The next day starts tense and continues so. It's a two and a half hour drive to get from Bloomsbury to the Holmes estate in Adleburgh. With Sebastian driving, the criminal and the detective sit in the back seat, not talking. It seems longer and Jim's half a mind to start complaining just to have something to do. But he doesn't want to aggravate the detective.
It's nerves. Jim had tried earlier that morning to make a joke, but it fell flat. Sherlock had given him a pained, will you kindly shut up face. So, the criminal let's him have his silence to think, to plan out his defenses, exactly what he wants to say to the doctor and his brother. Not that he hadn't also been doing that last night; Jim would know. Sherlock had followed the criminal to the bedroom, brushed his teeth, laid down and proceeded to stare at the ceiling till four when he finally dozed off.
Actually, Jim can do something. The criminal places a hand on the detective's knee. It's as much a comfort to himself as it is to the detective. Sherlock took this gesture to mean that though Jim may not fully understand why he insisted they come, Jim was still here for him, should the detective need back-up when he talks to John or more likely his brother.
The long gravel road that leads to the house, is packed with cars. Sebastian is lucky to find an open spot as far away from the house as he did. The car stops and they don't move. Like a moment of rubicon, it's a bit strange. With the engines of the car shut off and the quiet of the seaside only amplified by the somber nature of the event they are about to attend. Jim seems to be waiting for Sherlock to make the first move. Sherlock on other hand, could really use a cigarette.
"Alright," the detective sits up, only to fish out the pack of smokes Jim gave him last night. Sherlock lights up and inhales. He turns to the criminal, who gives him this little quirk of his lips. Sherlock will forever be gratified that Jim will never wear a look of disapproval when he acts on his impulses. "Right. Let's go."
"Sit tight, Seb," the criminal taps the colonel's chair as he gets out. "I doubt we'll be needing your services here..."
It's a typical overcast mid-morning for the coast, though the forecast said the clouds would likely not burn off. The detective is taking long drags, needing the nicotine now.
"You'll have to show me all the nooks and crannies out here, love," Jim attempts, he's bouncing on his feet as they walk the measured and slow pace set by the detective. He's twitching Sherlock notes. And that would be interesting, if Sherlock didn't already know that Jim was slightly worried about how he would hold up to the doctor. Sherlock himself was slightly worried; well, now, faced with the near immediate prospect.
"I'm sure you've heard all the interesting stories." The roof of the house was visible over the hedge now. "Watch Mycroft will be standing out front."
"Undoubtably...but oh, that's no fun," Jim pouts, getting back to his point. "I want your versions. The Ice Man's had no fervour. They would have been dreadfully boring if they were about anyone else. As they were, my attention had been drifting."
If it were any other time, Sherlock would suggest that they trade. An adolescent story for an adolescent story. But it's too late for that now; no time for negotiations. Mycroft would be around the next bend of the drive- Wait, attention drifting?
"As if!" Sherlock scoffs, pushing Jim into the wall of laurel bordering the drive. Jim's laughing as he pulls himself out of the brush; only to frown, realizing the mess that was all over his suit. Sherlock glances back and Jim's pouting again. Rolling his eyes, the detective slips the cigarette between his lips to hold, steps back, and begins dusting the criminal off.
"Okay, but you could see how Mycroft telling the story it could seem a little..."
"Dull?"
Jim's face morphs into a 'well yes' expression. He's staring up at him, as Sherlock pulls one final leaf from the criminal's hair.
"Ready?" Jim's asks, eyes dancing as he takes a drag from the smoke he stole off the detective moments ago.
"Brilliant."
"I already know that." He tossed the butt down and ground it into the gravel. "I mean are you ready?"
"Sod off!" Sherlock bumps into Jim again as they continue on. Jim returns in kind and they end up with their arms hanging off each other. Just before they round the corner, Jim pulls off Sherlock giving him a wink. And then there's the house. Sherlock was right, Mycroft was waiting out in front. Currently receiving condolences from guests. Then he glances up and sees them both. And that fake smile drops from his face so fast, Sherlock couldn't help scoffing a little. He sobers up though when Mycroft is stalking over to them. And the first words out of the his mouth are all hushed tones, all for maintaining facades of civility, of course, as always. Some things never change.
"What is he doing here?"
"You invited me. You knew exactly where I was and who I was with. What were you expecting?"
Same old Sherlock. Mycroft tries a different tactic and turns to Jim. "Why are you here?"
"Quite a few of my clients are in attendance. I thought I'd save on travel meet with them all here."
"He's here because I asked him to come," Sherlock's distain is dripping.
Mycroft sighed. Of course this was always a possibility, he had just been hoping Sherlock would have had the good sense not to bring a mass-murdering criminal for hire to his mother's funeral. But given his lack of consideration for anyone but himself, it was not a complete surprise.
"Do try not to kill any of the guests."
"We wouldn't dream of it, brother dear."
"Dream of it?" Jim protests and Sherlock meets his mischievous eyes
"Well, we won't act on it then," his brother emends with guile.
The elder Holmes is looking at two smirking faces. What was he supposed to do with these two? Convincing Sherlock would be all the harder now...And it seemed that his brother was in rare form today. If Mycroft didn't watch himself his irritation with Sherlock might get the better of him. His brother had a specially developed talent in perturbing people like few others. Which reminded the elder Holmes of there other people here. Mycroft wonders what exactly the other guests might do to Sherlock given his now slandered name. He turns to see if any of them have noticed the consultant's arrival and in glancing around sees John, frozen, gaping. Well, this had the potential for disaster...
Before anything can happen, Mycroft stalked off toward the house, caught John's arm and has pulled him back inside.