Once again all canon characters do not belong to me. They belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
This takes place after the adventure of the Empty house.
Thank you to Westron Wynde for thier review.
It was a warm spring day, early in the April of 1894. All London was abuzz with the Park Lane mystery. The sole exception was in the study of Mr. Mycroft Holmes, and there the tension had mounted all through the morning, and had now reached its peak.
"Check, Martha." Mycroft Holmes glanced languidly at his younger sister.
Martha scowled as she moved her king out of danger. Mycroft carefully considered his next move, Martha played chess almost as well as he could and he was unsure whether she was truly upset or simply pretending. One could never tell, the time she had spent on the stage had served her well.
The game continued in silence for a few more minutes, with neither sibling willing to lose to the other.
A knock on the door of the study interrupted them. A timid young girl, new to Mycroft's household poked her head in around the door.
"Yes," Mycroft growled, he had been busy contemplating a capture of Martha's queen, and the maid's knock had disturbed his concentration. The girl shrunk back.
"Begging your pardon sir, but a man is at the door. He said that he has an appointment with you sir."
With a speed surprising both Martha and the maid, Mycroft moved towards the window and out at the street below. A smile crept up his face.
"Yes, he does, you can let him come in."
As the maid scurried away Martha's right eyebrow rose questioningly.
"Should I leave, Mycroft? Or will we be able to finish our match?" she asked.
"You can stay, as for our match...we may not finish it," said Mycroft capturing Martha's queen with his remaining knight.
"I understand," Martha nodded. "In that case," she moved a pawn. "Checkmate."
"Hello, sir, would you and the missus like to take a look at my books?" The speaker was an old and bent man, neatly dressed, holding some books. Martha did not contradict him; she merely leaned back in her chair and began a quiet observation. There was something odd about him.
"This is my sister," Mycroft protested.
"Oh. My apologies," he tipped his hat to Martha. "I brought the Catullus sir, like you asked, and The Origin of Tree Worship as well." The man had a croaking voice, and to Martha appeared quite familiar. If he just stood straighter she thought and that nose...
"You have Catullus? Oh I always liked to read his works," Martha picked up the little volume in her hands and began to look it over. She turned to the bookseller.
I ought to have known. Martha thought. It wasn't like Mycroft to expend money on unnecessary things. I thought he was being sentimental. Aloud she added, "Hello Sherlock. You are quite vain my dear brother. You have spent too much time with Doctor Watson. I think you have the impression that no one else has your deductive abilities. I assume you had a good reason for not writing? Or did you think I would be unable to deduce that you were among the living?"
"When did you deduce it?" The great detective asked.
"The moment Mycroft started to pay rent for Baker Street. A dead man after all needs no rooms."
Mycroft looked at his sister. "When did you learn I was paying rent for Sherlock's rooms?"
Martha laughed. "Sherlock isn't the only one with irregulars. My students see a surprising amount of things on their way to lessons. A man of your girth and bearing is an unusual sight."
Mycroft shrugged nonchalantly.
The clock in the study struck 11. Martha looked at it.
"Well brothers, I must be leaving now. Sherlock, when you are finished with whatever it is you are doing at Park Lane, let me know if you can take tea with me tomorrow. I will be quite interested to hear of how your little joke on Watson goes."
***
After Martha had left the two brothers were silent for some time.
"The stage lost a great actress when our sister retired," mused Sherlock Holmes.
"Indeed, So do we tell her that we know that she didn't?" asked Mycroft.
"And have her lecture us on how irresponsible it was of us not to enlighten her?"
"True. Let us stay silent, while her pride recovers." Mycroft glanced at the chess board, his pride also needed to recover. Knowing Sherlock, he probably hadn't bothered to practice during his absence.
"Sherlock, do you have time for a game?"