Overflow Post II
This post is for responding to prompts from prompt posts that are full, or continuing WIPs that were started on prompt posts that have since filled up or are close to full.
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"He needs you, Doctor Holmes," The blond man said solemnly, "It's long overdue for him to have someone to watch his back."
Mycroft almost snorted, "Of all people, you've decided to trust me. How fascinating."
The man in the jumper held his stare for a moment before tapping his fingers rhythmically on the table. Not a second later, Irene entered the room and handed him a stacked-looking envelope.
"I care for Anderson, I really do. Unfortunately our relationship has always been on the complicated side. I'll appreciate your discretion upon this arrangement." The blond man left the envelope on the desk before rising up to his feet, preparing to leave. Irene whispered something to her wrist, and it apparently summoned a dozen men in black suit in to the far too cramped flat. Mycroft expected the men to carry the short blond man on some sort of pedestal for a grand exit, but it turned out they were just there to clean up after the tea party. It took them precisely three minutes, down the seconds, to return Mycroft's humble flat to its former condition.
"What do you want in return for the 'incentive'?" Mycroft asked before the blond man exited the room, eyeing the envelope.
"Don't worry, you don't need to write some bloody monthly reports or anything," he replied with a mysterious smile and closed the door with a wink.
Mycroft's phone chimed again.
XXX
An hour later, Mycroft found himself back in front of 221b Baker St. And apparently, so was the entire Scotland Yard, if the staggering number of police cars parked there was any indication. A taxi passed him by as he limped towards the front door to ring the bell. Mr. Hope opened it for him, looking somewhat distressed.
"Ah Doctor Holmes, here to see Anderson too?"
"I hope I didn't intrude on anything important, Mr. Hope," Mycroft nodded politely, "Did something happen?"
"Yes, but I'm not sure what exactly happened. I just hope Anderson isn't in some sort of trouble. They're all upstairs. Come on in."
XXX
"He finally got to you, didn't he," Sherlock scrunched up his face in distaste the moment Mycroft appeared in to view, "You've gained like two pounds since last time I saw you. That's what happens when you attend one of his tea parties."
Mycroft ignored the jab, observing the amazing state of disarray the normally tidy flat was. Every present officer (including Molly) seemed to be spread around every corner, searching for something. Anderson was nowhere to be found.
"Freak went downstairs just a few minutes ago," Sergeant Moran supplied helpfully, "I thought he was going to see if you've arrived. Been complaining about your absence."
Mycroft nodded absently, eyes glued on the open pink suitcase on the armchair.
"Why did you bring the dead woman's suitcase here?"
"The phone," Sherlock drawled, looking agitated, "We tracked it down using her email address on the internet, dying message was the name of her stillborn daughter which also happened to be the password for all of her online accounts. Anyhow, it's right here. 221 Baker Street. We have been turning the place upside down but it's nowhere to be found. GOD it's so frustrating!"
Mycroft turned back downstairs to find Mr. Hope hovering at the stairs.
"Mr. Hope, did you see Anderson going down here?"
"He went downstairs for a while earlier. There was this cabbie insisting that someone from this address ordered a taxi. I asked everyone but they all ignored me and kept arguing." Mr. Hope explained, "I thought he was just going to tell the taxi off and returned upstairs."
It didn't take long (it never did) for the doctor to put the pieces together at the revelation. Mycroft pressed a hand on his face in sheer frustration before limping back upstairs to announce the kidnapping case of Consulting Detective Anderson.
XXX
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