"So what are you going to do?" Jocelyn asked, carrying in a tray with their coffee.
"Is there anything you can remember from your times playing chess?"
"I told you, I didn't play. One of the personalities tried to teach me but I just couldn't understand it." After setting the coffee safely on the table, she took a seat between her brothers. "I barely remember a chess board and there were only a few pieces on it. And for some reason, I have the mental image of a dragon sitting on a pizza."
"God knows I've not played much chess myself," John said, "but I don't recall dragons or pizza being involved."
"It must mean something," Sherlock said. "You just have to think harder."
"I am thinking hard!" Jocelyn glared at her brother. "Maybe it just means that I was hungry when he was trying to teach me. Maybe I just like dragons and it has no meaning beyond that. I like dragons, I like pizza, mystery solved."
"You're not a simpleton, so please stop trying to convince me that you are. There was something important and to be sure you would remember, your brain created an image that even now, years later, you remember when you try to think about those chess lessons. Now close your eyes and described the dragon to me."
She huffed a bit but did as he asked. "Fine. It's a dragon, sitting on top of a pizza."
"I said describe it. What color is it?"
"White."
"A white dragon?"
"Apparently I couldn't be bothered with coloring it!" she snapped, her eyes still closed.
"Calm down." His voice was softer and he put his hand over hers. "Is there anything about the dragon that stands out?"
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes again. "It's just sitting on...oh. There's a mousetrap on its tail." She opened her eyes to look at him. "Why would I put a mousetrap on a dragon's tail?"
"I have no idea. Forget the dragon, tell me about the pizza."
"It's a pizza. Square and thick, like the one we got when you took me to Birmingham to visit the Buddhist Vihara. Do you think that's what this is about? Maybe the clue is with the Buddhists."
"No, the clue isn't with the Buddhists. The clue is a white dragon and pizza."
"And a mousetrap. God only knows what it could mean, if it really does mean anything."
"It means something, Jocelyn, and you know what it means. Think about that day. What was so special about that pizza that even now you can remember it?" Mycroft kept his voice low as he spoke.
"It was the first time I'd had Sicilian-style pizza, and it was one of the few times that Sherlock ate instead of just nibbling like a field mouse."
"Do you get it yet, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked.
"The Sicilian defense, dragon variation. Oh that was clever, very very clever."
"What does the mousetrap mean?" Jocelyn asked. "Because it has to mean something."
"Watch out for traps?" John offered.
The chess board was still on the table and Sherlock began placing black pieces on it. "Too obvious. It has some other meaning."
"You're putting far too much faith in what my mind came up with."
"And you're putting far too little in it," Mycroft told her. "You never did believe in yourself."
"This from the brother who said I was defective."
"As I said, there are things that you and Sherlock don't remember because you were too young."
"I remember you calling me defective. I suppose you're going to say that you had a good reason for it but I just don't remember it."
"I doubt it would make any difference no matter what I was to tell you."
"Would the two of you please shut up?" Sherlock said. "I can't think with all this babbling!"
"Fine." Jocelyn stood up without another word and walked to the stairs, going upstairs.
"I hope you're happy now," Mycroft said, standing up. "I believe I will also retire for the evening, lest my thinking disturb you."
"Fine. Leave me. All of you just leave me and I'll figure this out on my own."
"Good job, Sherlock," John said when it was just the two of them.
"The three of us together, this was bound to happen."
"You can't solve this one on your own, mate."
"Yes," Sherlock admitted, looking slightly defeated, "I know. Jocelyn seems to hold the key information."
"Would it really kill you to admit that you could use Mycroft's help as well?"
"It might. Best not to risk it." Sherlock's lips turned up in a slight smile.
"Right. So what now?"
"I suppose I should apologize to my sister."
"And Mycroft?"
"I'll...talk to Mycroft. He can be useful and no, you are not to ever tell him I said that."