Hello, Ferguson. Whose this? (arcs a brow at this quirky looking fellow with out-of-date clothing; he is slightly taller than average, with wispy whiskers and a somewhat high-pitched voice, and a set of remarkably white dentures, which glitter when he smies)
Ferguson, The Tuxedo-Clad Buter: (sarcastically) Mycroft Holmes, sir.
Mycroft Holmes: (casts a coldly baleful glance at the snooty servant)
(somewhat perplexed) What-?
Ferguson: I found him in the basement.
(frusteration starting to slip into his voice) That area is restricted...
Ferguson: He was inside the basement, sir. He knocked. He claims to be the co-founder of this place, Mycroft Holmes himself. (mutters) He certainly has the waistline for the role.
Mycroft Holmes: Some things never change. In this case, it's the arrogant undesirables. (smirks at the cocky butler)
(testily) The basement, you say?
Ferguson: Yes, sir. Shall I cast him out?
(voice drifting) No, no.. leave us be, Ferguson.
Ferguson: (startled) But sir, I...
(sharply) Leave.
Ferguson: (glares briefly at Mycroft, who smiles calmly back) Yes, sir. (turns his back curtly and stalks out)
(turns to Mycroft) Obviously, you have some explaining to do.
Mycroft Holmes: (watery grey eyes scan him briefly) Yes, Sir Regis, but before we do, may I offer my condolensces on your spouse's demise? And my advice that, no matter how traumatic the event, alcohol is not the solution.
(startled until shaken) WHAT?! Did that obnoxious Ferguson tell you...
Mycroft: (raises his pudgy hand) Obnoxious though he may be, he did not inform me of this rather personal matter. I arrived at this conclusion through deduction.
(harshly) Deduction, eh? Explain.
Mycroft: (points at his arm) There is a noticeable lack of dust in the circumference of your upper left arm. It is also flatter than the rest of the coat's arm, implying that something tight has been around it recently- presumably, an arm band.
(bitterly) Yeah, but how do you know it was my wife that died?
Mycroft: Your clothes are loose in spots, and, judging by the way your cufflinks stick out, imply that they were done by someone behind the wrists- and only one hand behind the wrists. However, there is an imprint of the cufflinks from when they were properly inserted- presumably, by your wife, a photograph of which sits on your desk. (motions towards it)
(coughs roughly) And the alcohol?
Mycroft: Your whiskers, lips, and tongue are red from excessive drinking. As well, your shoes are worn down in places from being ground into the pavement by someone not walking straight- perhaps drunk and staggering. By the way your arm is still in an awkward position from leaning on the bar, and by the tear stains on your collar, I know that this all occured very recently, and that you are still recovering from it.
(swallows heavily, smiles weakly) Well, you, uh, certainly have the infamous Holmes intellect.
Mycroft: Commonplace. Now, that butler fellow said that you were the new manager of the Diognes Club. Is this true?
It is. (sniffs)
Mycroft: And, presumably, you have access to all top-secret files?
Of course, and I've read every one of them. Why?
Mycroft: Have you ever glanced over the file on how Mycroft Holmes was frozen for fear of an international assasin eliminating him?
Why... yes... a very restricted file, I'm the only one allowed to read it.... and the chamber was in the basement....
Mycroft: You'll find the chamber to be empty, Sir Regis. That is, if you can access it. There is a safe door, as well as a metal lattice, which guards it and can only be opened from the inside.
With new technology, and you out.. err, assuming you are Mycroft...
Mycroft: Never assume.
....of course... and I can verify that... we should be able to access it, provided we can get government approval.
Mycroft: (frowns) I see. I'll have to do much research on how history has changed since my entering into the realm of cryogenic hibernation.
Well, actually, the government has designed holo-tapes in case of incidents like these. I could find you one.
Mycroft: I'd be much obliged. (Thinks: What the bloody devil are holo-tapes?)
(wipes sweat from brow) My word, what a unique scenario...
Mycroft: (hands him his red silk handkercheif) Here. This has served me well before.
(accepts it automatically, dabs his forehead) I wonder if those rumours about Sherlock Holmes being waken from the dead are true, too...
Mycroft: Sherlock? Alive? But, he's dead! I attended his funeral!
(smiles a bit) Modern technology is vastly different from yours. (mumbling) Which is all the more reason for you to see those tapes...
Mycroft: (mumbling) If Sherlock can be roused back from the afterlife, what else can be accomplished in this new day and age?
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