'The case had been brought to Sherlock by his brother. In his usual style, Mycroft sat cross-legged in my chair and in an expensive suit. He gripped the end of his umbrella especially hard today. He didn't even smile and refuse the tea Mrs. Hudson handed him.

"What's wrong big brother? Another urgent case from the Queen?" asked Sherlock with a bitter grin. He stood hold his violin against his shoulder, waiting to strike the strings.

"Better than that dear brother, a case I don't think can be solved." Mycroft paused and tapped his fingers on his umbrella. "Interested?"'

000

"Sherlock. Why did we just take a case with absolutely no detail from your brother? Not to mention, do you remember the last case we got from him?" John made a face as he sipped his tea. "I mean why? You never just say yes like that."

Sherlock had remained silent since his brother left two hours ago. He had nodded to take the case and stood gazing out of the window, violin still in hand.

The apartment was quiet and Mrs. Hudson could be heard clamoring around in her kitchen below. John sighed loudly and leaned back in his chair. "Are you going to tell me what's going on or should I follow like a lost puppy as usual?"

Silence.

000

"Are you sure we're going the right way?" moaned Emily as she trailed behind Andy, glancing back occasionally at the road. "We don't have a map or anything…"

"We are going south east toward London!" shouted Andy, not turning around. "We were in Manchester and now we are working our way to London, which is south." She stopped and waited for Emily to catch up. "Although a map would be nice, but I distinctly remember someone leaving it three hostels back." Andy started walking again.

"It was an accident! And that map was shit anyway. It didn't even have all the roads on it! Andy! Andy wait! There's a rock in my shoe." She plopped down on the ground and began untying her shoe.

Her accomplice backtracked and plopped down beside her in the dirt. "I wondered why you were walking so slow. Normally I'm the one in the back." Andy reclined onto her pack and stretched her arms. "We need to get a move on, it's going to rain."

Emily groaned and dumped the rocks from her shoe. "Did we ever get new ponchos? The ones we had ripped."

"Did we get new ponchos?"

"You said you were going to get them."

"Then I am afraid we do not have new ponchos." Andy laughed.

"It's not funny," said Emily through a suppressed smile. "I hate being wet."

"If you can leave maps places, I can forget ponchos."

Emily opened her mouth to respond but Andy shushed her. The sound of an engine could be heard in the distance. The two leaped up from the ground and threw out a hand. They hadn't seen a car in three hours, and it was going to rain.

000

'"You know the myth around the ravens at the tower of London?" asked Mycroft, glancing at his brother over his tea.

After an obscene amount of calls, Mycroft finally agreed to meet with Sherlock and I and give some detail to the case.

Sherlock nodded. I looked at the two Holmes'. "We are just talking about the fact that if the ravens leave the tower will fall, correct? Nothing more."

The brothers stared coldly at one another. Mycroft was in a better mood now that the streets were drenched. He seemed to love the rain, or umbrellas; I've never been able to tell which.

"That is the public knowledge of the legend yes." He paused to sip his tea. "There is of course, another part of the story that had been buried for," he tilted his head as he searched for the word. "Security reasons."

"Ah,"'

000

"The legend is mostly accurate," insisted Mycroft. "There are just a few details that have been warped to the public." Mycroft sipped his tea. Sherlock sat with his elbows on the table, his fingers pressed together.

John straightened his back. He looked out of place with the two brothers and could feel the glances and stares of passersby. "And what," he cleared his throat, "is the real story? The one too sensitive for the public."

Mycroft's eyebrow flicked up at Sherlock. The two stared at each other for a moment before he started to speak. "The story goes that if the raven leaves, the white tower will fall and some sort of catastrophe will occur."

"Everyone knows that. It's a tourist attraction for god's sake."

Sherlock placed his sharp chin on his hands and interrupted. "The 'Ravens' that the story refers to is actually a forgotten crest that is housed in the tip of the tower; the crest of the men who defended the tower from enemies."

"I've never heard of-"

"It was a secret guard that the monarch put in place."

"Which?"

Sherlock gave John a puzzled look. John looked at him in disbelief. He shook his head and looked to Mycroft for an answer.

"Charles the Second," he mumbled to his tea.

"He said that six 'Ravens' should be in the tower at all times." He held up six slender fingers at John. "The Raven's uniform was all black with a gold raven on a black bolt of fabric. They wore them like capes."

John looked from Mycroft to Sherlock. "They were put in place to keep the King safe at all times."

Mycroft pushed him self up in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. "If the king was killed in a time of siege, the person doing the conquering would take over. The Ravens were trained assassins and were never seen unless they were needed."

"So you're telling me the government is paying for six men to live in the tower just so a superstition can be upheld?"

Mycroft frowned, "Not exactly." John shook his head and stared, waiting for an answer. Sherlock sighed and crossed his arms; he was bored, ready to start working.

"Well?" John lost his patience more quickly now-a-days.

"The men are long dead, but the family believe that the capes they wore should be kept in the tower at all times. Unfortunately three of them were stolen five days ago. Two have been returned by other means but the last has gone off the grid."

"And you want us to find it and bring it back," growled Sherlock. "I am not a hound dog, I do not go sniffing around for capes."

"Then why did you take the case?" pushed Mycroft.

Sherlock stood abruptly, tightened his scarf and left the café. John could see him through the spattered window, standing on the curb waiting for a taxi.

"John," Mycroft stood and shook out his coat, "believe it or not this was one of his favorite bedtime stories. I want the cape back and who ever took it on their knees."

The two walked to the door, Mycroft towering over John just like Sherlock does. He shook out his umbrella and stepped out onto the sidewalk to join Sherlock in the rain.

A cab slid to a halt in front of Sherlock. He tore open the door and stuck a foot in. "Same game as normal brother?" Mycroft nodded from underneath his umbrella. Sherlock nodded and slid into the cab.

"Same price as normal John," bellowed Mycroft as the rain came down harder. He took at step in front of John and then turned to him and said quietly, "Keep an eye one him. This one hits close to home."

Mycroft's umbrella bobbed away in the crowd as John climbed into the cab and slammed the door closed.

"221 Baker Street." They were off.