A Network of Love

The ones who never speak

Part 2

"What do you want us to do this time?" I ask and stand up. I hate to be looked down on, I am already small, but there is no need to make myself even smaller by sitting in that armchair. Sherlock musters me, surely he knows why I did it, and Mycroft will know too then. I sigh inwardly. Why should I even bother to do anything when it is immediately seen through by the Holmes brothers? "So, what is it now that you need our help for?" Sherlock questions Mycroft, whereas repeating my question and signaling that they really had been looking into my thoughts. "It's about two people. Terrorists, to be specific" he comes directly to the point, which is unusual, he loves to have us hanging on his words. He must be in a hurry. Mycroft hands each of us a folder with the files of the criminals. Mine contains a picture of a rather bulky man with a bald head called Karl Trohm. I flick through his data and the pictures of him stepping out of a truck. Behind him you can see a box with the letters"TNT" burned on it. "Isn't that matter for the... secret services?" Sherlock asks as he frowns while he goes through his own file. I know that he expected something different, like drug dealers or smugglers. I had, too. "The man in the file of John, Karl Trohm, recently smuggled a truck load full of explosives into London, on order of the woman in Sherlock's file, Nancy Jackman." "Track them" Sherlock interrupts him. "Send someone to watch them, follow their communications. You as the British government have access to all these things, don't you?" Sherlock scoffs. Mycroft continues as if he hasn't heard him. "But since they are in London all the communications have stopped. No emails, no letters, no phone calls, no direct messages. No arranged meetings." He looks at us with raised eyebrows and sighs. I know Mycroft doesn't like to come to us with this; upholding his superior aura is one of his most important achievement when he is with us. He is the British government after all. "Now, that sounds more interesting, terrorists who never meet. Have they delivered explosives to each other yet?" Sherlock leaps into the conversation. "Yes, but only small amounts" Mycroft raises his eyebrows at his little brother. "What exactly do you want us to do?" Sherlock wants to know, getting impatient. The thrill of some action is getting to him again; I can see the smile lingering around the corners of his mouth. "Track them, find out where the bombs are going to explode and when exactly and inform us, so that we can catch them in the act" Mycroft instructs. The message is clear- get the information but leave the important stuff to the big boys- or brother in this case. I see Sherlock narrowing his eyes and know exactly that from this moment on, he will do anything to prove his brother that he could do it alone, with me. "Any more questions?" he asks a little too polite. To him, all the matters have been discussed, and Sherlock puts away his folder and answers, "No, that is quite more information than you give us usually". So it is only me again, that doesn't grasp how on earth we are going to find out when the bombs are going to be set off. After the older brother leaves, I am curious about Sherlock's thoughts. "Do you have any idea how they communicate? Because they have to talk, they have to discuss when and where they drop the drugs off!" "I have seven ideas so far" Sherlock answers, he seems to be deep in thought and falls into his chair. "What are you doing?" I ask and frown at him. "What? Why?" he looks at me confused. "Well, I thought we are going to track the terrorists." I put my hands on my waist. "Oh, yes. You go ahead, I'll be right behind you" he murmurs distractedly. I scoff. How can a man like Sherlock be so lazy, but still find the time to learn 243 sorts of tobacco ashes and have such a fit and obviously trained body? He looks so good in his dark shirts, they emphasize his athletic figure. I shake my head. Why am I thinking such things? Two seconds before I was angry at him for his laziness, and just from looking at him all I can think about is how good he looks. In fact, now that I think of it, in the past few weeks I have often caught myself watching him, or thinking of him when I should be doing something else. He is constantly in my head, as if he is the centre of my world. Is it possible that I could actually... have feelings for Sherlock Holmes? No, I think strictly to myself, he is your best friend and I will never let any feeling, no matter how strong, change that fact. My head feels fuzzy; I need some fresh air to clear it. So I grab my jacket, which hangs next to Sherlock's trench coat, which makes him look taller than he really is but also very good-looking... And here I am doing it again. I put on my jacket quickly, but I turn as I hear Sherlock's voice asking me where I am going. I tell him that I want to check out where the drug-dealers live and look around a little. "Bring some food" are his words of good-bye as I close the door behind me.