Chapter Text
"No, Watson, this was not done by accident, but by design."
- Sherlock Holmes
Mycroft was livid. Absolutely livid. And if there was one thing people needed to know about him, it was that no one, no one, ever crossed him — the most powerful man in Britain, the bloody British government — unless they wanted to disappear off the face of the earth. But of course, that didn't bother one man, who happened to be the most infuriating person known to existence. Sherlock Holmes, his darling little brother, to be exact.
The antagonistic relationship between Mycroft and his younger sibling was stereotypical. They insulted each other relentlessly, and they constantly sought to outwit the other. Mycroft always won, though. He was indeed much smarter than the infamous detective Sherlock Holmes, and never could his brother beat him in deductions. It was a gift, really. Mycroft's uncanny ability to read people and objects in record breaking time was impressive, to say the least. In fact, it was his sharp intellect and nearly infallible composure that secured him a "minor" place in the British government. Lord knows that it wasn't his physical health that made him worthy of his position. He fancied too many plum puddings for that to ever be the case.
Now, Mycroft was used to Sherlock's irritating jabs and rude interruptions in his life, but there was usually a line, a limit, that both of them knew not to cross. It was unspoken, one of the few of its kind between them, and neither of them had stepped past that border since they were in their teens. Sure, they had pushed the boundaries from time to time, but they knew better than to go farther than that. At least, Mycroft assumed they knew that. Damn that annoying, exasperating little arsehole.
He sighed, massaging his temples with his fingers. And of course Sherlock had to choose today to cross that line.