The Autobiography of Mycroft Holmes

Chapter 34: The Greek Interpreter

I phoned 221B Baker Street using the old home number that connected to a phone that I used to answer years ago. When Mrs. Hudson answered, I was dumbstruck for a minute before regaining my composure.

"Mrs. Hudson! It's Mycroft Holmes," I said.

"Mycroft? It's been so long," Mrs. Hudson said, laughing and going on and on about how many years it's been since she last saw or heard from me. "I tell you," she finished after about ten minutes of idle chatter, "you were a much better tenant than this Watson fellow and your sister now."

"I thank you, Mrs. Hudson."

"Tell me, do you want to speak to Sherlock?"

"I do, yes," I said awkwardly.

"That's fantastic. You know, she doesn't talk about you, but I can tell that she realizes it's not the same here without you anymore."

"Nice to know there are people out there that still care for me," I said, laughing.

"Believe me, Ms. Holmes, there's nothing more I'd like to see than you sitting back in your old armchair in the sitting room of that flat. Watson just doesn't do it justice," Mrs. Hudson said, laughing again.

"My sincerest thanks again."

"Oh, Mycroft, I really did miss you. You know that old boyfriend of yours? He quit working for me right after you left. I really don't get it..."

"It was nothing," I responded quickly. I really didn't want to discuss that. "I am just very grateful that it's all over."

"I would think you are," Mrs. Hudson finally said. "I'll go get Sherlock; she's in the other room." I heard Mrs. Hudson run away, calling my sister's name and I heard her gruff reply that was so similar to mine from so long ago. Then, I began to panic.

I was unsure of what to actually say to my sister when she answered the phone. I did not know whether she'd hang up on me or cry tears of joy when she heard my voice. Or would she do nothing?

Sherlock's heavy footsteps approached the phone, as if they were a single metronome ticking down the seconds until the most awkward moment in all history. Sherlock picked up the phone loudly. I heard other footsteps in the background, likely belonging to Watson.

"If this is the credit agency, I'll pay next week," Sherlock said into the receiver."

"Oh, Sherlock, hello," I said.

There was silence on the other end for a minute or two. I heard Watson ask Sherlock what was wrong. Her face must have been frozen, just as mine was.

"Mycroft?" she asked.

"Yes, it's me, Sherlock."

"I'm so glad to hear your voice," she said, softly.

"And I can say the same for you, as well."

"Why are you calling me, today of all days?"

"I need your help with a case," I said, only realizing afterward that I'd never spoken those words to her before.

"I'll be over at the Diogenes Club first thing tomorrow morning," she stated, as it was too late for her to come that day. "Tell me, how has your life been throughout all those years?"

The next day, after I'd talked to Sherlock for about three hours the night before, both my sister and her colleague John Watson came to the Diogenes Club to visit me and my poor friend Mr. Melas, who had been through so much on that night that it was painful to even think about talking about it to Sherlock.

"I still can't even believe what happened to me that night... And no one even realized I was gone! Can you believe that?"

"I did," I said. "I knew you were gone," I said to reassure Mr. Melas. The truth was that I'd only realized three hours after he was kidnapped that he was not home when he was supposed to be. Sherlock and Dr. Watson were walking in just as we finished this conversation.