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Albert James Moriarty was a perfectionist. He would perceive every single mistake as an insufferable fly that wouldn't stop flying around until he made sure everything was as it was supposed to be. It was his duty to make sure the world was organized, clean and sterile.
Organized, clean and sterile.
Holmes’ bow tie is awry. My brother is overworking himself, he is slowly decaying. We need to perfectly calculate MI6’s next operations. I still have to respond to that lady’s invitation. Holmes' bow tie is awry. Yes, that is indeed the best thing to do right now to ease the situation between Scotland Yard and the citizens.
Holmes' bow tie is awry.
“Holmes, I don't think it's safe for us to involve Scotland Yard right now.” Albert said, with a quiet tone and a smile on his face.
William… I wish I could let my selfishness win over me; I want to see you give up all of your plans and live your own life. You're probably hiding all of your pain, but…
Holmes' bow tie is awry.
“Moriarty-” Mycroft’s voice was as stoic as always, even though it was possible to sense his disappointment.
“You, you think we should involve Scotland Yard after all?” asked Albert, confused by his reaction.
“I think it's best for us to stop this meeting. We’re not going everywhere.” Holmes said while turning away from Albert to see outside the window.
An even more confused Moriarty saw his figure against the light.
“What are you referring to, Holmes?”
“You're focused on something else. To put it simply, less than a quarter of your thoughts are actually concentrated on MI6. If we're not counting those intrusive thoughts about my awry bow tie, that is.” While pronouncing these words, Mycroft turned back and leaned on his desk.
“Uh…”
Albert thought that being always surrounded by extremely intelligent people could sometimes be really bothersome.
“Albert, let's do this some other time.”
“Oh? We're already calling ourselves by our first names?” Albert laughed trying to hide his embarrassment.
Mycroft suddenly approached Moriarty -still sitting on the couch- and looked at him from above.
“So? What's bothering you?” asked Mycroft; his voice was strict.
Albert didn't want to open up to Holmes. It was not appropriate. It was too much. He didn't even have the strength to look Mycroft in the eyes.
“Awry bow tie.” said Albert while his hands were reaching the awry bow tie to properly adjust it.
“Oh, so we're doing this now?” Mycroft’s hands stopped Albert's.
It was a matter of seconds: Moriarty found himself immobilized, arms blocked on his back by Mycroft's grip.
Albert started panting while staring at Holmes’ lips.
“Am I not even allowed to see a proper bow tie?” protested Albert.
“Exposure therapy, ever heard of it?”
Albert couldn't stop thinking about Mycroft's grip on his wrists.
“I heard it's kind of obsolete.” Albert smiled.
“If you say so.” Mycroft laughed a little, while letting Moriarty free. He was about to walk away.
“Mycroft.”
“Yes?”
Albert grabbed him by his collar.
—
It wasn't the first time it happened, nor was it going to be the last.
Albert glared at Mycroft: he was deeply invested in trying to make his hair go back to their usual professional, serious shape.
“Maybe you should focus on your unbuttoned shirt. You look like your brother. You even have the same accent when you're upset.” Albert mocked him.
And not just when you're upset.
“You really like this whole accent thing, do you?” Holmes sighed.
Mycroft left after a few minutes. That's how they would handle their relationship: whatever happened or whatever they said to each other would be forgotten and never talked about.
Albert was now alone.
The forbidden fruit had been eaten, responsibilities and punishments suddenly weighted on Moriarty’s shoulders. He turned away, he ran away. Even if it was for barely an hour, he forgot about the Lord of Crime.
Why did I do that? Why did I put myself before a whole nation, before my brothers, before the future we promised ourselves to create?
The room seemed dirtier. He suddenly couldn't handle its smell. He wanted to tear his own skin away. The world was uneven. He had to destroy every single atom and make it all over again.
I have to make things perfect.
The room suddenly became smaller, he could see the walls starting to crush him while he could sense the inside of his brain expanding. There's no space, there's no time, there's no order.
Albert burst into tears.
—
Mycroft knew. He knew that the moment he would have left Albert alone, he would have been completely destroyed. Holmes would rather think of himself as a cynic person.
It would be a waste of time. I wouldn't be able to do a thing anyway.
Like my brother, uh? No, I'll never be such an impulsive brat. I learned to control myself and neglect my feelings.
Holmes didn't even realize the implications of what he had just thought.