Sherlock - The Game Is On!

The Empty Hearse- Two

Chapter Two

Third POV

Reading the newspaper the pages headline reads: 'SKELETON MYSTERY'. The reader folds down the newspaper to reveal Mycroft sitting behind his desk a short distance away, reading a file. "You have been busy, haven't you?"

Sherlock was reclined flat on his back in a barbers chair whilst a man shaved his face a cut-throat razor. Sherlock's hair has been cut back to its normal length and is currently wet and straight. He tosses the paper onto a nearby trolley. "Quite the busy little bee." Mycroft chuckles. "Moriarty's network. Took me two years to dismantle it."

"And are we confident about that?"

"The Serbian side was the last piece of the puzzle."

"Yes. You got yourself in deep there with Baron Maupertuis. Quite a scheme."

"Colossal." Sherlock chimes. "Anyway, you're safe now." Mycroft places the folder away. Sherlock hums in placid agreement. "A small 'thank you' wouldn't go amiss."

"What for?"

"For wading in." Raising his hand to the barber, Sherlock begins sitting up. "In case you'd forgotten, fieldwork is not my natural milieu." Mycroft adds. Grunting in pain, Sherlock slowly sits up and looks at his brother angrily. "'Wading in'? You sat there and watched me being beaten to a pulp."

"I got you out." Mycroft frowns indignantly. "No, I got me out. Why didn't you intervene sooner?"

"Well, I couldn't risk giving myself away, could I? It would have ruined everything."

"You were enjoying it." Sherlock glowers at him. "Nonsense." He dismisses. "Definitely enjoying it."

"Listen: do you have any idea what it was like, Sherlock, going 'under cover,' smuggling my way into their ranks like that? The noise, the people." Sherlock groans softly, painfully sinking back into the barbers chair. "I didn't know you spoke Serbian."

"I didn't, but the language has a Slavic root, frequent Turkish and German loan words. Took me a couple of hours." He shrugs off. "You're slipping."

"Middle age, brother mine. Comes to us all." He smiles tightly. Opening the door Anthea holds up a suit and white shirt on a hanger to show Sherlock.

221A Baker Street - Morning

John sits at Mrs Hudson's table with Michelle by side of him. Mrs Hudson slams down a small tray containing a cup and saucer and a jug of milk, then goes across the room to pick up a plate of biscuits, which she equally loudly slams down onto the table. John silently watches her while she picks up a sugar bowl and thumps that onto the table. She hesitates, then points at the sugar bowl. "Oh no, you don't take it, do you?"

"No."

"You forget a little thing like that." Michelle spoke, rather sarcastically. "Yes."

"You forget lots of little things, it seems." Michelle finished. "Not sure about that." Mrs Hudson gestures to her top lip. "Ages you."

"Just trying it out."

"Well, it ages you."

"Look..." John frowns awkwardly. "I'm not your mother. I've no right to expect it..."

"No..."

"But just one phone call, John. Just one phone call would have done." Her anger dissipates to disappointment. "I know."

"After all we went through."

"Mar-Mar, calm down." Michelle breathed soothingly. "Yes. I am sorry." Mrs Hudson takes to sitting down next. "Look, I understand how difficult it was for you after... After..." she shakes her head sadly. "I just let it slide, Mrs Hudson. I let it all slide. And it just got harder and harder to pick up the phone somehow. D'you know what I mean?" After a moment, Mrs Hudson sighs too and reaches out to put her hand on his arm. He immediately puts his hand over hers. Michelle giggles. "What?"