From his hiding place in the miniature flat, John heard the front door creak open. He could just make out a man's voice mumbling something, but couldn't quite catch the words. Heavy footsteps made their way closer to his hiding place, causing John's heart to pound faster. Who could it possibly be?
"Hmm, I thought he had quit making these a long time ago…"
With a jolt, John realized the unknown man was talking about the miniature flat.
"Fine work, in any case."
John's stomach plummeted as he heard the sound of a latch being undone. The stranger was going to open up his hiding place! A shadow fell over the window in John's room. But the Bean never followed through with the action.
"You're right, there's no time to be messing around."
Strange, he seemed to be responding to some other person. But John hadn't heard anyone else enter or speak.
The shadow moved away from his window. Despite his fear, John edged over, wanting to take a quick glance through the curtains. With slow, delicate movements, he edged the corner of one to the side just enough to peek through. John couldn't see much from his vantage point, but what he could make out was a tall, middle-aged man dressed in a neat suit. How he got in or what he could possibly want, John had no idea.
"Might as well make ourselves comfortable while we wait for him."
John heard the man move into the other room. With another swift look out the window, he could just make out the stranger settling himself into an armchair. He didn't have to wait long. Sherlock must have rushed back after the way their call had ended as it hadn't been five minutes before his heavy footsteps could be heard coming up the stairs. The door was opened swiftly and Sherlock entered, a storm upon his features. He froze when he saw the intruder. Although John couldn't see anything that was happening, he could almost feel the tension spike in the flat.
"Mycroft," Sherlock hissed. The displeasure in his voice was almost palpable.
Now John was even more confused. What the hell was a Mycroft?
"Little brother." The stranger returned. John could hear the smirk in his words.
So, Mycroft was a name. Quite unexpectedly, memories of living in the Holmes household came flooding back in John's mind. He remembered Sherlock having an older brother, but they had never gotten along very well.
"What are you doing here?" Sherlock's tone snapped John back to the situation at hand.
"I have some business to discuss with you." Mycroft said, hoping to move past the childish squabbles as quickly as possible.
"So you break into my flat. I should call the authorities and have you arrested for trespassing."
"Except you won't, dear brother, because you know I would never come to you with a problem unless it was of the utmost importance."
There was silence as Sherlock considered this. At last, he crossed the room in a huff. Taking the chair across from Mycroft, he sat down, crossing his arms and legs until he resembled an annoyed pretzel.
Mycroft sighed, considering his next words carefully, "this may be very difficult to explain. So, I suppose I'd better just show you."
Whatever it was that Sherlock had been expecting, it certainly was not what occurred next. Mycroft reached a hand into his jacket pocket and when he withdrew it he was holding an impossibly small person. A borrower. He moved his hand to the table between them where she alighted and stood, staring up at Sherlock.
Again, John risked a look out the window. He almost didn't believe what he saw.
"This is my colleague, Anthea." Mycroft explained, watching Sherlock carefully, "she has recently brought to my attention some rather disturbing news."
Sherlock simply stared. His surprise was in no way faked, although he was not surprised for the reasons Mycroft believed.
"Speechless, little brother?" Mycroft asked, amused.
"Certainly," the younger Holmes replied softly. "It's not every day you meet someone so unusual."
He offered the young lady his hand, or rather his finger, which she promptly shook in a very business like manner.
"Sherlock Holmes," he introduced himself, "at your service."
She smiled and nodded.
"So, what is this disturbing news that is so important you break into my apartment instead of simply calling, hm?" Sherlock glanced pointedly at his brother.
"First, you need to understand that there is a whole society of people like Anthea living underneath this very city." Mycroft began to explain, "There are other places like it in various locations around the world, but we are most concerned with the one here in London. We have kept their existence a secret from the world, for their sake as much as ours. But I am afraid that secrecy has been jeopardized."
Mycroft paused to gauge his brother's reaction. Sherlock remained stony-faced and merely waited for him to continue.
"Someone has discovered their existence. If they go public, it could be disastrous."
"How?" Sherlock asked, still expressionless, "how do you know this?"
For the first time, Anthea spoke up, her small voice ringing authoritatively, "There have been disappearances. Kidnappings. Borrowers snatched from their homes in the middle of the night. And when morning comes, their houses are discovered in ruins, the ceilings ripped off."
In the miniature replica of the flat, John sank to his knees in shock. His heart ached within his chest with sudden, painful worry. Worry for Harry and his Uncle. Were they alright? What if they had been captured? He would never forgive himself if anything happened to them.
"And what would you have me do? I can't exactly go investigate the crime scenes." Sherlock's tone still betrayed no emotion.
It was Mycroft who spoke next, "I have reason to believe that the case you are working on currently may have something to do with it."
"May have something to do with it." Sherlock repeated, finally expressing some emotion. That emotion was annoyance.
"I'm sorry, but that's all I can tell you. National security, you know. We've already told you too much." Mycroft placed his hand on the table next to Anthea who stepped on without a word. She was quickly transported back to the pocket before Mycroft stood. Sherlock remained sitting.
"I trust you will keep this conversation entirely confidential, Sherlock." He said as he prepared to leave.
"Of course," Sherlock murmured, his mind clearly elsewhere as his foot tapped the floor impatiently.
And so, with his business completed, Mycroft promptly exited the flat.
AN: the plot thickens! O_o Wrote this over spring break and hope to have the next part soon, but I'm pretty busy w/ school so…. Yeah.
ily guys, stay beautiful!