Why Fireflies Flash
Chapter Fourteen
"I Won't Be Made a Fool of"

221b Baker Street

Anabeth slams a newspaper onto Sherlock's lap as she passes by into his kitchen. "I'm gone for a week and you boys make the paper. Hello, John," she says to the computer screen. "Who are you?" she asks of the obese man in John's chair. "Never mind, I don't care."

"Hello, Anabeth," John breathes.

"Pass me over," Sherlock snaps as if he's said it one too many times.

"Fine, but there's a mute button and I will use it," John warns.

Anabeth rolls her eyes and looks to the stranger. "You're the suspect?"

Sherlock sputters before the man could answer. "Up a bit! I'm not talking from down here."

John groans. "Fine!" He passes it to the other man. "Take it. Take it!"

"Having driven to an isolated a crime without a single witness, why would he then call the police and consult a detective? Fair play?" Sherlock inquires.

"He's trying to be clever. He's overconfident," the inspector says.

Sherlock sighs. "Did you see him?"

"He's not exactly flowing with confidence," Anabeth states as she walks over to Sherlock's chair.

Sherlock scopes the girl out briefly. "You're not exactly flowing with confidence either."

"There's a sleazeball staring at my ass. Sorry if I'm keeping my robe closed." She chuckles deeply and leans down, brushing her lips against the detective's ear. "Besides," she breathes sultry, "you can't do your deduction thing when I'm scantily clad."

A shiver runs down Sherlock's spine. "In that case, why don't you tell him why he can't be the killer."

Anabeth gives a breathless laugh and slips her hand beneath the cream sheet he's covered with. "I'm a bit out of sorts myself."

The inspector clears his throat. "Save the intimacy for the bedroom please."

She laughs again, louder this time, and straightens. "He's obese, has the halitosis of a single man living alone-"

"Right sleeve of an internet porn addict," Sherlock interjects, "and the breathing of an untreated heart condition."

Anabeth nods, going along with it. "He couldn't keep eye contact when I spoke with him earlier, self-esteem issues."

"A tiny IQ, and a limited life expectancy. And you think he's an audacious criminal mastermind?"

The duo turns around to look at the so-called suspect. "No offense," they say together and turn back around.

"What did you say? Heart what?" the man asks desperately.

"Go to the stream," Sherlock says.

"What's in the stream?" the inspector asks.

"Go and see."

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson calls as she walks through the door way followed by two men wearing suits. "You weren't answering your door bell."

"His bedroom's through the back get him some clothes," one man asked.

Anabeth's smiles apologetically. "We were a bit preoccupied, Mrs. Hudson."

"Who the hell are you?" Sherlock wonders, not bothering to turn all the way around.

"Sorry Mr. Holmes, you're coming with us." He shuts the computer. "You as well Miss Ryder."

The other man comes back in with a suit for Sherlock and sets it on top of the laptop. Sherlock stares at the pile as if it's poisoned.

"Please Mr. Holmes, where you're going you'll want to be dressed," the man says.

Anabeth watches looks pass across Sherlock's face as he deduces the two men in a span of less than thirty seconds.

The detective smirks. "I know exactly where I'm going."

Footsteps alert Sherlock and Anabeth to John's arrival. Turning towards the man, they give a small grin. He holds his hands out as if to ask what's going on and Sherlock shrugs in response. With a sigh and one last look down the hall he just came from, he walks to the sofa and sits on the other side of Anabeth. He takes a glance at the clothing on the table and turns towards the couple taking in their attire, Anabeth in her black silk dressing gown and Sherlock in his sheet.

"Are either of you wearing any pants?"

"No," they reply in sync.

"Okay."

The trio share a look before laughing, Anabeth's soprano a contrast to their tenor and bass.

"Buckingham Palace," John says in disbelief. "I am seriously fighting an impulse to steal an ash tray."

Anabeth glances around a small smile on her lips. "What are we doing here? Seriously."

"I don't know," Sherlock replies.

"Here to see the queen?" John offers.

Anabeth chuckles and shakes her head. She smirks as Mycroft enters the room, Hannah shortly behind him. "Apparently, yes."

Again they laugh together.

Mycroft clenches his jaw. "Just once could you three behave like grownups?"

"We solve crimes," John says. "She's American, I blog about it, and they forget their pants. I wouldn't hold up too much hope."

"I was in the middle of a case, Mycroft," Sherlock tells.

"And I was getting breakfast. Somehow my toaster has managed to make its way upstairs." Anabeth mumbled.

"The Hiker and the Backfire? I glanced at the police report, bit obvious wasn't it?" Mycroft asks.

"Transparent," Sherlock responds.

"Time to move on then." Clearing his throat, the elder Holmes leans down, picks up the pile of clothes and holds them out towards his brother, who stares at him petulantly. He sighs. "We are in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British Nation. Sherlock Holmes, put on your trousers."

Sherlock shrugs. "What for?"

"Your client."

"And my client is?" Sherlock asks as he stands.

"Illustrious in the extreme."

The five of them turn towards the new individual, the two still sitting stand to greet the man.

"And remaining, I'll have to inform you, entirely anonymous. Mycroft, Miss Wayne."

Mycroft steps forward and takes the man's hand to shake it. "Harry. May I just apologize for the state of my little brother."

"And I, for my dear friend," Hannah says shaking the man's hand as well.

"Full time occupation, I imagine," Harry jokes. He turns towards the trio previously resting on the couch. "And this must be Doctor John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers."

"Yes," John says taking the man's hand. "Hello."

"My employer is a tremendous fan of your blog."

"Your employer?" John asks.

"Particularly enjoyed the one about the aluminum crutch."

John looks pointedly at Sherlock in an "I told you so" manner.

"Gunnery Sergeant Christabella Quinn of the US Marine Corps." Harry says stepping around John.

Anabeth shakes the proffered hand and gives a curt nod. "Sir."

He moves on to the next person. "And Mr Holmes, the younger. You look taller in your photographs."

Sherlock nods. "I take the precaution of a good coat and a short friend." He turns and stalks past. "Mycroft, I don't do anonymous clients. I get enough mystery on one end of my cases, both ends is too much. Good morning," he calls over his shoulder.

Mycroft steps to on the end of the sheet as it passes by him. The sheet unravels itself from the alabaster body of Sherlock, and he's quick to catch it before it falls completely. Anabeth has to look away and clear her throat.

"This is a matter of national importance. Grow up!" Mycroft growls.

"Get of my sheet!"

"Or what?"

"Or I'll just walk away."

"I'll let you."

"Boys," John says, "please not here."

"Who. Is. My. Client?" Sherlock all but begs.

"Take a look at where you're standing and make a deduction," Mycroft orders. "You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. Now, for God's sake- Put your clothes on."

"And there is our whole childhood in a nutshell," snipes Sherlock in response to Mycroft's prior utterance.

There's a silent moment when the six sit in a small less-than-comfortable silence.

"My employer has a, er, problem," Harry says eventually.

"A matter has come to light," Mycroft begins, "of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature, and in this hour of need, dear brother, your name has arisen."

"Why?" Sherlock wonders. "You have a police force of sorts even a marginally secret service. Why come to me?"

"People come to you for help, don't they Mr. Holmes.?" Harry asks.

"Mmmm, not to date anyone with the navy."

"It's a matter of the highest security and therefore of trust," Mycroft says.

"You don't trust your own secret service?" John wonders.

"Don't be daft," Anabeth states. "They spy for a livin', of course he doesn't trust them. Or me. Or Hannah. Now, movin' on to the actual case at hand and not simply what it's a matter of. What exactly are we dealing with?"

"Yes, of course," Mycroft picks up his brown leather brief case from the floor and unlocks it in his lap. "What do you know of this woman?" he asks passing a photograph across the way.

"Nothing whatsoever," Sherlock says after a brief second.

"Then you should be paying more attention."

Anabeth takes the photograph from Sherlock's hands. "If he knew who this woman was, I'd be slightly afraid of what he did late at night. Her name is Irene Adler. Center of two political scandals and ended the marriage of a well know novelist. She was the mistress of both participants, separately of course."

Sherlock looks to Anabeth, slightly curious. "You know I don't concern myself with trivia," he says glancing at his brother.

"Professionally she goes by The Woman," Mycroft tells.

"Professionally?" John inquires.

"There are many names for what she does. She prefers dominatrix."

"Dominatrix," Sherlock breathes.

"Oh, don't be alarmed. It's to do with sex."

"Sex doesn't alarm me," Sherlock counters.

Mycroft scoffs. "How would you know?"

There's an itch that crawls underneath Anabeth's skin as she glances up and between the brothers. There's a hint of something that only ever shows up in the younger child's eyes when natural sibling rivalry goes too far that's half hidden in the blue green of Sherlock's eyes. Anabeth's all too familiar with the look and she scratches at that itch with a cheeky grin and the words; "Oh, trust. Sex certainly doesn't alarm him. I'd give you details... but I'm certain you don't want hear how delicious he is in bed." She doesn't turn her head to meet the inquiring gaze of Sherlock Holmes.

Mycroft continues as if she hadn't spoken. "She provides, shall we say, recreational scolding, for those that enjoy that sort of thing and are prepared to pay for it." He pulls a few more photos from his briefcase and passes them across. "These are all from her website."

Sherlock scans through them quickly before handing them to Anabeth who simply waves them away.

"I suppose Ms. Adler has compromising photographs?" Anabeth asks.

"Very quick, Ms. Quinn," Harry states.

"Hardly difficult deduction," Sherlock replies. "Photographs of whom?"

Mycroft, Hannah and Harry all exchange a glance.

"A person of significance to my employer," Harry finally states, "We'd prefer not to say anymore at this time."

"You can't tell us anything?" John asks.

"I can tell you it's a young person," Mycroft tells.

"A young female person," Hannah elaborates and Anabeth has to smile because this is Hannah's favorite game.

"How many photographs?" Sherlock questions.

"A considerable number apparently."

"Do Miss Adler and this young female person appear in these photographs together?"

"Yes they do."

"And I assume in a number of compromising scenarios."

"An imaginative range, we are assured."

"John," Anabeth and Sherlock say together. They glance at each other before Anabeth stares at her clasped hands.

"You might want to put that cup back in its saucer now," Sherlock finishes.

"Can you help us, Mr. Holmes?" Harry asks.

"How?"

"Will you take the case?"

"What case? Pay her, now, and in full. As Miss Adler remarks on her website; know when you are beaten."

"She doesn't want anything," Mycroft snaps. Sherlock looks to him interested for the first time since arriving. "She got in touch, warned us the photographs existed. She indicted she had no intention to use them to extort either money or favor."

"Oh," Sherlock says suddenly realizing, "a power play. A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that is a dominatrix. Ooo, this is getting rather fun, isn't it?"

"Sherlock," John warns.

"Where is she?" Sherlock asks as he stands up and prepares to leave.

"In London, currently. She's staying-"

"Text me the details, I'll be in touch by the end of the day."

"You really think you'll have something by then?" the equerry asks.

"No I think I'll have the photographs."

"One can only hope you're as good as you seem to think."

"I'll need some equipment of course," Sherlock states after scrutinizing Harry.

"Anything you require, I'll have it sent-" Mycroft starts.

"Can I have a box of matches?"

"I'm sorry?" the equerry wonders.

Sherlock holds his hand out. "Or your cigarette lighter either one will do."

"I don't smok-"

"Oh I know you don't, but your employer does."

"We have kept a lot of people," Harry says reaching into his pocket, "successfully in the dark about this little fact, Mr. Holmes."

"I'm not the commonwealth," Sherlock replies as he leaves. "Laterz."

John follows immediately, giving only a short and curt "pleasure to meet you," leaving Anabeth to follow him. Hannah catches her before she's gone.

"The DCS is after her as well," Hannah states.

Anabeth rolls her eyes and continues on. "The DCS can get over himself."