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Picking up the skull, Mycroft held it out in front of him in a purely Hamlet like fashion, frowning at it as though he had once knew the poor man who it had once belonged to. Although, perhaps it was better to attribute his scowl to the man who not only owned the skull currently, but saw fit to keep it out on the mantle.
He had simply been intending to visit his brother, to make sure that he wasn’t getting himself into any trouble given his recent move. It was the benefit of having his brother living at Baker street, rather than that of Montague Street. He had a nice landlady, who seemed willing enough to let him live there at a reduced price. And while Mycroft tried not to question the ins and out of how such a thing came to be, it was harder to ignore the skull when he was standing there, holding it as though it might give some kind of answer as to its reason for being in 221B.
“Don’t hold him like that,” Sherlock said as he walked into the room. Marching over to Mycroft, he made to grab it, but with the speed of a man with a grabby younger brother, the elder Holmes managed to avoid his grasp. “Give him back, Mycroft.”
“No. First we’re going to discuss why you have a skull.”
“It came with my body.”
“Not that one. The empty one,” Mycroft sneered before looking at the skull in his hand and amending his statement. “The other empty one.”
Scoffing, Sherlock merely reached for the skull again, only to once again come away with nothing. Huffing angrily, he collapsed into one of the chairs by the fireplace, fingers steepled against his chin. “Why are you here?”
“Checking in on you. Why do you have this?” Mycroft questioned again as he stuck his fingers into the empty sockets.
If nothing else, it manage to illicit an annoyed noise from Sherlock, who looked exasperated as he told him, “It was given to me by a friend.”
“You don’t have friends.”
“I have a Molly. She’s like a friend.”
Staring at the skull, Mycroft arched his brow curiously before turning it towards Sherlock as he looked at his brother as well. “You have a friend of the female sex?”
“She finds me attractive.”
“And she gave you a skull to prove that?” Chuckling under his brother, Mycroft gently placed the skull back on the mantle as he shook his head. “Marry her. Certainly you’ll never find another woman who shows affection the same way you do.”
“She let me have the skull because I was fond of the body it belonged to. We named him Billy and since he was a nobody who was to be cremated, we decided that I should take his skull home and show it a proper life.”
“Seriously, marry her,” Mycroft said, unable to believe that anyone else would feel about random dead bodies the same way Sherlock did.
Giving him a disgusted look like when Mycroft would playfully tease his younger brother about liking girls from town when he was still a boy, Sherlock turned away and crossed his arms over his chest. “She’s a friend. You don’t marry friends. You keep them until things stop being friendly.”
“Or seek a frustratingly brief pleasure from each other.”
“I have you for that,” said as though it was obvious.
Opening his mouth at that, Mycroft decided not to question it. Instead he merely turned back toward Billy, caressing his cranium as he sighed. In due time he’d have to meet the girl who thought to give his brother a skull as a present, as well as discuss just what it was Sherlock had been up to with his brother. But, as Sherlock reached for his violin and began playing a decidedly off-key rendition of a lovely Vivaldi song, Mycroft merely shared a look with Billy, mildly pleased to have someone else to suffer through Sherlock with him.