Umbrella

I posted this on my blog a while back, so I thought it would be a good one to start with. Enjoy :)

“Sherlock!”

I would know that voice anywhere. Mycroft. What does he want now? He’s nearly hysterical, feet pounding up the stairs, running, even. Mycroft never runs. Something bad has happened. Very bad. What does my brother care about most in the world? Himself; but then, he was running, so he was in one piece. The Government; but none of my contacts had told me that anything was amiss there. Ah! Umbrellas. Pooky, to be particular. Pooky. My old nemesis. If only Mycroft had been less obsessed with that inanimate object, maybe he could have helped me become a pirate. But no. Ever since Pooky had turned up, shiny black folds enticing him in, my brother has been infatuated with it. The only probable thing to have happened is that Pooky has gone missing.

Swift knocking penetrates my reverie. “Come in”, I say, as calmly as possible. Stifling a laugh is difficult �" even for me. Mycroft appears in the doorway. God, he looks awful. Wild eyes staring at me from sunken sockets, his hair, once immaculate, looks like he has been dragged through a hedge backwards. His tailored Italian suit is creased and stained. Wait… Is that froth at the corners of his mouth? I can’t keep it in. A loud bark of laughter escapes my lips.

“HAVE YOU TAKEN IT?!”

“My dear brother, why would I play such childish games?”

“You replaced my grocery order last week.”

“You needed a healthier diet.” That episode was me trying to help him. All that cake is hardly good for the system.

“I do not. But I came on a more serious matter. I. Need. To. Find. Pooky. Now.”

“Use your brain, Mycroft. You know exactly where it is. You’re just framing me.” Actually, that was a lie �" I am goading him now. His state of appearance is enough for even John to go on. Mycroft is flawless… usually.

His face has gone red. I think he’s going to burst.

“Sherlock, if you have taken Pooky, I will personally have it seen to that you are locked up for the rest of your miserable life.”

“Oooo, scary. On what charge? What evidence?”

“I… I… I don’t know.”

“Ha! Mycroft, at a loss for words. I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Don’t mock me!”

I can hear the door opening downstairs, and John’s firm footstep on the stairs. Hang on… his step is different. More weighted to one side. But only slightly. Gun? John doesn’t carry anything bigger than a pistol. Briefcase? He’s unemployed. Harpoon? No. Only I carry the Harpoon. A wide grin suddenly spreads across my face.

I throw open the door, just as John is about to come in. “And there, Mycroft, is your umbrella!”

“Oh. Um, hi Mycroft. Found this earlier, you’d left it after you came to see Sherlock about the Naval Plans, so I popped out to the Diogenes to see if you were there, but….” He trails off. I turn to see Mycroft’s face twisted into a half-scowl, only his eyes showing the desire he feels for Pooky. Abruptly, he grabs Pooky and storms downstairs. I turn to John. He’s already in hysterics, tears streaming down his face. Slowly, I lower myself into my chair. Until next time, big brother.

Reviews

[Marie]

This is lovely, just lovely. I hope to see more of your work.

[V. Smith]

Like your characters and dialog.
The diction of the first paragraph, with the abrupt stops, took a moment to adjust to, slightly distracting.