Author's Note: Okay, sorry I've taken so long to update! I haven't had any motivation to write and this chapter was hard for me, not sure why.
I have a really high respect for this show; like, it's something sacred to me, and I find it hard to interfere with a lot of the stuff in it.
This chapter is happening around the middle of "The Blind Banker." I know it's short and, frankly rather boring, but I promise I'll have another up tomorrow.
So please enjoy, and if you do, favorite/follow (those make me very happy and I work faster when I'm happy). Let me know what you like/don't like.
I own nothing except Rose.
Chapter 2: The Diogenes Club
The Diogenes club was a place of silence, more or less.
It was a place where the quiet intellectuals of London retreated, as they pored over their books with wordless concentration, creating an energy so tangible, so compelling, you were almost afraid to speak, even if necessary.
But Rose knew what really lied beyond this perpetual veil of silence.
The club, which had been mainly founded by Mycroft himself, was his unofficial headquarters for conducting the British government.
Every member was an operative for the elder Holmes brother, sworn to silence as long as they were in the main lobby, and only seemed to leave when summoned away.
And every one of these members were men, who, like the disciples of Diogenes himself, lived lives of celibacy in order to pursue knowledge.
How they cringed when Rose visited.
Well, they didn't really cringe; one of the first rules of the club was that you never acknowledged anyone else.
But she felt it.
She could actually feel the mood in the air change from productive, worker-bee bliss to an agonizing sense of unease.
Well, it is a gentleman's club.
Though Rose, of course, wasn't a member herself, Mycroft made a special exception for her. He would allow her in whenever he wanted her to see him in his office.
And that wasn't necessarily what one would call a treat.
Knowing Mycroft was expecting her and would soon have someone wave her in, Rose made herself comfortable on a sofa, making sure to choose an empty one for the sake of the men's comfort (these men were seriously terrified of women) and picked up a nearby book, keeping herself as focused on its contents as possible.
As she finished the first chapter, someone lightly tapped her on the shoulder. She looked up to see an elderly man (members of the club were generally ranged from age forty and beyond) who was very careful to not make eye contact.
Nodding in understanding, Rose set down the book and stood to make her way for Mycroft's office, which, aside from The Stranger's Room, was the only place that did not forbid talking.
Rose entered the office to find her brother-in-law, as usual, bent over the work on his desk. Looking up, he set down his pen and smiled.
"Ah, there you are Rosamond. Please, sit down. We have much to discuss."
Rose sat down at one of the two chairs facing Mycroft's desk.
For some reason, Mycroft was really the only person Rose didn't mind calling her Rosamond. Perhaps because such an action was only expected from someone like him, or perhaps because she simply didn't really care about what he thought of her.
But Rose knew the truth: in spite of his stuffy attitude and nosiness, there were very few people in the world Rose respected more than Mycroft Holmes.
Although he was the type of man who would rather be wrong about something than make the effort to prove himself right, Mycroft was a genius in the truest form. So true, in fact, that his skills in the science of deduction outmatched even Sherlock's, though he would never say so.
But there were other things Rose respected Mycroft for: things he knew she respected him for, but the two had an unspoken pact to never mention them. Not again, at least.
And yet, though Rose tolerated him more than anyone else in her family besides Sherlock, she couldn't honestly say she liked him.
Skipping social niceties, Rose got to the point.
"What do you want, Mycroft?" She asked, folding her hands.
"What, I can't have a nice chat with my dear little sister every now and again?" Mycroft asked, making a minimal effort to sound offended.
Rose only raised her eyebrow in response.
"No, I suppose not," Mycroft decided, he too now putting pleasantries aside. "I called you here to make a…little request."
"I told you, Mycroft, what Sherlock does is none of your business."
"Oh, what I ask has nothing to do with Sherlock. It concerns only you, my dear."
Rose sighed. "I'm listening."
"You know I'm not one for superstitions, Rosamond," Mycroft began. "But there is something on its way here. Something different. I can feel it."
Rose stared at the man incredulously. "You have…a feeling?"
"I didn't exactly have a feeling, Rose, but there is something odd going on in the criminal world; a shift."
Rose rolled her eyes. "So you think something's coming because the world is misbehaving a bit more than usual?"
"Well that's just it: everywhere outside Britain, crime rates have dropped by just a little over three percent-in less than five days."
"Maybe they're all on holiday?" Rose dryly joked.
Mycroft, however, was not amused. "Rose, haven't you ever heard the phrase 'quiet before the storm?'"
"Of course I have," she answered. "What, are you saying a storm's coming?"
"Oh, yes," Mycroft responded. "I think something is about to sweep us all in a raging tempest. And I can't brace this ship without your help."
Rose sighed. "Haven't I helped you enough in the past few years?"
"Well…no," Mycroft answered lightly. "Although I do accredit you considerably for your assistance in the past, further defense is needed."
"So?" Rose asked impatiently.
"So, I highly advise you to take a full-time position in artificial intelligence for me."
"Mycroft, you know I work independently and I work as I please. You of all people should understand that."
"Believe me, Rosamond, you know I do. But if dark times are coming, the three of us need to band together-"
"Hang on, you said three," Rose said. "You said this doesn't concern him."
Mycroft sighed. "Of course I need him too. I need both of you."
Rose sat glowering at her brother-in-law. She may have respected him, but he sure knew how to cross a line.
"No, Mycroft."
"Oh, Rosamond, be reasonab-"
"I said no, Mycroft."
Knowing this wouldn't get anywhere, Mycroft sighed. "Very well, then."
As Rose picked her handbag off the floor and headed for the door, Mycroft stopped her. "Just one more thing."
"What, Mycroft?"
He picked up his pen again.
"Be careful, Rosamond Godfrey Holmes," Mycroft said.
Rose rolled her eyes at the warning. How the Holmes boys love being dramatic.
Rose was about to ask him what he meant, but her phone, which was in her hand, illuminated with a new message. She nodded her head to Mycroft and left, reading the text as she walked down the corridor.
Found Soo Lin. So did the killer.
-SH
With the reminder of the case Sherlock was investigating, Rose began typing a response as she approached the lobby. She stopped in the middle of a sentence, however, when she saw an opportunity: all the members in the club still sat as they were, quiet as possible, minding no one's business except their own.
Pocketing the phone, she ran through the room, screaming bloody murder all the way to the entrance.
Sensing the terror of the club patrons, Rose felt a strange sense of satisfaction as she returned to the buzzing streets of London.
Maybe now Mycroft will stop bringing me here.
Author's Note: So yeah, Rose can be a bit of a brat. I know I said this last time, but this time I really mean it: it's gonna pick up a lot more in the next chapter.
Again, reviews, favorites and follows are much appreciated!
