Work Text:
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Prompt: “You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t need to go to such extremes.”
Mycroft Holmes did not hire Anthea because she was ignorant.
She knew perfectly well when she applied—well, when she was selected—that work hours would be anything but regular, and being ‘off call’ was not an option.
Still, when even she came into his office and asked him if he was ready to take a break, Mycroft wondered if perhaps time passed quicker than he realized.
“You’ve been working for approximately 72 hours, sir,” Anthea says smartly, collecting the finished paperwork on her boss’ desk, “and are nearing your prescribed limit.”
Mycroft attempts to wave her off with a hand. “That limit is arbitrary.”
“Yes, and self-imposed.” He also did not hire Anthea because she was easy to persuade. “You have given me the authority to impose this limit for you in cases such as this.”
“Anthea,” Mycroft says, finally looking up from his work, “I am perfectly capable of continuing to work. You may leave if you feel otherwise.”
“Sir,” Anthea says and oh dear, this is going to be much more difficult than he thought, “for your own sake, it will be much easier if you leave now.”
“And what,” Mycroft replies, injecting The Ice Man into his tone, “do you think you will be able to do, my dear, if I don’t?”
Anthea straightens, collecting the files into the crook of her arm. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
She disappears out of the door. Mycroft frowns.
What on earth did she mean by that? It’s not like she has the authority to order him home, he made sure of that. Giving him more work as punishment did not incentivize him to leave either. And he was not susceptible to the emotional blackmail she employed for some of the other workers who refused to go home after extended shifts.
Mycroft blinks and shakes his head.
Well, perhaps if his train of thought is so easily redirected, he is nearing his limit.
No matter. He will finish this.
He gets back to work, pen scratching across paper, the clock ticking away merrily in the corner, mind filling with numbers and personnel details, and the needs of Queen and Country.
There’s a knock on his door.
“Anthea, if you believe you are going to convince me to leave, I must say you…”
Mycroft trails off as he looks up, expecting to see the face of his assistant, not expecting the face of someone else.
“What,” DI Gregory Lestrade says softly, “are you still doing here?”
Ah. This is what Anthea was talking about.
“Gregory, I—“
“Mycroft,” Gregory says instead, coming into the office and shutting the door, “you’ve been here for over 72 hours.”
“Nonsense, Anthea came in just a moment ago to say I was approaching 72 hours.”
“Yes, that was three hours ago.”
Mycroft stops on the next word. “…ah.”
Gregory gives him a look. “Come home, Mycroft. You look half-dead on your feet.”
“I can assure you,” Mycroft sighs, picking up his pen again, “that I am perfectly fine.”
“Mhmm.”
Mycroft sighs again. Honestly, people can take his word on a few things. He’s almost finished, too…
“Tell you what,” Gregory says, drawing his attention once more, “if you come with me to get a cup of tea from the people down the hall, I’ll leave you to it.”
Mycroft blinks. Well, that’s easy enough. He pushes back from his desk and stands up, fully ready to just get this over with.
He sees nothing but black.
He blinks his eyes open—when did they close?—expecting to see the cold lights of hid office and its equally uninviting ceiling. Instead, he sees the warm cream of his flat and the hazy image of a face above his.
“Ah,” Gregory says, smiling when his face finally swims into view, “you’re awake.”
“Did you drug me,” Mycroft asks feebly, “and bring me here?”
Gregory raises an eyebrow. “You…fainted. Straight into my arms.”
Ah. He’d forgotten he has a tendency to do that when he…reached certain levels of exhaustion.
“You know,” Gregory teases, “if you wanted my attention, you didn’t need to go to such extremes.”
“It wasn’t intentional,” Mycroft grumbles, trying to get up only to realize his entire body refused to cooperate.
“I know.” Gregory helps him sit up with a hand on his shoulder. “Please, Mycroft, remember that you’re only human.”
Mycroft scoffs and Gregory lightly shoves his shoulder. “You’re restricted by the same needs as the rest of us,” he insists, “you need to eat and rest too.”
“…I suppose.”
Gregory smiles. “Good. Now let’s get you something to eat.”
As Mycroft watches his partner leave the bedroom, he smiles. Gregory is right, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. But as he returns with enough food to make up for all the meals Mycroft must’ve missed, he can’t bring himself to care all that much at the moment.
After all, he didn’t hire Anthea because she was afraid to use the big guns when necessary.