Failing Upward

Chapter 11 (part 1): Knock, Knock

"My brother ruins everything!" Sherlock said, then swore as he struggled to pull up his jeans. I leaned into him, trying to balance on one foot. "I'd know that umbrella tap anywhere."

"Mycroft, " I said, mouth muffled against Sherlock's neck, and I gave it a parting kiss.

Of course it's Mycroft. It's not the police or, God forbid, Moriarty. I could imagine him hiding behind the door saying, "It's Moriarty and my roving band of axe murderers. Please open your door so we may hack you into pieces..."

While Sherlock quickly finished fastening his jeans, I reluctantly went to the door. A peep-hole would be handy, but since Sherlock always "knew" who was there, he'd never bothered. I clinked the chain on and braced my body against it. Legs locked, I opened and cautiously peeked out.

Hmm, it was Mycroft and two other gentlemen.

Standing protectively behind me, Sherlock rubbed my shoulders.

"You called," Mycroft said, stepping inside.

The two security men with dark suits and sunglasses loomed behind him. One was a goofy looking character, tall, painfully thin with a butch haircut and big ears. A real-life Barney Fife, sticking his thumbs in his suit pockets as he scowled and listened. All he was missing was the police uniform.

"Moriarty left," Sherlock said, waltzing over to window with a flourish. "No black SUVs on the streets other than yours . No suspicious-looking characters in the neighborhood other than you and your friends ..."

The men with him were obviously brought for our security. If they worked for Mycroft, their small-town appearance must be a disguise to blend in with the locals. All I heard as I gazed at the two was Andy Griffith whistling his theme song. I needed to stop watching Nick at Nite .

I always wondered how security personnel like Barney here identified a suspicious-looking character? What made one person look more suspicious than another? Lurking in bushes? Wearing dark sunglasses at night? Slinging semi-automatic rifles? Yes, these might be indicators. Even more intriguing, could things look suspicious?

Caller: Please send the police to my house immediately... the hide-a-bed... I think it might be concealing something.

Dispatch: Officer to 221 Baker Street, resident reports suspicious furniture.

"Well, little brother, I will leave my men to keep watch over you. One shall be out in front and the other at the back of the house. And do let Mrs. Hudson know. We wouldn't want her to shoot one of these men with that unlicensed handgun she keeps beside her bed."

"That was her dead husband's gun," Sherlock said, crossing his arms.

"Yes, we all know that story."

"I'll let Mrs. H know," I said.

"And what are your names?" I asked Mycroft's two assistants.

"They don't have names ," Sherlock said, "They have numbers ."

"They most certainly do have names," Mycroft snapped. "Barnum and Bailey."

"Like the circus?" I laughed.

"The joke is old," said the one who looked like Barney, shooting us an ineffectual snarl.

"To you, maybe," Sherlock smirked "To me, it's an epiphany! Proof of my brother's absurd choice of noms de guerre ."

"Yes, well, I'll leave my two men to watch over you from outside. I'll take the liberty of speaking to Mrs. Hudson before departing."

"Thank you for this, Mycroft," I said, since I damn well knew Sherlock wouldn't.