"Wow, look at this!"
I sigh and heave my head off of my desk, looking over at my brother, who is poring over photographs on his bed. "What?"
"Come here, look!"
Another sigh. "Do I have to?"
He huffs. "Yes, you do! It's excellent."
I stand, stretch, and walk over to him. The photos are of a swimming pool, and he has a newspaper next to him. "What's so interesting about this?" I ask, then I examine his face. Of course. "You've been researching that death, haven't you? The drowning." Of course he has. I should have seen it sooner.
"The shoes, Mycroft. The shoes are the key!" He steps off the bed and steeples his fingers in front of his face, a habit he's developed. "But Scotland Yard has stopped answering my calls."
"If you would stop pestering them-"
"I know I have it, Mycroft. I know it." He turns away from me. "I feel it. I'm missing something, but I know I'm close. If they'll just let me look at the evidence..."
I close my eyes and rub the bridge of my nose. I feel a headache coming on, and it's only 10:00. "Sherlock, give it up. They won't show you the evidence, this is a drowning. There isn't any evidence. Now, it's late. You're up past your bedtime, and you know how that upsets mummy-"
"Mummy's rules ALWAYS interrupt my research!" He shouts, his arms flying out at his sides, and collapses on the bed. "I'm not even tired. Sleep is such a waste of time," he adds, yawning. "I hate it."
I smile, sitting on the bed next to him. "I admire your enthusiasm. But now, it's late. And if you don't get to sleep, you won't get any of mummy's hot cocoa in the morning."
His eyebrows furrow. "Why not?"
"I'll drink it all," I whisper.
He gasps, rights himself on the bed, and quickly pulls the covers up to his chin. "Goodnight, Mycroft!" He says, and screws his eyes shut. I walk across the room and turn off the light, then crawl into my bed.
"Goodnight, brother dear."