"You can't ignore it!" John insisted, bouncing Rosie on his knee and staring at his best friend, who was slumped on the couch, studiously ignoring him and the letter lying on the armrest of John's chair.
"I mean it Sherlock, refusing a Jury Summons just isn't done."
Sherlock remained in his spot, unmoving. John sighed and stood up, Rosie was starting to cry, and her diaper was heavy.
"This isn't over." John told him. A slight smirk ghosted across Sherlock's face.
"You know you can get fined upwards of £1,000 for refusing to do jury service." John tried again over a lunch, which, as Sherlock had eaten yesterday and Rosie was refusing to eat some perfectly reasonable puree vegetables, only he was eating.
"You also can't be on a jury if you've been in prison for the last ten years. Remember the time we landed up in a holding cell for drunks, or that time we got ourselves arrested for burglary?" Sherlock retorted.
"Mycroft cleared your 'criminal record.'"
"Then I'll just be sick."
"That only postpones the process." Sherlock scowled and turned to Rosie, once more ignoring John as he explained calmly and logically to the one-year old that it made no sense to refuse to eat her lunch as it would only make her irritable and unable to sleep. John shook his head and reflected upon the hypocrisy of consulting detectives.
"Why are you so dead set against this? You're required by law to attend."
"Since when have I ever let a little thing like laws stop me John?"
"But you're avoiding the question."
"It's simple really, I have to go sit in a room where incompetent people are investigating a case I could solve in half an hour, keep my mouth shut and help reach a consensus while closely interacting with people. Boring."
"It'll be educational. You usually find who did it. Now you can see what happens to those you say are guilty after they are arrested."
"Usually?"
"Alright, you find out who committed the crime." Sherlock seemed mollified, but he ended John's attempt at persuasion with;
"Not interested. Don't you have a blog to write or something?"
Sherlock came into the flat with a bag of take out Vietnamese and scowled when he saw who was sitting in his chair, idly twirling an umbrella.
"Mycroft, what are you doing here?" Sherlock demanded.
"I heard that my little brother was reluctant to fulfill his civic duties."
"What's it to you?"
"You were randomly selected; I had no hand in this."
"Of course Mycroft." Sherlock rolled his eyes and placed the food on the kitchen table, observing that the fold up stroller was gone, which meant John had gone for a walk with Rosie, and Sherlock would have no help from that quarter.
"It would cause me quite some trouble to get you out of doing this. And frankly, I don't have the time to."
"Then what are you doing here?" Sherlock crossed his arms, hating how unbalanced Mycroft made him.
"I'm bribing you with a number of cold cases. Locked-room homicides mostly, that I recently- obtained. It's only ten days so, if you do this without causing a fuss, they're all yours."
"Not interested."
"Oh, really? Then why did your eyes light up when I mentioned the cases and you leaned your head towards me as I said they were locked room homicides. And judging from your slightly slumped shoulders, you're actually considering giving in and accepting?" Mycroft smiled.
"Get out Mycroft." Sherlock ordered. Still smiling, he got up, leaning on his umbrella.
"Have fun at court brother-mine!" He called as he started going down the stairs. Sherlock sighed and straightened his suit.
"Well, this brings back memories." Sherlock said under his breath as he got out of the cab that had taken him to Old Bailey, where all the major crimes in London and surrounding areas were tried. This was also the place Moriarty was pronounced not guilty because he blackmailed the jury. Sherlock highly doubted whichever crime he would have to sit in on would be anywhere near as interesting as that one. He resigned himself to boredom.
"Put you phone, personal effects and such the like in this bin here mister." The security guard told him. Sherlock could see that this man had been at the job for over two years and was well practiced in vetting those entering the Criminal Court. Therefore, he reluctantly placed his phone, wallet, watch and the little tool case where he kept his magnifying glass, lock picks and other useful implements in the plastic bin.
It was like airport security; he removed his shoes and stepped through the metal detector. No sound.
"You have to take off your coat sir." The security guard insisted. Sherlock glared at him.
"The metal detector didn't go off, I'm not hiding anything." He stated flatly, pulling the Belstaff close.
"We will confiscate it if we have to sir, we must put it through the X-Ray." Sherlock considered telling the guard that he was aware that he was cheating on his wife, but remembered the locked-room cases Mycroft had promised him, kept his trap shut and handed over the coat.
He had been happy to learn that out of the thirty people called for jury service; only twelve would be selected to be on the current jury. Sherlock sat easily in his chair and tried to combat boredom by deducing everyone's profession.
Too easy. He needed a case, hadn't had one all week. And if he was going to be stuck for the next ten days hearing lawyers hashing out a easily solvable case, he was going to go crazy.
The Court Usher came forty minutes into his wait, and read off a list of those selected. Sherlock allowed a faint hope to grow in his heart, as his name wasn't called. Robert Leren. Ezzie Paul-Thyler. Wendy Blanche. One more name on the list.
"Sherlock Holmes." Luck was not with him today. Sherlock stood off and went to join his fellow jurors, all eyes on the famous consulting detective.