Free Rebel Fire by Andrew Lane

being so rude to everyone?” he asked mildly, knowing that he had nothing to lose. Things were already as bad as they were going to get that day. “I would have fired you years ago, if I was in charge.”
    She seemed surprised by his reaction. The smile slipped from her face. “You have no power here,” she snapped. “ I have the power in this house.”
    â€œOnly until Uncle Sherrinford dies,” Sherlock pointed out. “Neither he nor Aunt Anna has any children, so possession of the house will pass to my father’s side of the family. And then you need to step very carefully, Mrs. Eglantine.”
    Before she could say anything in response, he headed up the stairs to his room. Looking down from the first-floor landing, he could still see her standing there.
    He lay down on his bed, flung an arm across his eyes, and let the whirl of thoughts in his head take him over. What had he been thinking? Mycroft and Crowe had both warned him off from helping. What exactly was it that he had been trying to prove?
    He must have drifted into a doze after a while, because the light in the room seemed to suddenly change, and he had pins and needles in his arm from where it was awkwardly crossing his face. He got up and slowly went downstairs; more to find food than for any other reason. He was suddenly ravenous.
    The maids were setting the table for dinner. Mycroft was just emerging from the library. There was no sign of Amyus Crowe.
    Mycroft nodded at Sherlock. “Feeling better?” he asked.
    â€œNot really. I did something stupid.”
    â€œNot for the first time, and probably not for the last time. Just make sure you learn a lesson from this. Making a mistake is excusable the first time. After that it becomes tedious.”
    One of the maids emerged from the dining room with a small gong in a frame. Without looking at Mycroft or Sherlock she banged the gong once, loudly, and then retreated back into the dining room.
    â€œShall we?” Mycroft asked.
    Within a few moments they had been joined by Sherrinford and Anna Holmes. Mycroft spent most of dinner discussing the accuracy of the Latin translation of the Greek translation of the Hebrew and Aramaic books of the Old Testament. Aunt Anna spent most of the time talking to Sherrinford and Mycroft, oblivious of the fact that they were already talking to each other, although from some sense of gallantry Mycroft would turn around every so often and answer one of the questions that passed by in her continuous monologue. Sherlock spent his time eating, and avoiding the stare of Mrs. Eglantine, who glared at him from a position by the windows.
    After dinner, Sherrinford and Anna escorted Mycroft to the front steps to say goodbye.
    â€œYour Greek is fluent, and your Latin is particularly well constructed,” Sherrinford said, apparently the highest praise he could think of. “And I have enjoyed our discourse. Your knowledge of the Old Testament is lacking, but you have made some surprising deductions already, based on what I have told you. I will need to think long and hard about what you have suggested concerning the early days of the Church. Please visit us again soon.”
    Aunt Anna surprised everyone by stepping forward and placing a hand on Mycroft’s arm. “You are always welcome here,” she said. “I … regret … the animosity that has split the family. I wish it could be otherwise.”
    â€œYour kindness is a force that could overcome all adversities,” Mycroft replied gently. “And the charity you have shown by looking after young Sherlock is a humbling example to us all. Consider the rift more than repaired, but eradicated.” He cast a glance into the shadows of the hall, where Sherlock thought he could just make out a figure, dressed in black, watching them. Mycroft lowered his voice. “But while a particular person still has influence within this house, I suspect I will never