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Mycroft was simply working on the last remaining reports that Anthea had made him do when Sherlock barged into his office with a dramatic flair for the umpteenth time these past few weeks.
Mycroft suppressed a sigh, resigning to remind himself he ought to be used to this by now from decades of experience with Sherlock’s bothersome tendencies, yet he couldn’t quite muster up the patience for it on that particular moment after an exhausting day filled with meetings which consisted of more stuffy old officials than usual. What he would give for a glass of liquid heaven right then.
“I’ve never wanted to even come here in the first place yet Lestrade insisted— irritatingly might I add —that I get on here anyway.” Sherlock hastily said without preamble, legs crossed on the couch in front of his desk.
“And do tell what is it that you need this time, dear brother?” Mycroft asked without looking up from his work.
Sherlock made a noise that clearly expressed his displeasure towards what he’s about to say. “Would you mind coming over to the scene tomorrow to go over what we’ve had uncovered so far with our current cold case and… aid a bit as I’m admittedly stumped in this situation. And don’t you dare ask what scene. You know fully well what or where it is with your beloved surveillance cameras watching my every move.” He rolled his eyes in disgust.
“I’ll ask Anthea to clear my schedule then, but first let me ask you this. You could’ve clearly called instead of annoying me with your presence, so out with it Sherlock.” Mycroft finally looked up from his almost finished work and stared down on his brother inquisitively, who stared right back just as intensely with a sharp eye.
It was silent for a while, with Sherlock only staring directly at him before speaking. “You’ve gone soft, brother.”
Mycroft raised an eyebrow, then, one he’s perfected over the years as he carefully cultivated his image whilst rising up the ranks. “And what makes you think that?” He already had an inkling, one he knew that Sherlock knew, yet was curious nonetheless on how he’s going to play this game.
“You’re not as subtle as you think you are, and that’s a problem. All your movements the moment I entered showed indifference up until I mentioned Detective Inspector Lestrade, where you’re entire being lit up like a puppy receiving his treat on Christmas— so imperceptibly that no one but me would clearly notice and it’s disgusting.” Sherlock visibly shivered on his seat and Mycroft rolled his eyes at the action, very much preferring to have that drink and a good book back home than be in this atrocious of a tête-à-tête. He thought of his brother’s attitude as an excuse to not dwell on the very subject the man is pointing out at that very moment.
Outwardly, he thought it best to calmly talk his way out of this, or through it considering this is Sherlock executing this interrogation scene, unfortunately. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.” Maybe it was a terrible idea to readily agree to assist for tomorrow’s matter. He hates it when Sherlock’s right, he may have indeed grown a bit too soft for his own comfort.
“Deny all you want, Mycroft, but we both know what’s happened to you, and I have no desire to take part in any of that.”
“Oh, goody,” Mycroft said airily with a bubbling restive demeanor. “Anthea will be fetching a car to drive you home now.”
“I can walk! And I’d rather walk, thank you very much.” He was already bounding by the door before he can finish his sentence.
“You can still come tomorrow of course because I unfortunately need another like-minded individual to finally figure out this case than deal with any of those dimwits in the Yard, but any and all future even minute interactions with Gavin will be deleted hereafter. Good day.” And with that his office door clicked closed.
Mycroft sighed deeply now, methodically arranging his papers and sending a quick text to Anthea to collect them on his desk before preparing to leave himself. He didn’t quite know what to make of DI Gregory Lestrade seemingly becoming of significance in his life. It’s uncharted territory this feeling is, and he didn’t like not knowing things.
Gregory, with those alluring set of eyes being just as intense as he remembered the first time he met him decades ago, young and ferociously kind in his willingness to help out young Sherlock from the trenches of his addiction and get clean.
He sighed again as he put on his coat, then heard his phone buzz with a new text.
I’ve heard he likes tulips. SH
He summarized that he hadn’t quite heard so much as observed yet a soft smile formed in his face nonetheless, unbidden.
He fired off a quick message to Anthea, consisting of letting him know the best flower shops in the area before leaving. If he was going to do anything about unfamiliar territory, he’s going to plan accordingly with the right strategies for this particular situation. He has no choice but to agree that this is important to him, and so he must do it as correctly as possible for Greg.