CHAPTER SIXTEEN

A month. How had it already been a month? Mycroft replayed the voice mail message on his phone.

"Made it here. We're currently in Florida and our parents have decided to try line dancing. Needless to say, I'm probably staying in and getting room service. Everything is fine. I even met an English lady staying just down the hall. She thinks I'm lonely, and she talks too much, but she makes an excellent cuppa and cookies, much better than the iced tea made from predominately sugar all the restaurants here seem to serve. Anyway, I'll talk to you later. Bye."

That was the last he'd heard from Sherlock until the brief text he'd received early that morning.

"We're back- SH"

Sherlock had sounded content, perhaps even happy when he mentioned whoever the woman was that made tea and cookies, but all he got upon their return was the barest of texts. He really shouldn't expect much more, they hadn't exactly parted well. But Sherlock hadn't said when, or even if, he was coming back, what he would do now, if 'distancing himself from London' had gone well, or if he'd be staying further in the country with with parents.

Yet somehow Mycroft couldn't make his fingers type a coherent reply to the text.

Ӂ

"I'm moving out," Sherlock had barely said hello when he shared the news.

"Back home or-"

"Out on my own. I appreciate what you've done, but I think you were right before. It's time I find myself something more productive to do with my time."

Mycroft nodded. He'd kind of seen it coming, but still had his doubts as to how well it would work. "Living in the city is expensive, but I can help you look for a place if you'd like."

"I have somewhere in mind, and the land lady is willing to give me a deal on rent."

"Have you also found a job to pay said rent?" He'd prompted Sherlock several times in the area, but everything was too boring, ordinary, or dull according to his brother. He had the mind to do great things, but only if he could manage to apply himself.

"I've done better than that. I've invented a new one."

"Invented a new job?"

"Yes. Consulting Detective. When the police are out of their depth, which is most always, they'll consult me."

"You can't just name yourself detective, and the police don't consult-"

"They will," Sherlock interrupted. "And from what I've found, when you supply a case with all the answers, they really can't refuse."

He threw clothes into his worn suitcase, his excitement evident. "There's a new DI – Gavin, or Greg, or Graham - something like that. He wants to impress, but doesn't have the most brilliant team – perfect spot for me."

"What's the address – so I can visit."

"Like you visit our parents?" Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It's 221 Baker Street, not sure if it'll be B or C yet."

Visiting was probably the last thing on Mycroft's mind, but he was going whether Mycroft approved of the arrangement or not, and Mycroft was going to look into it either way – no point in starting an argument. There were sure to be plenty of those to come.