Chapter Seven

The 'm' word snapped Sherlock out of his daze. "Where is it?"

"Chair first," I snapped at him.

"Oh, right."

By the time that Hayter slumped down into the chair Sherlock had fetched, I had determined he was not having a heart attack, but was just panicked from the news…rushing up the staircase in his physique didn't help much, either. Hayter gulped down the glass of water that Archie had brought.

"Thank you, my boy," he said, handing it back.

"Now tell me about the murder quite quickly before your heart explodes," Sherlock said.

"My what?"

"Figure of expression." I added hurriedly.

"Yes, yes. Now who's dead?"

"My brother's chauffer," Hayter said. He held up the newspaper for us to see. The paper was rumpled from his grip, but under the heading it showed a picture of a dead man. I grabbed the newspaper and read, "Last night at approximately twelve o'clock, William Kirwan, twenty-five, was shot to death after attempting to catch a burglar at the Cunninghams'. Mr. Cunningham and his son, Alec—"

"My stepfather and brother," Hayter clarified.

"—had witnessed the burglar shooting Mr. Kirwan. The burglar is still at large and has not been identified, but the police believes it is the same unsub who had broken into the Acton's house a day ago."

Sherlock snatched the paper from my hands. "Of course it's not the same unsub!" he shouted at it. "I caught him! Practically delivered him on a silver platter for you idiots!"

I gently eased the newspaper out of his hands. "Ink can hear you just as much as crap telly," I told him.

"Maybe you got it wrong, Mr. Holmes," Hayter suggested.

Sherlock whirled on him. "Of course I didn't! A burglar with half the brain cells of Anderson wouldn't steal from a town this small twice within days. Too noticeable. Your modern family," he said, changing the topic abruptly. "Explain."

"Oh, well." Hayter cleared his throat. "Can I get another glass of water?"

"No." A glare from me, and Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes. Hurry."

Archie fetched him another drink. Hayter had barely swallowed before Sherlock snatched it, trapped between his palms, his fingers snared around it and his gaze intense and impatient.

"Well, now, let's see. My father died when I was just a boy. A sad time, really; especially now that Archie here has no grandfather—"

"Skipping the dramatic childhood," Sherlock directed.

"Right. Well, my mum remarried to my stepfather, George Cunningham. They had my brother—well, half-brother—some years later. We never got along well, though. After my mom died, there were some dispute in her will over who owned her estates. She never was a very straightforward woman. My father and I arranged to split the estates, one for each of us, but there's been bad blood ever since. A pity that. Family really should be close together, shouldn't they, Mr. Holmes?"

"No idea. Haven't seen my other brother in years," Sherlock said.

"Other brother?" I asked. "You have another?" A chill settled over me as I wondered which brother he took after—both options seemed nightmarish. For better or for worse, Sherlock didn't answer. He straightened his coat and asked, "What's your half-brother's address?"

Hayter gave it, then said, "Will you be helping at the crime scene, Mr. Holmes?"

"Consulting," Sherlock corrected. "Helping is so…selfless."

"Can I come, too?" Archie chirped.

"Sure," Sherlock said the same time that Hayter exclaimed, "No!" The colonel, realizing his overreaction, cleared his throat. He patted down the tangle of curls on his son's head, much to the boy's chagrin, and said, "I think your time is better spent here than elsewhere. Why don't you go along and do your numbers?"

With a roll of his eyes, Archie departed. Sherlock looked ready to protest, but when he saw me shake my head, his lips tightened.

"One," I said. "Taking a kid to a murder scene? Not good."

"Ridiculous. I saw my first one when I was four."

"Two," I continued. "You're supposed to be taking it easy."

"I am taking it easy," he argued. "A missing maid? A local burglarly? Separately, these cases could barely score a two. Combined they just make a four and a half—an exercise before brunch. That, and it's either this or cricket. The last time didn't go too well."

I knew better than to ask, but unfortunately, Hayter did not. "What happened?"

"A wicket impaled a man's thigh."

At our shocked expressions, Sherlock explained, "He tripped. Twice."

Somehow I did not feel any better. Perhaps it was the smoothness in his tone that set me uneasy. Or perhaps it was the memory of how we had to explain to the insurance company how the window had broken and Mrs. Hudson's bins permanently dented in the shape of a human being.

I was ready to make a last-ditch argument when Hayter wheezed, "Oh, just let him come. I need to give my condolences, anyway, and perhaps Mr. Holmes can shed some light on this tragedy."

"See?" Sherlock clapped me on the shoulder. "What a terrible guest I'd be if I were to refuse my host's insistences? After all, it'd just be a quick peek."

But I could already see that he had no intention of letting go. The consulting detective believed that every aspect of the mind is a finite resource, from memory to attention. It's the reason why he can identify the origin of a drop of water but not the name of a single celebrity, and why he never spends energy on digestion during a case when he can spend it on his mental facilities instead. By the same logic, when Sherlock has nothing to channel that energy, he becomes a cyclone—never knowing where it'll go or when it'll touch down.

Now that he has a focus, so does his energy. His stride became more purposeful as he strode into his room for his proper outfit and his eyes sparked with the thrill of the challenge. I knew that no matter how many times I might argue, to him, the game was on.

Comments:

Oh, how lovely that you've found a good mystery. Murder is the best medicine.

Mrs. Hudson

I knew there was a reason you're my housekeeper.

Sherlock Holmes

I am not your housekeeper, young man!

Mrs. Hudson

If you need another autopsy done on William, I'd be more than happy to help.

Molly Hooper

I'll be bringing someone else with me.

Sherlock Holmes

Don't you always bring John?

Molly Hooper

John, too, but I'm bringing Archie to see the corpse.

Sherlock Holmes

NO YOU'RE NOT.

John Watson