Flash Fiction Friday prompt 194: Tree of Life. 700 words. Thunderbirds & Sherlock Holmes

Sherlock paused, hand on the doorhandle. John immediately ceased talking and dropped his hand to the gun he always carried.

They exchanged a glance before Sherlock opened the door quickly.

Whoever it was sitting on their sofa was completely non-plussed. The man was old, probably in his sixties with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair. The suit he wore was plain but so obviously expensive, he wore a plain white shirt, open at the collar, but no tie. There was a simple but heave gold band on his ring finger. A silver tipped cane rested against the arm.

He was drinking tea from a China cup, which showed that Mrs Hudson had been busy.

A crash from the kitchen told him the man was not alone, and indeed a younger man, heavy-set with thick black hair walked in from the kitchen. In a perfect American accent he spoke to who was obviously his father:

'There are eyeballs and a severed hand in the fridge but no milk.'

The man gestured with the tea at Holmes and Watson.

'Virgil, our hosts have arrived.'

The younger man turned to face them as Sherlock strode into the room, folding himself into his usual chair. John, taking Sherlock's lead, sat in his own as 'Virgil' went to sit beside his father.

'I am sorry to be here when you were out but your housekeeper was most insistant we stay. My name is…'

'Jeff Tracy. Ex-astronaut and multibillionaire not long returned from space, if I remember rightly. Creator of International Rescue and CEO of one of the largest engineering companies in the world.'

Virgil shared a glance with his father. They smiled.

'John was right, you really are a good detective.'

'A good detec…!'

As Sherlock spluttered at the description, John hid his smile by talking to them.

'Mr Tracy, what may Sherlock and I do for you?'

Jeff put his cup down and sat forward.

'I, as you can imagine, have almost unlimited resources at my disposal, but we have been able to find nothing. No trace at all.'

Virgil took over as Jeff swallowed.

'My brother is missing. Scott was on a rescue in Wales when he disappeared without a trace.'

'How long has he been missing?'

'Three weeks almost.'

'And you have found nothing?'

Once more Jeff and Virgil exchanged a glance. Getting up, Virgil pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and passed it to John, who looked at it before passing it to Sherlock.

There was a beat of silence before Jeff spoke.

'You recognise it.'

It was a statement, not a question, and John's eyebrows shot up. How could he tell that? Jeff gave a mirthless laugh.

'You do not get to be the head of a business like mine without learning to read people.'

Sherlock sat suddenly forward.

'I have seen this symbol once before. It is an ancient Celtic symbol of the tree of life, although I am sure that you already know this.'

The two men nodded and Sherlock continued.

'There seems to be a resurgence of Celtic images recently, mostly in Wales, and they are all connected to the disappearances of members of the public. So far I have not been able to find a connection.'

Jeff got unsteadily to his feet.

'Will you help us find my son? I can offer you considerable help.'

'I will.'

They shook hands and Jeff passed something to Sherlock as they took their leave. Once they had gone John turned back to Sherlock. He was twirling a pale pink card in his hand and was not even bothering to hide how exciting this all was.

'Jeff Tracy has connections indeed, and if he cannot find his son then the people we are seeking are very, very good at hiding.'

He flicked the card at John and shot over to the bookcase, tossing books onto the floor as John read the inscription.

'Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward? Who is she?'

'Only one of the best spies in the world. Mycroft has been trying to recruit her for years. Aha!'

And with that Sherlock was lost in his research while John blinked and tried to digest what he'd just been told.