Mystrade - The Call - from The Personal Journal of Mycroft Holmes

Chapter 2

        "You will speak when spoken to," I interrupted, "if you wish to avoid a report of unwarranted behavior being offered to your Chief Super."  His eyes glassed over as I claimed my authority. He stared out the window at the sunrise, realising that I wouldn't be surrendering to his efforts. "Tell me the situation at Sherrinford."

        "It's -uh - we're - we're securing it."

        "Sherlock?" I prompted.

        "He's fine," Greg said with confidence. "Worried about you, though."

        "How fraternal," I droned in response. "Dr. Watson?"

        "Rattled, but fine. We pulled 'im out of a well."

        "And?" There was more, of course.

        "And bones. A child. A boy."

        "His name, if I recall, was Victor," I commented. "Eurus?"

        His voice cracked as he replied, "She's being evaluated. Sherlock broke through to her or something. Says she's different. Farther away."

        "Indeed she is, and no one will succeed in reaching her," I guaranteed.

        He offered no reaction but then informed, "We've had to call your parents."

        "Pardon me? Your office most certainly has a record of my specific orders never to contact them regarding Eurus." Had he actually contacted my parents?

        "We needed next of kin, and you and Sherlock were compromised," he explained.

        "I'll thank you for getting me out of here, then, Inspector, so that I can deal with the mess that has certainly made."

        "I already asked them to start your discharge papers," he assured me. "Your mum seemed fine when I spoke with her. Maybe a little confused. A little angry. But, you're right. You should talk to them. But, later - well, tonight. Could we-?" His guilt caused him to be even more slow-witted than usual. Despite that, and regardless of the anger I felt toward him, he was still undeniably tantalizing.

        "Tonight," I began, "I believe you have a wife to attend to." I tried not to imagine him sitting up with her in the evening, toying with her hair as he had mine.

        He stood silently at my side, holding himself differently than usual. There was no confidence or braggadocio in his posture. He was guilty, ashamed.  "If there's nothing else of relevance, you're free to leave," I suggested.

        He wrung his hands with exasperation. "Oh, come on, Mycroft! You have to talk to me!"

        As Greg's voice rang in the void of the sterile room, two nurses entered and began disconnecting the wires from my chest and arms. As long as they remained present, he wouldn't press matters. A third attendant brought a clipboard for me to sign in cognizance of the ridiculous risks they believed could result from my departure. I hastily scribbled my name and stood to find my black Brunello Cucinellis tucked beneath the bed. I quickly put them on as the nurses continued to straighten the machines and poles. I started toward the door, buttoning my shirt as I walked. "Good day, Inspector."

        As I passed him, he cleared his throat. Out of habit, I stopped and glanced in his direction. Without a word, he reached out to hand me my umbrella.

***

        I heavily inched my way up the staircase. Two days - I'd spent two days reasoning and negotiating with my parents. It had ended in a visit to Sherrinford so that they could be with all their children at once. Our intelligence stemmed from our mother, but, unlike her progeny, she was an appallingly frequent victim of sentiment.