Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and related characters still don't belong to me, alas…
A/N: Hey, guys! Thanks to coolpuella and Shannon Holmes for their wonderful reviews! You really know how to encourage an author. I'm glad that I've managed to make the story more interesting so far…lets see if I can continue this streak. This chapter will follow more along the lines of Doyle's regular style. After all, the case does need to be presented. I've added in something extra so you don't get bored.
By the way, I'm going to try updating weekly, though that might prove difficult once school starts again ::shudders at thought at final, thesis, and interdisciplinary project due in same month:: Anyways, don't let me spoil your fun…Enjoy and Happy Holidays!
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Chapter 1-
As I peered out from the arched window on the farthest corner of the parlour, I was greeted by the last light of the icy winter's sun as it glistened over the soot-covered rooftops. The entire city had been enveloped in a blanket of quiet tranquillity from the first snow of the last winter in this dying century. My eyes lazily trailed the tiny flakes as they slowly drifted and twirled in swirling flurries from the unending heavens, landing into the blanket of pure and shimmering white below.
A sharp chuckle diverted my attention from the winter wonderland outside, and I turned to see my long-time companion leaning languidly on a nearby chair. "Enjoying the view, Watson?" he asked, with a glint in his steel-grey eyes and a sardonic grin plastered onto his gaunt face.
"Yes, I am, actually," I retorted, returning my gaze to the window. "At least one of us can appreciate the yuletide scenery, Holmes."
"Why, Watson, I'm hurt that you think I do not relish nature's splendour at a time like this," Holmes gasped out, and I could see him mockingly place his hands to his heart in the reflection on the frosted glass pane. "Just because I don't waste my time gazing out frivolously at blizzards, doesn't mean that I can't take the time to stop and smell the roses per se," he added drolly with a much more sarcastic tone.
I frowned, and sighed exasperatedly as I rolled my eyes. "You're incorrigible, Holmes."
"Thank you, thank you!" he returned good-naturedly, bowing deeply with a flourish. "I like to see that I continue to amuse you."
Holmes was saved from any further rebuttal by a gentle knock sounding at our door. With three energetic strides, Holmes was at the threshold, swinging open the door to usher in the old and venerable landlady, Mrs. Hudson.
"Sorry for disturbing you, gentlemen, but there's a Mr. Arthur Cavendish here to see you," she announced quietly. The said man, bald with pearly white whiskers and a set of hardened mahogany eyes, appeared swiftly by her side from his spot in the corridor, and shook hands warmly with Holmes.
"Ah, Arthur, it's good to see you again. To what do I owe this pleasure?" Holmes asked as he beckoned the old man to a seat by the blazing hearth.
"Mr. Holmes, I have come to see you regarding your brother, Mycroft," the man stated without preamble in a rich baritone voice that, though filled with worry, could only be described as grandfatherly. "He was not present in his offices today. If it were any other man, I would dismiss this as a fluke, but this is the first time in ten years that he has been absent from his office during work hours. If I recall correctly, the last time he had deviated from his schedule was when he came to see you, so I came here to see if you know anything of his whereabouts."
Holmes's expression darkened as he took in Mr. Cavendish's statement, and sunk his chin on his breast with his eyebrows knitted in deep thought once the man seated before him had finished.
"I was unaware of my brother's absence, Arthur, and I do not know where he is now," he replied finally, gazing pensively at the bright tongues of flame licking hungrily at the log of oak in the fireplace. "This is very curious indeed. It would take nothing short of a catastrophe to move my brother from his beloved routine. Has anything of extreme urgency happened lately on the political stage?"
"I do not believe so, Mr. Holmes. Things are as quiet as they can get when the government is concerned," Cavendish answered evenly. "Most people tend to spend more time with their families than in their offices."
"Hum…when did Mycroft leave the office yesterday?" Holmes asked concernedly, fixing his stare on Cavendish's sitting figure.
"He left when he usually leaves, and nothing seemed to have been bothering him at the time."
"Did he tell you of any unusual engagements or plans that he had?"
"No, he merely bade me good-bye just as he always did."
"Have you checked at the Diogenes Club?"
"Yes, they have also missed his presence today."
"Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Arthur," Holmes announced as his eyes flickered back to the crackling fire. "I will look into this matter."
"Thank you, Mr. Holmes," Cavendish replied gratefully as he rose from his seat. "Shall I call again tomorrow if your brother has not returned?"
"Very well," Holmes assented. "Good evening, Arthur."
Cavendish bowed to us both before taking his departure quietly out of the room. I turned my attention back to Holmes, to find him still silently brooding before the hearth with a grim expression on his face that told me that any questions I had would fall on deaf ears. I was about to leave the room to give him some time alone when he suddenly took out his golden pocket watch from a breast pocket in his waistcoat.
"It is six o'clock now, so we could—"
I never found out exactly what we could do, as Mrs. Hudson was once again at the door.
"Sorry for disturbing you again, but there's a letter for you, Mr. Holmes," she announced, handing Holmes a small, beige envelope sealed with purple wax before making her exit, closing the door with a quiet click behind her.
"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," replied Holmes as she left the room, earning a smile and a nod of acknowledgement from the aged woman. He returned to his place by the fire and was about to add it to his pile of correspondences kept in place on the mantel by a jack-knife, when he paused suddenly and strode towards the nearest table lamp, as if on a whim, to carefully examine the envelope by the bright flickering light.
"Interesting…cream coloured heavy paper bought at Murphy's Stationers at two shillings a packet. Obviously someone with high rank sent me this letter," mused Holmes distractedly as his introspective steel grey eyes darted over the envelope, quickly scrutinizing every minute detail. "Hmm, there is no address on the front. This must have been delivered by hand, then."
Flipping the envelope to the back, Holmes's piercing orbs fixed on the wax seal. He uttered a barely audible gasp and visibly blanched as he began to stalk furiously around the room, flipping the envelope over in his thin wiry hands.
"What's wrong?" I asked, surprised at the sudden and extreme reaction from my companion.
"The seal…the Omega seal," he muttered under his breath. "What does it mean? Omega…why...how… the old spider's dead…Omega…"
"What's Omega?" I inquired, desperately trying to stop my friend from his frantic pacing to save both the carpet and his constitution.
"It was the name of Professor Moriarty's formerly infamous organization," he answered curtly, before resuming his frantic treading. "This has something to do with Mycroft… there has to be a connection… Omega…"
He tore open the envelope as he spoke and took out the neatly folded letter with tremulous hands. His eyes widened as they flitted across the paper before closing in defeat. With a grave sigh he slowly handed the message to me. It read:
"If you wish to see your brother Mycroft Holmes alive again, you will come to Trafalgar Square at midnight tonight. Come alone!"
"Who on earth would be able to pull this off?" I asked incredulously, shocked at the contents of the unsigned letter. "Why would anyone go to such lengths to do this, anyway?"
"That's not important now," Holmes replied, the usual glint strangely lacking from his eyes. "I have to find out what happened to Mycroft."
"What are you going to do?"
"Mycroft could be fine, and this might be a simple practical joke," admitted Holmes gravely. "I have received many before, but never one that's been planned this meticulously. After all, how could they have known that Mycroft was missing today?" He paused for a moment, lost in his thoughts as he gazed into the hypnotic flames, before continuing with a sigh. "Nothing can be done, but to wait and see what happens. In the meantime, I'm off to Mycroft's rooms to check if anything can be found there. Expect me back at nine."