The Last Holmes

Chapter four

Sherlock was in a room at the end of the corridor. His Belstaff was struggling to keep up as he darted in and out of various kitchen cupboards.

“I knew it!”

John laughed when he saw what his flatmate had uncovered but quickly stopped when he met the eyes of a disgruntled police officer. The officer shook his head in disgust and turned to leave, muttering something about disrespect for the dead. Clearly he’d never been on a case with Sherlock Holmes before. As John turned back to face his flatmate, all sober thoughts left his head as he once again chuckled at Sherlock’s findings. A large cupboard in the corner of the country kitchen was packed with treats. In particular, cakes. The shelves were lined with pretty much every kind of cake the world has to offer.

“I told you he’d cheated on his diet. He didn’t even bother with fruit cake.”

Sherlock was grinning and his eyes shone with victory. The man loved winning an argument, even after the other party could no longer defend their point. A victory was a victory and this was even more precious due to the fact that, in this case, Sherlock had been the underdog.

“Okay, now we’ve proved that your brother had a sweet tooth can we go check out the crime scene?”

Sherlock simply smirked in reply and brushed past John on his way to the stairs. John sighed, far too used to the sight of Sherlock’s back. They made their way to the master bedroom where Mycroft’s body had been found.

                                                                                *************

The bed in the centre of the room was quite magnificent and no doubt the focal point. The dark oak four-poster was somewhat of a beauty. But most of all it looked expensive enough to make sure John let out a low whistle. The rest of the room was no different. Cream flocked wallpaper adorned the walls and complimented the curtains, presently drawn tightly. The carpet was the colour of milky coffee and John’s shoes sank in the softness. Other than that, nothing particularly noteworthy was evident.

Greg Lestrade was standing by a door on the far side of the bedroom that supposedly led to the en-suite. He saw John lurking in the doorway and came to stand with him.

“So how’s he holding up?”

Lestrade tilted his head towards the detective at work. Sherlock seemed indifferent to the DI but, having known Mr Holmes for years; he thought that his brothers’ death might have affected him in some way, however slight.

“I’m not sure. This afternoon at Bart’s he basically had a meltdown but then he was totally fine. He’s as Sherlock as ever right now.”

“Right...”

Greg trailed off as he glanced and saw Sherlock glaring at the two of them. He always liked absolute silence as he worked.

“Sorry.”

At this the detective merely turned back to inspecting the carpet beside the bed and John and Lestrade rolled their eyes at one another. To keep from attracting attention, Greg spoke in a whisper.

“I see what you mean. He’s still just as much of a picky sod.”