A/N:Hello, everyone! I bet you are all surprised to see me so soon! Well, I started a little experiment in which I write 30 minutes a day and what I've learned is that I can crank out a chapter that way. Now, like before I can't guarantee that I'll be able to keep it up. But if I do it, I can see this story wrapping up by the end of August.
So I followed a cliffhanger with... ANOTHER cliffhanger. I'd say I'm sorry, but I've been planning this particular cliffhanger since the beginning.
In this chapter in the scene that haunted me for days until I started writing this story. It's nice to finally let people see it.
For people that asked when Sherlock and John would be coming back...tada! They're back!
And lots and lots of brotherly snark. I love me some Holmes humor.
Anthea's response caused quite the stir, which was of course the effect she had intended. But when pressed all she would say is, "Classified," with a satisfied smirk on her face.
When they came to the conclusion that she wasn't going to give them anything else, they excused her. Mycroft was brought back, and with the news that the maid Hannah was, indeed, sleeping soundly in her mistress's bed.
Now that Mycroft had composed himself and his alibi been vetted, he was allowed to continue to sit in on the interviews, which passed along smoothly with only a few indignant responses of professed innocence.
Only Sherlock's interview caused quite the same stir that Anthea's did.
He came into the room nervously, glancing about at the occupants of the room with some trepidation. Once his eyes lit on Mycroft, he visibly relaxed. He posture became almost lazy, nonchalant.
"I am to understand that you were acquainted with the deceased," Greg began.
"And what gave you that idea?" Sherlock mocked. "Was it the fact that she was found dead in my home or that she had been invited to a party here, or was it the fact that she was engaged to marry my best friend?"
"Sherlock!" Mycroft hissed.
The younger Holmes brother merely rolled his eyes. "If you're wondering whether I'm sad she's dead, I'm not. I'm glad."
"Sherlock!" Phryne admonished, hands on her hips. "You can't mean that."
"I hated Mary." Sherlock glared at Phryne. "She would have taken away the one person outside my family who cared about me and worse, I was expected to be happy about it."
"But you allowed her to come over," Jack interjected. "We all played tennis together. If you disliked her that much, than why did you permit her to do that?"
"Because if I stopped inviting her, then John would have quit coming over as well. And that would have been too much to bear."
"There has been made mention," Greg said, "that you have violent tendencies and are prone to outbursts."
"Really, Detective Inspector," Mycroft began, "you can't believe the word of few jealous imbeciles, can you?"
"Did you or did you not destroy a tennis racquet with your bare hands?" Greg pressed, ignoring Mycroft.
"I did," Sherlock replied, flippantly. "I do so hate endless prattle, and she was particularly bad that day."
"She?" Jack asked.
"Mary. She was tossing her hair, touching everyone like she owned them, and blathering on about some inane thing or another. I didn't intend to break the racquet. Didn't know that was possible, even."
They all stared at him in shock.
"I'm thinking that metal would better for making racquets out of, honestly. Something light, like aluminum or something similar."
"Sherlock..." Mycroft pleaded. "This really isn't the time."
Sherlock shrugged.
"Right," Greg said into the resulting silence. "We need you to go over your movements tonight."
"How far back do you want me to go?"
Greg sighed. "To the start of the party will be fine."
"I had gotten dressed as per Mycroft's orders, but since he hadn't said that I had to go to the party, just be dressed and ready to go at eight, I hid in the library."
"Oh, for God's sake!" Mycroft growled. "You knew what I meant!"
"Let us stay on topic, please!" Jack interrupted. "You weren't there all evening, what caused you to leave the library?"
"Bishop came looking for me," Sherlock continued and everyone else nodded, Bishop having said as much in his interview. "He couldn't find the 'master' of the house and asked me to help look for him. Which I didn't bother doing."
"Why not?" Phryne asked.
"Because if his own valet and butler couldn't find my brother, then he didn't want to be found, and I wouldn't have any better luck than he had. Bishop said that Mycroft needed to be located because the liquor at the party was running dry and only he had the key to the liquor cabinet and wine cellar."
"Are you a teetotaler, Mr Holmes?" Greg asked.
Phryne scoffed and Mycroft cleared his throat.
"No, Detective Inspector," Mycroft replied. "The last time my brother had access to either one, he used one of my finest whiskeys to create a bomb."
Sherlock huffed. "That wasn't what I was trying to do with it."
"I have no doubt," Mycroft agreed. "However, the groomsmen had a devil of a time getting the horses to calm down after the resulting explosion."
"Given that little tidbit, Sherlock," Phryne said, "I don't think I'll be telling your brother to allow you more 'adult' responsibilities when you can't handle your whiskey!"
Sherlock chuckled. "Perhaps not," he admitted.
"Why did you go to Miss Fisher?" Greg asked.
Sherlock grinned broadly. "I figured of all the guests, she would be the one who could either find Mycroft or at the very least break into the liquor cabinet."
The other men turned to her and she just tilted her head with a thoughtful smile. "True."
Jack and Hugh chuckled.
"What did you do after you spoke to Miss Fisher?" Greg asked.
"She told me to distract the guests while she hunted my brother down," Sherlock replied. "So I got my violin, and with the help of one of the stable hands, I performed a piece I had written. Afterwards, I went for a walk in the gardens."
"Alone?" Jack asked.
"Yes."
"So what you're saying," Hugh piped up from the corner, "is that you don't have an alibi for the time of death?"
"No."
Greg led Dr Elizabeth McMillan through the police station to his medical examiner's morgue.
"You'll just go on through here to the morgue," he explained, for lack of anything better to say.
"It must be nice having your morgue attached to your station," Mac replied.
"You have no idea," Greg readily agreed, " I don't know how the coppers stand it that don't."
He held the door open for her and she walked in to see a mousy brunette standing over Mary's body on the table. She was in a lab coat and carried a clipboard.
"Dr Hooper?" Greg asked, startling the woman.
Molly blushed. "Oh, hello, Detective Inspector. Who's your friend?"
"This is Dr Elizabeth McMillan, she wanted to take a look at the body if you don't mind," Greg explained.
Molly smiled, "Not at all, I was just finishing up."
She moved for the door but Mac stopped her, "You can stay if you like."
Molly jumped, startled. "Oh! You're Australian."
"Only if that means you'll stick around," Mac said slyly.
Molly blushed again. "If you want me to."
Mac looked her up and down and then with a cock of one her brows said, "Oh very yes."
Jack walked out on the veranda, where Mycroft and Phryne were sharing light refreshments and some light wine. He had his coat on and hat in hand.
"I'm going into town to get the results on the autopsy."
Phryne set down her glass and straightened up. "I'll go with you, I'm as curious as you are as to what happened."
"No, stay," Jack said waving her off, "You came to spend time with Mycroft, I'll be sure to tell you everything I find."
Phryne eyed him warily. "And just what aren't you telling me, Jack Robinson?"
Jack smiled and fiddled with his hat. "You are far too clever for your own good, but yes, there is another reason I'd like you to stick around here for awhile."
"I knew it," Phryne said, settling back into her chair and picked up her drink. "And what do you want me to do then?"
"Yesterday we were talking about our cases together and it got me thinking about how well you managed to deal with Jane," Jack admitted.
"Sherlock most certainly isn't a winsome girl thief," Phryne said coolly, correctly deducing who Jack wanted her to speak to.
Mycroft chuckled.
"No," Jack agreed. "But he seems to like you, trusts you even. He might open up to you about where he was after his violin performance. He is obviously lying about where he was."
"You can't possibly think he's the murderer," she protested.
"He doesn't have an alibi, he clearly hated the victim, and he has a history of violent outbursts. But he didn't mean to, maybe it was an accident and they fought and she fell."
"I don't believe it," Phryne disagreed.
"Right now he's the best suspect we have," Jack replied. "I'm sorry, Phryne." He put on his hat and nodded. He turned on his heel and walked off toward the drive, where Greg was waiting in a police car to take Jack to the station.
Phryne looked over at Mycroft. She set her drink down hard and threw her hands in the air, "Et tu, Mycroft?"
Mycroft was staring into his cup sorrowfully. "I don't know what to think, Phryne." He drank the rest of the warm liquid and set down his glass. "I honestly don't know. Detective Inspector Robinson has a point, my own brother is looking like the murderer and it pains me."
"You know him, Mycroft," Phryne insisted. "You can't possibly think him capable of that." She cocked her head, "His predilection for explosions aside."
"That's just it, Phryne," Mycroft protested. "It's not just the explosions and the experiments, it's the type of experiments. Our father once found him dissecting a dead rabbit."
"The natural curiosity of a child," she defended.
"There's his fascination with death," he continued. "Like these small animals that having been dying on the estate recently."
"Mere concern for animals on the estate," Phryne countered.
"His obsession with John," Mycroft retorted.
"Ah, well, you've got me on that one," Phryne admitted. "He does seem unusually attached to Dr Watson. But that could just be that he is protective of the one person that he feels actually likes him for who he is."
Mycroft sighed and buried his head in his hands, "I hope so, Phryne. Dear God, do I hope so." He straightened up and sighed again. "There has been a murder in my own home and it is someone I know, if not love with all my heart. Because I do, Phryne, I love my brother with all my heart."
Phryne stood up and hugged Mycroft around the shoulders. "I think you'll find that your brother is no more sinister than you or I."
Mycroft laughed. "Phryne, you and I are two of the most wicked people I know."
She laughed, too. "All right, fair enough. I think you'll find that Sherlock is far less sinister than you or I."
Anthea watched from the shadows of the darkened sitting room that led to the veranda. She clenched her fists tightly, digging her nails into her palms. Her lip twitched and settled into a sneer. Her brown eyes turned cold and narrowed on the scene in front of her.
She knew what she had to do. Determined and firm that her cause was just, she turned and walked away.
"This is hopeless!" Greg shouted at Jack and Hugh.
They had just finished going over the interviews and crosschecking all the alibis. There would be a moment of eureka before one of the others would step in with another witness saying that they had seen the person in question.
But by the end there were only three that stood out without strong alibis, Anthea, John, and Sherlock.
"My bet's on Dr Watson," Hugh said. "It's like you say, sir," he explained, indicating to Jack with his hand, "when it comes to murder, it's usually someone they know and more times than not, it's the spouse or boyfriend. Or in this case, fiancé."
"That's true, Collins," Jack admitted. "However, there is no motive for Dr Watson to have murdered her. In fact, there is every indication that he will suffer greatly now that she has died. But in Sherlock's case, he has the means, the motive, and the inclination."
"But this is all conjecture!" Greg bellowed. "We have no proof. For any of it. What we really need is for someone to come forward and confess to the murder, so we can all go back to our lives."
Just then the door burst open and John stumbled through.
"It was me," he muttered. "I did it. I killed Mary."
A/N: I said Sherlock and John were back, I didn't say I was being nice to them. Have no fear, Phryne is on the case and will get it all sorted out. I promise. ;)
The scene that had haunted me was the exchange between Phryne and Mycroft.
There is another scene coming up that was nearly as persistent as this one, that I think you guys will enjoy, too.
Oh! And for the record, Mac in Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries is canonically gay. I just wanted to see Molly get all flustered over being flirted with. :D
Until next time, darlings!
