BREAKFAST WITH MYCROFT
John set a coffee (black, two sugars) and a plate of toast in front of Sherlock. "You need to eat, Sherlock."
"Boring."
John stood up tall and invaded Sherlock's personal space. "I. Said. You. Need. To. Eat." The words were barked: the clipped cadence of a military leader. Surprised, Sherlock yanked his head up and listened to John say every word. John almost never pulled rank. It was fascinating.
Without a word, Sherlock began to eat while John watched him over the paper. He nibbled at his own toast and kept an eye on the pouting man-child across the table. The only bright side of not being on a case was that he could get Sherlock to eat and sleep for a change. However, if they didn't get a case soon, John was going to go on a crime spree just to keep Sherlock busy.
"Fingers," Sherlock blurted out, breaking the silence. "You wanted to know why I moved all the furniture yesterday. I was looking for my fingers."
John blinked twice; happy he was hidden by the paper. He really didn't want to know why Sherlock was looking for fingers in the living room. "Well," he put the paper down. "I certainly like it better this way. The old way didn't have very good feng shui."
Sherlock awarded John with a smile. "You really don't want to know about the fingers? Mrs. Hudson found the container in the fridge…"
"No. I really don't want to know." John could hear Sherlock's text tone chirping throughout their meal and really hoped it was Lestrade with a case. He folded the newspaper neatly and cleaned up the breakfast plates. When he was done, he walked into the sitting room and picked up Sherlock's mobile.
SHERLOCK, MEET ME AT THE DIOGENES CLUB - MYCROFT
I'M SERIOUS - MYCROFT
DON'T MAKE ME SEND A CAR - MYCROFT
LOOK OUT THE WINDOW - MYCROFT
DON'T MAKE ME GET OUT OF THE CAR - MYCROFT
John laughed as he read Mycroft's texts. This was so childish. He was about to say something to Sherlock when Mycroft entered the flat.
"I see you got my texts, Sherlock." A wry smile graced the elder Holmes' face.
John turned his back on Mycroft and walked into the kitchen. "Sherlock, your brother's here."
"I need a shower." Sherlock stood up and headed to the bathroom. "I'm sure my beloved brother will still be here once I'm done."
Mycroft retreated to the living room and made himself comfortable in Sherlock's chair. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and made a show of checking his email.
John settled down in his chair and watched him. "When will you learn that sending texts is as useless as trying to call him lately? He doesn't answer your calls and he never reads your texts. It's like he knows when they're yours."
"Would you have replied if I had tried to contact you?"
"No," John shrugged. "I figure if it were really important, you'd have me kidnapped like usual."
#
Sherlock perched himself on the arm of John's chair and stared at his brother. "Speak, Mycroft. It must be important if you decided to make a personal appearance."
"I have a situation where your unique skills are required." A manila folder magically appeared in Mycroft's lap. "A woman, a flight attendant, has disappeared from her home. Her husband says she went to visit her family overseas, but her friends say she wanted a divorce and he killed her."
"Boring. The husband did it. You already know that." Sherlock waved his hand dismissively, whacking John on the side of his head. "Sorry, John," he whispered. John's eyes widened at the apology and then he looked at Sherlock and nodded.
Mycroft watched the exchange between the two men. He thought back to his first meeting with John. He had come right out and said that John's relationship with Sherlock was different from any relationship his brother had ever had. With anyone. ("Since yesterday you've moved in with him and now you're solving crimes together. Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?") He was surprised that his brother would apologize, but he had been expecting this for some time and he finally got to see it with his own eyes: Sherlock's not-so-subtle acknowledgement that the Doctor actually meant something to him. Will wonders ever cease?
"If you know it's the husband, why do you need Sherlock?" John shifted as far away from Sherlock as he could, wary of any more hand gestures. "Find the husband and bring him in. You've got control of every single CCTV camera in the whole United Kingdom… he has to be out there."
"We have him in custody. However, we have no proof that he killed her. For all we know, she disappeared on her own. She's a flight attendant - she literally could be anywhere." Mycroft held out the folder. "I need you, Sherlock, to prove how he killed her and where he hid the body."
"Why is this woman so important? Isn't this something that Scotland Yard should handle?" John looked up at Sherlock after asking, surprised by the man's unusual silence. Sherlock's hand fell onto John's shoulder and squeezed gently. Silent approval that he was asking the right questions for a change. John looked at the detective again, unspoken words shining in his eyes, before turning back to the elder Holmes. "Seriously, Mycroft, why haven't we heard from Lestrade yet?"
"The Yard isn't aware of this crime yet. The missing woman is the sister of Herman-Morrison."
Sherlock perked up immediately. "William Herman-Morrison has a possibly deceased - possibly murdered - sister? Delightful!" He paused and looked at John. "Not good?"
"Not good," John confirmed. "The sister of the Private Secretary to the Duke and Duchess of Oxfordshire is dead. No wonder you're involved." John shook his head.
"It will require some discretion, John, and… some… pants, Sherlock." John watched as the Holmes brothers traded smirks. Would they ever grow up?
Mycroft stood up. "If you're interested, I'd like to take you to interview some of the sister's friends and the staff of St James' Palace. We think a member of the Secretary's staff will know what's going on. Possibly, one of them did it."
"Why the insistence on it being linked to the Royal Family?"
"It's a shot in the dark," Mycroft's face twitched. "You don't murder the sister of a Private Secretary and not have it be political."
"It's not related to the Royal Family. Must you both be so daft? I'm disappointed, Mycroft." Sherlock took a deep breath. "It's not political. It's a crime of passion. He was having an affair. She caught him. Of course, she wanted to divorce him, but he wanted to avoid the scandal. He killed her and lied to her family. Boring." He closed his eyes and steepled his fingers under his chin. "The body. What would he do with the body? He'd have to hide it well, to make the wife's disappearance plausible… but where?"
Mycroft stood up. "Exactly. When you figure it out, give me a call." He dropped the manila folder on John's lap.
John waited until Mycroft was out of earshot before he mimicked him. "Exactly. When you figure it out, give me a call."
Sherlock laughed and touched John's shoulder as he climbed off the arm of the chair. "We need to pull the phone and credit card records of Herman-Morrison's sister, the husband, and possibly Herman-Morrison himself."
John laughed. "You couldn't say that while Mycroft was here? He'd have that information for you." He opened the folder, not surprised that Mycroft had already compiled that information. "Never mind. It's all right here."
Sherlock snatched it out of John's hands. "My brother is good. Very good."
John's cell phone text alert rang out.
IT'S ABOUT TIME - MYCROFT
The corners of John's mouth turned up in a soft smile.