The Labyrinth of Fragile things

Prologue

I stared back at my reflection as I looked into the mirror. My dark curls were neatly in place as a few strands tumbled down my pale skin. I fixed up the collar of my shirt, making myself presentable. Mycroft insisted that his servants helped dress me, but I refused. I wasn't incapable of dressing myself, no matter how many times he brought up the Buckingham Palace incident.

I turned my attention to the small suite that Mycroft let me stay in over the course of the week. It was simplistic, the colour scheme matching my temperament. The walls were painted over in ocean blue colours, reminding me of the stormy week that had previously passed. I also thought of John. He had blue eyes, although they were lighter than the colour of the walls. He was lighter, in every sense of the word.

I tore away any thought of John, and instead, thought of London. I hadn't set foot in London since the day I flung myself off the Reichenbach building, where I had faced Moriarty. He was a clever man, otherwise I wouldn't have bothered myself with him. I didn't expect him to change so much of my life, though. Over the last two years, I spent my time working with Mycroft and the English government, tracking down and destroying all of Moriarty's networks.

My train of thought was interrupted when Mycroft entered through the door. He advanced forward in his cream suit, swaying his body with each step. "Oh Brother, look how lovely you look when you make an effort to dress." His lips curled upwards. I assumed that was his attempt to smile.

"There's only so many ways you can rephrase that 'insult', Mycroft." I twisted the cuff on my left wrist, hoping he'd brought interesting news. He rolled his eyes, and took a breath of air. He was formulating a sentence, his eyes darting from the mirror to me. "Whatever you have to say, Mycroft, make it quick. I'm leaving for London soon, or has that escaped your brilliant mind as well as your words."

Mycroft titterted, and mumbled a "fine."

"In the past nine months... your companion John Watson has been missing."

I tore my gaze away from my cuff and stared at Mycroft intently. John was missing. The words took a moment to process, worry making itself a home in my mind. I blinked once, and stared at Mycroft blankly.

"How could John be missing? You said that you and the government would be keeping watch over London while I was gone." I remained calm, making sure that my voice remained at the same volume.

Mycroft nodded, remembering his words. "Yes, well, London wasn't our main priority. John wasn't much of a hazard, anyway."

"The police been doing anything?"

"When he first disappeared a case began, but they soon gave up. They put it to 'John wanting to have a change of scenery.'" A hearty laugh erupted from Mycroft.

"Useless," I mumbled. The police were never of any help. As the silence crept back into the room, a car pulled up in Mycroft's driveway. "That's my chauffeur back to London. Do keep yourself occupied while I'm gone, brother." My feet led me to the door, but before I could pull the knob, Mycroft spoke.

"Sherlock, don't put yourself in any unnecessary danger over John. I'm sure he's fine." I suspected that concern edged his voice. He was never fond of the idea of John and I becoming close. Good thing I never cared about what he wanted.

I made my way into the car and sat silently as the landscape washed over me. It was a relief to leave Mycroft's manner. I was returning home. I needed to get to know London again. Breathe it in. Every quiver of its beating heart.