Poor Jessica is dead, she's lookin' oh so purty and so nice she looks like she's asleep

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Mycroft, though he often seems lazy, does work every day of the year.  The last time he took a day off work was December 12th, 2000, which turned out to be a very bad day to be at home with the flu.  It is the lowest moment of Mycroft's career, in his opinion.

Still, his assistants have far more leeway than he gives himself and Jessica, his first admin assistant (as opposed to his first assistant, the ever reliable and indispensable Miss Morstan -- and her BlackBerry) had asked for two weeks off during the holiday season due to the birth of a twin niece and nephew.  Mycroft not only signed off on it, but sent her along with two silver spoons engraved with the newborns' names.  Because Jessica is a clever girl, she knew better than to ask how he found out the names despite not being told.

Thus, her last duty was to wrap the presents for John, Mummy, and Sherlock, before clocking out for a holiday to Carlisle. 

Mycroft arrives at his office early on a Sunday morning to two frantic texts messages and a very distressing sight.

Jessica, the ever dutiful, Jessica, is at her desk, her skin mottled, and the one of her high heels is sitting on the desk.  Mycroft, without even having to look (though he does) knows her feet are now an odd shade of blue.

This time, there is a note with the body:

I hate the decor.

Comments

Sherlock wrangling: we need an app for that.

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"I should so. I will be fielding phone calls all day about this, and my security will require a complete overhaul." As will just about everyone else's in the country of note.

"Your ten minutes are almost up, Sherlock."

o.o Oh, only one problem, Sherlock would find a way to exploit it.

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Sherlock will never ask Mycroft what will happen to his crime scene. He knows better than to even attempt to take pictures on the sly either. What he sees here, what he's gathered, will be it.

The clues aren't here on the body. The body just signals a failure for Sherlock to have stopped the murder and save a bit of face.

He is already texting someone. Not Lestrade. Not even John. He's trying to get an astrological date pinned down and that is neither of their fortays.

"Will you be all right?" He's distracted. One can forgive him for that display of concern.

Yes, but it would be *fun*

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Every once in a while, and it is rare enough that Mycroft can immediately list every incident, and it would be a good test for any doctor, should they need to test him for a head injury, when Sherlock genuinely surprises him.

The expression of concern is now added to the list.

"I will be fine." He does not add how he will personally call Jessica's family to offer condolences, once it is determined how the official story of Jessica's death will be told.

Oh, idiot me. I never hit reply! How does that happen?!

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Sherlock only nods, collecting the rest of the things he wants to bring with him. "Of course you will be."

The blame of the previous nicety is almost strictly on the shoulders of Mycroft's Christmas present. Sherlock does not harbour sentimental feelings towards it as normal people might, but he does have a sense of accomplishment on seeing it.

Yes, the school stole his anchor, his guide, and the only other living soul that could stand his company for extended periods of time, but it also started Sherlock's career and gave him meaning in life.

The same can be said about Mycroft, but Sherlock never will.

"I thought he'd forgotten me," Sherlock murmurs to himself. His fixation is on Moriarty now that John's presence isn't much felt these days any more.

Yes. Sherlock clings. Even to bad attention.

I did that yesterday.

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"I doubt that." Mycroft, knowing of the incident at the pool knows that someone like that, someone with the obsession level rivaled only by his brother, will not forget anything.

It was, as few things are in Mycroft's life, genuinely worrying, as is the desire for the other man's attention.

"Will you be seeking John's help on the case? He appeared to be interested at Christmas." As always, Mycroft is willing to divert that attention seeking to someone a bit healthier. Perhaps not healthier for John, but definitely for his brother.

Mycroft will have to buy the good doctor and Sarah another pair of tickets. He has the budget for it.

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John.

It's as if Sherlock's just realized that there is a John, funny as that might be. Out of sight, out of mind? No, more like out of mind, out of possessiveness.

Sarah's continued presence and her ability to steal John for longer periods of time is not something that Sherlock's forgotten. Mycroft's mention of it several months before broke the barrier.

It was not a pleasant moment and being reminded of it is also rather unpleasant.

Of course, John will come when called. "It would be wise. I need my blogger."

I am not sorry for repeating this pun.

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"Tell him to come up with a better title than The Case of the Blue Cubicle." Besides the obvious -- Jessica did not work in a cubicle but in what should be one of the most secure offices in all of the United Kingdom, the title was rather, silly.

It is at this moment Sherlock's time runs out. The cleaners, a different team from the one Mycroft sent that day at Sarah's flat, have arrived.

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"I'm not your messenger," Sherlock points out just as two burly men give him looks. You need to leave now looks. Sherlock frowns lightly before he turns on his heels. "I'll have John ring you when I've cracked it."

Oh, but that's not what Sherlock wants to do, not really. He wants to use whichever poor soul is 'Y' to get another chance at Moriarty. Maybe sit down to tea.

That thought it more humorous to the usually stoic Sherlock than it ought to be.

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"I am sure he will update his blog when you do." Mycroft sniffs.

With the cleaners now starting their work -- Mycroft is well aware what the industrial plastic wrap is for, he would like to head back into his office.

"I take it you will be on your way?"

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"Why else would I stay?"

Sherlock smirks a little as he heads towards the lift. He has work to do. Or rather, he has a fan to go and meet. Would Moriarty make a personal appearance? God -- not that he actually believed in a God -- he hoped so.

"You've security to oversee."

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"I do, goodbye, Sherlock." It's not a social nicety. It's not a show for the cleaners. No, Mycroft acknowledges his brother's exit for the same reason he's done so many other things in his life.

It's Mycroft's way of saying, that Sherlock still has his attention, he still notices.