Chapter Text
“There are people we can get into this,” Mycroft said,
Irene Adler, professionally known as the Woman, was obvious. In this case, the only problem was that the people that were solving it were men. If you were to give it to a woman, this mess would be solved a long time ago.
Half a year later, the Holmes men were absolutely stumped at what to do. What a sight, however, it’s probably best to end their misery, if Sherlock doesn’t solve it that is.
“Nicely played,” Mycroft said, Sherlock answered, “No,”
This time you decide to step in.
“There is no need for that, Mycroft,” you entered, surprising the three. His hands drop the hold on the envelope to the table, “Your brother finally has it right,”
“Sorry? No?” Irene said, Sherlock answered, “I said no. Very, very close but no, and who’s this?”
“Someone who is rather fed up at her favorite men getting played,” you informed, standing by Mycroft’s side, “Go on, Sherlock, make your deductions,”
William Sherlock Scott Holmes, Sherlock, your husband’s annoying little brother rambled off about how the Woman enjoyed the thrill of the chase, developing sentiment taken through her pulse point. Her pupils dilated, pulse quickened at the short distance between them.
“I always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage,” he typed in the final letters, “Thank you for the final proof,”
I am S H E R L O C K E D.
“There you are, brother,” he surrendered the phone to Mycroft, “I hope the contents may make up for any inconvenience I may have caused you tonight,”
“I’m certain they will,” Mycroft assured. His brother started to stare out the window, “If you’re feeling kind, lock her up otherwise let her go,”
It wasn’t long until someone escorted the woman away leaving you to the Holmes men.
“I thought he wouldn’t get it,” you addressed Mycroft, sitting on an armchair to stare at the fire, “Then again if he knew where to look for the safe code, he would get it eventually,”
“And, you did?” Mycroft asked, burning the envelope the Woman gave, and stood behind you, “Since when?”
“Once you informed me of the phone,” you shrugged, “There are times that women are affected by their fascinations. Sherlock was obviously the Woman’s, otherwise, she wouldn’t have engaged in the first place. She wanted to see how far she could get pulling both your strings. God, did she string you along. Furthermore, four of the letters in his name coincide with the word LOCKED. The psychology of women, gentlemen, the most obvious is sometimes the most overlooked.”
“Who are you?” in fascination, Sherlock stared.
“Do make a deduction, Mr. Holmes,” you offered, standing up to give him a better view, “What can you infer about me? Oh, I heard you’re quite famous for that,”
His eyes quickly take a once over you. To the way you did your hair, makeup, and casual clothes. Your husband, Mycroft, a good distance away from you so that he could assess his approach.
“On your dominant hand, your middle finger is calloused from the way you hold your pen, suggesting office worker. In a high position, by the value of your shoes. Your makeup suggests you like to be presentable but not elaborate or gaudy. Your clothes are clean except for a few loose strands of hair. No pets. Your engagement and wedding rings, shiny and clean, happily married then. Your husband is successful in their career by the size of that diamond and…”
His ramble paused. His eyes meeting yours, you give a casual curious gaze. His senses were on overdrive, recognizing the particular scent of leather of a car that often escorted him to his brother.
“No, that’s not possible,” Sherlock withdrew, “Has my brother found himself a goldfish?”
“No,” Mycroft defended. His ring shines in the firelight as he faces his brother, “I did, however, find a pearl in the sea of goldfish, naturally, you keep and take care of it.”
“How long has that taken him?” you asked Mycroft, behind you, “A minute?”
“Yes, it was in fact a good minute,” Mycroft confirmed, as he went by your side, “Though, I do wonder why you decided to reveal yourself, my dear,”
“It’s been years and he hasn’t figured it out,” you stated the fact, to the younger Holmes surprise, “I’m quite tired of being kept a secret from him,”
“Years?” Sherlock commented, “I never knew the Iceman could melt,”
“He thaws from time to time,” you turned to Mycroft who rolled his eyes, “Are you finished? I’d like to turn in before the sun comes out, ensures at least one of us gets sleep.”
“We are finished,” Mycroft said, turning toward the door, a hand stretched out to you, “Do us a reprieve, brother mine, don’t take cases in the weekend. You don’t know what it does to our schedule,”
“It’s nice to meet you, Sherlock Holmes,” your smile caught him off guard, as you walked to Mycroft’s side. He didn’t remember the last time someone was pleased to meet him. They were often annoyed or irritated. “Have a good evening,”
His brother was married for years and he didn’t know. How could he not know?