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Sometimes he liked to do things old school. Not use the cameras.
Mycroft had swapped his suit for jeans and a Man United hoody. He was sitting on a park bench with his trainer clad feet bouncing, like a person waiting for someone. He couldn’t hide it. He was waiting.
His eyes scanned the horizon.
Soon he spotted her. Mycroft folded his arms and sank deeper into the hoody. A smirk slid across his face.
Molly was out for her morning run. She looked glorious in the early morning light — her face glowing from the sweat and endorphins. His cameras were good … but they couldn’t convey this. And he loved to see her like this.
She ran past him and the sight of her running away was just as delicious. Mycroft sighed.
After her run Molly returned to her flat and found Mycroft (in his usual suit) sitting on her sofa reading the Saturday paper.
"How was your run?" Mycroft asked not looking up from his paper.
"Great, but full of surprises. Man United? I would have thought you more an Arsenal supporter." Molly called out on her way to take a shower.