Chapter 11: Umbrella-Boy Is Not Amused
The man in the warehouse was not so amused. He walked towards us, his umbrella clicking against the stone floor. He gave a thin-lipped smile as John corrected himself and gave the man an easy-going salute. He dipped his head in turn, showing the slightly balding patches, most likely from stress rather than age. He turned to me and gave a fake smile. I gave an equally faked smile in return, though I felt that I did it better.
"Doctor Watson," the man said in greeting, "Do sit."
He gestured to the chair, and John gave a sigh before sitting down in it. Out of courtesy, I noticed, rather than any real need for it. I elected to remain standing- despite the man's mid-grey white-speckled aura, he didn't seem very safe. His stature seemed to radiate danger, but he maintained a facade of ease.
"Kayla," he said smoothly, and it took me a moment to realise he was talking to me, "how are you, my dear?"
His voice was low, and seemed to cry out 'Trust me! Trust me!' But I wasn't going to play by his rules.
"Oh, you know," I said in a light voice, staring beyond his shoulder at a crack in the wall, "I'm doing pretty well. I mean, considering I died, almost suffocated upon awakening and am now stuck living with your brother and the good doctor here, I'm doing pretty well. Oh, and will you wish me a happy birthday?" I asked in an exuberant voice, seemingly as an afterthought.
The man blinked rapidly before giving me a thin-lipped smile. "But of course," he said in an unperturbed tone, "Happy birthday, Kayla."
John seemed to be in shock. He blinked, as the man did (gosh, now there was another one? I really needed to learn people's name faster), though he then turned to face me, his face pale.
"It's your- " he closed his eyes and took a breath before continuing, "it's your birthday?"
I looked at him, my eyebrows furrowed. "Yes," I confirmed, confused.
What did that matter? I stopped paying attention to birthdays quite a while after most, preferring to celebrate naming days instead. It didn't make anything any different, becoming a year older, nor did the day mean anything in particular.
"What does it matter?" I asked, voicing my confusion. I then internally slapped myself. Despite what I thought, most ten-year-olds looked forward to birthdays, regarding them as a day of celebration. What were they celebrating anyway, surviving one more year?
"What does it- what does it matter?" asked John, his voice incredulous, "It's- it's your birthday, Kayla!"
"Yes, what about it? It doesn't mean anything, really. Just that I've survived another year, which really, when you think about it, I haven't," I pointed out, and John took a deep breath.
The man was watching us with an air of amusement, and surely enough, he had a smug smile playing around the corners of his lips.
"I cannot keep referring to you as 'The Man'! You, umbrella boy-" I exclaimed, not unkindly, clicking my fingers and pointing towards the man, "What's your name?"
The man looked a combination of amused and affronted before giving me another tight smile. "Apologies. My name is Mycroft Holmes. I'm Sherlock's brother, as you said." I gave a short nod, smiling.
"Any reason why we're still here?" John asked, his fingers tapping on the arm of his chair.
"Not at all," Mycroft said easily, "Anthea will provide you with transportation to your flat."
John nodded in agreement, standing. He took my hand in his – why was it that I was so cold? - and we walked towards the car. We were back at 221B within minutes.
Edit: 25.2.16