A true master fears nothing.
If necessary, he wouldn’t even hesitate to approach the greatest force of death itself and recruit it to his side.
And there is no one stronger than a warrior who counts the Grim Reaper as an ally.
—Heinrich Heine,
Mycroft stared into my eyes for a long mont without saying a word, then gave a faint smile.
[…It’s my loss, Sherlock.]
And then, out of nowhere—
[But I think it’d be best if you left the palace and went ho.]
“…?!”
[That is, if you don’t want to die young.]
He started uttering things that made no sense.
A little while later, we were sitting in the inner courtyard, gathered around a small tea table with Mycroft.
Music from inside the building played softly, and the black tea served by the attendants was fragrant, yet the atmosphere between us was anything but peaceful.
Though the ball had yet to begin, both Watson and I could easily anticipate that the topic about to be discussed would be far from pleasant.
[It’s been a while, Sherlock.]
Despite having uttered sothing bizarre monts ago, Mycroft greeted with a perfectly calm expression.
“This doesn’t really feel like the ti or place for friendly greetings, does it?”
[That’s a new outfit. Is it from Henry Poole?]
“……”
No matter what I said, Mycroft just continued speaking as he pleased.
Judging by how he instantly recognized the tailor of my Kung-Fu attire, it was likely that his own had also been made by Poole or Cerdney.
[Now that I think about it, I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of eting the lady beside you. Delighted to make your acquaintance, Lady.]
Watson was watching Mycroft with a rather tense expression.
Having heard ntion the word ‘brother’ earlier, she seed to have already figured out the relationship between Mycroft and I.
“Nice, nice to et you.”
Her speech was twice as stiff as usual.
It seed her mind wasn’t functioning properly due to the series of unexpected events.
“I am Hols’s…, um, uh, well, I’m his physician, Watson.”
Dressed in won’s clothing and not using the Face-Changing Technique, Watson couldn’t bring herself to say she was my housemate.
I understand it’s to avoid unnecessary misunderstandings, but she doesn’t know what sort of person Mycroft is.
I dare say Mycroft is fully aware of Watson’s existence and the fact that she usually dresses as a man and works at the hospital.
[I am Mycroft, Sherlock’s brother. I’m not sure how to express my gratitude for you taking care of My Foolish Brother…]
“Who are you calling foolish?”
As expected, Mycroft hid his true nature and greeted Watson, whom he t for the first ti, with a gentlemanly deanor.
I am certain that more than 90% of those with siblings would agree that witnessing their kin greet acquaintances politely and gentlemanly in a public setting is… Utterly revolting and nauseating.
“Watson, Mycroft once soiled himself when he was beaten by Master at the age of fourteen.”
[……]
“Twice, in fact.”
[This is an unfounded slander.]
While Mycroft was flustered and frozen from his slip of the tongue, I quickly examined his attire.
A neat attire that doesn’t reveal a lazy personality at all.
The plain outfit, prioritizing practicality over aesthetic preference, was a disguise to conceal his status and position.
The thin plate armor lining the interior and hidden weapons in the sleeves suggested he was always prepared for unexpected situations.
Additionally, I noticed that everything he wore, including his clothes and shoes, was newly prepared.
Other than the fact that the clothes were made by Henry Poole & Co., as usual, I couldn’t glean any information from his attire about what he had been doing until just monts ago.
The only distinct feature visible was his long hair, wrapped and secured in the middle with sothing like a bandage, and tied with a large velvet ribbon.
Thinking up to that point, I suddenly felt the reality of reuniting with my older brother after a long ti.
Mycroft had always been like this. Even to , his blood brother, he was like a deep, dark well whose bottom could not be seen.
By the way, how does he manage to keep his monocle in place when his eye sockets and cheekbones aren’t particularly prominent?
[You may already know, but Sherlock sotis puts others in difficult situations with false accusations.]
“When have I ever.”
This man is shaless.
“…Uh, I’m asking out of curiosity, but why does Sir Mycroft continue to communicate through Sound Transmission?”
anwhile, despite the tension, Watson couldn’t resist her curiosity and was asking Mycroft questions as usual.
Fortunately for Mycroft, she seed to let the embarrassing stories of the past pass through one ear.
“Mycroft learned martial arts from the sa master as I did, but he was taken in by the elders of the Diogenes Club upon our master’s advice, who judged that his aptitude was different.”
Knowing that Mycroft would not give a proper answer to Watson’s question, I decided to explain instead.
Of course, I planned to keep any information that shouldn’t be revealed under wraps.
“The Diogenes Club emphasizes silent ditation, so they usually communicate through sound transmission, sign language, or written notes.”
[…I’m surprised, Sherlock. You’ve beco considerate enough to explain personal matters on behalf of others. Your brother is pleased.]
Perhaps thinking I had stolen his chance to speak, Mycroft looked at with cold eyes.
Seeing that, I sohow felt a bit better.
[However, it’s not wise to speak carelessly about the affairs of a British Intelligence Butler Agency officer in front of many eyes. You have a habit of forgetting that others also possess intelligence and self-awareness. It’s not a good habit.]
“Not sothing you’d expect from soone who treats his subordinates like chess pieces.”
[It seems the young lady has a hard ti because of my overly talkative younger brother.]
Instead of responding, Mycroft changed the subject.
“Oh, it’s not that much trouble…”
“I wonder who he’s calling a foolish brother.”
[519 wins, 384 losses, 722 draws.]
“…….”
Oh no.
I couldn’t hold back and imdiately regretted it.
[Numbers don’t lie. You’re still a long way off, Sherlock.]
“I recall that most of those 519 wins were accumulated before I turned ten. Besides, wasn’t it who just won the duel?”
[Yeah. You were the winner. However, I don’t really put much importance on winning or losing. Preventing your opponent from getting what they want is far more crucial than winning.]
My older brother, who was a head taller than , said with an annoying smile.
In the world before my regression, he was as fat as a pig, but here, seeing him beco agile through Kung-Fu made feel sowhat conflicted.
Maybe I’m still not used to seeing him like this.
“I won, but I can’t understand why you’re the one who’s happy.”
[These days, it seems people can be proud even if they barely win after three consecutive strikes. The world has indeed beco a better place.]
“Even after three consecutive strikes, a win is still a win.”
[Well, it seems the lady next to you thinks differently.]
When I turned my head, Watson was looking at with a face full of disappointnt.
“Even if you wanted to win so badly, three consecutive strikes is a bit too much….”
“…Watson!”
[It seems you’ve beco an Arican without realizing it, Sherlock. Was the pride of the British martial artist you held so dearly only worth that much? This brother is disappointed in you.]
“…an Arican? An Arican…?!”
“I’m disappointed, Hols. I never thought you’d be such a vulgar man….”
“No, I…!”
[This place is
the palace where the Queen Of The British Empire resides. Yankee go ho.]
“Take it back…! That statent!”
Mycroft replied with a generous smile, as if bestowing great rcy.
[I take that back.]
“…!!”
-Standing up suddenly.
The next mont, I stood up without realizing it and threw down my gloves.
“It’s a duel to the death, Mycroft!”
-Snap!
Before the glove could hit Mycroft’s face, Watson reached out and caught it.
“Stop it, Hols. I don’t want to see you degrade yourself any further.”
I couldn’t say anything and emptied the teacup I was holding.
It feels like I’ll only end up worse if I keep arguing.
Every ti I et this man, it ends up like this.
Though I hate to admit it, Mycroft is one of the few in all of London who can match in wisdom and eloquence.
It’s a mystery why he uses that ability only to make my life difficult, but right now, we have more important matters to discuss than a debate.
“…Let’s get back to what we were talking about. What do you an by saying that attending the ball ans death?”
When I changed the subject, both of them looked at seriously as if they hadn’t just been teasing .
“Have you heard sothing?”
I asked, and Mycroft nodded slightly.
Mycroft usually spouts nonsense, but at least he doesn’t joke about soone’s life.
There’s got to be a reason why soone who never cared about my well-being suddenly warns about a life-threatening situation.
He is the head of the Secret Intelligence Service, also known as the British Intelligence Butler Agency.
Among the three groups that move under Her Majesty’s secret orders, he is the most inford.
Mycroft, who hadn’t shown his face for years, didn’t co here to see but for work.
The ball attracts not only people from all over Britain but also powerful figures from abroad, so as the head of an intelligence organization, he can’t miss such an opportunity.
So, he must have morized the guest list in advance.
“So, who exactly is it that’s threatening my life?”
After a long silence, Mycroft replied.
“We received intelligence yesterday that Sir Francis Jacob Drake has returned to the country. He’s said to have infiltrated Platinum Star under the guise of a Face-Changing Technique.”
“If it’s Sir Drake, then that…”
Watson’s expression imdiately hardened.
“Yes, it’s the one you’re thinking of. It was his eldest son who died at the Debutante Ball, and the murderer was his second son.”
The madman who killed his own horse for losing first place at the racetrack.
“Baron of Buckland Abbey. You haven’t t him yet, have you?”
A vengeful spectre who lost two sons and all his wealth overnight has appeared to exact his revenge.
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