A New Mystery at 221 Baker Street

Chapter 61: Don't Appall Me When I'm High

Episode Transcript provided by Ariane DeVere/Callie Sullivan

***

John and Sherlock sat in the back of the taxi. Sherlock, still dressed in his sweats.

"You've heard of Charles Augustus Magnussen, of course," Sherlock stated, breaking the silence.

"Yeah, he owns some of the papers that I don't read,"

Sherlock frowned and looked around the cab. "Hang on, weren't there other people?"

"Mary's taking the boys home; I'm taking you. We discussed it,"

"People were talking, none of them me, I must have filtered,"

"I noticed," John mumbled.

"I have to filter out a lot of witless babble. I've got Mrs. Hudson on a semi-permanent mute,"

"You never answered me, Sherlock. Where's Alice?"

Sherlock ignored John's question and got out of the car. "What is my brother doing here?" he asked, letting out a frustrated sigh.

"So I'll just pay, then, shall I?" John asked as he handed the cabbie a twenty.

Sherlock went up to the doorstep and stared at the door knocker. "He's straightened the knocker," He turned to John who stood behind him. "He always corrects it. He's OCD, doesn't even know he's doing it," Sherlock purposely pushed the knocker to one side before letting himself in.

"Why'd you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Nothing," John muttered as he followed Sherlock inside.

Sherlock's attitude changed once he saw his brother casually sitting on the staircase.

"Well then, Sherlock. Back on the sauce?" Mycroft taunted.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock questioned, annoyed.

"I phoned him," John piped up.

"The siren call of old habits. How very like Uncle Rudy- though, in many ways, cross-dressing would have been a wiser path for you,"

Sherlock folded his arms and turned to look at John. "You phoned him,"

"'Course I bloody phoned him," John countered.

"'Course he bloody did," Mycroft repeated angrily. "Now save me a little time. Where should we be looking?"

"We?" Sherlock repeated, frowning.

"Mr. Holmes?" Anderson called from upstairs.

"For God's sake!" Sherlock yelled as he stormed up the stairs, pushing past Mycroft.

Mycroft sighed and he and John followed Sherlock up the stairs.

Sherlock found Anderson and a friend rummaging through his cabinets. Anderson raised his gloved hands apologetically. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. It's for your own good,"

"Oh, that's him, isn't it?" Anderson's friend asked as she watched Sherlock slump in his armchair. "I thought he'd be taller,"

"Some members of your little fan club," Mycroft explained, looking at Sherlock. "Do be polite. They're entirely trustworthy and even willing to search through the toxic waste dump that you are pleased to call a flat. You are a celebrity these days, Sherlock. You can't afford a drug habit,"

Sherlock gave his brother an irritated look. "I do not have a drug habit,"

"Hey, what happened to my chair?" John asked, noticing the empty space in the living room.