Mycroft Holmes’ Cuppa
Flash Fiction
The little tremor in Sherlock Holmes voice as he called, ‘Eh, Mrs H-hudson, a word please,’ was what told me Mycroft was coming to Baker Street. His love and admiration for his brother was genuine, but he much preferred to indulge him from a distance. I know, I said, Mycroft’s coming. He pursed his lips and nodded. Prepare his room, he said curtly and left.
I neither liked nor disliked the older brother, but found him a bore.
*
‘Mrs Hudson,’ he told me the first time I made him tea, I am certain that you are teachable.’
‘?’
‘Water boils at 212 degrees Far and right, my Labsang Souchong _ and you must know nothing else should be called tea_ cannot tolerate this. You’ve got to stop it at 205.’
‘And how the blazes do I do that?’ I did not say.
‘So, boil the kettle, take it off the flame, and count to one-hundred and six. Once you’ve poured the water, you must let the tea brew for three minutes and forty-eight seconds. Only then do you pour it for me. Now be a dear throw this away and make me my Labsang Souchong.’
‘Right away, Mr Mycroft.’
I went back into the kitchen, and found there was no more Labsang Souchong. I made him a pot in exactly the same way as I had done last time. Didn’t waste time counting.
‘Mrs Hudson,’ he said after the first sip, ‘as I knew, you are highly teachable.’
