Glass - A Sherlock Fan Fiction

Chapter Forty Three

The dim glow of lamplight bled onto the landing from inside 221B. John approached the door slowly as Mycroft Holmes' voice echoed through the house.

"Where is she?" said Mycroft. "Where's Mrs Hudson?"

John stepped into the room, ducking under a string of photographs. "Er, what are you doing?"

"Have you noticed the kitchen?" replied Mycroft as he stood up from Sherlock's armchair. "It's practically a meth lab. I'm trying to establish exactly what drove Sherlock off the rails. Any ideas?"

John looked in the kitchen, narrowing his eyes at the group of people in suits and white gloves "Are these spooks? Are you using spooks now to look after your family?"

He watched as Sherlock's things were collected into evidence bags, as things were examined and photographed. One spook stood on a chair in the kitchen, inspecting a small hole in the ceiling with a dusting brush. The corner of John's mouth curled slightly as he remembered his conversation with Margaux. She wasn't joking; she had actually fired a gun at his ceiling. "Brilliant," he muttered to himself. "Hang on, are they tidying?"

"Sherlock is a security concern," said Mycroft. "The fact that I'm his brother changes nothing."

"Yeah, you said that before."

John joined him in the living room, noticing the figure of Mary fading into the background. He kept his eyes on Mycroft; allowing his voice to fade while hers grew louder. She was encouraging him – pushing him to ask the questions that had been itching at the corners of his brain.

"Mycroft, last time when we were on the phone..."

"No, no, no, no, stop. I detest conversation in the past tense."

"You said the fact that you were his brother made no difference."

"It doesn't."

"You said it didn't the last time and it wouldn't with Sherlock. So, who was it the last time? Who were you talking about?"

Mycroft's jaw clenched. "Nobody. I... Misspoke."

"You're lying."

"I assure you I'm not."

John smiled slightly. "Sherlock's not your only brother. There's another one, isn't there?"

"No," said Mycroft firmly as he glared into John's eyes.

"Jesus! A secret brother! What, is he locked up in a tower or something?"

"Mycroft Holmes!" Mrs Hudson's voice bellowed across the living room. "What are all these dreadful people doing in my house?"

"Mrs Hudson," Mycroft began. "I apologise for the interruption. As you know, my brother has embarked on a programme of self-destruction, remarkable even by his standards, and I am endeavouring to find out what triggered it."

"And that's what you're all looking for?"

"Quite so."

"What's on his mind?"

"So to speak."

"And you've had all this time?"

"Time being something of which we don't have an infinite supply... so if we could be about our business?"

Mrs Hudson began to chuckle. "You are... you're-you're so funny, you are! He thinks you're clever. Poor old Sherlock; always going on about you." She turned to John, "I mean, he knows you're an idiot, but that's okay 'cause you're a lovely doctor." She looked back to Mycroft. "But he has no idea what an idiot you are!"