Fate Without Time

Chapter 19

 "Well, I've got good news and bad news. Which do you want first?" asked Mycroft as he was bandaging my left hand. "Bad news," I said. "The bad news is that you sprained your left hand when it hit the floor, so you're not going to be able to use it for a couple of days," he said. "What's the good news?" I asked. "You did get whiplash, but from what I can see, it isn't bad at all. I am going to put an ice pack on your neck for 20-30 minutes, or until the swelling goes down," he said as he tightened the bandages and put the ice pack on my neck. "Well, at least my injuries weren't too bad," I said. "You're very fortunate. Lean your head down, too. It'll help the swelling go down faster," he said. And as I did just that, Sherlock was sitting in his chair, plucking the strings on his violin. "Thanks, Mycroft. I really owe you one," I said. "You owe me nothing, Alis. You're under my protection. It's my job to make sure that you're okay," he said as he sat down in John's usual spot. "Right," I said. "Sherlock, I honestly think that you should take this assignment-" But before Mycroft could say anything else, John rushed into the room. Sherlock looked over at his flatmate. "John," he said. "I saw it on the telly. Are you two okay?" asked John. "Hmm? What? Oh, yeah. Fine. Gas leak, apparently," said Sherlock. "I sprained my left hand and got a minor case of whiplash, but other than that, just a couple scrapes and bruises. Mycroft took care of everything for me," I said, still not looking up. "Well, that's good," said John. Then, Sherlock turned back to his brother. "I can't," he said. ""Can't"?" Mycroft repeated. "The stuff I've got on is just too big. I can't spare the time," said Sherlock, obviously lying. "Never mind your usual trivia. This is of national importance," said Mycroft. Sherlock ignored him and was still plucking the violin strings. "How's the diet?" asked Sherlock. "Fine. Perhaps you can get through to him, John," said Mycroft, refusing to react to Sherlock's insult. "What?" asked John, looking over from where he was investigating the window damage. "I'm afraid my brother can be very intransigent," said Mycroft. "If you're so keen, why don't you investigate it?" asked Sherlock. "No-no-no-no-no. I can't possibly be away from the office for any length of time – not with the Korean elections so ..." Mycroft trailed off as Sherlock and John looked at him. Even I got a little curious at that comment. "Well, you don't need to know about that, do you? Besides, a case like this – it requires ... legwork," he continued. Sherlock mis-plucked one of his strings, an irritated look on his face. "How's Sarah, John? How was the lilo?" asked Sherlock. "Sofa, Sherlock. It was the sofa," said Mycroft, consulting his pocket watch and not even looking at John. "Mycroft's right. I didn't even have to look at John to figure that one out," I said. "Oh yes, of course," said Sherlock. "How ...? Oh, never mind," said John as he sat down on the coffee table. Mycroft smiled at John, then looking at me, motioning for me to lift my head up and to join the three of them. And I did just that, making sure that the ice pack was still in place as I sat down. "Sherlock's business seems to be booming since you three became... pals," said Mycroft. Sherlock threw a dark look at his brother, but Mycroft continued nonetheless. "What's he like to live with? Hellish, I imagine," said Mycroft. "I'm never bored," said John. "And as you can already tell, my deduction skills are getting better thanks to him," I said. "Good! That's good, isn't it?" asked Mycroft. Sherlock glared at him again as he stood up. He was going to offer the folder to Sherlock, but he glared at him stubbornly. So, he handed it to John instead, and I walked over to examine the folder with him. "Andrew West, known as Westie to his friends. A civil servant, found dead on the tracks at Battersea Station this morning with his head smashed in," said Mycroft. "Jumped in front of a train?" asked John. "Seems the logical assumption," said Mycroft. "But ...?" I asked, quirking a brief smile ""But"?" Mycroft repeated. "Well, you wouldn't be here if it was just an accident," I said. Sherlock, who was now applying rosin to his bow with a small cloth, smirked noisily. "The M.O.D. is working on a new missile defence system – the Bruce-Partington Programme, it's called. The plans for it were on a memory stick," said Mycroft. John and I snickered. "That wasn't very clever," said John. "Agreed," I said. Even Sherlock smiled in agreement. "It's not the only copy," Mycroft continued. "Oh," said John. "But it is secret. And missing," I deduced, turning to Mycroft for confirmation, who nodded with approval. "Top secret?" asked John. "Very. We think West must have taken the memory stick. We can't possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands," Mycroft paused as he turned back to Sherlock. "You've got to find those plans, Sherlock. Don't make me order you," he said. Sherlock raised the violin to his shoulder, ready to play. "I'd like to see you try," he said. After Mycroft whispered something to his brother, he walked back over to John and I. "Keep watching that neck, Alis," he said as we shook hands. "And what about my hand injury?" I asked. "I've left three rolls of fresh bandages for you on the counter. Keep a pack with you almost everywhere. You'll need to change out the bandages every 5 hours. And try not to use that hand too much," he said. "I'll do my best," I said. Then, Mycroft turned to John. "Goodbye, John. See you very soon," he said as they shook hands. And as he left, Sherlock was repeatedly playing a short and irritating melody on his violin. And I thought Sherlock's relationship with his brother couldn't be more irritating. Boy, I was so wrong.