The Good Book

Chapter 6: Mycroft Meeting and Intimacy Discussion

Sherlock rang the doorbell, which was answered by Mycroft's housekeeper, Sammy.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes. I'll take you to your brother."

She led the way to where Mycroft was sitting in an armchair in his large sitting room, nursing what was probably a glass of his favourite whiskey.

Sammy departed, and Mycroft gestured to the sofa. "Take a seat."

Sherlock did so. "Why do you need my help?"

Mycroft pursed his lips. "To be honest, I know what I need to say, but I would like you to be there to act as a buffer. You know how intimidating Mummy can be."

Sherlock nodded his acknowledgement. Mummy was indeed a force to be reckoned with. She was the only one who could offer a set down that would make his brother quake in his boots. "I will be there. I'm still a bit pissed off with you, myself, but I understand you were just looking out for me. What time do you need me? I assume it will be at your office?"

"Yes. My office, ten o'clock tomorrow morning." He took a sip of his whiskey. He didn't offer Sherlock any, but then, he knew Sherlock really didn't care for alcohol. That was one vice from which he had never suffered. "Did you bring those cameras?"

Sherlock made an exclamation. He'd forgotten they were in his pocket. He withdrew them and bent forward to hand them to Mycroft.

Mycroft inspected the miniature devices. "Ingenious. I will have them looked over to see if we can detect their origins that might lead back to how they found their way into Miss Hooper's flat. How is she doing, anyway?"

"It's Doctor Hooper, Mycroft," Sherlock said tersely. "She was fine after I explained things. You might as well know, too, that the events of last evening propelled me to an acknowledgement of my feelings of a romantic nature for her."

Mycroft didn't answer right away, taking another sip of his drink. Sherlock was quite surprised when he did express his thoughts. "I cannot say I am surprised. When you said those words to her, there was a certain softness to your voice I've never heard before, and the way you obliterated that coffin-" He paused, then continued. "Yes, it makes sense. That definitely indicated an abundance of sentiment on your part, and apparently our sister was aware of it." His eyes met Sherlock's over the rim of his glass as he raised it yet again towards his lips. "I assume you no longer feel that sentiment is a chemical defect?"

Sherlock folded his arms. "Indeed not. My views have been the opposite on what is truth - on sentiment, on God, on what is important in life."

Mycroft, unsurprisingly, reacted to his mention of God. "What's this about God? I thought you were firmly of the opinion that there was no higher power than yourself - or rather - me, seeing as I am your intellectual superior."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at his brother's arrogance. "I was a blind fool. Now I am not. This tapestry of life, it could not be a matter of chance, it must have some great Designer pulling the strings, creating the threads into that tapestry."

"Sentiment has softened your brain, brother mine," said Mycroft dryly.

"Not at all. It has made me see the light."