The Baker's Detective

| The Knocker and the Noise |

Sherlock has a furrow between his brows as he steps out of the taxi, though he doesn't know it. It's been there nearly all afternoon, after he left the flat to question someone for a case without John. Rosie had a doctor's appointment, leaving him to go by himself. He didn't like it, having no one to talk to (or, well, at) or to give their input, whether it would be close to correct or entirely off the mark.

Well, it's over now, and he thinks he's solved the case, so he supposes he'll just have to forget about it. But his furrow doesn't disappear; in fact, it deepens.

This is caused by the knocker on his front door, as it's been straightened. And Sherlock knows exactly who did it.

Mycroft.

He's the only one who bothers to straighten that knocker, as most people don't even use the thing, if they do knock on that door. Sherlock suspects that Mycroft doesn't actually knock, anyway, so why he bothers to straighten the knocker hardly makes an ounce of sense until one considers his great need to have everything in order, and, in any case, it serves as a helpful, yet annoying warning for Sherlock.

He fixes the knocker, then unlocks the door and enters, mentally preparing himself to speak to his brother, wondering why in the world he would be here.

After climbing the stairs, Sherlock carefully and casually opens the door to the sitting room, where he finds John and Rosie, but no Mycroft. The furrow returns.

"Where's Mycroft?" he asks.

John also looks confused. "What? Mycroft?"

"Yes, where's Mycroft?" Sherlock repeats, looking in the kitchen, as if he were hiding in there.

"Mycroft is not here," Rosie says helpfully with her little lisp and unconfident r's. She looks up at Sherlock from the floor.

Sherlock glances at her as he looks around. "Yes, Ro, it does look that way, doesn't it?"

John asks, "Is he supposed to be here?"

"The knocker on the door was straight," Sherlock replies. "He must be here."

"Well, unless he's hiding in the bathroom or your bedroom, he isn't here."

Sherlock almost goes back into the hall to check, then decides against it and heads back downstairs instead, going straight to Mrs. Hudson's door, which he knocks on loudly.

The landlady answers, looking up at him with a bit of indignation. "Sherlock Holmes, what are you doing?"

"Has Mycroft been here?" he asks.

She just looks confused, too. "Mycroft? No, I haven't seen him."

"Then why is the knocker straight?"

"I don't know."

It bothers him, the not knowing. He paces in the hall, thinking. "Who else would straighten that knocker?"

"Well, the only other person who's been here today was the woman who's rented 221C. Maybe she straightened it. Or her — what was he? — brother? — yes, I think her brother."

Sherlock stops instantly, processing. He looks at the nearby door to the basement apartment. "Someone's renting 221C?"

"Yes. She came asking about it a couple hours ago — Lily, her name was. I warned her about you and all the noise you can make at times, and then there's the mold that could pop up down there if not properly cared for — and her brother warned her about that, too — but her heart seemed quite set on it. She's got a lot of plans already, and they'll have to do a lot of renovations and things, but I think she'll fix it up really nicely. She seems excited about it. Watching her light up made me feel young again, truth be told."