Chapter 21
That night Sherlock let me off the cuffs, saying he needed to think things over. I shrugged my shoulders, ready to relish staying in my own flat for the first time in a few days. Until he forbade my doing that like the righteous git that he is.
"Use my bed," he said, gesturing to his room. "I won't be using it tonight anyway. Oh go on," he insisted, seeing my protests. "If you don't you'll be sleeping on that bloody couch. I'm sure you don't need me to tell you how uncomfortable that thing is compared to an actual mattress." I went to argue but he stopped me. "Don't make a fuss, it's not attractive and you know it."
I went over and smacked him on the back of the head. "Ass." As much as I wanted to stick it to him, I didn't have so much pride as to deny his albeit generous offer. I yawned and waved as I left. "Goodnight Sherlock," I said sleepily. "Have fun deducting." Inside his room I picked about his closet, looking for something to sleep in. Wad up in a corner was his blue silk robe. I picked it up like it was the most valuable thing the world had ever produced. Next I found a simple cotton shirt of his, and pulled off my own clothes, replacing them with the shirt and robe.
It felt awesomely soft, and I had to resist the urge to sqee from that fact. I climbed on the bed and snuggled down into the blankets like a kitten. In seconds I was gone.
Faint words floated into my ears. I swatted at them. How dare they disturb me whilst I was sleeping? My eyes opened slowly, and I had to wipe away the sand from them. Little bits of light filtered through the window, and I winced as the rays hit my face and the buzzing of people in the other room continued. Damn mornings. It's all the earth's fault, rotating willy nilly like that. Stretching, I got to my feet, then finally realised what I was hearing. Sherlock was up. And he had a visitor. This would be fun.
I opened the door as quietly as possible, tiptoeing as I went. I peered around the corner and saw them sitting across from each other, Mycroft with his back to me. Sherlock spotted me peeking, and made the slightest of slightest shakes to his head, telling me to retreat.
"What's that Sherlock?" Mycroft looked behind himself, to see nothing. I had jumped back when I saw him turn. There was no way that Mycroft wouldn't have taken notice of Sherlock being so blitheringly obvious. "Seeing shadows again?"
Silently I moved closer to his chair, Sherlock trying not to look my way. He obviously didn't want to draw attraction to me again. I'm pretty sure he was thoroughly done with whatever scheme I had yet to even put in place.
"I'm hardly what you would call a shadow," I said. He turned around fully this time, seeing me standing just a few feet away. I waved to him as Sherlock rubbed his forehead in frustration. "Hello."
"Hello," he replied. "Well well well, Sherlock. Who might this, young lady be?" He eyed my borrowed ensemble, which still consisted of a white shirt, a blue robe, and my just my undies. "And such a scantily clad young lady too. Would you do me the honour of introducing is dear brother?" He got to his feet and stretched out a hand.
"This is Helen Richardson. Helen, this is-"
"Mycroft Holmes," I interrupted. I reached out to shake his hand. "It's a pleasure."
"I'm sorry," Mycroft said, tilting his head to the side. "I don't think we've met before, and yet you address me before we are even introduced. I didn't think my brother would actually deign to talk about me in front of others."
"I didn't," Sherlock said, messing with his violin bow. "In fact, she has mentioned you far before I have ever had the occasion to. I was actually under the impression that she knew you before me, Mycroft."
"Quite the contrary," Mycroft replied, still gripping my hand and looking into my eyes. "In fact I've never once in my life set my eyes upon her. How interesting. And how did you two meet?"
"She just happened to," Sherlock paused and gave me a wry smile, "stop by one day."
"I see," Mycroft said, finally releasing my hand. "Miss Richardson was it? I know this is all very untoward, but would you mind if I could have a private word with you?"
"You're right, it is very untoward. Especially as, since you pointed out, I am neither in possession of skirt nor trouser. You must understand that I cannot possibly be expected to speak alone with anyone whom I am not acquainted intimately with under such scandalous circumstances. I'm afraid I must decline." I waved goodbye to Sherlock. "Try not to be such a total dick near your brother. He's only here because he's concerned." I turned to Mycroft. "Good luck with the Korean elections! Try to stick to your diet." I gave him a wink and then left for my own flat. Hopefully I could rustle up some clothes...
"Who is she?" Mycroft said, forcing a smile on his face.
Sherlock plucked his violin. "My neighbour. Wasn't it obvious?"
"Don't toy with me Sherlock. Who is she?"
"Nobody of consequence," he replied.
"Do you expect me to believe that?" Mycroft said. "She emerges from your room, half dressed, in your clothing of all things, knows who I am though you claim to have never spoken of me, seemingly knows that I am currently working on foreign matters, and has apparently successfully permeated your particular brand of pretension and arrogance. Yet you say she is nobody of consequence? Come now dear brother, don't be ridiculous. Can you blame me for being curious as to whom has captured your affection?"
"Affection is a strong word," Sherlock countered. "I would prefer, say, something along the lines of confusion and intrigue. And while we're on the subject of her, let's not forget she also inexplicably knew you were on a diet. How is that going by the way?"
"Fine," Mycroft sneered. "No matter. I shall find out who she is on my own."
"Good luck with that," he answered, raising his eyebrows in a challenge.
Back in my flat I had managed to scavenge an outfit that looked at least halfway decent. My hair however, was messy and a touch greasy. Ewww. I needed a shower, and stat. Over in the corner I spied Sherlock's clothes that I had used, and picked them up. It was probably a good idea to return them.
I made my way upstairs and saw John standing there, looking confused.
"Besides," Mycroft said, putting on a face. "A case like this requires legwork."
Sherlock ignored his brother. "How's Sarah John? How was the lie low?"
Mycroft was about to speak when I interrupted him. " Are you becoming, dare I say, rusty Sherlock? It was obviously the sofa." I handed John the clothes.
Sherlock looked at him appraisingly. "Oh, yes of course."
John looked at the both of us, confused. "How- oh never mind."
"Well, it's time for me to get going. Mycroft, good luck on getting the Bruce-Partington plans back," I said. "Bye." I waved to the boys as I left, noticing how Mycroft seemed less then pleased by my return and subsequent knowledge of the missile plans.
When I got to my flat I considered taking a sink shower, but grabbed a hat instead. I had only just begun looking through the paper when I heard a knock at my door. "No Sherlock, I don't fancy going with you down to Scotland Yard." I heard the door open and sighed. "Really? Coming inside without my permission again? I guess it's alright as long as you don't force me to wear those handcuffs again."
"Handcuffs?" I whipped around to see Mycroft and his twisted smirk. "Good lord, tell me he's at least using them for good measure." He looked me up and down. "Because it doesn't look like it from where I'm standing."
"That's more then a little offensive, thanks." I crossed my arms. "But I guess that comes with the territory of being a Holmes."
He laughed. "May I sit down?"
"That implies that you'll be staying for more then five minutes," I said. "Since that is something I do not desire, I must decline to allow you respite on my sofa. This suspension of good will also extends to tea and the like."
"Have I done something wrong, Mrs. Richardson?" He asked me.
"Other then treating me as if I have done something wrong, no. But then again, you did come into my flat uninvited. That's not very gentlemanly, now is it? And it's not Mrs, it's Miss. Now unless you have any further business with me, I must ask you to return to your duties doing whatever it is you do for the British government." I gestured him out, but he did not move.
"On the contrary, I do have business with you," he said.
"Then please, do get to the point," I offered.
His smile dropped. "How long have you know my brother?"
"A few days. Why?"
He fiddled with the cane on his umbrella. "It seems you've grown rather close, what with you cavorting about in his clothes and sleeping in his room. And then the aforementioned handcuffs. I doubt I need to expound upon those."
"Can you skip to the part where I'm supposed to give a shit?" He was being redundant as hell.
His brow furrowed. "What do you want from my brother?"
"You could not be more misinformed," I said. "You should be asking Sherlock what he wants from me, which to be honest I'm not really sure of half the time. Sometimes he says he wants to know as much about me as possible and then cut me loose. Other times he says he wants me to stick around to solve cases and whatnot. All I want is some peace and quiet."
"Don't patronise me," Mycroft said. "When you were upstairs you couldn't wait to bicker with Sherlock. Down here, you're forcing yourself to look for a normal job. Just look how unenthused you are about the prospect. You even made yourself an excuse to return the clothes so you could avoid the task. But yet, as I stand here, you are alert and focused. Are those generally the traits of someone who wants peace and quiet? So, I ask again." He moved closer. "What do you want from Sherlock?"
"Mycroft, I assure you I have no ulterior motives." I shrugged my shoulders. "Do some research. Maybe you'll feel better about it. I know you worry about him. That's why you're here, isn't it?" A smile slipped out. "Let's be honest. You came over because you were concerned, and gave him this case because you knew it'd be safe. You have tons of people at your disposal. Did you really have to ask Sherlock to solve it?" My eyebrows raised. "Am I right, or am I right?"
Mycroft tilted his head to the side in amusement. "Who are you?"
"Me? Oh, I'm just a woman who happened to be at home one day while watching the television, and was then miraculously transported into her favourite programme and is now living out what she thinks is a fun little dream." I tilted my head, mocking him. "I've got nothing to lose, and everything to spoil. Like your upcoming root canal. I hope it goes well." I smiled innocently as his expression hardened.
"I've a proposal for you," he said.
"Do tell."
"If you would be willing to keep me updated on Sherlock's activities, I wouldn't mind compensating you for a modest sum. This would be beneficial to both of us, as then I would be free from my concern, and you would not have to force yourself to a mundane lifestyle." Mycroft smiled. "I believe they call it a 'win win', if I'm not mistaken."
"Hmm," I mused. If I accepted, then I could just play along with the story and not have to miss any of the good stuff. "How would I be contacting you? I have no phone you see. Actually I have nothing. No bank accounts, no public record..."
"I would be able to arrange something to best suit the particulars of this situation," he explained.
"And the fee?" I asked.
"More then substantial, I assure you," he said.
I stuck out a hand. "Deal?"
He grabbed it and shook. "Deal."
"No offense, but I kinda feel like I just sold my soul to the devil." I smiled, maybe just a tad nervous.
He laughed. "Don't be ludicrous. You're only lending it."
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