Wonder boy (A Sherlock love story)

Mystery misters

~~~In California~~~

"You WHAT?" Brenda questioned her sister, almost choking on her Chai tea.

"I told you. But here." Jacqueline reached into her purse and grabbed the letter she'd been given. She brushed it off and handed it to Brenda, who ripped it open like an impatient child. Her eyes tore through the letter hungrily while Jacqueline tried to find a way to stomach her second Philadelphia roll.

"This is crazy. This Mycroft guy, he wants you to just leave?"

"That's what it seems like. I mean, I don't believe it either, but I'm supposed to be working with this detective guy who missed a clue or something."

"So it's his fault?" Jacqueline reached over her food to grab Brenda's tea. Taking a moment to drink some, she sighed.

"I think so." Leaning back in her chair, she allowed Brenda to take back her tea and attempt to chug it.

"I can tell he's gonna have an earful."

"From his superiors? I hope so."

"From you." Brenda joked. "He's messing up your perfect, feng shui schedule." They both giggled at this. Afterwards, there was total silence, aside from the regular chitter-chatter of the rest of the restaurant. They knew she had to leave at the end of the week, and the truth was, neither of them were ready for it. "Skype me. Call me every day. Every hour. Three times an hour." Brenda suddenly urged. Jacqueline laughed.

"You know, I'd love to, but you still have a job to do." She protested jokingly.

"Okay... You're right. But seriously... Facetime?" Brenda asked as if expecting a 'no'.

"Yes, Bren. I'll call you in the morning, at lunch, and at night if that makes you happy."

"Yes, ma'am. Yes it does. So... we haven't discussed the possibilities that you may face over there."

"Such as..." Jacqueline trailed off in wonder.

"Such as... Your possibilities with this detective." Jacqueline scoffed at her sister's implication. "Oh, come on! You have absolutely no idea who he is! What he looks like!"

"Exactly. What if he's some short, bald, little creep who takes pleasure in finding dead bodies and stuff? Like Renfield. A slave to the night?" She mocked, referencing their favorite tale of all time.

"But what if he's not? What if he's actually like... Hot? Look at this." She shoved the paper in Jacqueline's face. "'Our best detective, SH'. He sounds so mysterious. Who's so secretive that they can't even disclose his name to someone he's supposed to be working with?"

"He sounds like an idiot." Jacqueline announced unenthusiastically. "Considering that if he had've gotten it right the first time, I could've been home free."

"Earful..." Brenda sipped her tea. Her sister rolled her eyes. "So we bet?" Jacqueline sighed.

"Deal." She threw her hand over the table and lifted her pinky to Brenda. "If he's hot or whatever, you win. If he's a complete catastrophe, I take the point." Brenda linked her pinky with Jacqueline's.

"Deal. Winner/loser terms?"

"Loser pays for everything in the dealer's room at the next con." Jacqueline smirked, knowing that they both loved to totally splurge when it came to buying things at conventions.

"Ugh." Brenda scoffed and then smiled arrogantly. "Winner takes the spoils of the next con, and gets mister mystery. Well, providing I win."

"Deal." They said in unison. They proceeded to shake their pinkies, grab hands, let go to form a fist, and come back to bump forearms. They both snapped. The deal was now cast into effect.

"Let's actually hope you win. I'm the only one working with the guy." They both laughed. Not long after, they finished their lunches, and went their separate ways. They still had more than three days ahead of them, but preparation for Jacqueline's trip began now.

~~~In London~~~

"A new flatmate?" John inquired, shocked.

"No. I don't need one. I only have enough tolerance to live with one normal person. Two would just weigh me down." Sherlock admitted. John glanced briefly at his friend before returning his eyes to Mycroft. "I was referring to Mrs. Hudson, if you were confused." John nodded slowly. Rolling his eyes, Mycroft countered.

"Well, Sherlock. Had you solved the case when it was first given to you,-"

"-I did."

"...you'd not have needed to even know your new partner existed." He continued, annoyedly, "But until you have successfully completed the case for the second time, my suggestion is that the three of you eat the same food, breath the same air, know the same people, and share the same thoughts. Maximum efficiency in mind." Mycroft added. Sherlock glared at his brother, unable to find proper words of his discontent.

"File." He could only mumble.

"Excuse me?" Mycroft questioned.

"File. On my so-called partner. I need to know who I'm dealing with. So give me the file or get out."

Mycroft laughed at Sherlock's behaviour. 'Like a child' he thought. 'Like he was.'

"I'm afraid if it's the files you're looking for, you'll have to wait until they arrive. If you'd like, you could escort them from the airport. In fact, that would be nice. Let's do that."

"Airport? Where is he from?" Sherlock growled.

"Your new partner is American. I thought you'd have figured that out by now." Mycroft chuckled.

"And why is that, Mycroft?"

"Well, there's no one here 'worthy' of your intellect," Mycroft air quoted, "So I followed some less local recommendations. I do hope you'll get along."

"Get out." Sherlock bit. "Shut up and go home. John, show him out." John was about to protest, but Sherlock padded over to sit on the couch and assume his famous thinking position, hands out in front of him, fingers spread. John figured there was no use for protest now and slapped down his newspaper. As soon as John got up, Mycroft waved his hand to him and wiped his mouth. The entire time, his eyes never leaving his younger brother.

"No need. I know where the door is. But do tell him when he comes to, that the name of the American is Flourence. J. Flourence. Additionally, tell him to be at the airport at 9:30 am on Saturday to receive them." With that, Mycroft made his way towards the door and let himself out, just as he'd let himself in.

"Well- You have a pleasant evening as well, Mycroft. Thank you." John shouted at the door, just as it slammed. He stood, fixed to his spot beside his chair. A new flatmate... How would that play out? Hopefully this guy would be slightly more amiable than Sherlock, if at all. He stared at Sherlock for a moment, and then went to fix himself a cuppa.