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I so dislike altering my habits but the case of the stolen naval plans was too extraordinary to pass up. The case offered too many points of interest for me to simply leave it to Sherlock. It was not that I could not trust him for he is superb in what he does, if a bit too theatrical for my tastes.
The fact of the matter was that I could not allow Sherlock to have all of the fun. The case was indeed riveting and intellectually stimulating and I am sure that Dr. Watson will memorialize it in one of his chronicles. From the first, I could see that the events appealed to his storyteller's mind so I will not go into those details now.
An incident of greater interest of a personal nature occurred after the case was concluded. The affair had taken us south to Wales and the three of us were on a train back to London in the early morning after an extremely busy night. We shared breakfast in the dining car and Watson was the first to excuse himself. "If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I'll be heading back to our compartment."
I was not surprised. The good doctor's uncharacteristic silence, slumped posture, and slower than normal movements told me that the man was exhausted. I felt some pangs of fatigue myself. Neither he nor I were similar to Sherlock in that he could survive on little to no sleep when on a case.
Sherlock looked up at Watson and smiled briefly. He reached out and touched Watson's elbow. "Of course. I can see that you are fatigued, my friend."
Watson brushed Sherlock's fingers with his own for a very brief instant before nodding to me and walking away. Then I noted Sherlock staring after him with a look of contentment that I had never seen before. I was not sure if Sherlock was even aware that he was doing it.
I cleared my throat quietly. "Sherlock."
Sherlock started and quickly focused his grey eyes back on me. "Mycroft."
I arched an eyebrow at him while swiftly scanning the rest of the patrons in the car. They were all absorbed in their own business. "No one noticed."
Sherlock pulled a cigarette case from his breast pocket. He offered me one. "Noticed?"
Sherlock knew better than to play innocent with me. I knew him too well. I took a cigarette and picked up the book of matches sitting next to the ashtray. I lit my cigarette and he leaned closer to light his own. "You were staring after Watson," I said quietly in his ear. "With an expression that I have never witnessed on your face before. It was most..." I paused in search of the right word. "...tender."
Sherlock coughed and sat back. "Mycroft, really--" he started to protest.
I put my hand up and kept my voice low. "I have no wish to hear any of your artfully contrived excuses. I simply brought my observation to your attention so that you may be more circumspect in the future." I took a long drag on my cigarette and leisurely blew out the smoke. "If you two do have a special regard for each other, I expect you to be discreet." I could not help smirking at him. All the color drained from his face and his look of complete shock was priceless. "At least in public. Your private affairs are your own business provided that they stay private. Never forget the unfortunate fate of Oscar Wilde."
Sherlock recovered admirably. He shifted in his chair and flung his free arm over the back of it. He took on an air of nonchalance and flicked ashes into the ashtray. "Thank you for your concern. I will keep your warning in mind."
"I certainly hope that you shall. I should hate anything unfortunate to befall you or Dr. Watson from any type of public exposure."
Sherlock nodded shortly and stabbed his cigarette out. He stopped meeting my eyes. "Are you disappointed?" he enquired quietly.
At that moment, he reminded me of the little boy that needed encouragement that he once was. I could not begrudge Sherlock the one person that obviously pleased him so. I always knew that he and Watson were close friends and the revelation that they were most likely more seemed like a natural progression to me. Outdated religious dogma and the stifling norms of proper society held no sway with me. However, I was concerned with their safety, freedom, and reputations. "No," I assured him. "My warning was delivered with the best of intentions."
Sherlock graced me with one of his fleeting smiles. "I thought as much." He stood. "Will you excuse me, Mycroft?"
I waved him away. "Very well, Sherlock."
I was not ready to follow Sherlock back to our compartment. I stayed in the dining car, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper I had purchased before boarding. There was not too much of interest but it did keep me occupied for another hour.
When I returned to our compartment, I found the shades pulled. I listened intently but there was no sound coming from within. I unlocked the door, let myself in, and found them both asleep.
"What did I say about discreet, Sherlock," I muttered but, to be honest, my heart was not in it. The picture they presented made it hard for me to find any anger and the door had been secure. Not just anyone could have walked in on them.
I secured the entrance and settled in across from them. They sat next to each other with absolutely no space between them. Watson's head rested on Sherlock's shoulder and the fingers of Sherlock's left hand were entwined with those of Watson's right.
Both men slept easily and soundly, as if they were in the most natural position in the world. If I had any doubts as to the depth of their intimacy or their need for each other, they were erased on seeing the comfort and relaxation on Sherlock's face. Neither of us has ever found it easy to trust but his regard and affection for Watson were all too apparent.
"It must be love," I mused. This was just one more secret for me to gladly keep. I allowed myself a small smile and wondered how many times I would have to remind Sherlock to be discreet. Of course he and Watson would be but the expressions on his face would be worth teasing him. I am the older brother. I must have some privileges.