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Mycroft sighed loudly. “Please, Sherlock, take the case.” He brushed dust from the arm of the chair distastefully.
“No, boring.” Sherlock replied without looking up from his microscope.
“John, talk some sense into him, please?”
John looked up from his paper. “Sherlock, you were complaining to Mary about being bored just this morning, so take the damn case.”
“Bored? I’m not bored. I’m studying the breakdown of tissue cells when exposed to different acids.”
“And that is a good use of your time, is it, brother mine?”
“Yes. It would be very useful if someone killed you and tried to dissolve your body in acid.”
“If you could perhaps tone down the look of excitement on your face at the prospect of me being murdered.”
“I am toning it down.”
“Hmm.”
There was a tentative knock at the door.
“John.” Sherlock waved his hand towards the door, continuing to stare down his microscope.
John sighed. “I’ll get it, shall I?”
Mycroft lifted the teacup from the table and wiped around the rim with his handkerchief before taking a sip.
“Hello. I’m looking for Sherlock Holmes.” The voice at the door said to John.
“Come in.”
Mycroft stood up suddenly at the sound of a woman's voice, putting his cup down with a clatter.
“You have sixty seconds to tell me why you are here. Don’t be boring.” Sherlock said from his microscope.
“What are you doing here?” Mycroft asked harshly.
“Mycroft?” The woman said, looking startled. “I didn’t know that you’d be here.”
“Why is it such a surprise? Me being in my brother’s home.”
Sherlock finally looked up from his microscope, he looked between his brother and the woman at the door. “Who are you?”
Mycroft resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his brother’s stupidity.
“I’m your mum.”
“No.” Sherlock looked back down at his microscope.
“Sherlock,” Mycroft began gently.
“What’s going on?” John looked confused.
“John, I would like to introduce you to Jennifer Evans. Our biological mother.”
“No.” Sherlock repeated, still at the microscope. “Egg donor would be a more appropriate description.”
“Sherlock?” Mycroft looked uncomfortable.
“What? I’m very busy so you,” he pointed at Mycroft, “go back to running the country, I will consider your case. You,” he pointed next to John, “go home to your wife and daughter. And you,” he waved his hand dismissively at their biological mother, “can do what you like, as long as it isn’t here.”
“Please, Sherlock, listen-“
“What could you possibly have to say that he would want to listen to.” Mycroft asked, trying to look as intimidating as possible.
She ignored Mycroft and instead turned back to Sherlock. “Sherlock, please, you’re my son.”
Mycroft bristled at the rejection, flushing in embarrassment at the sudden hurt he felt.
Sherlock stood up from the microscope, looking at the woman properly for the first time. He waved to Mycroft. “As is he.”
“Could we talk on our own?”
“Anything you want to say to me can be said in front my brother.”
“I’ve got a case for you, my husband is missing.”
Mycroft turned away, taking his phone from his pocket and typing quickly.
“Go to the police.”
“I have, they sent me away. They think he’s just left me.”
“Do you honestly think, for one second, that I would consider taking your case?” Sherlock said coolly.
“But I’m your mum.”
“No.” Rang out across the room again but it was Mycroft this time. “Our mother is Eleanor Holmes.”
“I never gave my permission for your adoption.”
“You had your parental rights removed. Your permission was unnecessary.” Mycroft fiddled with his phone while speaking.
“I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You left us.” Sherlock muttered angrily.
“And before then, you neglected us. You failed to send us to school, you failed to provide food for us and you failed to protect us. You failed to be a parent.” Mycroft’s phone beeped and he used the opportunity to calm down while looking at his phone. “He is staying at the Ibis Hotel, Birmingham Airport. With a Sonia Brown.”
“What?”
“Your husband, that’s where he is currently residing.”
“How did you-?”
“You have the answer to your question. Go.” Sherlock said, turning his back on her.
Mycroft also turned his back, gazing calmly out of the window.
“I think you should leave.” John said, taking her by the arm and leading her back through the door. He shut it behind her and looked back to the brothers. “Are you two ok?”
“Would you mind leaving us please John?” Sherlock said quietly.
“Ok, call me if you need anything.” John let himself out of the flat, shutting the door softly behind him.
“My?”
“You haven’t called me that in a long time.”
“I know.”
“She always liked you more than me. Everyone did.”
“I was under the impression that she didn’t like either of us.”
“Well, she disliked me more than you.”
“More fool her.”
Mycroft turned around, smiling slightly. “It doesn’t feel right, you being nice to me.”
“You’re my big brother, I’m not supposed to be nice to you.” Sherlock sat down in his chair, looking over at Mycroft
“No, quite right too.”
“How did you find out where he was so quickly?”
“How do you think?” He sat down in John’s old chair.
“Anthea? Or whatever he name is.”
“Obviously!” Mycroft said, a perfect impression of his brother.
“That’s mine.”
“Who do you think you learned it from?”
They sat silently for a moment, both gazing into space.
Sherlock looked up. “Are you upset?”
“Me? The Ice Man?”
“I know you better than that.”
“I know.”