Ingenium (✓) | Sherlock Holmes

🎓 20*ignition

While heading towards the Bank of England – supposedly the key to Moriarty's decay – I came to the conclusion that guilt was among the most degrading emotions one could feel, if not the top of the pyramid itself.

It occurred to me that Rhea's sulky mien, reinforced by those pouty lips of hers – seemingly perhaps? – was honestly making me devoid of any reasoning or rational judgement. Despite being compelled to repeat the plan in my head – a step rather unnecessary, considering that I already learned it by heart – the webs of my mind entangled so deviously that each space left was filled with Rhea. And when I say "filled", I mean it in the sense that the whole bloody Armageddon unveiled itself in between my brain lobes.

"Passenger Sherlock Holmes is required on Planet Normal." I heard Mycroft's voice on my right, literally grazing my ears.

"What is the use of such less-than-funny observations?" My monotonous voice inquired, while pondering on whether I should jump out of the cab and crash my forehead against a hydrant or strangle him.

Mycroft heaved in discontent at my lack of reaction – more likely at my too dull of a reaction – and muttered. "After we arrange an appointment to the Vault and Rhea exits the hospital..."

"Pardon me?!" I interrupted furiously, banging my soon-to-be fist into the cushion of my seat.

Why was she in a hospital, anyway?

Mycroft ignored my comment and continued, bearing no remorse for leaving my question hanging in midair. "... you should talk to her. Caged feelings bring no benefits. Both of us, as sons of the almighty Morland Holmes, should know that."

Although extremely eager to free hateful quips off the tip of my tongue, I refrained myself from doing so, simply because brother dear was right.

Communication, regardless of my deficient abilities in that particular area, was very much mandatory. I needed to set things straight with Rhea before neither of us could think and act properly.

"Alright, I shall talk to her later and put your statement about Rhea's hospitalization aside. Meanwhile, we have reached the Bank."

Mycroft nodded, paid the driver and we were soon greeted by the equestrian statue of the Duke of Wellington, reigning outside the Bank, its metal surface glowing in the chaste rays of the autumnal sun (such a bloody poet I am).

What a lovely day to ask the manager of the Bank for favours!

Mycroft and I entered the Bank and our jaws instantly fell to the marbled floor. The royal appearance of the statuesque columns in each corner of the Hall could easily compete with that of Queen Elisabeth's mansions. What startled me to no end was the familiarity of the employees, whose smiles could brightly substitute the large, faceted crystals of the main chandelier.

Was I entering a childhood story where I was the big, bad wolf howling after the Little Red Riding Hood? I surely hope not.

I coughed intentionally, motioning Mycroft to ask for the manager at the reception. He complied and in five minutes' time, we were invited in the office of the aforementioned chap.

Well, he was not exactly... a chap. One would take too many risks if he considered that unrefined, yet pretentious man as someone who could be subdued to mockery without subsequent vengeance. On a theoretical level, I could ridicule him, but that would jeopardize the privilege of entering the Gold Vault.

"It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance." I switched on my polite mode, careful not to disclose any scornful gestures.

Mycroft greeted as well, although his civility emerged more instinctively.