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Mycroft knew he was being ignored. Not accidentally, by his brother being busy or something, but fully intentionally. Because of the fact his brother was Sherlock Holmes. And because he was ignoring Molly too, apparently.
The detective was standing at his favorite spot here in the laboratory, a pair of tweezers in his right hand, holding a solid square of something that looked a little too much like a part of a human brain. Water was dripping from it, and it seemed to be frozen and now melting again under the heat of the Bunsen burner which was standing on the table. Sherlock focused the lambent flame with compressed lips and narrow eyes behind the safety goggles, as concentrated as if his life was depending on it.
“Isn’t this one a little bit too grotesque, little brother?”, Mycroft noted and made one step in his direction, only for him to catch a deadly stare from Sherlock. Just like he always did, like he had already done in his childhood. It was one of his specialties to judge anyone just by his looks and with few or without any words.
“Why?”
"I feel like you are currently melting a brain. A human one?”
“Obviously a human one. Don’t you have any basic education?”
Sherlock turned his concentration back to the flame and started to slowly turn the brain in it. In a strange way it reminded Mycroft of roasting a marshmallow.
“Could you two… please… not fight right here next to an open flame?” It was Molly, whose eyes were nervously agitating between the Holmes brothers and the burner. She obviously wanted to create a little bit of peace between them, but she was lacking confidence to do so, and Mycroft wasn’t even sure if her trembling voice was audible for Sherlock with the constantly hissing fire between them.
Regarding his reaction, it was. Surprisingly fast, his face turned towards her and his tone was definitely sharper than before.
“Who gave you the right to talk? I am trying to concentrate. And who even let him in?” Now was the first time his eyes were directly facing his brother. If Mycroft hadn’t known him for over thirty years, he might have actually been convinced that he hadn’t realized his presence until now.
But before he could answer, Molly decided to do.
“It was me, I called him yesterday. I couldn’t let you sleep in the lab, of course… But it’s also not a permanent solution for you to claim my living room”
Sherlock didn’t seem to be able to decide if it now was a better decision to be angry at her or Mycroft, and he for sure hadn’t agreed on Molly telling his brother about the way she found him here about fourteen hours ago. He had been sitting there in the corner with several overstuffed bags, soaking wet from the rain and apparently high on some substance. The list he silently handled the heavily confused, but equally worried Molly gave the final proof. Probably it just was her ongoing supervision since that moment that had prevented an even heavier trip. Now though, standing there in his white shirt and the black suit, he looked surprisingly well compared to last night.
Mycroft let out a loud sigh, his eyes glancing over Sherlock, roughly assessing his current state. “Brother mine, we had an agreement, don’t you remember?”
“How could I forget when you keep reminding me every time we meet?” The detective was not happy about seeing him and he did not try to hide that. But Mycroft couldn’t decide if that was a prove for him to be really sober or really high. One thing for sure, he now was in full flow.
“ ‘Just try to behave a little. Don’t draw too much attention on you and the rent won’t be your problem anymore. No experiments in the kitchen, okay? It is not yours. And try to not shoot the windows or the wall this time, a landlord usually likes their property in one piece. And please, no drug abuse –‘ I am not abusing drugs, I need them to think! Don’t tell me y’all are surprised that this did not work out. Wasn’t it already more than predictable after the first complaint because I had too many visitors? As a detective?”
He suddenly paused when he realized the brain, on which he did not pay attention for one or two minutes, was done melting and now starting to slowly turn black and smell. That didn’t seem to be the plan because he immediately started to violently shake it, definitely swearing but too mumbled to understand.
“Sherlock, you make that sound like an act of brotherly love – when I prefer to see the practical side. You have a certain use for us as a society and I don’t like my famous brother to be homeless. You know, a good reputation is more valuable than money. I paid for Montague Street because it was easier to handle with you having that uncertain income. Are you now serious with telling me that you saw an instant dismissal coming and did not change a thing?”
“Who said something about instant?”, Sherlock grunted. His eyes were angrily fixated on the now sorrowfully smoking brain, still held by the pair of tweezers.
“I found this to be quite obvious regarding the fact that you agreed on sleeping on Molly Hooper’s sofa”
Molly had been following the conversation as unsuspicious as possible, but now, with her name being mentioned, she hectically sprinted to the door to open it for someone that had been standing outside for a while now, by her looks obviously embarrassed. The detective seemed to be thinking about just going back into his ongoing silence but Mycroft’s dunning humph made him decide otherwise. He did not want any more problems, after all. And most importantly, he finally wanted his silence. Oh, please.
“I am not a factory worker, I am a consulting detective. I work like one and I live like one”
“And now you are a consulting detective without a roof over your head. Congratulations. Should your clients sit on cardboard boxes under a bridge with you?”
Mycroft was angry, but he had that tiny bit of worry in his voice. After all, he cared about Sherlock, and he wouldn’t have agreed on paying his rent back then if it hadn’t been a chance to keep him safe. Or at least a little safer. Sherlock was not that good in sorting his life out on his own. That’s why he was quite surprised to hear his answer.
“Officially, maybe. But I got my eyes on a nice little place in central London. Two bedrooms, a big living room, a kitchen and a bathroom”
“No, you must be kidding. The rent must be enormous. And I am not paying all of it again. Not that much.”
Sherlock must have decided the burnt brain was no longer of any use, at least he started stabbing it with a scalpel while explaining.
“No, I know the owner, Martha Louise Hudson. She owes me a favor. I helped her when her husband should be executed in Florida”
“So, you saved his life?”, Molly gave a last try to engage in the conversation while she watched Sherlock in shock.
“Oh no, I made sure the sentence was carried out”
In the following seconds of awkward silence, he pulled the brain from the scalpel and threw it over the desk into the dustbin like a piece of crumpled paper, an old shopping list or something.
That was an idea, certainly worth a try. Someone that already knew Sherlock would maybe take it easy with blaming him for the way he was.
“Alright. But I am still not paying it all. I want you to get a roommate. Someone that shares that flat with you and keeps an eye on you. You are not going down into that drug spiral again” He kept in mind that the last few tries on that didn’t work out that well. The latest candidate, a bankrupt astronomer, could not stop trying to teach Sherlock that the solar system was in fact not geocentric, what ended in him being pelted with human eyes and instantly denying he had ever agreed on living with “that thing”.
“A roommate? Aw, come on. You know what to expect from that. I am not compatible with people.” Of course, Sherlock was pointing out that exact event, but he seemed to find it rather funny. But Mycroft had made his decision.
“You better start to be. Share that flat with someone and I will be paying your half for now. But get it alone and I won’t be paying. At all. And we don’t want to share the same rooms ever again, do we?”
With those words, he was already gone through the door. He knew for sure that a discussion wouldn’t help anyone right now. To keep his brother safe, he needed him to have a friend, or something comparable. And to make him agree on that, he needed to be left alone with his mind until he realized it really was the better option.
The detective rolled his eyes and watched the door closing. Then he turned around to the visitor Molly had let in a few minutes ago.
"Ah, Stamford. At least you have to agree: Who’d want me for a flat mate?”