BBC Sherlock Holmes and the Nightshot Experiment (COMPLETE)

1. Family Ties

A gigantic wave of dirty water splashed up against the curb of the path, as the shiny black cab came abruptly to a stop. Hail crashed down onto Baker Street crashing onto the flooded pavement below. The night was drawing closer, a beast casting England into its shadow. Like an unmoving spectre Sherlock Holmes watched the scene from his living room window, casting his deep blue eyes over the familiar walkway. The scarlet shade over Mrs Hudson's cafe flailed in the wind. It was like watching an animal in distress. Slowly he turned around to his deserted living room. John's brown leather armchair sat alone and untouched in the corner of the lounge. To make it seem less empty Sherlock had placed a stack of about seven biology books on its soft surface, but that didn't seem to help at all.

He had often wondered how John Watson was getting along. He was not often in touch these days now he had Mary. Sherlock knew he shouldn't but he couldn't help but feel a little jealous of Mary. If it wasn't for him they wouldn't be together anyway! He fell onto the sofa and looked around the flat impatiently. He spotted his smooth black revolver, reflecting the dull light that the lamp post was letting seep through a crack in his curtains. Resisting the urge to shoot the wall He placed it back into his draw along with some of his more... secretive items.

Lestrade hadn't struggled with any cases recently and he had just about had it with silly "He said she said" cases. He had been solving nothing but these for the last month and with nothing else to do he regrettably accepted. Sherlock wanted the unusual cases, the ones that nobody else could solve with locked rooms and genius villains. Not stupid men and women coming in with complaints on their ex-wife/husband! Once he had got so bored that he had considered phoning Lestrade and asking if he could take one of his cases. He had immediately dismissed the idea, telling himself that there was a limit.

The cab that had briefly stopped outside 221b drove away. Sherlock could hear the banging of a damaged engine. The cabby would only just be able to make if five miles from the drenched street without the taxi breaking down. Maybe he could become a cabby? No, he was not going to play this game anymore. He wasn't going to spend another thought on the things he could be. He ruffled his dark hair and strode towards the dimly lit kitchen. He eyed the various specimens he had collected, and tried to figure out a suitable experiment. They were all lined up pickled in jars. Sherlock was particularly excited about some parts of a human brain that he had "borrowed" from the morgue. Carefully he uncapped them and a pungent stench wafted into the air yet he didn't recoil at the reek. The grotesque liquid dribbled down the edge of the jar as Sherlock placed it back on the granite kitchen top. He needed some ingredients.

Sherlock's hands rested on the cold silver handle of the refrigerator and swung it open. A violent ringing noise blasted out. It was the doorbell. He grimaced at the annoying little tune it was playing. "Mrs Hudson!" he shouted at the top of his voice but there was no reply. Vaguely he recalled her saying that she was off to the hospital. Something about a hip. Angrily he stomped down the wooden steps. "For God's sake I'm busy!" With nimble fingers he undid the many locks and flung the front door open. Mycroft was standing in the doorway, his umbrella loomed over his head casting his features in shadow. "What the hell are you doing here?" He shouted and left the door open so his brother could enter.

Nobody really knew what Mycroft did for a job. Sherlock himself was a bit unsure. Practically he was the British government. He certainly acted like he owned everything. Mycroft closed the door neatly behind him and unknowingly twisted the wooden umbrella stand so it was facing north. Mycroft didn't however place his umbrella into its twisted jaws. "Good afternoon brother mine" Mycroft pronounced every sound perfectly. His back stood ramrod straight, sticking his stomach in the air.

"I'm guessing the diet isn't going well brother mine?" Sherlock deduced not even looking at his senior. It wasn't a hard deduction. Mycroft would never be able to last a week without a cake or something of the sort. Sherlock needed danger and mystery. Mycroft needed cake. That was just how it worked. He was wearing a smart grey suit as he always was with a blue tie tied around his neck. He made no comment towards the diet and followed Sherlock to the cluttered lounge.

"I've come across a case that I believe would be right up your street dear brother" Mycroft stated proudly as he removed the books from John's chair and gracefully sat himself down. Appalled he looked around his brothers lodgings. Books lay open on the dusty floor and anonymous objects sat in every possible place they could find. Mycroft had discovered quite a long time ago that his brother’s habits spread like mould, however hard you cleaned and put away. Sherlock's face instantly lit up and his strait lips curved upwards. He instantly tried to hide his excitement however nothing was too quick for Mycroft Holmes. "Business not been well?"

"Well let's just stay it's slower than usual. The criminals of London are certainly taking their time" He spat. Doing his best not to reveal how annoyed he was that Mycroft had sat in John Watson's chair.

"You miss him don't you?" A large mischievous grin crept onto the middle aged man's face. "I warned you Sherlock. Yet you got involved and now look at you, lonely and board" Sherlock was immediately on the defence. He turned to face his brother and locked eyes with him.

"If you must know Mycroft I was in the middle of an experiment!" He did his best to hide the wounded sound in his voice. "I had everything ready!"

"You weren't in the middle of an experiment Sherlock, you were clearly about to start one. Shall we talk about this case?" It was quite a comedic scene seeing Mycroft and Sherlock in the same room. Mycroft had very little resemblance to the consulting detective. Not only was he seven years his elder but his face shape was also different, more rounded. His nose was large and stuck out a bit more than Sherlock's. They did have the same wandering eyes though, that took in everything they saw. Both brothers however would agree that Mycroft was the smarter one. Maybe not in front of each other. Sherlock nodded his head slowly and faced the wall. Mycroft then started to explain the situation.

"I was in my office yesterday as I often am. I had a little project that had been assigned to me by the Prime Minister. He had a troubling problem involving a series of letters that had been sent directly to his address. The letters contained death threats and five lines of information on three members of the secret service. Five days later they all died" Sherlock flicked his head round to look at his brother.

Slowly he made his way over to his chair and flopped into it not breaking contact with his sibling. "Interesting, very interesting!" His mind began to race. Threatening letters, three dead bodies and Mycroft had only just begun to talk. It must surely be Christmas!

"One of the dead man's wife had been missing for the last year. Joanna Granger I believe she was called. On the day after her husband was murdered she magically reappears at a farm to the south of here. Nobody has gotten a word of sense out of her since" Sherlock smiled. This was getting rather fun, now there was a mad person as well!

"Mycroft, even though I'm finding your monologue extremely entertaining could you skip to the bit when you have solved the crime but just can't be bothered to find any useful evidence?" At this Mycroft's face turned slightly red. He broke his brother’s gaze, took a deep breath and mumbled something as quietly as he could. "What was that?" Sherlock asked raising an eyebrow.

"I haven't solved it and I need your help!" He shouted then turned away in embarrassment as Sherlock laughed hilariously pointing his index finger at Mycroft. After a few minutes of this childish behaviour Sherlock calmed himself down and took a deep breath.

"Of course I will take the case Mycroft. I wouldn't miss this opportunity for anything!" A cheeky grin was still firmly planted on the consulting detectives face.

"Which opportunity, the one to work for the Prime minister?" Mycroft questioned as Sherlock grabbed his long black coat and wrapped it around his bed clothes and sea blue dressing gown. Fastening the smooth buttons with lightning speed.

"No Mycroft, the opportunity to outsmart you!" Like a child on Easter morning Sherlock removed his slippers and wedged his foot into his boots.

"You can't go out in your bed clothes Sherlock you look like an idiot!" Mycroft tried to hide his obvious humiliation. It had been a long time since he had asked his brother for help and he made a mental note never to do it again. He didn’t think he would be able to stand the cocky attitude of his younger sibling.

 "Ha! Says you!" Leaving Mycroft in his lounge he burst out of the doors and into the drenched street. It was just coming up to eleven O'clock and the hail showed no sign of stopping. The weather didn't bother Sherlock Holmes. He was concentrating on one thing. John. He now had a case so now he needed an assistant. And that assistant was always going to be John Hamish Watson.