Heartlessly Cursed

A Scandal In Pink

When Mycroft Holmes mounted the stairs up to his younger brother's flat, the last thing he thought he would see was the vision in front of him. It was, perhaps, the first time Mycroft could remember being speechless. He didn't even have the wherewithal to react when Greg Lestrade accidentally bumped into him and apologized softly. Both men stood, mouths gaping in an undignified manner.

Sherlock Holmes, genius and consulting detective, was having an argument with Mrs. Hudson's dog. Well, he was arguing at the animal anyway, and gesticulating wildly at the folders on the coffee table before him. There was a half-eaten sausage in one of the detective's elegant hands, and in the other, he was holding two books of poetry. The dog, John, was pacing back and forth in front of the table, growling in a frustrated way.

"Don't use that tone of growl with me, John!" Sherlock shouted. "I mean, really, who else but a drama queen would choose numerous works of Edgar Allan Poe as a codebook for drug running?"

John just snarled more loudly, planting one forepaw firmly on the edge of the coffee table and patting the other down on the medical reports lay out before him. Sherlock dropped the books he was holding onto the leather sofa with a loud slap. Pointing a finger at two photos of a poppy sitting on the table, the detective snapped, "She's a bloody dominatrix! You think someone who gives pain to people for a living doesn't have some kind of medical training?"

Since Lestrade seemed very busy trying to swallow his hand in order to stifle his laughter, it fell to Mycroft to gain his brother's attention. Clearing his throat loudly, the elder Holmes thumped his umbrella loudly against the floor as he entered the living room and sat down in one of the leather chairs. Lestrade took a little longer to collect himself before moving inside as well, pausing to give the old dog a fond rub to the head. After finishing his sausage and glaring at John, Sherlock flopped backwards onto the sofa and shouted for his landlady.

"Mrs. Hudson is out, I believe, Sherlock," Mycroft related, "seeing as her flat is locked up tight and all the lights are off."

Ignoring his brother, Sherlock shouted again, "Mrs. Hudson! Tea!"

The dog let out an exasperated huff and plodded his way into the kitchen, shaking himself from nose to tail. Greg watched him go with a fond smile on his face, which turned into a grimace as the silence of the room reached a deafening level. Did the brothers do nothing but glare at each other?

As neither man seemed willing to speak, Lestrade coughed and tossed the manila folder he was carrying onto the coffee table. "That's the finished file on Mr. Van Coon. I had Molly put a rush on all the chemical analyses so you could have them as soon as possible."

Without any show of gratitude, Sherlock flipped the folder open and started digging into the facts. He laid the folder out next to the other three, comparing the medical reports and humming when he noticed the similarities amongst them all. Not bothering to look at the men invading his space, Sherlock stood and began digging back into the books in the crate on his left.

"Can we please put your petulance to the side, Sherlock? Both Detective Inspector Lestrade and I have other places we need to be, you know."

"Yes, of course I know. Lestrade has a press conference in exactly four more hours, and you of course have that dinner engagement with the senior undersecretary. I don't know why you condescended to physically deliver the file on Ms. Adler, and to tell the truth I really don't care. Thank you, John."

Both Mycroft and Greg had to keep their eyes from falling out of their heads when the dog appeared at Sherlock's side with a platter of three steaming mugs of tea clenched in its jaws. John approached both men calmly, sitting and waiting until each man held his own mug of tea before walking back into the kitchen. Mycroft and Greg stared at the mugs in their hands before shrugging and taking their first sips. It was surprisingly good tea, and had been prepared with just enough milk and sugar to be drinkable. After a long moment filled with the sound of something lapping water in the kitchen, the dog returned and lay down right next to the stack of crates Sherlock was emptying.