September 1888

Mycroft turned the problem he had been presented the previous night over in his mind. Mr. Melas appeared to have stumbled upon a most unsavory situation. The question had seized his imagination so that he found himself unable to concentrate on his evening paper. If only he was more amenable to legwork like his brother, he would be able to determine the solution to this problem for himself. But Mycroft was not that anxious; he was more than content to wait until he had a chance to bring it to his brother's attention.

As if summoned by his thought processes, Sherlock Holmes strode into the Diogenes Club, motioning Mycroft to the Stranger's Room as he did so. "This is rather unexpected, Sherlock. I had no word you were coming."

"I did not expect to be here tonight myself. However, Watson expressed an interest in meeting you when I told him how you shared my ability to observe and deduce," Sherlock said.

"I hope you told him I have always been better at it than you," Mycroft said, his casual tone belying his shock. Dr. Watson and his brother had been lodging together for seven years, and he still had not met the man. Only last year, Mycroft had read with interest the serialized novel entitled A Study in Scarlet, detailing the first case that Dr. Watson had been privy to witness. "I shall have to tell him how I enjoyed his chronicle of the case."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Don't encourage him. When I think of how the case has been sensationalized for serialization I find myself quite disappointed, although the writing does possess a certain excitement and romanticism." His brother's disparaging tone did not fool Mycroft in the slightest; he knew that whatever Dr. Watson wrote, Sherlock would likely read each one, griping about each of them. Mycroft himself did not read the popular novels of the day, but he had to confess he had found Dr. Watson's account to be well-written and exciting. He could easily see what captured the imagination of the British public.

They entered the Stranger's Room to find Dr. Watson standing at the window. Mycroft looked at his brother's only friend closely. His military bearing, even after all these years, was obvious, as was the slightly awkward way he held his left arm. The doctor's eyes shone with a calm intelligence, not the blazing genius either of the Holmes brothers possessed, but enough to keep up with either of them. In his bearing, there was an air of compassion to all but a signal that if provoked, he would be more than capable of defending himself. Yes, a worthy companion to Sherlock Holmes, in Mycroft's eyes. The smaller details, that they had arrived on foot through London's busiest streets after spending a considerable amount of time in Baker Street's smoke filled rooms, that Dr. Watson's fortunes had previously been tight but had recently improved (no doubt due to the sales of A Study in Scarlet), were mere extras.

"I am glad to meet you, sir,"* Mycroft said, before mentioning that he had heard Sherlock's name more often since the publication of Dr. Watson's first novel. Dr. Watson had a firm handshake that spoke to strength of character; which he surely had to possess to share lodgings with Sherlock. Mycroft turned to his brother and began asking about his last case, which he had followed with interest. He meant to put Dr. Watson at his ease; the poor fellow looked awed at being in the room with both of them. But then he caught Sherlock's eye, knowing exactly what the other was thinking, and selected two men from the street below as a suitable study. "Look at these two men who are coming towards us, for example."*

"The billiard-marker and the other?"*

"Precisely. What do you make of the other?"*

Mycroft and Sherlock went back and forth deducing the former soldier's status in life, and Mycroft was gratified to see that he had not lost his superiority in observation. It was a game they had often played as children, as it helped to train their abilities and drove off boredom at the many family gatherings they had been forced to attend. Dr. Watson began to laugh, saying it was a bit much. Sherlock explained the deduction process, with help from Mycroft, who watched their interaction carefully. Sherlock was possessed of the largely correct idea that he was more intelligent than the vast majority of people he met, and often could not resist showing this fact off. His explanation to Dr. Watson, however, was patient but not condescending, and the smile they shared was warm. Mycroft took some snuff, contemplating the phenomenon he was witnessing – two people who were utterly comfortable being themselves around each other, an understated expression of complete trust. He had never thought his famously reticent and aloof brother would ever find such a close companion, no more than he himself would. Remarkable.

Mycroft remembered Mr. Melas's problem then, and wrote out a telegram calling for the interpreter. When the fellow arrived, he told the detective his story and Mycroft related the steps he had taken, to which Sherlock promptly told him all the other things he could have done. The elder Holmes laughed, turning to Watson and saying that Sherlock had all the family's energy. At this, Sherlock himself stood up, no doubt to begin the investigation. His eyes shone with the scent of the problem and he led Dr. Watson from the room with barely a word of goodbye.

"I was very glad to meet you, Mr. Holmes," Dr. Watson said to Mycroft, still looking rather small and shy in his presence. "It was a most…interesting evening, and no doubt will lead us to an interesting case."

"Very probably," Mycroft agreed.

"WATSON!" Sherlock called from the entrance to the club, causing many Diogenes members to look up in shock. Mycroft chuckled.

"You had better go. He does not like to be held up when the game is on."

Watson smiled, "I know. Coming, Holmes!" Mycroft smiled watching them go. He had the feeling Watson would follow his brother anywhere. He hoped Sherlock appreciated it.

No sooner had they left than an answer to Mycroft's advertisement in the Daily News arrived, and he sighed with annoyance. Now he would have to go after them, and while he relished the chance to learn more about this singular problem, he really did not want to interrupt his dinner hour.

After the case was solved, Mycroft once again surprised his brother by inviting both he and Dr. Watson to dinner to offer his personal congratulations. "You have surpassed yourself, Sherlock. This affair was one of the most unique I have ever heard of."

"It was quite an unusual case," Dr. Watson said. "Although this year alone is remarkable for the case for the case Lord Robert St. Simon brought to your attention."

Mycroft had, of course, heard of the poor man's misfortune in matrimony. The gossip at Whitehall had hardly stopped, and it took no deduction at all to realize Sherlock and Dr. Watson must have been involved in some capacity.

Dr. Watson continued, "And only two years prior, your brother was responsible for the return of the beryl coronet that had been entrusted to Alexander Holder, the banker." His shy pride in Holmes's abilities, and the role he himself had played, was obvious.

"I was aware of both," Mycroft said. "Your notoriety is increasing, dear brother. Taking cases from the nobility!"

"I assure you, the only thing of interest to me is the unique factors the problem itself presents to me. I would refuse the most pedestrian of cases from the highest in the land in favor of the most interesting inquiry brought to me by a street beggar," Sherlock said, with some acerbity.

"I take it you have been keeping meticulous notes," Mycroft said to Dr. Watson, ignoring his brother's high-handed pronouncement.

"Indeed," Dr. Watson confirmed. "Each one is unique and I wish to record them for posterity, if not necessarily for publication."

"Well, I wish you luck," Mycroft said, then, turning to Dr. Watson, "You, sir, shall be the making of my brother, I am sure of it. Already he is well-known due to your literary efforts. I look forward to the next installment."

Dr. Watson flushed with pleasure at Mycroft's words, and when the night was over the elder Holmes brother left, deciding that he was very pleased with his brother's fellow lodger. In fact, if he himself should ever have had a friend, he would have liked that person to be very much like Dr. Watson.

*All text with an asterisk comes from The Greek Interpreter