A/N: Thank you so much all of you wonderful people who have reviewed this story so far, I hope you continue. Your reviews mean so much to me. :-D I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint too much, hopefully the next chapter will be better!
Don't own Sherlock, wish I did. :)
Iain Jackson and Concity are completely made up by me, and do not, as far as I am aware, exist.
Hope you all enjoy, please review.
Chapter Two – Let's Play ... Fratricide.
John groaned as he stretched upon waking. Opening his eyes he sat up and looked around. The blanket that had covered his flatmate was now folded up and resting on the sofa, with the younger man nowhere in sight. Yawning widely, John got out of bed, found the clothes he wanted to wear that day in his bag and walked over to the en suite bathroom.
Having finished getting ready for the day, John returned to the bedroom to discover his flatmate seated at the desk surrounded by newspapers.
'Oh ... you're back then.' stated John as he placed his pyjamas and toiletries on the bed.
'Hm? ... Yes, obviously.' Sherlock replied whilst concentrating on the pages in front of him.
'So, what's with all of the papers? A case?' asked John. 'Otherwise, I was going to suggest we head down for some breakfast.'
'Not a case, no.' muttered Sherlock, conveniently ignoring the rest of the conversation.
'Okay, so breakfast then.' John replied as he sat on the bed to fasten his shoe laces.
'Not hungry.' Sherlock answered distractedly.
'Wasn't asking! Let's go.' John walked over to his flatmate, picked up Sherlock's coat and scarf and handed them to the younger man. 'You haven't had a decent meal since Thursday and it's Saturday today, and you've just said that you're not on a case, so we're having the breakfast that comes with the room.'
Groaning in defeat, Sherlock got to his feet, pulled on his long dark coat, and wrapped his scarf around his slim neck. Picking up their key-card, the two men left their room and walked along the corridor towards the lift. Halfway there, the two men slowed slightly and turned towards each other, both having remembered the scene in the lift from the previous evening. Raising an eyebrow, Sherlock asked the former army doctor, 'Stairs?'
John gave a short nod as he replied, 'Stairs!' The detective and his blogger then proceeded to make their way to the ground floor. Entering the dining room, they gave their room number to a member of staff and were shown to a table. Leaving Sherlock seated at the table, John queued up at the buffet. After he had helped himself to several breakfast items, John collected a second plate and filled it with some food for Sherlock, hoping to tempt his fussy palate. Placing the plate in front of his young friend, John sat down and began devouring his own breakfast of sausage, bacon, fried eggs and beans. Picking up a slice of toast, and a mini pot of strawberry jam, he swallowed his final mouthful of baked beans as he finally took a moment to look around at the rest of the dining room.
'So, what have you deduced about our fellow diners then, Sherlock? Any serial killers in our midst?' John asked with a grin before taking a bite of his jam laden toast.
'Well, that couple sat over in the corner are quite obviously ...' Sherlock didn't manage to say anything further as they were suddenly joined by a middle aged red haired, bearded man dressed smartly in a three piece suit.
'So sorry to bother you, but you are Mr. Sherlock Holmes and companion, are you not?' the gentleman inquired.
Sherlock's eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at the man who had interrupted his genius. 'And you are?' he asked using every ounce of superiority he possessed as he looked down his nose at the interloper.
'Oh, erm ... Iain Jackson, I run Concity. We are the biggest unofficial convention company in the UK. We run fan conventions for like-minded individuals' Iain replied, a polite though somewhat confused smile crossing his face as he realised that the two men eating their breakfast in front of him, had never heard of him or his company. 'I spoke to your PA, Mr. Holmes. She was extremely helpful.'
'My PA, Mr. Jackson?' asked Sherlock, as he glanced across at John, his eyebrow raised a little in confusion. John shook his head slightly, telling Sherlock without words that he was as much in the dark as the detective.
'Yes. I think she said her name was Anthea. A very efficient young woman, and like I said before, extremely helpful.' answered Iain, his worried gaze switching rapidly between the two guests. 'Look, is there a problem? I was led to believe that everything in the contract was satisfactory.'
'Sherlock, what's going on? Why would your brother's assistant be organising for us to attend a convention. I don't understand.' asked John.
'Mycroft!' hissed Sherlock, then turning to John, he grimaced and asked, 'Tell me John, what are your thoughts on fratricide?'
Just as John opened his mouth to answer the young genius, a high pitched squeal rang out from across the dining room, 'Oh. My. God! It's him, it really is him!'
Wincing at the noise, John turned to his friend and replied 'Well, I'm definitely warming to the idea.'
