Chapter Text
It was a quiet day at Baker Street. Nothing out of the ordinary at all.
"Bored!"
Yes, nothing out of the ordinary.
"You just had a case yesterday," John pointed out, his hands still working on mending a doily for Mrs Hudson. She had found out that John was quite skilled with needlework and asked if he could mend it, and since they weren't busy with anything, he agreed.
"Yes, but it was boring," Sherlock huffed. "Ugh, I'll just about accept anything as long as there's something to do."
The front door suddenly opened. Mycroft walked in and made himself comfortable in the armchair, and Sherlock had a fleeting look of instant regret on his face.
"What do you want?" Sherlock grumbled. "It's too early for a social call."
John looked down at his watch. "It's two in the afternoon."
"So?"
John sighed and turned towards Mycroft, putting the half-mended doily away. "Tea?"
"He's not staying long enough for tea," Sherlock said.
"That would be lovely," Mycroft said.
"Milk?" John asked and Mycroft shook his head.
"No need for tea!" Sherlock protested, but went ignored again. "Hmph, disrespected in my own home."
John worked in silence, the two brothers ignoring each other as he did. When he was done, he brought a tray with two cups over, placing one in front of Mycroft. John nudged Sherlock's legs off the sofa and sat down, placing the other cup of tea in front of himself.
"Where's mine?" Sherlock frowned.
"I thought you said there's no need for tea?"
Sherlock pouted and John didn't last even three seconds before he moved the cup of tea in front of him towards Sherlock. "That's yours."
"You give in too easily," Mycroft pointed out.
"Mind your own business," Sherlock sneered as he picked up his cup and drank his tea.
"So," John started, "is this a social call or is there a case?"
"You could say it's a social call, I suppose," Mycroft said. "Sherlock, you're overdue for a visit to Aunt Violet's."
"Violet? Isn't that your mother's name? You have an aunt with the same name?"
"Not biological," Sherlock said. "She was friends with Mummy when they were in school. Was it because of their shared names? Who knows, really."
Sherlock hummed. "Did she say when I should come visit?"
"No," Mycroft said, "but the sooner the better."
"Hm."
The urgency made it obvious it wasn't strictly a social call, but if Mycroft didn't tell him anything, it was likely something to watch out for, not solve. Or was Aunt Violet getting ill?
"Fine, I'll go over tomorrow."
"Don't you need to call ahead and make an appointment or something?" John asked.
"No," Sherlock said. "Aunt Violet rarely goes outside, always kept busy with the maintenance of the manor and the people in it. She'll be there when we get there."
Mycroft nodded. "Very well," he said. "I shall be in touch soon. Thank you for the tea, John."
Mycroft left and Sherlock lied back down on the sofa, staring at the ceiling as he thought. There was, of course, the chance that it could just be a suspicion on Mycroft's part and he was sending Sherlock to dismiss the suspicion, but it would be more helpful if he told him what the suspicion was.
In any case, he was sure he would figure it out when he went to see her.
"You never mentioned her," John said.
"Why would I mention her?" Sherlock frowned. "Do you randomly talk to me about your family friends too?"
"I suppose not," John said. "Tell me about her."
"What is there to say? You'll meet her tomorrow," Sherlock said.
"You like her."
"Well, she's not bad, I suppose. She has a good head on her shoulders. Have to, I suppose, since she took over the maintenance of Blackburn manor after her husband passed. Although..."
"Hm?"
"She once threatened to update her will and leave everything she has to me," Sherlock scrunched his nose in distaste. "Ugh."
"She's threatening you with money?"
"Please," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "She has four people constantly fighting for the inheritance, each of them believing they are entitled to more than the others. That's what she threatened me with. If I were her, I would have just hired you to take care of them and be done with it."
He frowned for a moment, then turned towards John, and John flatly said "no" before he could say anything.
"Worth a try," Sherlock shrugged.
"I suppose they can't all be like you and Mycroft."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Well, you have no interest in money, power, or fame, and he has an interest in keeping you comfortable and not in want of anything."
"Hm."
"I'm surprised you don't have a bodyguard or housekeeper before me, considering what you do and how you live."
"Boring."
"What is?"
"The lot of them."
John laughed. "Right," he said. "Well then, I look forward to meeting her."
The next morning, they left for the Blackburn manor just after breakfast. They had considered borrowing one of Mycroft's cars but in the end decided to take a cab there. It was still quite early, so there wasn't much traffic and they arrived at their destination relatively quickly.
After paying the cabbie, they made their way to the manor. It was big, but it was quite plainly-decorated; there were no ornamental statues or wall decorations on the outside, although it was obviously that the building was well-kept. The paint still looked fresh with no water or mold stains.
As they approached, they saw a maid working in the front yard, sweeping the dead leaves.
“Good morning, Anna,” Sherlock greeted.
The maid looked up to see who called her and beamed when she saw Sherlock.
“Mister Holmes!” she greeted cheerily, grasping tightly onto the broom handle. “The madam is not at home right now but please do wait a bit. I shall go fetch her for you. Ah, who is this with you?”
“There’s no rush,” Sherlock said. "And this is John Watson."
"I didn't know you have taken a lover, sir," Anna said cheerily. "Madam will be pleased."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "We live together," he said. "And Aunt Violet needs a better hobby than to gossip about our lack of love lives."
Anna nodded, her grin remained, and it reminded John of Wiggins'. He had a feeling she didn't believe him, but they didn't bother correcting her again.
"Well, please follow me to the sitting room. I shall go to fetch the madam right after," she said, beaming as she did. "The madam is always happier whenever any of you Holmeses visit. I’m sure she would want to see you as soon as she can too.”
She put the broom down and led them inside into the main hall. As she was walking towards one of the side rooms, a gunshot rang out, slightly muffled due to the distance. When they heard it, John had pulled Sherlock down and covered him, away from the direction the sound was coming, but then relaxed and walked over towards the window to check if he could see anything.
"Is there anyone you know over there?" he asked, motioning at the low hill in front of them.
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Anna said as she waved her hand. “There’s a woods nearby and we get hunters around often.”
"That wasn't his question," Sherlock frowned. "Is there anyone you know over there?"
Anna looked at him in surprise. "The--the madam and Alfred are having a picnic there," she said. "There's a clearing in the woods near a stream and that's where they usually go picnicking."
"Usually," Sherlock mused.
"Is something wrong?" Anna asked, now worried.
“Yes,” John said. “That wasn’t the sound of a hunting rifle. It’s likely that someone has been shot at.”
Anna gasped in shock. "Oh no!" she panicked. "Shall I call for an ambulance?"
"Let's go check if anyone's been shot," John said. "And hope that it missed its target."
Anna clenched and unclenched her hands on her apron, anxious and fearful. John felt bad for causing her panic, but the sooner they went to check, the better. She led them towards the clearing in the woods where Violet and Alfred usually went picnicking, and John was impressed by how fast she could run in her long skirt.
They went up over the hill and back down through the woods, towards a clearing nearby a stream. When they got to the clearing, they could see a woman lying on the ground, while a man was standing over her, grasping tightly onto a scarf, and looking around.
"Mister Williams!" Anna called out.
The man, Alfred, looked at them in surprise. “Why are you here?”
“We heard the gunshot and Mister Watson said someone might have gotten shot,” Anna said. “Oh no… what happened to Madam Violet?”
Before Alfred could say anything, Sherlock pulled his fist back to punch him. John grabbed his wrist and held it back.
“Let me go.”
John shook his head. “You’re going to hurt your hand.”
Before Sherlock could protest, John turned to Alfred and punched his jaw hard, knocking him out. As he fell down onto the ground in a crumpled heap, John turned towards Anna. “Call the police, quickly!”
“Y-yes, sir!” Anna squeaked and ran back to the manor to call the police.
Meanwhile, Sherlock sat on the ground near Violet, gently closing her eyes.
"Seems like the butler did it again," John sighed. He nudged Alfred out of the way with his foot so he could sit down next to Sherlock.
John pulled the taller man into a hug, slowly stroking Sherlock's hair, scratching and massaging his scalp in hopes of distracting him and preventing his thoughts from spiraling. While Sherlock had seen a lot of murders before, it was always after the fact and he focused on the puzzle aspect of solving it.
This time they had basically caught Alfred in the act, and the victim was someone he personally knew. He had no doubt that Sherlock would be wondering if they could have prevented it if they had arrived just a tad earlier.
They heard rushed footsteps coming towards them. Sherlock pulled away from John and they both stood back up.
“Here they come now,” he sneered. "I wonder if they'll even be able to shed a fake tear."
A group of people arrived in the clearing, led by Anna. Sherlock pointed out the four people fighting for inheritance; Harrison and Eleanor, the late Sir Blackburn’s children, Theodore, Violet’s son from a previous marriage, and Florence, Violet’s unmarried older sister. He also mentioned that Alfred had served Violet from her previous marriage, and followed her to the Blackburn estate, much like Theodore.
John noted that none of them looked particularly heartbroken or distressed from what happened to Violet. Even Sherlock and Anna were more shaken than them.
He could also hear Harrison and Eleanor whisper to each other about their inheritance. No wonder Violet was happier whenever the Holmeses visited.
"Huh," Florence sneered as she looked down at both bodies on the ground. "I would send you for Alfred to take care of this, but it seems there's no need for it."
"Oh, Madam," Anna said regretfully, hovering near Violet, her hands again clenching and unclenching on her apron. She wanted to do something to preserve the dignity of her employer, but wasn't sure what she was allowed to do before the police arrived.
"Do you two want to head back to the main house?" John asked Sherlock and Anna, his tone softer than usual as if to not spook them. "I can stay here to wait for the police."
Anna clenched her apron again, her knuckles whitening, and slowly, she shook her head. "No," she said. "I will stay here to look after Madam. I'm a witness too, so I will stay."
"Thank you, Anna," Sherlock said. "She was lucky to have you."
"You as well, Mister Holmes," Anna said, patting his arm. "I'm glad she had all of you, at least."
The three stood together, ignoring the other four who were still bickering over inheritance and who would be in charge of Blackburn estate. The police arrived not long after and were led to the clearing by another maid.
Alfred was arrested for Violet's murder. His cuffs were damp from washing his hands in the stream, trying to wash off the residue, and he was found with the gun still on his person. He had been relying on the fact that the staff would assume it was a hunter and not check on them until he pretended to make a fuss and report Violet's death to them. John realising it wasn't a hunter threw a wrench in his plans as he was caught while still trying to doctor the crime scene and before he had the chance to throw the gun away.
“When we found him, he wasn’t trying to help,” Sherlock said. “He was trying to plant that scarf nearby, likely to incriminate someone else.”
“Hey, that’s mine!” Theodore exclaimed in surprise.
The police thanked them and left with Alfred. Since it was an open and shut case, they left the matter of Violet's funeral and burial to the people at the estate.
“I told her repeatedly not to trust that man,” Florence sneered. “Two failures and she still thought she could pick out a good man.”
Sherlock glared at her. “Shut your mouth.”
"I would advise you not to trust your own too much either, Mister Holmes," Florence said as she glanced over at John, who was standing protectively just half a step behind Sherlock's right.
"I do not care much for unsolicited advice, Miss Herringford," Sherlock said coolly.
"Violet never did either," Florence continued. "And I suppose I do not need to remind you how that ended for her."
Sherlock stormed off, glaring as he strode past Florence and towards the main road, and John followed him closely, keeping pace right beside him.
"It is unfortunate that money is the root of all evil," John mused. "It must be hard to be wary of people who are after your money. Not saying that I am, of course."
"What money?" Sherlock huffed. "We pay for everything with Mycroft's card."
"I suppose we do," John hummed.
"And it's not like you'll know what to do with all that money either," Sherlock added. "Nothing but simple tastes, isn't it?"
"Hm, most of the money is spent on the keeping of my one really expensive taste," John agreed. "And I have grown to be quite fond of you, Mister Holmes."
"Did you just notice that?" Sherlock snarked. "I could have told you that."
He stomped off, walking even faster, and John could only sigh and shake his head.
"Always so dramatic," he mused. "What a brat."
John caught up with Sherlock again just as he had hailed a cab. The ride back home was quiet. It wasn't quite tense, but John figured he should give Sherlock some time and space until he was ready to talk again.
Sherlock was still quiet when they arrived home, so John busied himself with cleaning and tidying the flat. It was as he was dusting the bookshelf that SHerlock finally spoke.
"She's just bitter that even with all the money she supposedly controls, no one is interested in her."
Ah, he must be talking about Florence and her envy towards Violet.
"Hm. But isn't it worse to be approached only because of your money?"
Sherlock shrugged. "I wouldn't know."
"I hope you wouldn't find out."
"You hope, Doctor Watson?"
Sherlock stared out the window, looking but not watching. The dark clouds were rolling in and he sighed. He didn't hear the footsteps, but he could sense John's presence, warm and reassuring, behind him.
"I will make sure you never find out."
"Of course," Sherlock hummed. "You are a professional, after all."
John frowned, trying to figure out what Sherlock meant, then his eyes widened in realisation.
"Sherlock..."
Violet had been shot from the front. It was highly likely that she knew who killed her and that Alfred had somehow found out about the update on her will.
It must have been an ugly feeling; realising that someone you thought you could trust, who had been with you all these years and through two marriages, would be blinded by money, enough to kill you. Was it perhaps a mercy that he showed his true colours to her before her death? Or would it have been more merciful to let her be ignorant of his evil?
"Oh sweetheart," John cooed softly as he took Sherlock's hand and pulled the other man back slightly, so that Sherlock's back rested against his front. "I'm so sorry."
For all his callousness, Sherlock did care. Perhaps not everyone, and not even a lot of people, but he did care, or at least he respected Violet enough and held her in a higher regard than others. He respected her intelligence and her resilience in the face of all that fight over inheritance when she was nowhere near dying of old age.
It was truly a pity that when she thought she could learn to love again, she was betrayed by the very man she trusted.
He led Sherlock back towards the sofa, pushing him down and pulling his legs up to rest his feet on the armrest, then he went to the kitchen to make some tea, leaving the other with his thoughts.
"John."
"Are you feeling better?" John asked, setting a cup down on the coffee table.
"Hm."
"Drink your tea," John said softly. "Maybe you'll feel better."
Sherlock stared at John, then looked back at the ceiling again. "I'm sorry."
"It's alright," John said. "I understand."
"But I already knew you wouldn't. Logically. I said it myself."
"I know, Sherlock," John said, reaching out to stroke Sherlock's hair. "I know. It's alright."
After a while, Sherlock finally sat up on the sofa and grabbed the cup of tea, sipping from it slowly.
"Good?"
"Hm."
The door swung open and Mycroft walked in, looking exhausted. He settled down in the armchair and sighed.
“You heard about it?” John asked.
“Of course,” Mycroft said. “I just got off a call with Mummy to tell her what happened to Aunt Violet.”
He looked over to Sherlock and sighed again. “I’m sorry.”
“Please,” Sherlock scoffed. “I know you like to think you’re omniscient, but you’re not a clairvoyant.”
“You’re right,” Mycroft conceded. “But I’m still sorry. I should have told you everything from the start.”
“You’re suspecting a murder?” John asked.
“... I was hoping there wouldn’t be one.”
Sherlock glared at him. “What is it then?”
“I didn’t lie about the social call,” Mycroft said as he tapped the armrest in thought. “Last time I visited her, Aunt Violet mentioned that she hadn’t seen you in a long while. It just happened to coincide nicely with a need to investigate the butler.”
“We are aware of her creating a new will, of course,” he continued. “And I had a suspicion that the butler was in the solicitor's office with her. I’m not sure whether he knew for sure that she updated it to leave everything to him, or if he guessed that she did. I sent you there in hopes you would tell me if he started acting strangely or if he could be trusted. I suppose I didn’t expect him to act that quickly.”
John returned from the kitchen and set a cup of tea down in front of Mycroft.
“You two,” he sighed as he shook his head. “I’m sorry it happened, but you can’t blame yourself for what that man did. He’s right; you’re not a clairvoyant. All you can do now is make sure he suffers for what he did.”
Mycroft’s lips twitched into a smile. “Yes,” he said. “I will make sure of that.”
“Drink your tea,” John said. “I put a little sugar in. Maybe it’ll make you feel better. You too, Sherlock. Drink your tea before it gets cold.”
For once, the Holmes brothers listened to him without protest, and John made sure to remember this moment for posterity. It was unfortunate that it happened after a tragedy, so he couldn't bring it up in the future.
Mycroft left after he finished the tea, thanking John and promising Sherlock that Alfred would be dealt with appropriately.
"It's a pity that we didn't get to enjoy the tea back at the estate," John mused. "But speaking of tea..."
Sherlock groaned, placing the cup back down and throwing himself back against the sofa. "Where did you even meet Molly?"
John snorted. Back to his dramatics again, hopefully that meant he was feeling better.
"I take it that she's been asking you about the tea for a while, then?"
"If I accept now, she'll know to go to you next time and I don't want to set a precedence."
"It's free, fancy food," John shrugged. "Thought it would be something you're interested in, posh finger food and fancy tea in miniature sizes."
"They use normal-sized tea cups."
"Just go. Poor girl has been wanting to go out with you for a while, and I don't think I've seen you go anywhere with her since we met."
"Fine."