It was the morning of November 5th. Sherlock and Mycroft sat in 221b Baker Street.
"London. It's like a great cesspool into which all kinds of criminals, agents and drifters are irresistibly drained. Sometimes it's not a question of 'Who?', it's a question of 'Who Knows?' There are certain people, they are markers. If they start to move, I'll know something's up, like rats deserting a sinking ship." Sherlock spoke, his eyes focused on an Operation set. Mycroft sat across from him, he was closely watching his brother. They had not spoken about Céline and Sherlock was still ignorant of the budding relationship Mycroft had with her. Sherlock made his move and turned his eyes up to Mycroft. However, Mycroft quickly diverted them down to the table.
"All very interesting, Sherlock, but the terror alert has been raised to Critical," Mycroft spoke.
"Boring. Your move." Sherlock snapped, a bit slow to speak. Mycroft picked up on it and frowned.
"We have solid information. An attack is coming." Mycroft pressed, making his move and looking back up at his brother.
"Solid information? A secret terrorist organization is planning an attack, that's what secret terrorist organizations do, isn't it? It's their version of golf." Sherlock flippantly spoke, he had been trying to get himself back interested in things but the cold cut off from Céline was getting to him more than he outwardly realized.
"An agent gave his life to tell us that." Mycroft snapped, starting to get annoyed.
"Oh, well, perhaps he shouldn't have done. He was obviously just trying to show off." Sherlock snapped back without a second thought. Mycroft swallowed down a sigh, watching as his brother made a move.
"None of these markers of yours is behaving in any way suspiciously?" Mycroft suddenly asked before making his next movie. "Your move."
"No, Mycroft, but you have to trust me. I'll find the answer. It'll be in an odd phrase in an online blog, or an unexpected trip to the countryside, or a misplaced Lonely Hearts ad." Sherlock absentmindedly spoke, making another move.
"I've given the Prime Minister my personal assurance you're on the case," Mycroft spoke.
"I am on the case. We're both on the case. Look at us right now." Sherlock angrily replied.
"Oh, bugger!" Mycroft snapped as he dropped the pair of tweezers for the game. A small buzz and red light signaling that he lost.
"Can't handle a broken heart – how very telling." Sherlock scoffed. Mycroft visibly drew back, his body tightening up. Sherlock took notice and opened his mouth to say something but before he could ask what had caused it Mycroft stopped him.
"Don't be smart," Mycroft growled.
"I used to think I was an idiot." Sherlock sighed in response.
"Both of us thought you were an idiot, Sherlock. We had nothing else to go on until we met other children." Mycroft observed, glad the moment passed with no suspicion.
"Oh, yes. That was a mistake." Sherlock trailed off.
"Ghastly. What were they thinking of?" Mycroft scoffed, his thoughts drifted to Céline.
"Probably something about trying to make friends," Sherlock spoke, noticing the faraway look in his brother's eye.
"Oh yes. Friends. Of course, you go in for that sort of thing now." Mycroft rolled his eyes. There was a long pause.
"And you don't? Ever?" Sherlock asked.
"If you seem slow to me, Sherlock, can you imagine what real people are like? I'm living in a world of goldfish." Mycroft spoke, being half honest. Sherlock frowned and put his hands in their thinking position in front of his face, watching his brother.
"Yes, but I've been away for two years," Sherlock spoke, Mycroft noticed he was watching him closely and did his best to straighten out his body language.
"So?" Mycroft defensively snapped.
"Oh, I don't know. I thought perhaps you might have found yourself a…goldfish." Sherlock observed, wondering who Mycroft had been thinking of. Mycroft stood and went to the door, grabbing his coat.
"I had better go. Work on the case." Mycroft snapped. Sherlock stood and followed his brother.
"Mycroft, what happened?" Sherlock asked.
"Nothing happened." Mycroft snapped, his tone a pitch higher than usual.
"You're lying." Sherlock flatly observed. "You doesn't have to be isolated…" He began, confused at his brother's attitude.
"I'm sorry?" Mycroft frowned, almost offended. Sherlock watched him expectantly. "I'm not lonely, Sherlock." Mycroft calmly spoke, his demeanor slipping back into its normal state. Sherlock took a close step and watched him, intensity in his eyes.
"How would you know?" Sherlock asked, confused. The two brothers watched each other for a moment before Mycroft pushed past him.
"Yes. Back to work if you don't mind. Good morning." Mycroft snapped before rushing down the stairs and leaving.
Céline was on campus at her office, she had been meeting with students most of the day about their final projects and finally had some downtime. She slipped off her shoes and took a long moment to stretch. Her phone beeped and she quickly picked it up. It was Mycroft.
Hello.
Céline stared at the message for a long moment before rolling her eyes in frustration. She locked her phone and set it down on the table. After a moment it buzzed once more.
Please reply, I'm sorry. Let me prove it to you.
Céline frowned and sat still for a long moment before closing her phone and shoving it into a drawer. She rubbed her eyes and stood, slipping her shoes back on. She left her office and locked it. Heading to the campus coffee shop. When she got there the line was long and she waited her turn, lost in thought. She began to nervously chew her thumbnail as she thought.
She thought about Sherlock. He hadn't tried again. He hadn't called again. She thought for a moment that perhaps she was being unreasonable but she reasoned that if Sherlock really loved her that he would do more to try and show her how sorry he was. Her ears began to ring. She thought about how Sherlock decided to first tell Molly that he was alive. How Molly knew the whole two years and Sherlock had kept it from her. Céline felt pain deep in her stomach. It had been one full day and some hours since she sent him out of her apartment. She wondered where he was, or what he was doing. Her head began to pound. She thought about how he acted with Irene and was starting to feel shaken. Had he ever really loved her? She suddenly snapped back to reality when the Barista called her up to take her order. As she waited for her coffee she rubbed her eyes, thankful that her therapy consultation was that evening.
Mycroft was in the back of his car, he was still on the way back to his office. His eyes were fixed on their conversation, patiently waiting for her reply. Desperate. Sherlock was right, he was lonely.
Sherlock was pacing around 221b Baker Street, he was trying to think of how he would approach Céline but he was far too nervous to reach out, afraid she would send him away again. Miss. Hudson had been watching him nervously pace for the last couple minutes from the kitchen and she finally walked to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Talk to Céline or John. Please." Miss. Hudson asked. Sherlock signed and pulled away from her touch.
"I tried talking to them. John made his position quite clear. And… Céline…I can't bear getting sent out by her again." Sherlock softly spoke. Miss. Hudson nodded before leaving him to go back downstairs. When Miss. Hudson had left Sherlock took out his phone and texted the one person he could think of, Molly.
He asked her to come over and she did. She arrived from the hospital about ten minutes after Sherlock replied and he awkwardly led her inside.
"You wanted to see me?" Molly softly asked, watching him expectantly.
"Yes," Sherlock spoke. Molly looked around and noticed the flat was messy and there was no sign of Céline anywhere. "Molly?" Sherlock asked, noticing her wandering eyes. Molly quickly cut him off.
"Where is Céline?" Molly asked. Sherlock shrugged and put his head down.
"Work probably, she's a professor now." Sherlock quickly answered.
"Why aren't you staying at her flat?" Molly pressed.
"She sent me away, she wouldn't let me explain." Sherlock quickly answered again. Not wanting to talk about it. "Look, Molly, would you like to solve crimes with me?"
"Get dinner with you?" Molly asked under her breath at the same time Sherlock asked her to solve crimes, her eyes wide with anticipation. Sherlock didn't hear her. "Oh…" Molly softly spoke under her breath.
Céline decided to ignore Mycroft on the taxi ride over to her therapist consultation. She wanted Sherlock to reach out, to truly apologize to her and to hear what she went through. Especially the night she was out at the park and almost threw herself into the river. When she got to her appointment she went inside, turning her phone completely off. A man was watching her from the cafe across the street, he had anticipated her. It was the same man who spent the evening listening to Céline and Watson's conversation. He smirked as he watched her, patiently settling in to wait for her to come out, desperate to know what she would do next. He took out his phone and opened his notes, typing out a draft message.
Save souls now!
John or James Watson?
Saint or Sinner?
James or John?
The more is Less?
He tilted his head in thought, thinking about if he liked it or not before his gaze wandered to the building Céline had entered.
