Dear Uncle Mike

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Kyna's POV:

So Sherlock had a brother. I remembered Peter saying something about that. I should've known.

He worked for the government. I would have been impressed, but I supposed that if Sherlock disliked his older brother, than I should dislike my uncle. I shuddered at the thought of calling him that. 'Uncle'. Although, Sherlock seemed to exaggerate quite a bit. Maybe his brother was actually a kind man.

"Are you fluent?" I asked the lady as we sat in the car. Her fingers stilled against her thigh and her eyes flickered to mine in confusion.

"Beg pardon?"

I motioned to her hand, still resting on her leg. "You're tapping out Morse code. Are you fluent? I only know a few phrases, but you seem to know what you're doing."

She looked at me for a second. "Yes." After that, she refrained from moving her hands.

But I just couldn't keep from speaking again. "I'm assuming you know other languages as well?"

At that point, the lady was unsettled, her movements stiff and calculated as she tried to control herself. "Where did that come from?" She asked uneasily.

"You're trained in multiple martial arts." I pointed to her wrists. "Strong bones, positioning yourself in attack stances, carrying your posture with calculation."

"Did you research me?"

I smirked. "Honestly, do you think I would find anything if I did?"

"No." She smiled and glanced down at her phone.

"You've just texted Mycroft," I observed.



"And why is that?" She swivelled her head towards me, one manicured eyebrow raised in poise. I stared steadily back, not phased in the least.

"He may need your help."

The lady laughed. "You think you're very smart."

"I know I'm very smart," was all I said.

The car stopped and I peered out the window at the building, rolling my eyes at its state of presence. The lady slid gracefully from the car and treaded towards the dank and ruined brick structure. I quickly got out and followed her. She slipped through the door and I struggled to keep up.

"Hello?" I called, because suddenly I was alone. Dramatics were never really my thing, and I realized that I was with what seemed like the biggest drama queen in the whole of London. Who was I dealing with?

"Good god, you look exactly like him."

I turned towards the voice and found myself several feet from a man in an expensive suit. I analyzed him as swiftly as I could, and smirked.

"I see your diet has been going poorly."

His eye twitched. "Let me rephrase that. 'Good god, you're exactly like him'."

I saw his mouth press together in a thin line.

"Are you aware that your bodyguard knows Morse code?" I blurted.

"I beg your pardon?" Mycroft's eyebrow raised.

"Oh I'm sorry, was I not supposed to know that?"

"Anthea is my personal assistant."

"And personal security. She's trained in martial arts and advanced safety skills. And right now, she's listening to every word we're saying."

Mycroft seemed to be collecting himself.

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