Prompt: Sherlock Holmes' brother, Mycroft, reveals what his favourite candy is through a story of explanation, from Ennui Enigma
A/N: After much research, I discovered that fudge was invented in America during the 1880s, and that most other Victorian candies were a little strange for my tastes (but I am a chocoholic).
Mycroft Holmes was sure of two things in his life. That he preferred his days to pass in as routine a way as possible, which he had largely made sure they did, and that they would never do so whenever his brother turned up at the Diogenes Club for a visit.
On this occasion, Mycroft had barely settled into his chair with the evening paper before his brother's tall, lank form was towering over him. Mycroft threw him an annoyed look but followed him to the Strangers Room. "What is it, Sherlock?" he asked.
"I only wished to tell you I have finished the Hamilton case and you were quite right. There was no crime involved in the theft of their prize silver plate, only a new dog with a fondness for shiny objects. The plate - and the dog - have been returned safely."
"Bravo," Mycroft said, taking out his snuffbox and waving Sherlock into a seat. "But you have come without Dr. Watson today," he remarked, only because it was so strange. Since introducing Mycroft to his fellow lodger last year, Sherlock had hardly shown up at the Diogenes without Dr. Watson in tow.
"He professed a wish to read the newspaper in peace, as he put it," Sherlock said. "I imagine he is quite happy to have me gone, as I filled up the room with sulfur this morning so he could not be idle with the day's news. I have never understood, Mycroft, why otherwise intelligent men spend so much of their time reading news that can have no relevance to their lives. It is all so utterly trivial!"
Mycroft raised an eyebrow. He could name no fewer than three revolutions, several battles, a possible economic crisis in America and an ongoing battle in Parliament over trade, each of which had been prominent features in the day's newspapers. But of course, Sherlock considered nothing but the criminal news of any interest, and all else was therefore trivial to him. "You must tell him not to be so intimidated of me," Mycroft answered mildly, for that was surely the real reason Dr. Watson had not accompanied his friend.
"He is not intimidated by you," Sherlock protested.
"Come, Sherlock, you could not fail to observe that he is," Mycroft said. "He hardly talks while in my company." Never mind that Mycroft knew that he was a rather intimidating figure to begin with. Only last week he had given Her Majesty something of a fright when he entered a conference room unexpectedly, though she was so unusually short that Mycroft estimated he equalled three of her.
"Well, you could certainly engage him more," Sherlock said. "You must have noticed that you and I do little else other than discuss my cases when we meet. Watson hears quite enough of that at Baker Street."
No mention that perhaps Sherlock could find something else to talk about. But Mycroft had to concede the point that he had hardly any idea what to talk about with a retired Army Doctor. They discussed Sherlock's cases because it was one of the only subjects they held in common, though Dr. Watson always remained quiet during these talks. Perhaps that strategy of bringing the good doctor out was not working. "You know socialization is hardly my strongest point," Mycroft said. "But seeing that the fellow is your friend, you are right that I can surely try a little harder." Sherlock looked satisfied, though Mycroft spent much of the next week contemplating how to do so. He was not, and never had been, the most sociable of men, and while he was loath to admit that he found his brother's perfectly ordinary fellow lodger to be one of the most confounding problems he had faced in some time, it was nevertheless true. Mycroft was accustomed to Sherlock, but Sherlock along with Dr. Watson were an entirely different matter. It certainly seemed as if Dr. Watson he would be a permanent fixture in Sherlock's life from now on, and Mycroft quietly reevaluated the image he held in his mind of his brother so that it now included Dr. Watson. That should make it easier to include him in the conversation whenever Sherlock decided to drop in next. How difficult could it be? Obviously Sherlock managed to carry on a conversation with the man, though having had much experience of his brother's conversation, Mycroft was not entirely sure Dr. Watson did not simply sit silently and listen as Sherlock pontificated on whatever subject had caught his fancy.
Two weeks later, Sherlock arrived at the Diogenes Club unannounced (if he ever did announce his presence in any location, Mycroft was quite sure the Empire would fall) with Dr. Watson hurrying behind. "Mycroft, I was wondering if I might make use of the Diogenes Club's excellent library. There is an excellent German book on the concentration of sulfur in volcanic ash that I believe is held here and nowhere else in the country."
"You may, of course, use whatever books you wish," Mycroft said. Due to its unusual population of members, the Diogenes library was large and eccentric, with many texts that were difficult to find elsewhere. Sherlock was one of its most frequent users. "Though I imagine Dr. Watson does not want to sit here and watch you research in German," he added.
"Watson is here for your excellent chef," Sherlock said. "I told him we would dine here. I hope that is alright."
Mycroft smiled. He had, as founding member, hired the Diogenes chef himself, and made sure the man was of the very highest ability. "You are welcome to, though I insist you dine as well, Sherlock. You know you do not take care of yourself." Sherlock threw him a dark look, though Dr. Watson smiled conspiratorially at Mycroft.
"I see you also try to force him to have a care for his health," Dr. Watson said, in what was undoubtedly the first unprompted sentence he had ever said to Mycroft directly.
"Someone must," Mycroft said. "Though you have rather taken that burden off me recently, and are doing better at it too." Running after Sherlock was so dreadfully tiring; he was quite glad that someone with more patience was doing it instead. "Oh, but before we dine, you simply must try these. They were sent to me by a colleague in America." He brought out a small box from his pocket and opened it to reveal several small squares of chocolate.
"What are they?" Dr. Watson asked curiously. "Chocolate?"
"Chocolate fudge," Mycroft said. "Here, do try one. They are most delicious. I believe I have found my very favorite candy." The sweet, rich chocolate was exactly the right consistency, thick and creamy, and each one was different. Some were mixed with caramel, others with almond, or else plain chocolate.
Dr. Watson took a piece and smiled upon trying it. "Oh, that is very good. I am very fond of chocolate, and I do not think I have ever had so fine a piece."
"The secret, apparently, is in the mixture. You see, the chocolate is mixed with cream and sugar, heated and then allowed to cool. Deceptively simple," Mycroft explained. He had, upon receiving the box, immediately had the Diogenes chef try one to identify the process so it could be replicated. "Apparently it is becoming all the rage in America, and I believe I have the first box that was ever sent to England. A colleague who I once worked with on some small matters of domestic interest to both our countries sent it to me in thanks." Sherlock raised an eyebrow, which Mycroft took to mean that he had not told Dr. Watson of his position within government. No matter. Matters of domestic interest were a vague enough cover and Dr. Watson seemed none the wiser.
"They are delicious," Watson said. "I have always been fond of toffee as well."
"There is an excellent toffee maker two blocks down from here," Mycroft said. "They deliver to me weekly."
"Mycroft knows anywhere there is decent food to be had," Sherlock said. "I have never gone in for candy, myself."
"I could have deduced that, Holmes," Dr. Watson said, causing Mycroft to laugh. Sherlock was so excessively thin that it seemed impossible he ate anything at all. Though Mycroft was surprised when Dr. Watson turned to give him the conspiratorial look he usually shared with Sherlock. Perhaps he was not doing so badly, trying not to appear intimidating.
Who would have guessed it took only some well-timed pieces of fudge? Mycroft resolved to write to that fellow Roosevelt for more, in order to send Dr. Watson his own box. Sherlock, too, Mycroft supposed, though he knew his brother had little appreciation for anything that did not smell foul or attempt a murder. Dr. Watson, however, appeared to be an entirely different matter, and Mycroft was rather glad that if his brother had to choose a friend, it was at least someone who could appreciate the finer things in life.
A/N: During the late 1880s Theodore Roosevelt was serving in the Harrison administration on the US Civil Service Commission. He was the only prominent political figure I could come up with from the time period, actually. Though I guess it's find of fitting, because TR does tend to stand out.