scarf, the umbrella went with him wherever he went, no matter how impractical.
"So you've got a case for us?" John asked, plopping down in his chair.
"You think you're going to bring him with you? Sherlock, you know that they won't clear him. You must-" Mycroft began.
"I mustn't do anything. If I take this case, the key word being if, then John must come with me. That is not up for discussion." John grinned rather smugly at this. "I'd be lost without my blogger," Sherlock added, his voice sharp with sarcasm. Again, John rolled his eyes.
"Fine. I'll see what I can work out. But to answer your question, Dr. Watson, I suppose I do have a case for you. One that my brother has very rudely refused several times previously. Would you like to hear about it?"
John nodded his assent before settling back in his chair. Mycroft, having a flair for the dramatic, tended to go on longer than necessary when it came to this sort of thing. Sometimes his explanations were so long winded, John offered to make the elder Holmes tea as an excuse to get up and move around; this way, he wouldn't fall asleep.
"I don't know how much Sherlock has told you, so I will start from the beginning. For the past three years, the American FBI has been tracking a chain of disappearances. They seem unrelated, but after looking into it further, I assure you that they are not. It seems that they were all snatched up on a full moon. Yesterday, some of the known victims turned up; unfortunately, they were not alive. And this is where it gets interesting. At first glance, they seem to have been attacked by an animal. They suffered scratch wounds and bites.
"However, looking more closely, one would realize they all died from the same type of wound. All three of the victims' hearts were missing. There was minimal damage everywhere else, and no other major organs were extracted. No animal would just eat the heart and leave. They believe they have some sort of devil worshipping serial killer on their hands."
Sherlock couldn't help but to look interested. They had a real lunatic on their hands. Of course, he couldn't be all that clever if he left his bodies lying around where they could be spotted. That is, unless he wanted them to be found. In which case, this was just as much a game to the killer as it was to Sherlock.
"Is there anything else they decided to share with us?" John asked.
"They said they have some more evidence, but it is so classified that they have chosen not to divulge it unless you take on the case," Mycroft answered.
"Just answer me one last thing; why are you so hard pressed to get me to take this one? I thought you hated the American government," Sherlock said.
An uncomfortable expression creeped across Mycroft's features. This was obviously not something he wanted to discuss. "I owe them a favor."
"You? Owe them? Well, that's got to be a pretty delicious story!" Sherlock exclaimed.
"Can we talk about this later? There are people dying, brother, and unfortunately, you are the only one who can save them."
"How soon can we leave?"
"I have a plane arranged to leave in one hour."
"Better get going, then," Sherlock decided, grabbing his overcoat off the back of the chair. Handing John his jacket, he started out the door. John caught him by the wrist before he got too far.
"So that's it then? We're just going to America?!" John practically shouted.
"Yes we are. The game is on, John, and I, for one, don't intend to miss a moment of it."
