Book I : Fantàsticque :: The Estranged Trilogie ::: A Sherlock Fanfiction

I. Trouser Wrinkles

One "Goodbye, Mycroft" and a door slam later, Sherlock Holmes was drawing high notes from his violin and a "Was that really necessary!" could be heard from blogger and dear friend, John Watson.

"You know it was necessary, John. Otherwise he would not go away and that would make our day significantly more boring, sitting here and listening to him talk. You would think he had other things to do than to come down here and blabber about traumatized government officials!" Clear irritation was growing in his voice with every word until he was practically yelling. Sherlock violently pulled his bow across a note so high that its eminent shriek still rang in Dr. Watson's ears afterwards.

"Wha- how do you know that it was a traumatized government official? You didn't even let your brother speak!"

Sherlock set his violin and bow down and jumped up, hands clasped behind his straight back.

"Obvious, wasn't it obvious?" John shook his head at the man in front of him with an exasperated look on his face. "Aberrant wrinkles on his trouser leg and blazer. Mycroft is a painstakingly neat and tidy person and never leaves the house without fresh ironed trousers and a dusted jacket. When he walked into this room fifteen minutes ago, he was tugging up on the belt of his trousers and repeating that action several times throughout our argument; obviously, he was attempting to alleviate the balance and erase significant signs of wrinkles which were on his left leg and note that Mycroft commonly sits to the left of the door to which only government officials have direct access to and the grapple marks were on his left side.  There were arched folds on the same side he had tugged and also crinkles at the end of those folds, suggesting that someone had run up to him and on their knees, grappled onto his trousers and begged for help. Only a government official that obviously knows Mycroft would have the audacity to physically contact Mycroft, ruling out idiotic civilians. And now he thinks he needs help which Mycroft is having me give." Sherlock ended with emphasis and a self-fulfilled grin and also an air of disgust at the thought of helping his brother.

John stared at his dark-haired friend for a while before replying, "Alright, but you could've helped since you have nothing better to do."

Breaking the momentary silence, Sherlock's mobile began ringing its drastically annoying monotone sound. He looked down at his friend, smiling smugly.

"Now I do." He flung on his coat and tied his scarf and said with a single dramatic turn, "Are you coming?"

Mr. Holmes threw John his still-ringing mobile and strode confidently out of the door with Doctor Watson struggling to get his coat on.

"And phone Lestrade while you're at it!"