Twenty Five
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A heavy pause hung in the room for no more than five seconds while I continued staring blankly at the floor in front of my feet.

"I told you that you should have noticed, John." Sherlock's voice sounded calmly. I found that my eyes wouldn't shift upwards to see him. "Even Melanie could deduce that."

"What? Sherlock, I think I had a little more on my mind than whether your self-proclaimed arch- Oh, never mind." There were footfalls and something warm and solid landed on my left forearm. "Melanie, are you alright?"

Finally I managed to creak my neck around and up, so that I could see more than the odd carpet choice. John was crouching next to my chair, looking so concerned for me that I felt a pang of something inside me. What that was? Friendship maybe? Or maybe the feeling of being truly understood? It was as if he knew exactly what I was going through. Which he probably did – I reminded myself.

"Who is he?" I whispered out, all of my thoughts sincerely confused.

John smiled sadly at me. "Mycroft Holmes? That would be Sherlock's brother."

My eyebrows shot upwards. Brother? At the most I had thought cousin, maybe even third cousin twice removed. But a brother? As in a proper close family sibling? Sherlock's sibling? That was… That was…

"You have a brother?" I spat out, my head snapping around to face the accused man. Sherlock was currently swirling some clear liquid around a beaker and inspecting the results.

"Yes."

"And you didn't tell me because?"

He stopped examining the oh so important liquid and frowned at me. "Should I have? You didn't tell me of yours."

"You already knew everything about him!"

Sherlock looked as if he genuinely didn't see my point. "Exactly."

Why didn't he just say out loud the silent 'If I can deduce anything about any member of your immediate family then you should be able to as well' on the end of that? He might as well as done.

"You could have at least warned me what he was like!" I yelled back disbelievingly. "I mean, he's so… so… well, he doesn't exactly come across as a very nice person, does he? And, well, I mean, you know I'm not scared or anything, but it just… just… yeah…"

"Don't worry." John said patting my arm. "He's a creepy sod, yes, but I don't think he'd actually try to hurt any of us."

Sherlock's loud scoff did not help in calming my nerves.

John shot him a warning glance. "Shut up, will you?"

My hands balled up and my fingers began fidgeting about. "He was just… What he said…" I sighed loudly. "I don't even know how to describe it."

"Let me guess," John said rolling his eyes. "He offered you money to spy on Sherlock?"

My frown instantly increased. "What?"

"Don't be so ridiculous, John. It's painfully obvious that bribing Melanie would only cause her to mentally break down. Mycroft wouldn't even suggest such a thing."

I shook my head and scratched my temple. Despite the puzzle pieces now falling into place around me, nothing was even close to making sense in my brain. And what was this about bribes? What kind of a man pays people to spy on their brother for him? A Holmes, obviously. God, I hoped Sherlock would never do something like that. Mind you, he didn't seem that interested in what his brother was up to – certainly not enough to bribe anyone, anyway.

"He's been watching me." I made out, my thoughts still all fogged up.

"Yes, he does that, I'm afraid." John said with a sigh, the sense of defeat clear in his tone. "He says he's concerned for Sherlock."

"Most people just call round for a chat." I grumbled, thinking about how Mycroft had managed to get his hands on snapshots of every movement in my recent life. It was so wrong. I swore he had even managed to get a picture of me coming out of the shower in nothing but a towel. That thought caused a shiver to run down my spine. "Hang on- He had pictures from inside this flat – ones that could only have been taken from inside and not through the window or anything. Sherlock, has he bugged this apartment?"

I gazed up at the detective, trying to read his expression. But all I found was the usual sheen of frustrated boredom. "It would be highly unlike him not to."

My mouth dropped open in shock. "And you don't care?"

"I found long ago that any attempts to destroy them would just lead to the surveillance doubling in strength. There's really no purpose to agonising over it anymore." He answered simply.

"Wait," John stuttered out incredulously, "are you saying there are cameras in our flat?"

Sherlock gave him one of his trademark patronizing stares. "Naturally, John. You didn't honestly believe that Mycroft would miss such a crucial aspect of my life not to interfere with?"

"But that's…" it looked as if John was struggling with what that was exactly. I had to admit, I really couldn't blame him. "And you didn't even think of letting me know that I was being watched in my own home? No, of course you didn't. My feelings or even opinions on these matters are never your concern, are they?"

"I thought you would have noticed them by now."

"Oh, yeah, Sherlock, because that's something I look out for in my day-to-day life when wandering around my own flat."

"Well, the microphones are practically in plain view, especially the one on your bedside table."

"Microphones? You mean he bloody listens to me while I sleep? For God's sake, is he listening to us now?"

"Almost certainly."

"And that doesn't-"

"Wait!" I interjected loudly into their squabbling. A thought had just popped into my head. A nasty thought. An extremely nasty thought. A thought on the same level as dead bodies in terms of nastiness. John stopped complaining, but continued to glare at his flatmate. Sherlock turned to me and raised an eyebrow. "He- he knows when everything's happening inside this flat? Everything?"

"Apparently so." John grunted out through gritted teeth. My eyesight remained on Sherlock, wanting an answer from him.

All I got was a quick, "I suppose."

My face turned pale. "But that means… he knows when… I mean, cameras and microphones…" I was trying to be as tactful as could here, but somehow it wasn't working so well. Finally I gave up circumnavigating the issue. "It doesn't bother you that your brother is able to see you when you're… preoccupied?"

Sherlock frowned. I had the feeling that John had suddenly decided that he didn't enjoy looking at either of us very much. But for me it was an important question. Who knew what Mycroft had caught on those cameras? Well, I did actually. And it was that which scared me.

"I hadn't considered that." Sherlock answered. It didn't exactly make me any less concerned to see that he didn't look too worried at all. Instead of flying into a rage or just being plain old grossed out, he placidly lifted the beaker up to his face again and resumed examining its contents. "Not important."

Not im- Oh, dear Lord.

"Sher-" I started, but then quickly realised who I was dealing with. I slumped further back into the chair and sighed, shaking my head forlornly at the ceiling. "Oh, screw it, you won't listen."

An awkward silence followed. Well, awkward for me and John; I don't suppose Sherlock knew what the term awkward silence meant.

At last, it was broken by John clearing his throat several times. "Uh, tea, anyone?"

"Please." Sherlock replied vaguely.

"Sure. Mela-"

"Did he set me up for Mr. Peterson's murder?"

Another silence, but this time heavy with something else.

John had stopped mid-way towards the kettle, clearly not expecting my question. Neither had I, really, except that the idea had just occurred to me. I needed to voice it and get answers.

"Err, what?" John asked quietly.

I sat up straight once more, now determined to figure this mess out. "Was Mycroft Holmes or someone acting on his behalf the person who rang me and then the police on the night I was arrested?"

John looked at Sherlock, as if he too wanted to know the answer.

Sherlock continued swirling the beaker in front of him.

"No."

I let out a frustrated breath of air. At last I had thought I was getting somewhere with understanding this. I had thought that maybe Mycroft was testing me. Or perhaps that he was testing Sherlock and his reaction to my getting in trouble. Or most likely both.

But I didn't think Sherlock was lying here.

"Will you please tell me who did?" I pleaded softly. Sherlock was like a little lost kitten – ask too loudly or suddenly and he'd just run off. Delicacy – that was what was needed here.

Apparently it made no difference how I asked though, I would have never gotten an answer out of him at that point.

The liquid in the beaker had magically turned a subtle green hue.

Sherlock dramatically turned and dropped it dangerously onto the table, that happy little gleam back in his eyes. He swooped out of the kitchen and towards the sofa where his coat and scarf lay discarded.

"Now we have our thief!" he announced proudly.

John and I both narrowed our eyes.

"There was a thief?"

"Oh, do keep up, John." Sherlock snapped, sweeping his coat onto his shoulders and wrapping the scarf around his neck. "They need us at Scotland Yard."

"Wha- Sher-" But John clearly knew he wouldn't get any response from Sherlock as I noticed that while he stammered out questions and complaints, he was also shrugging on his jacket and hurrying towards the door after a retreating Sherlock.

"You're going?" I spoke up surprised.

"Won't be long." Sherlock said, although he didn't even turn back to look at me as he walked out the door, John scurrying after.

The door shut with an ominous thud.

I sat in the armchair, gazing at where he had just stood.

For the first time, I wasn't merely annoyed at one of Sherlock's sudden and cryptic departures.

I was scared.

Short compared to my recent ones I know. But don't worry, I shall karmically be retributed. Lol, hope some people got that.

Anyways, not much else to say.

Review? Pleasie? For me? Or else I may just be forced to do oh so nasty things to Sherlock and Melanie. Yay for blackmail!