„No, sir. I told you already. You are not allowed to enter this crime scene."

The young police constable cursed the day when he volunteered to help out at a crime scene where the infamous Sherlock Holmes could be present. Everyone knew he was impossible to work with: arrogant, ignorant about human emotions and erratic. Well, no, it's not entirely true. He knew how emotions worked, he just couldn't understand why they worked like they did.

„I understood your words the first time, too. I just simply do not consider them right. Where is Dimmock?" Sherlock Holmes was pacing restlessly, rubbing his glove-covered hands together and shooting death-glares at the people around him.

„DI Dimmock is not at the scene, sir." The poor boy was turning red under the consulting detective's inquisitional look.

„Oh, for heaven's sake! If he's not here, then there is no one here with a slight amount of intelligence. What are you even doing working for the police, when you are clearly unable to understand the criminal mind?" and with that he turned around, his black coat floating behind him like a wave of water.

As he was leaving he pulled his phone from his pocket and started typing out a text message, not even looking at the keys, simply just staring ahead with a piercing look in his eyes.

Is this because of the last case? – SH

Dimmock took 15 minutes to answer. At that time he was already in the cab on his way to home.

What do you mean?

I mean that I wasn't allowed on the crime scene and you weren't there. – SH

Yes, it is because of last time. You screwed that up.

I simply corrected some of the victim's family's inaccurate beliefs on after life. –SH

Sherlock, you shouldn't have told the parents that their daughter won't go to heaven, but will start rotting in no more than 36 hours and they need to stop acting like a child.

But that is the scientific explanation of 'after life'. –SH

Thank God they were only minor characters in the business life of Britain. I can't imagine what might have happened to you – and me, too – if they were some wealthy and influential politicians.

And Sherlock. Try to stay away from cases while we're on suspension, would you?

Sherlock didn't even bother replying to that. He was sure Dimmock knew the answer already.

Two weeks passed and he was still punished with not being able to enter the crime scene, just as Dimmock had to leave for a week. Sherlock had no doubt he was at least a bit happy to be able to get out of London and away from him for at least a short time.

But this thought didn't help Sherlock. He was bored and he had nothing to occupy his racing mind with. Until one day a familiar black car pulled over in front of his flat. Sherlock hated this. Why did he always have to be so theatrical?

There was a soft knock on the door – handle of an umbrella – and Mrs. Turner, his land lady, opened the door. There were noises of pleasant small talk and then confident feet hitting the stairs, accompanied by the sound of the tip of an expensive umbrella gently touching them.

After a few moments the door of the flat was pushed open and the umbrella tapped lightly against the floor.

"What do you want?" Sherlock barked as an invitation.

"Nice to see you in your most formal, Sherlock. I am feeling rather well, thank you for your question." The man walked into the room and sat down on the sofa.

"Mycroft, what do you want?" Sherlock sat up on the couch, pulling the dressing gown closer around himself. He wasn't wearing anything under it because of the unusually hot summer day and the last thing he wanted was to flash naked body parts at his brother.

"DI Dimmock informed me that you have been suspended – just as the DI himself. And now you're in the middle of a heat wave without anything to do. You must be bored." Sherlock couldn't stand the smug smile playing on his brother's face. He knew perfectly well how bored Sherlock was and that there was nothing else he wanted to do than work and occupy his restless mind.

"What do you want?" Sherlock was getting tired of Mycroft's game. "I know it's not just a family visit, you have an obvious reason to be here and it must be related to your work. What do you want me to do for you this time?" Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at him and flopped back on the couch.

"Have you heard of the casino and bank robberies throughout Europe?" Mycroft asked clearly fed up with beating around the bush.

"Yes, obviously. Why?" Sherlock looked at Mycroft and his eyes were gleaming. Did he seem interested? There was no point in showing Mycroft that he was intrigued or else he would be sitting there with an all-knowing smile on his pompous face.

"Well there will be a conference in Spain, in a popular holiday resort. Most of Britain's and Europe's leading businessmen will be there and –"

"And you think they might attempt to rob the casino at that hotel. Or the bank somewhere near."

"Look at you, dear brother, I haven't thought you would be this desperate. I should have come earlier." Mycroft was definitely enjoying Sherlock's misery. But Sherlock had no other choice. This was the first thing that was not boring.

"For God's sake, stop gloating, Mycroft and tell me what you want."

"I want your help. I want you to go there and help the local forces stop it."

"What makes you think I would accept a job like this?"

"Sherlock, there's no point denying it. You're bored beyond words. You need something to focus your mind on. And it would give you a chance to do undercover work. I would not want you to go there as a detective. The conference is in 9 days. You would have time to adjust and perfect your cover."

Sherlock had to admit, this job had its perks. 9 days of deceiving everyone around him, trying to hide his real self and adapting a new one for the purpose of finding the criminals there…

"If I accept this will you rub it in my face every day for the rest of my life?" Sherlock looked from the ceiling to his brother, but after he saw Mycroft tilting his head to the side and lifting an eyebrow, he started examining his long, slender fingers.

"Yes, probably. But as much as it pains me to admit, I need your help. I'm in no situation to mock you or play games, because this matter is top priority. I wouldn't have come here if I had any other choice." As he spoke, he glanced at the handle of his umbrella, at the skull on the mantel, almost everywhere but Sherlock. It was just as hard for him as it was for Sherlock. They weren't used to asking each other for help.

"Okay. I'll help, but on one condition." said Sherlock with an audible huff of disapproval in his voice. "When I'm back, I want everything to be arranged with the Yard as it was before. No matter how you do it, just do it."

Mycroft saw that Sherlock was serious about it, needed the distraction from his dull days.

"I think I can pull a few strings to make it happen." Mycroft gave his demure smile and stood up, leaning on his umbrella. "I'll send a car tomorrow at 10. Pack and be ready. Have a nice day and a pleasant journey, brother dearest." And with that he left the flat and a few moments later the front door closed behind him.