Puzzles in the rain.

(Another very short piece of where my mind goes.  Set after Reichenbach.  Spoiler territory if you haven't seen all of season 2, but fairly mild as spoilers go: definitely a teaser!)




Mycroft ended the call.  He looked up.  "Well, Sherlock," he said.  "You were right.  John is going to -- did, it seems, figure out some of the puzzle."

He sighed.  The fire crackled in the fireplace.  Mycroft looked down, at the now darkened phone in his hands, still listening to the rain pounding down outside.  His mouth quirked.

Mycroft began to text.

=-=-=

S: J asking. Open or close? M

Sherlock read the text.  "Excellent.  Well done, John," he whispered.  "I knew you would."  He smiled.  Really smiled.

M. Close, but keep options ready. Bluebell. Sheet.

The response must have been almost burned past Sherlock's text in the ether, if it hadn't already been written.  He wouldn't put it past Mycroft.

S: Noted. Bunny at tea. Bring her cigarette lighter. Left phone. Again. M

=-=-=

Mycroft grinned at the final text.  Wryly.

M. Won't forget. Chemical reaction. Sorry about dinner. Rain cheque accepted? 

(He kept himself from sending a correction.  Sherlock had done that deliberately.  They both knew it.  And was probably timing how long until he got a reaction.  The response wasn't time-critical.)

Mycroft leant forward and put a scrap of paper into the fire...

"Haikus next time, Sherlock," Mycroft said aloud.  "Except that yours were always terrible."

=-=-=

Sherlock wondered how long it would take John to get fed up on Twitter again... and whether John knew who his hacker was.

"I fancy that Ludmila thinks she's far more clever than she really is, for that matter," he murmured.

Sherlock grinned, and opened up his computer.  Time for another piece.