24 years old

Mycroft set down a dinner spread. Sherlock watched with a curious expression on his face.

"Now," Mycroft hissed. "Remember to keep your mouth shut,"

"Yes Mycroft," Sherlock replied dryly. "You've been whispering it in my ear every second for the last three days."

"This is an important Sherlock, don't embarrass yourself, she is highly intelligent."

"I never get embarrassed,"

"Well, you'll embarrass me."

"Please, when do I ever embarrass you?"

"When do you not?"

"Oh below the belt,"

"Oh shut up, do you want her back or not?"

Sherlock sniffed and straightened his tie, wanting a cigarette. Mycroft stared at his brother for a moment then pulled a tiny white packet from his suit pocket. "Here."

Sherlock caught the packet and looked at it for a second. "Nicotine patches?" He asked.

"It's not healthy, Sherlock," Mycroft shrugged.

"Yeah, I'm going to use these straight away!" Sherlock said sarcastically, tucking it into his pocket.

"Remember, keep-"

"My mouth shut," Sherlock concluded. "Yes, yes Mycroft, now will you please get the door?"

Mycroft slapped Sherlock around the head assuming his authority over him. Sherlock sighed and rubbed his neck.

"Well that was mature!" He said.

"Sherlock!"

"Door, Mycroft!" Sherlock replied.

Mycroft left for a moment, leaving Sherlock. He picked up one of the silver forks and held it to his eye. Sold Silver. Royal Imperial make. Late…. 1870's, with the MacIntosh crest on the handle. Most likely explanation: Mycroft had bought them at an auction.

Mycroft returned after a minute, folding up an impressive jacket. He gentle placed a hand on a young woman's back and led her into the dining room. Sherlock looked at her with eager eyes taking in everything and anything.

"Well, who is this?" She asked.

Mycroft stiffened. "This is my brother Sherlock. Sherlock, meet Lynda Grant."

Sherlock stood up nervously and shook her hand. "Mycroft is so rude. If I had known this was more of a… Personal affair, I would not be here."

Lynda smiled. "Oh," She turned to Mycroft. "Were you hoping that it would be a more intimate affair?"

Mycroft cleared his throat. "Please have a seat." He said ignoring her question.

Lynda sat down opposite Sherlock and spread a napkin over her lap. "So, my dear friend, what are we having tonight?"

Mycroft gave a small grin. "All shall be revealed."

Lynda clasped her hands together. "Now, what is this all about Mycroft?"

Mycroft slapped Sherlock's hand away from the garlic bread as he sat down. "A personal favour if you don't mind."

"Intriguing." Lynda said, taking a sip of the wine. "Mm… Lovely. Vintage I assume?"

"You assume correctly." Sherlock said. "

"Sherlock, hush." Mycroft said.

"Sorry about my brother, but it seems rather redundant that he should ask me to be here and yet not allow me to speak a single word!" Sherlock said laughing haughtily.

"That is strange." Lynda said. "Care to explain, Mycroft?"

Mycroft cleared his throat."The favour, Lynda," He said ignoring the question. "We need your help."

"The fantastic, intelligent Mycroft Holmes, needs my help? I find that hard to believe."

"Technically it is not I who needs the help." Mycroft replied. "Sherlock's friend is missing."

"Then check police records. You know I have no business with missing persons."

"Yes but you know every visitor and every citizen who has left this country, where they have went and why," Mycroft said. "And my brother needs you,"

Lynda looked over at Sherlock. "Well, tell me about her."

Sherlock said nothing but tapped his plate. "Mycroft, should dinner be here by now?" He asked.

"In a moment," His brother replied.

Sherlock sighed and leaned back against the back of his chair.

Lynda gave a little grin and leaned forward. "Sherlock, I can't exactly help you if you refuse to tell me about her."

"Mycroft has kind of restricted my speech," Sherlock shrugged. "Why don't you get him to tell you about her?"

Lynda looked over at Mycroft who sighed. He set down his napkin as the waiter came around and set a few bowls of soup on the table.

"Personal waiters? Nice." She said.

"Hired for the night. I am not as rich as I care to seem."

"Ah, pity," Lynda dipped a breadstick into the soup and nibbled into it happily. She looked up at Sherlock. "Not eating are you?"

"I don't eat when I have something on my mind," Sherlock replied.

"Your friend?"

"One of the matters on my mind,"

"Well tell me about her."

"She and Sherlock have been good friends for a number of years." Mycroft supplemented. "She is as she, seems a bit of a rascal. But she has all but disappeared. She apparently is far too arrogant to commit suicide, too smart to have been killed so the most obvious explanation is for her to have left the country."

"Oh… So why don't you search for her?"

"Mycroft has got it into his head that relations of a diplomatic matter will find her more easily. Plus, he seems to think that I need a job more than I need her," Sherlock replied looking over at his brother. "Careful Mycroft, we don't want you to put all that weight on again."

Mycroft looked up from the plate of soup, his mouth full of garlic bread. He swallowed. "Sherlock keep private matters off the table."

"Only if you manage to keep you stomach from reaching your knees." Sherlock bit back.

Mycroft laughed lowly. One of the waiters entered and whispered something in Mycroft's ear. He sat there for a moment then sighed. "Please excuse me. Something is wrong with the menu," He put his napkin on the table and stood up. "Sherlock, please don't say anything out of context."

"As long as you don't-"

"I get it Sherlock, I'm fat." Mycroft said wearily. He sighed and followed the waiter out of the room.

"So this girl." Lynda said. "Tell me about her."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I fear you will be met with teenage fantasies and the like." Sherlock replied. "Besides, I'd prefer to know all about you,"

Lynda smiled. "The brother of Mycroft Holmes. Do you have the same skills as him?"

"Depends what you mean by 'skills'," Sherlock said.

"I think you know what I mean,"

Sherlock leaned forward shifting his chair. "You're rich."

"Well done."

"You own a small fortune of shares on the Caribbean islands in which you spend most of your time there. You have one brother about fifteen years younger than you but it's not likely he had the same parents because you're wearing your mother's engagement ring. Thus your father remarried and he is your half-brother. You don't like him that much but you feel it's necessary to spend time with him as a role model. Perhaps he is getting into things you would rather keep him safe from. It can't be alcohol because you yourself have a distinguished taste for wine, nor can it be cigarettes, for you have nicotine stains between your fingers. So it must be something extremely terrible. You have several degrees and are proud of that. Your husband recently walked out on you, but you've suffered at his hands for a while so you are somewhat relieved of this. You initially had plans to have children but when your husband left you, you decided to abort your unborn foetus. Why would you do that? Unless you didn't want anything more to do with him… There. He had an affair didn't he and you were too fed up of it to even try anymore. Now you're looking for love and have possibly found it on internet dating." Sherlock looked over at Lynda once more, happy with his conclusions.

"Well, aren't you special." Lynda said. "Haven't you decided what you want to do with your life?"

"No, otherwise I wouldn't be sitting here." Sherlock replied.

"Mm, interesting. Have you ever considered working with the police? Not as community officer. No you have too much talent for that. What about going into private police work?" Lynda asked.

Sherlock looked away. "Like that's gonna happen."

"You have a gift. Somewhat, like you brothers, but more… Elegant. Where he uses it to humiliate people you could use it to help people. Isn't that what you want to do? I remember your brother telling me that you were interested in getting into medicine."

"Medicine holds no interest for me." Sherlock said.

"Don't let it go to waste Sherlock," Lynda said.

Mycroft re-entered the room and sat down looking between his two guests. "I hope Sherlock hasn't embarrassed himself."

"Quite the opposite. He has proved himself quite the character."

"I see." Mycroft said. "Now, to the main reason I brought you here tonight-"

"Ah yes the girl." Lynda said, wiping her mouth. "Tell me her name."

"Irene Alder." Sherlock said.

"Oh,"

"What?"

"I'm sorry, but Irene Alder's body was found burned after a fire in a library up in Edinburgh. We found her details amongst her person."

Sherlock stared at his untouched soup and smiled. "Yeah, that sounds like Irene."