Silence In Belgravia
Silent Sir
Rose, though not many people knew it, was petrified of heights. Tall buildings she could handle, bridges she didn't like, but dealt with. She had always hated the idea of flying though.
So sitting next to a dumbstruck John, flying over the streets of London in a large, noisy box that seemed to be mainly made up of glass panels was the scariest thing she had done in a very long while. Her back was ramrod straight, hands gripping the bottom of her seat, knuckles white from the grip she had on the material and she tried to keep her eyes focused on the ceiling as much as she could. Passing clouds and blue sky didn't help any either. She wondered how long she would be able to go without throwing up or straight out panicking.
John sat in the helicopter and was looking down at the streets below, wondering why on earth they were currently in a helicopter. The laptop was under his hands, resting gently on his lap. He turned to Rose, about to make a comment on whether he was dreaming or not when he actually noticed her; she was white as a ghost, paler than usual - which for Rose, was quite an achievement - eyes wide and looking up, darting to the window every now and again. Every time they did, she would swallow and it looked like she would go even more rigid than she was already. John frowned, something's wrong.
"Hey," He called over as gently as he could while shouting to be heard. Her gaze snapped to him though, hearing his words. "You okay?"
Rose just nodded quickly and offered him a sort of grimace. Meant to be a smile maybe? He wondered. He realised then, and mentally kicked himself for not realising earlier. Pressing his lips together, he took her hand and squeezed it tightly. When she looked back to him, a question in her eyes, he spoke. "Almost there." He offered her a small smile of reassurance to her fear and just continues looking to the city below, keeping his hand on hers. When he looked back a few seconds later, he notices she was a bit more relaxed, even if she was still looking to the ceiling of the helicopter.
After landing - Rose getting a bit of colouring to her cheeks in an embarrassed blush when they get out and John gives her hand another squeeze again before dropping it - they are shown through none other than Buckingham Palace by a well tailored man in a deep black suit, both of them looking around in wonder and feeling a little bit out of place in their regular dress.
They are shown to yet another large room where they are directed to another room, rather than taken. "You can wait just through there." The man says to them. They offer small smiles to him, John giving his thanks to the man.
Turning the corner to enter the room they were directed to, John and Rose stood next to each other. The first thing they saw was a pile of smart clothes, a pair of shiny shoes placed carefully on top of them. Then they saw the owner of the clothes and shoes. Sherlock was sat on the far side of one of the sofas, still wrapped in his bed sheet, the white material having been pulled up around his neck.
"Still not dressed?" Rose asked, somewhat exasperatedly. She knew he was being purposely difficult for who ever brought them all there.
On getting no reply from the man, John opened his arms slightly, giving Sherlock an expectant face. Sherlock just shrugged in response and John dropped his arms, walking over to take a seat on the other side of the sofa, looking through both large doorways before sitting, sharing the fancy furniture with the mad man.
When Rose didn't move, Sherlock just looked at her before smirking. "Come sit, Rose." He said, purposely patting the relatively spacious gap between himself and John.
Rose just glared at him. He was trying to annoy her again, as he usually was, but she would always try to get one over on him. Her glare wasn't doing any good though, only serving to make the smirk grow a little bit more. So, she sighed and went to shuffle past John to sit in between the two men, legs crossed at the knees, hands folded in her lap. The three of them faced the direction they were sitting, neither looking at each other. They were never this close usually and each of them felt a little awkward at the invasion of personal space. None of them would admit it though.
A weird thought occurred to Rose then and she debated even asking. In the end though, she just thought to get it over with. "Are you wearing any pants?"
Sherlock didn't even look at her as he answered immediately - a rare thing for her questions. "No."
"Right…" She replied, nodding slightly, feeling that little bit more awkward.
A few seconds passed before she heard the snorted chuckle to her right. Looking over to her friend, she found John trying to suppress a laugh. When their eyes met however, they both started laughing at the absurdity of it all. And just as usual, when he was with either of his flatmates, their laughter was contagious, and Sherlock even started laughing with them, his low toned laugh setting a nice bass to the sounds of his friends laughter.
And so the three of them sat, on a couch in Buckingham Palace, one wearing only a bed sheet, laughing merrily as they will.
As they sobered up, John took a breath. "In Buckingham Palace, right." He chuckled some more before clearing his throat. He couldn't resist his thoughts escaping though. "I am seriously fighting an impulse to steal an ashtray…" Sherlock and Rose just chuckled some more while John shook his head. Clearing his throat once more, he tried again. "What are we doing here, Sherlock? Look, seriously, what?"
"I don't know." The man replied, still sliming.
"Here to see the Queen?" Rose suggested.
They heard muffled foot falls and it was then that Mycroft decided to make his entrance. Sherlock however found it somewhat amusing. "Oh, apparently yes." This sent the three of them into another round of laughing.
Mycroft was not amused however. Sighing slightly and looking at the three of them with a serious look on his face. Rose and John sobered up again at the look he gave them, but Sherlock was still content to grin at his older brother, relaxed in his surroundings. "For once, can't you three behave like grown-ups?"
"Well…" Rose started, giving the standing man a cheeky smirk, but John cut her off.
"We solve crimes, I blog about it, Rose makes tea and he forgets his pants." The doctor said, jerking his head towards his friends. "I wouldn't hold out too much hope."
Sherlock wasn't happy anymore though it seemed. "I was in the middle of a case, Mycroft."
Mycroft just put his hands in his pocket. "What? The hiker and the backfire?" Good case name, thought John. "I glanced the police report. Bit obvious, surely."
"Transparent." Sherlock replied.
John frowned at this, but Rose knew that the case was over and her shoulders dropped slightly; now they'd have to look for a new case again.
"Time to move on then." Said the older Holmes. Bending down, he picked up Sherlock's clothes and held them out to his brother. On receiving a defiant look he sighed though. "We are in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British Nation." His voice went stern then, a seemingly practiced trait. "Sherlock Holms, put your trousers on!"
"What for?" Sherlock asked, physically shrugging off the demanding words.
"Your client." Mycroft replied.
Sherlock stood then, holding the blanket around him as he did so. "And my client is..?"
"Illustrious." Said a new man who had just entered the room through the same doors John and Rose had come through earlier. "In the extreme." John stood up at his arrival and Rose thought she should follow suit. "And remaining, I'll have to inform you, entirely anonymous." The man's gaze caught the other suited man then, a smile crossing his aged features. "Mycroft!"
"Harry." Mycroft greeted, shaking the man's hand. "May I apologise for the state of my little brother."
"A full time occupation, I imagine." Replied Harry, ignoring the grumpy look on Sherlock's features. "And this must be Doctor John Watson, formerly of the fifth Northumberland Fusiliers."
"Hello." Greeted John, shaking the man's hand, a proud look on his face. Rose smiled proudly in response to it, glad that he was proud of his past. "Yes."
"My employer is a tremendous fan of your blog." Harry complemented.
John seemed a little thrown at this however. "…Your employer?"
The man nodded happily. "Particularly enjoyed the one about the Aluminium Crutch."
"Thank you." John replied quietly, clearing his throat and giving Sherlock a subtle look of, see? People do like my blog.
However, when he looked over, Harry's attention was then caught by Rose who blushed slightly at being noticed. "Ah, and you must be Miss Rose Spencer."
Rose blushed a little more. "That I am, sir." She offered her hand. "Pleased to meet you."
He took her hand and kissed the back of it, just as most high class men she met did. She had gotten used to it now though, with all the high end cases they had worked on and wasn't so agitated by it. She still blushed though, taking back her hand when she could, folding both behind her back. Harry just smiled though. "I've heard a lot about you, Miss Spencer."
She just chuckled slightly, mostly out of nerves; her past - and even present - were hardly considered good when actually discussed with people. "Oh, nothing too awful, I hope." She subtly glanced at Mycroft, somehow feeling he was to blame for anything the man might know about her, but on the brief inspection, she found no signs of guilt on the man. Doesn't mean much with a Holmes though, she thought to herself.
Harry just chuckled, a knowing look in his eyes. She didn't really trust it, if she was honest with herself, but he did seem a friendly enough person. "Oh, don't worry on that front, Miss Spencer." Moving on down the line of guests he was greeting, Harry came upon Sherlock, walking around the table in the middle of them all to stand in front of him. "And Mr Holmes, the younger. You look taller in your photographs."
Sherlock just kept a frosty glare on his face. "Take the precaution of a good coat and short friends." He said, giving and obvious look to John and Rose, obviously taking a cheap shot at the pair of them. They were used to it though and didn't mind. Turning to his brother, Sherlock started to make his exit. "Mycroft, I don't do anonymous clients. I'm used to mystery at one end of my cases. Both ends is too much work." He turned briefly to Harry. "Good morning." With that, he turned on his heel and started walking out of the room, sheet dragging slightly behind him. This soon became a problem though, one Mycroft took full advantage of.
As he got a few feet away from them, Mycroft stepped forward, carefully placing a shiny shoe on the white sheet, not letting it move. This in turn caused the sheet to fall from Sherlock, exposing the mans bare back and chest - though they couldn't see the front - as well as a brief flash of his backside, proving that the Consulting Detective did indeed have no pants on. Before anymore was exposed though, Sherlock quickly halted his walking and wrapped what he had left of the sheet around his wait, keeping his head up, trying not to loose too much dignity in the situation.
Rose's eyes widened at the sight she got before she managed to look to the ceiling and then behind her, trying to fight the blush creeping up her face again at seeing her friend like that. Not bad though, a little voice said. A bigger stronger voice soon stamped it out though with a mentally loud and rather defiant, no! She decided it was safe to take a small glance and saw that he was covered up again; mostly.
John was a little more used to this sort of thing and was a doctor after all, but he still turned his head slightly before seeing that his friend had covered up.
"This is a matter of national importance, grow up!" Mycroft said, tone lower and slightly rougher than usual. He was starting to get annoyed with his little brother and his careless ways.
"Get off my sheet!" Sherlock snapped at him.
"Or what?" Mycroft snapped back, the pair of them sounding like squabbling siblings.
"Or I'll just walk away!" Sherlock threatened and they all knew what that meant.
Rose tried to step in then, as usual. "Sherlock, don't you even dare!" She warned, but as usual, everyone ignored her.
Mycroft smirked slightly, wondering if Sherlock really would. "I'll let you."
John then decided to step in. "Boys, please. Not here." He told them. Mycroft composed himself a little more then, remembering his position and where he was. Rose sometimes envied how people would actually listen to John's warnings.
Sherlock however seemed to be loosing his composure that little bit more though. "Who is my client?" He ground out through gritted teeth, and undercurrent of a child having a tantrum in the tone he used.
Mycroft got an obvious look on his features then. "Take a look at where you're standing and make a deduction." He told his little brother, remembering the lessons he had taught him in the same fashion so many years ago. "You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. Now for god's sake!" His voice rose slightly in volume, anger, annoyance and overall tone before he realised what he was doing and took a short breath, looking around at the others before carrying on in a rather loud whisper. "Put your clothes on!"