One week later, Giulia has definitely settled in Baker Street. She attends university lectures every morning, then goes back to the flat and cooks something for her flatmates (basically for John, since Sherlock only has a quick snack, at most). She studies in the shared living room, which can be either a peaceful heaven or a messy, noisy hell, depending on the circumstances.
Sometimes, Sherlock just lies on the couch for hours without moving or even uttering a sound, deeply sank in his thoughts, lost inside the corridors of his mind palace. That seems like a dream to Giulia, who can easily focus on her homework, while John silently reads the news or goes out.
Often, however, John and Sherlock are busy receiving crowds of clients. Those poor people are forced to sit on a chair between the two armchairs and tell their stories while the two men decide whether to take their cases or not. Sherlock always raises hell; he examines his clients like lab rats, he is never satisfied and usually kicks them out unceremoniously. At times, Giulia gives up and goes to her room, but the continuous coming and going up the staircase distracts her anyway.
Today is a good one, though; Sherlock is lying down with his eyes closed, and John sits thoughtfully in his armchair.
"How can they always be so difficult? I'd really like to be able to finish this bloody thing, sooner or later" John grumbles placing the newspaper on the tea table.
Giulia raises her head from the books, "What's the matter?"
"Just a crossword puzzle. I try to complete this sort of games on a daily basis, but they aren't easy at all."
"Can I give it a try?"
He gazes confused at her. "You think you can beat a native speaker in crosswords in his language?"
"Crosswords are only 20% about language skills and 70% about general knowledge" she replies firmly.
"There's still 10% left."
"Intuition."
He hands her the newspaper with a sceptical look. "Oh, here it is: Greek Titan forced to support the sky on his shoulders. Easy: it's Atlas."
She takes a pencil and writes down the definition.
"There's another blank space" John points out. "Something about astronomy. I don't have a clue..."
"Let's see: the brightest star in the constellation Lyra. I thought it was Sirius, also named 'the Dogstar', but it doesn't fit... Got it! V-E-G-A. Vega. Here you are" she gives back the newspaper with a triumphant smile.
"You simply got lucky. I had nearly completed it" John complains disheartened.
"Can't you two be quiet for just a second?" Sherlock suddenly loses it and springs to his feet.
Giulia turns mortified to him, "Sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you."
"Too late. I'll have a shower; hopefully, the only place where I'll find peace" he pronounces walking nonchalantly on the small table and marching out the living room.
"Don't pay attention to him: he's just nervous because he can't find a proper case" John sighs grimacing.
"But a thousand clients visited him during the past week!" she remarks.
"Nothing interesting, in his opinion. He is still looking for a good murder to come up... It didn't sound good, did it?"
"I've learnt not to ask questions and to pretend I didn't hear anything."
"Fine. I'll do some shopping, then."
John stands up and takes his coat.
"You'll find me here" Giulia smiles at him.
A few moments later, the door opens wide to reveal an elegant man in a waistcoat who clears his throat and casually walks into the flat.
"Hello?" Giulia asks confused.
He looks down at her and smiles falsely, "Good afternoon. I'm looking for Sherlock Holmes."
"Whoever comes here is. He'll show up in a moment. You can take a seat in the meanwhile" she points at the interrogation-chair in the middle of the living room.
Although, the man doesn't move.
"Or you could just stand there" she adds trying to sound polite.
"It's rather urgent."
"That's what every client says" she replies starting to get annoyed.
"I'm not a client. I'm his brother, Mycroft."
She stares at him for a second and murmurs, "Oh, sorry! Would you mind showing me a personal ID?"
Mycroft freezes and stands still as if he was hit by lightning.
"I beg your pardon?"
"You've just said you're his brother, but he's never talked about you. It's not that I don't trust your statement, just... Can you provide any proof?"
"What?! I don't have to prove you that I am who I say I am."
"Haughty, scornful and... with an umbrella. You definitely fit his description."
"So he told you about me, indeed" he replies outraged.
"I think complaining would be more suitable, but yes, of course, he did. I'm not authorised to let strangers in."
"By the way, who are you?"
"Giulia, the new resident of 221C. Enchanted" she introduces herself and bends her head.
In that moment, Sherlock bursts into the living room.
"Hello, Mycroft. I see you've met Giulia."
"Yes. Lovely girl. She asked me for an ID."
"Good, I told her so. I'm very curious to know what's written on your business card. Which government are you currently working for?" the younger Holmes asks pouring himself a cup of tea.
"Ours, as always" Mycroft answers peeved.
"And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"
"Business."
"What a relief! I was really afraid you were attempting to transform our blood connection into a real brotherhood."
"Between us? Not a chance, brother mine. But I need your expertise" the elder Holmes hesitates on the last word.
Sherlock wrinkles his nose, "I'm busy. I'm always busy for you. You know the way out."
"I'm here to give you a case. I thought you'd be pleased."
"With what, your exploitation? No, thanks."
"You don't even know what it is about" Mycroft snaps.
"I don't have to. Let me guess... a matter of national importance?"
"International."
"Still not interested."
"Sherlock..." he begins vexed.
"Are you going to beg me?" Sherlock interrupts.
"Certainly not" he replies firmly.
"Thank goodness! I thought it for a second. Thank you for dropping by, Mycroft. Hope won't happen again. Goodbye, brother dear" Sherlock stands by the door and keeps it open, hinting at the stairs.
Mycroft approaches him and smiles, "Brother mine, we'll keep in touch."
"I don't think so" Sherlock replies and slams the door.
Giulia looks at him in despair. "You weren't very kind."
"He is my brother; I don't have to."
"Maybe he had something worthing your time."
Suddenly, Sherlock's phone starts to ring. "No, he didn't, but this man might."
He places it near his ear and answers, "Hello?"
"Sherlock..." a male voice speaks on the other side.
"Murder?" the detective immediately asks, getting straight to the point.
"Suicide."
"Jump off a bridge? Gun to the temple?"
"Poison."
He rolls up his eyes, "Dull."
"I think you might like it, though. And I need your help" the voice sighs.
"Where?"
"Fifteen minutes away from your home. I'll text you the details."
"It'd better be good."
"You've never seen something like that, that's sure."
Sherlock hangs up and wears his coat.
"Was it a client?" Giulia inquires hopefully.
"Better. It was a Scotland Yard officer."
"Good news?"
"Excellent. There's been a suicide." Sherlock smiles rubbing his hands.
"I thought your speciality was murders and kidnappings."
"There's probably more. There must be something wrong about this death. See you then."
"Bye. Have fun!" she waves at him.
"I will" he affirms before disappearing down the stairs.