Why Sherlock?

The Great Game {2}

"Oww...." I complained, rubbing the back of my neck again, heading up the stairs to 221B. I checked my clothes, making sure that they weren't too plain but not too jazzy. I didn't like standing out, but I didn't like being mundane either.

After getting questioned by the police and paramedics, I began to get rather bored. I didn't want to stand out there so early in the morning, and more people were starting to show up to the mess across the street. It was even on the news now, live too. I quietly make my way up the stairs, but before I opened the door to 221B, Sherlock opened it.

"Ah, you again. Come in." Sherlock said, nicely.

He was wearing casual dress pants and a dark purple shirt. His curly hair was ruffled, but then again it was a natural look for him. I walked past him into his messy living room. My eyes wandered from the scattered papers, files, and glass shards from the blast, then to the man sitting in a chair to the left, and across it, a leather one.

This man had a clean haircut, and a nice grey suit on. This man is important business... Probably high authority like the government, or some other higher-up job. He had an umbrella that he started to fidget with, rather impatiently, as Sherlock strode over, standing next to me.

"I believe we haven't properly introduced ourselves last night," Sherlock said, stretching his hand for me. "Sherlock Holmes. The worlds only consulting detective."

"(Y/n) Hudson, Mrs.Hudson's daughter." I shake his hand politely.

The man snickered. "Must you always add that you're a 'consulting detective', Sherlock?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and glared at him. "And this is my rude, arrogant brother, Mycroft." There was a deadly silence as they both glared at each other for a few moments. "Can't," Sherlock said, obviously to Mycroft, gliding over to the leather chair and sitting down. I hadn't noticed the violin next to it. It was definitely Sherlock's chair.

Mycroft sighed heavily. "Can't or won't?"

They both glared at each other again. The downstairs front door closes and footsteps race up the stairs.

"Can't what?" I ask.
     
Just as I speak, the living room door opens, and the man from yesterday who left was standing in the door. As he hurries into the living room, his eyes are drawn to the boarded-up windows, then to his chair. His gaze quickly turns to Sherlock’s chair where Sherlock, now holding his violin, is plucking the strings of it as he is holding it on his chest while he continues to glare towards Mycroft.

"I saw it on the telly. Are you okay?" The man directs at Sherlock.

"Hmm? What?" He looks around at the mess as if he has forgotten the blast. "Yeah. Fine. Gas leak, apparently." He turns his attention back to his brother, who stares at him pointedly while Sherlock plucks his violin strings again. "I can't. The stuff I've got on is too big. Can't spare the time."

The man stares at him in disbelief.

"Never mind your usual trivia. This is of national importance." Mycroft says, irritated.

Sherlock sulkily flicks his fingers across the strings. "How’s the diet?"

Mycroft ignores the insult. "Fine. Perhaps you can get through to him, John."

'John' who has walked to the windows to investigate the damage, responds half-heartedly. "What?"

"I’m afraid my brother can be very intransigent." Mycroft says, with a tilt of his head.

"Well, why don't you just investigate it, Mycroft?" I ask, and Sherlock snickers.

"No-no-no-no-no. I can’t possibly be away from the office for any length of time, not with the Korean elections so..." He trails off as John turns towards him in surprise and Sherlock raises his head from looking at his violin. "Well, you don’t need to know about that, do you?" He smiles humourlessly in a clear message to forget what he just said. "Besides, with a case like this, it requires... legwork."