Danger Nights

Chapter Two

Mycroft regained consciousness while John and Lestrade were positioning him face-up on the sofa with his feet elevated. He protested weakly, seeming embarrassed, until John reluctantly helped him sit up.

“I’m fine,” he said, although his waxy pallor suggested otherwise. “I’ve just had a very long and stressful day.”

“You don’t look fine. Your colour is terrible,” Lestrade told him. “John, is there any orange juice in the refrigerator?”

“I think it was all used as a vodka mixture tonight,” Sherlock admitted. “Even the batch I added the mold cultures to.”

Alexei declared, “Tea with lots of sugar will be sufficient.” He got out of his chair and headed for the kitchen. “I’ll get it.”

Mycroft rubbed his face. “How long was I unconscious?”

“Only a few minutes,” John said.

“Deplorable,” the elder Holmes muttered. “I apologize for my rather alarming reaction. As I stated, I’ve had an abnormally difficult day. I know that the cocaine didn’t belong to anyone living here. The moment I stepped through the front door it was apparent to me that someone had decided to witness London’s nightlife without leaving the flat.” He looked pointedly at Sherlock. “Guests to such events typically bring their own party favours.”

“It was for a case, Mycroft.”

“Yes, I suspected the usual.”

“We may have collected enough data to confirm that a woman was murdered.”

“I see. How did she supposedly die? From a drug overdose at a party where liquor was provided to minors?”

Sherlock scowled. “I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

Although Mycroft was scolding his brother with his usual condescending finesse, John could tell that he hadn’t rallied completely from his collapse. He kept blinking rapidly and taking quick, discreet breaths through his nose. Colour was slowly returning to his face, but a fine layer of sweat remained.

“I’m going back to the townhouse with you tonight,” John said, taking his hand. “Bed for you as soon as we arrive. Doctor’s orders.”

Mycroft managed to smile. “I don’t need a doctor, John. I just need you.”

Glancing toward the kitchen, where Alexei was unplugging the whistling electric kettle, John said in a low voice, “I’ll be in the bed too.”

Lestrade chuckled. Sherlock rolled his eyes and said, “Must you, John? Really?”

Although the younger Holmes accepted his only friend’s relationship with his brother, John knew that he was desperate to avoid reminders of its physical aspect. The doctor privately enjoyed dropping the occasional vivid hint whenever Sherlock misbehaved, and tonight had definitely been one of his more obnoxious moments.

“Tea for anyone else?” Alexei called. When everyone except Mycroft declined, he came into the living room with a single steaming mug. As he held it out to his father, he admitted, “It’s sweeter than you normally take it, but you need the sugar.”

Mycroft smiled weakly. “Thank you.” He took a sip. “So how did you enjoy your first teenaged rebellion?”

Alexei was really a teenager only in terms of age: Holmesian intelligence and years spent under the purview of a terrorist group called the Consortium had left him fourteen going on thirty. He and Mycroft related to each other more like equals than father and son. Curfews and other teenage-oriented restrictions were unnecessary where he was concerned, so Mycroft focused instead on guiding and protecting him.