Mycroft comes to Baker Street to visit me, which is just as well, since I have determined upon a boycott of the Diogenes Club for the foreseeable future. The silence actually hurts my ears. Both John and Molly lament at my `affectations`, but I stand firm, and my brother finally understands this.

Or he could just be feeling a little (dare I say it) guilt?

"Chateau Yquem 1976 – have you taken leave of your senses?" I survey the bottle in his hand.

"I thought it fitting – a wine well known for its complexity, sweetness and longevity."

"And the year of my birth, too – people may talk."

"It is also known for its superior first growth, which puts it in a much higher price bracket than other Sauternes."

"Ah, you think of superior first growth as yourself, older brother?"

"Interpret as you will, Sherlock. I am merely here to deliver a debt of thanks for your work in the Copper Beeches case – the best that could be done, under the circumstances. You must also understand that my original intent was not to hinder the romantic hideaway of Doctor Hooper and yourself – "

"Molly."

"I`m sorry?"

"Her name is Molly. I have fathered two children with her, live in the same house as her, and I – well – it is … I think such formality is a ridiculous affectation. Desist at once."

My unusually obsequious brother nods briefly in agreement, and I take pity and offer him a seat. I am, despite wickedly painful ribs and spine, feeling unusually magnanimous at present. I can`t really get to grips with myself currently, and need to understand this unusual mood. Luckily for us both,drugs are no longer in my system. Mycroft often takes great delight in assessing my moods and goading me into a spat, but I feel he has sensed my indolent and languid demeanour and means to indulge me. He is certainly staring, rather impudently, as I lie (rather uncomfortably) across my sofa (no position is comfortable at present, sadly), wishing I could smoke again.

"You have questions."

"As do you."

"You first," I say.

"Why, Sherlock, do you imagine Alec Cunningham carried out his plan after he saw you at the reception desk that evening? He was brokering an almighty risk."

This is as close to a compliment as my brother has ever bestowed upon me, so I allow myself to revel in the warm glow of its rarity before I deign to answer.

"He had no other window of opportunity. His plan was prepared and Lady Violet was only staying one night. He suffered an unfortunately fatal combination of dire need, delusion, desperation and arrogance. He genuinely thought he could outwit me."

We both lie/sit and momentarily contemplate the outrageous arrogance of this belief.

"Your turn," I counter. "What was the secret held in the glands of the Somellian Water Beetle? Do not lie to me, Mycroft – I spoke to Lady Hunter the night before she died, and I know how strong her belief was. She seemed to feel it was the best thing since Madame Curie and radiation – "

"Yes."

"I beg your pardon?"

Mycroft looks, surprisingly without artifice, across at me and I instantly know he will not be lying.

"Yes, it was – is – a discovery so fantastically unique, valuable and incendiary, that it will not be seeing the light of day until we have decided what to do with it."

I stare at him.

"Mr Cunningham had only the barest idea of the importance of the theft. He was merely interested in a way to boost his ill-gotten gains. This is good. The ignorance serves us well."

I wait, and Mycroft sighs. He is very much lacking his usual assurance and I confess – I am a little fearful.

"The serum that Lady Hunter distilled from the beetle contains an enzyme which, for the first time, should allow scientist to break down the DNA of a living creature and – interfere – with its progression."

"Interfere?"

"Stop. The serum has the potential to alter the way that cells regenerate. It slows down the degeneration of the cell each time it reproduces. Cells can last longer between each regeneration."

I am cold, and hot. My breath is tight in my chest and, bizarrely, my eyes are pricking.

"You are telling me that this serum can slow down – the ageing process?"

"The potential is there." Mycroft takes out his handkerchief, and wipes it across his face. I have never witnessed this action from him before in my whole life.

"No-one must know of this potential, Sherlock. Not for a very long time, if ever."

Lady Violet, it seemed, was not to have her grand reveal.

I lie, silent and breathless. I hope, in some part, my damaged ribs are responsible for this. Oh, Violet Hunter, what have you done?

"Open the bottle, Mycroft. I need a drink."

And he does.

A/N: Chateau Yquem can cost several thousands of pounds for a single bottle, so opening it would be a very desperate/extravagant gesture on Sherlock`s behalf.

Apologies to any real scientists out there...

Arcoiris: I`m really glad you think it fits in character wise - and sorry if it made you late, but I quite like lateness (see last story) in the right context! Hope you caught the movie. :)