Sophia Holmes and His Last Vow (Sherlock's Daughter Fanfic)

Chapter Twenty Four - His Last Vow Part XIV

A few minutes later, dad and Mycroft move outside for a cigarette and I follow them out, not quite sure what to do with myself.

"I'm glad you've given up on the Magnussen business," Mycroft says as we walk idly down the path away from the house. Clearly he isn't aware of what's going to happen in approximately five minutes.

Dad looks at him sideways. "Are you?"

Mycroft stops walking and turns. "I'm still curious, though. He's hardly your usual kind of puzzle. Why do you ... hate him?"

Dad turns. "Because he attacks people who are different and preys on their secrets. Why don't you?"

"He never causes too much damage to anyone important. He's far too intelligent for that. He's a business-man, that's all, and occasionally useful to us. A necessary evil – not a dragon for you to slay."

Dad and I exchange an amused smile. "A dragon slayer. Is that what you think of me?"

"No," Mycroft says with a smile. "It's what you think of yourself."

The door to the cottage behind us suddenly opens. "Are you three smoking?"

We whip back around to face grandma, I raise my hands in a surprised surrender while dad and Mycroft frantically hide their cigarettes behind their back and looking every bit the picture of guilt. 

"No!" Mycroft replies.

"It was Mycroft," dad says automatically and I suppress a snort. I wonder how many times he used that one in childhood.

Grandma gives us a suspicious look which I return innocently, then goes back inside and closes the door. As it shuts, dad blows out a long plume of smoke rebelliously in the direction of the door.

"'It was Mycroft'?!" I repeat, looking incredulously at dad, hardly able to contain myself. 

"You see, Sophia, what I've had to put up with," Mycroft says with a smile only visible in his eyes, and I return it. 

"Shut up," dad grumbles. 

Mycroft wanders a few paces towards the door, then slowly turns back. "I have, by the way, a job offer I should like you to decline, Sherlock."

"I decline your kind offer."

"I shall pass on your regrets."

"What was it?" I ask.

"MI6 – they want to place Sherlock back into Eastern Europe. An undercover assignment that would prove fatal in, I think, about six months."

Dad lowers his cigarette, looking a little surprised. "Then why don't you want me to take it?"

"It's tempting ... but on balance you have more utility closer to home."

"Utility!" dad cries. "How do I have utility?"

Mycroft shrugs slightly. "'Here be dragons.'" He takes a pull on his cigarette, then holds it out to look at it, frowning as he coughs. "This isn't agreeing with me. I'm going in." He drops the cigarette onto the path and treads it out, then turns towards the door. 

"You need low tar. You still smoke like a beginner."

Mycroft slows down and stops before he reaches the door. He pauses for a moment before speaking. "Also, your loss would break my heart."

Dad, who'd just started to take a drag on his cigarette, chokes and coughs. "What the hell am I supposed to say to that?!"

Mycroft turns. "Merry Christmas?"

"You hate Christmas."

He frowns, pretending to look puzzled. "Yes. Perhaps there was something in the punch."

I raise an eyebrow, unsure whether he's cottoned onto what we're doing or just blindly hit the mark.

"Clearly," dad replies nonchalantly. "Go and have some more."

Mycroft heads back inside and I check my watch. 

"Two minutes. I'm just going to pop upstairs for a minute."

Dad frowns. "You brought your gun?"

"Well, technically it's a blaster," I say with a wink as I head inside.