Sherlock vs. Sue.

Sherlock Holmes twitched. Twitching wasn't something he did very often - it belied a state of acute discomfort that could be mistaken for vulnerability, and that would never do for the world's only Consulting Detective. And Sherlock was damned good at poker-facing, even if he did say so himself. Quietly famous for it, in fact, at least in the realms of Scotland Yard and Baker Street. However, on this occasion, he had allowed himself to become so worked up that, for less than a split second, the sharp angles of his features had twisted into a glare so intense it would make the hardiest cactus shrivel back into the dirt. As he hastily re-arranged his facial muscles, he took a moment to reflect upon just how satisfying it would be to see the woman sat across the desk from him go the same way as his brain-cactus.

"Are you really, honestly suggesting," growled Sherlock, with all the vocal poison he could muster, "That you have dragged me away from my work - tremendously important..."


"...tremendously important..."



"Please, don't talk any more. The way your cheekbones gyrate when you speak is offensive to me."

Sherlock Holmes twitched. Again. His adversary leaned back in her chair and regarded him with a look of intense distaste.

"Listen, Shirlette."


"Whatever. I have employed you to do a job. Please tell me the scratches in my door frame that occurred when you squeezed your ego through it will be worth the new coat of paint it will need."

"Ms. Sylvester - "

The Ms. Sylvester in question slammed her hand down on the desk with a ferocity which made the hundreds of trophies quiver in their glass cabinets. Sherlock's voice box, had it been human, would have scurried away and hid under a table.

"How DARE you," Sue growled. Sherlock was reminded of the poisonous snake that had killed a client's sister the year before.

"How dare you address me in such a way...after all I've done for you...bought you countless designer suits, the best quality shoes, taught you how to prevent emotion from interfering with business...

"You strung my dog up outside my bedroom window by it's tail until I'd finished my homework." Mumbled Sherlock, picking at a loose thread in his coat.

"I made you what you are today!" Shrieked Sue, her ice blue eyes bulging with rage. Dropping her tone she suddenly leapt from her chair and leaned across the desk, causing Sherlock to throw himself in the opposite direction and need to grab the desk to keep from toppling over backwards.

"We've lived on separate continents for most of our lives, but despite that I think I've done a hell of a good job as a devoted and caring Godmother."

Sherlock bit back a twitch. His jaw ached with the effort.

"You owe me BIG TIME, you ungrateful little brat. Now GET out there, and GET ME THAT SET LIST!"

Sue leaned back in her chair. The squeak of the leather had a mocking tone to it that made Sherlock feel he was five years old again. He cleared his throat.

"Yes, Auntie Sue."

As he swept out of the office, he heard his Godmother yell after him...

"And do something with your hair, for God's sake, it looks like someone burnt a batch of curly fries and glued them to a hat stand!"