Lily, upon returning home from 221B, starts to skip down the stairs, planning on going to her office to get some work done on her book — she wants to solidify the concept so she can email it to her publisher — but she hardly gets halfway down the steps before there's a knock on her door.
She thinks it must be Sherlock, and she turns right back around to open the door. But, to her surprise, she finds the other Holmes brother standing there. A smile makes its way onto her face, but it's confused. "Oh, hello... Mr. Holmes. Can I do something for you?"
He smiles thinly, and Lily thinks it's much like Sherlock's thin smile, but with a bit less feeling behind it. He's asking a favor, surely. "Actually, Miss Marlow, I believe you can."
Lily knows hardly anything about this man, aside from his being Sherlock's brother and his tendency to communicate with said brother in a strange way. That, and he's very prim and proper seeming. And he carries an umbrella, almost like a cane. The nature of this favor could be unsavorable, to be sure, but Sherlock certainly doesn't seem to hate him. He likely trusts him, and so she probably can, too. "What do you need to me do?"
His smile widens slightly at that. "Look after Sherlock."
At that, her brows furrow. "Look after him? What do you mean?"
"Keep him out of trouble."
"Well, I don't see how anybody could do that."
He chuckles. "Not that kind of trouble. He will do what he does, and he does do it well — though I warn you not to tell him I said that." Lily nods, and he continues. "He has John to take care of his life when he decides to throw it in the balance on a case. Take care of the rest of him. I think you'll be in a position to soon, if you aren't already."
Lily, for a moment, tries to figure out exactly what he means, and decides that it must be friendship he's talking about. She hasn't seen that Sherlock has many friends so far, besides Mrs. Hudson, John, and Lestrade and whoever gives him body parts from St. Barts, but she never thought about it much until now. She'd like to think they're already friends, all things considered, but maybe Sherlock doesn't think so — yet, according to his brother. So even if he doesn't now, he probably will in the future. And when (well, if) he does, Lily will be sure to "take care of him." Look after him. More than she already has, since she thinks it's not enough. She would've even if Mycroft hadn't said a thing to her. She takes care of all her friends in whatever way they need, until they don't want it — or, her anymore.
Finally, she smiles at Mycroft. "I'll do whatever I can for him. Promise."
But Mycroft doesn't seem quite satisfied with this. "But you must remember that he... well, he isn't like other people."
"All people are different from each other, aren't they? We have to understand each other. And I understand him now enough to know that I need to understand better."
Mycroft smiles. "I'm sure you will in time. You're already getting through to him, I believe."
He leaves with a polite goodbye, and Lily is left with an odd but not unpleasant feeling, and a resolution to do whatever she can for Sherlock Holmes.
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The next day, after breakfast, Lily decides to go out and water the plants in the garden before Sherlock comes down to get her; she doesn't know when he'll be here anyway. She puts on some comfy clothes and pushes her frizzy hair back with a cloth headband, then begins to head out.
When she's halfway up the stairs, there's a knock.
Lily, for the first time, isn't actually happy to see Sherlock at her door. If only he had come twenty minutes later, maybe even ten. But he's smiling that thin, kind smile, in greeting. "Are you coming?"
Lily opens her mouth to answer him, but she doesn't know what to say. She wants to go, but he's caught her at a bad moment, and she looks far too awful to go see an important banker, no matter what the situation is that he's in. Not to mention Sherlock seeing her looking a mess for the third time now. What he must think of her!
His brows furrow at her lack of answer. "Did you change your mind about going?"
"You're not going?" John cuts in, walking over from 221A after dropping off Rosie.
"Well- Well, yes-" Lily starts, and the smile returns to Sherlock's face.
"Good; then, let's go," he says, turning and walking off.
"I can't go now," Lily manages, and he turns around, confused.
"Why not?" So he hadn't even noticed she looks a mess, as he probably wasn't even paying any mind to her dress. But she'll have to call it to his attention now.
"I can't go out like this." She gestures to herself. "Especially not to see someone as important as Mr. Holder."
He looks at her clothes and her hair, and he still seems confused. "What's wrong with your outfit?"
"Sherlock, it-" John starts, but he obviously doesn't know how to word the explanation without sounding rude.
Lily finishes his statement. "It's for gardening. I look like a wreck."
Sherlock shrugs. "I think you look fine."
"I-" Lily starts, cutting herself off, her mind half-muddled, and she doesn't know what to say. "I'm going to go change. I'll be out in as fast as I can." The garden will just have to wait.
"Alright, then," Sherlock says with a light sigh.
"Take your time," John adds with a smile, and Lily nods at him before turning to go, feeling a bit bad for making them wait and possibly irritating Sherlock.
"Oh, you can come in if you want. Make yourselves at home," she says, glancing back at them as she goes down the stairs. John thanks her as he and Sherlock enter the flat. She hears a disgruntled noise as she hurries to her room and remembers how low the ivy plant up there is. Sherlock definitely ran into it. She pushes that from her mind to pick out something decent but comfortable enough for a case, which so far has involved a bit of acting, running, and being scared out of her wits.
She grabs her pink dress with red and white flowers on it — one she's often worn to work for Valentine's Day, so she knows she can move in it if need be. It ends at her knees, and the sleeves come down to an inch or so above her elbows. She then gets some ruffled socks, all the while wondering if she should be putting on pantyhose instead. Then, she runs over to her dresser to her antique jewelry box (a birthday present from Liam a few years ago) and grabs her gold bracelet that she's had probably since she started teaching. She almost gets the matching necklace, too, but then thinks it would be a bit difficult to run with a necklace on — in case they'd need to run, for whatever reason. Then, she grabs her pink purse from the closet and drops her phone and wallet in it, lastly heading to the bathroom to calm her hair. She tries everything readily available to get the frizz to go down. She settles it a bit with a dressier headband that matches her dress well enough. Finally, she walks back out, her ankle boots she's planning to wear being at the bottom of the stairs.
John is sitting on the couch, looking at her knickknacks, and Sherlock is standing in the kitchen, looking at the planter box and flowers Lily planted in the window. She looks at them both, then grabs the bottom of her skirt as if to display it. "What do you think? Is this good enough to go see an important banker?"
They both look at her, and she anxiously waits for them to tell her it won't do at all — that it's too much or too little. But John smiles. "I think that'll work wonderfully, Lily."
Her worries ease a little, and then she looks at Sherlock. He offers her that same, thin smile, then swallows. "You look lovely," he says, almost quietly. Lily smiles at that, then walks over and puts on her shoes. When she's finished, he asks, "Ready to go?"
"Yes," she replies, grabbing her keys. "I'm so sorry for making you wait."
"It's no trouble," John says.
"You have an interesting home to look at, anyhow," Sherlock says, closing her door behind him. "But your ivy plant is far too low." Lily locks it while thanking him with a laugh.
"He tore a leaf off it when he ran into it," John says. "He'll kill it eventually if he keeps visiting you."
They've made it outside and Sherlock hails a cab, ignoring John's comment. Lily ends up in the middle in the back of the cab. Sherlock gives the cabbie an address, then they drive off. It's a short ride to a large residence, but not as old or large as Reigate or Wintermere.
The interior, which they see once a sort of butler opens the door, is also quite modern, though not minimalistic, to Lily's surprise and relief. Mr. Holder meets them almost immediately, looking incredibly distressed. "Oh, Mr. Holmes, you're here! I-I don't know what I'm going to do, you have to help me-"
"Slow down," Sherlock says, with some patience. "Let's go sit down. I need you to tell me everything, right from the beginning."
Mr. Holder nods. "Of course, of course, right this way."
He leads them into a sitting room, with not enough knickknacks for Lily's taste, but with some fancy ones nonetheless. There's a house plant in the corner that looks well cared for. The couch and tables are all black, and the pristine carpet and the walls are white. Mr. Holder sits in an arm chair, caddy corner to the main couch. Lily gingerly sits on it, almost on the edge of a cushion, and Sherlock sits next to her, closest to Mr. Holder. John chooses an arm chair opposite Mr. Holder's, the coffee table between them.
"From the beginning," Sherlock prompts, and Mr. Holder heaves an anxious sigh and starts his story.
"A few days ago," he said, "a certain person which I cannot name came in and asked for a loan of five million pounds-" John whistles at this "- and he wanted it at once. He said he'd pay me back by next week, but he left his most prized possession as collateral."
"The Beryl Coronet," Lily supplies, and Mr. Holder nods at her.
"Precisely. It's one of the most precious public possessions in the country — worth more than double the sum of the loan. I worried about leaving it at the bank to be stolen, by some of my employees or anyone who would happen to find out it was there, so to ease my mind I took it with me. I have a safe here, which I put my utmost faith in to hold all my most important possessions. So, I brought it here and I locked it up immediately, before I even went to dinner. Then, at dinner, I made the worst mistake of my life. I told my son Arthur, my daughter Adeline, and my daughter's friend Hayley what I had brought home with me."
Sherlock raises a brow. "Your daughter's friend?"
"Yes," Mr. Holder replies. "She lives with us, has for a few years now. Her home life was... well, I couldn't let her continue living there once I found out." Sherlock nods at this, indicating he understands and Mr. Holder can continue his story. "The three of them were there, and everybody else had gone home but two maids, who weren't in the room at the time. I told them I had brought it home, and Arthur asked where I put it, and I told him. He remarked that he hoped no one burgled the house that night, and I told him I locked it up in the safe.
"He then said something to tune of, 'Oh, any key could fit in that. I opened it once with the key to the spare room when I was little.' He often exaggerates when he speaks, so I didn't think anything of that. Then, that night, he asked for two thousand pounds. That wasn't a rare occurrence at all, either; he got in with the wrong crowd when he was teenager, and he only got worse. Truth be told, I don't know what to do with him. He's made no attempt to go out on his own, he has no occupation despite my offers for jobs within the business, and he wastes all the money he gets on gambling. He's asked me for money a number times, citing a number of reasons. And he has tried to get away from all that, but he keeps getting pulled back.
"I'd decided I wouldn't enable him any more, and I would give him no more chances. I told him no, and he told me he would have to find other means of getting the money if I didn't give him it — it was some debt he owed — but I told him no again, and he didn't press me any further than that and went to bed.
"That night, I checked on the coronet and went to bed, but I woke up at two in the morning because I'd heard a noise somewhere in the house. I couldn't tell where, or what, so I lay there for a minute, and then I heard footsteps in the room next to mine — my office, where my safe is. I got up and ran in, and I found Arthur standing there with the coronet in his hands, bending it like he was trying to break it in two."