𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄, sherlock holmes

𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐕 . . . DEAR SHERLOCK HOLMES!

THE WORDS 'YES' AND 'NO' HAD BEEN tossed around by the Holmes brothers so carelessly in their exchange sat before the flickering fireplace, the flat restored to it's previous messy, well lived-in state. Sherlock had stood up half way through their conversation to pick up his violin with a flourish, an instrument Poppy had yet to see him play, and began to make the bow leak a sombre tune from the strings with each of the strokes up and down.

Mycroft sighed more times than Poppy was able to count on her ten fingers, and the door bell rang on multiple occasions thanks to camera crews from news corporations in their need to broadcast the rather dull footage of Baker Street. Poppy sat by the window, looking at the entirety of the brick wall that had been blown out by the explosion, and the police tape that was dragged over the road to stop the crowds from spilling dangerously into the crime scene.

Luckily, however, John had slipped through the chaos and was running up the front steps to the flat, charging into the living room while shouting "Sherlock!" Over and over again. He was greeted by the plucking of the third violin string, Sherlock and Mycroft sat opposite one another while mirroring their positions. "John."

The doctor looked bewildered, overwhelmed by the cleanliness of their flat. Then he pointed at Poppy. "Was she bored? Everything's clean. And are you two alright, I saw it on the telly." Notice of their injuries had been taken into account, but Poppy shook her head. "No, nothing from me. All Mycroft's cleaning crew." The older Holmes brother grimaced, and looked John up and down.

"Me? Her? What?" Sherlock proceeded to answer his own monotonous questions. "Oh, yes. We're fine. Both fine." He looked vacantly around the room, then added, "It was a gas leak, apparently." Another pluck of the strings and a word directed at his brother. "I can't."

"Can't?"

"The stuff I've got on is too big, I can't spare the time."

"Well never mind your usual trivia, this is of national importance."

Pluck. "How's the diet?"

"Fine." Poppy scoffed. "Anything to add, Rockefeller?" She shook her head, and moved over so John could sit down next to her. "Very well. Though I suppose you could try to get through to him, John."

"What?"

"I'm afraid my brother can be quite intransigeant."

Pluck. "Well if you're so keen why don't you investigate it yourself? Or better yet Poppy could do it, risk getting an arm or a leg broken while she's at it. Or can you not afford the expenditure?"

Mycroft twitched. He looked at Poppy who looked right back at him, arm twisted at an odd angle to mimic a broken bone. "No. I can't possibly be away from the office for any durable length of time. Not with the Korean elections so . . ." Deliberately, he trailed off when everyone else in the room turned to look at him. "Well, you don't need to know about that, do you." It wasn't a question. "Besides, a case like this requires legwork."