Work Text:
Mycroft Holmes is a man unaccustomed to feeling nervous. In his work, in his life, he simply doesn’t have the luxury. Six impossible things before breakfast? Call that Tuesday. He can alter the course of history without breaking a sweat, which is good, because he hates to sweat. Imagine his displeasure now, with perspiration beading under his collar and the perfect knot of his tie.
Mycroft Holmes is a man unaccustomed to feeling anticipation. He mastered the art of controlled expectations before finishing primary school. If life is chess (and chess is war, do not doubt the transitive relation), then he is a Grandmaster, his mind a constant loop of simulations running to inevitable conclusions. Imagine his distress now, with ridiculous metaphorical butterflies fluttering over the possibility that he could be surprised.
Mycroft Holmes is a man unaccustomed to feeling desire. “Ice Man” was a compliment, confirmation that his carefully maintained borders were known to be unbreachable. Imagine his discomfort with the idea that those walls are breaking, that he wants to spend time with another person, that he wants to share a meal with another person, that he wants.
Mycroft Holmes is a man unaccustomed to feeling. He thought he was beyond caring. He thought he was beyond caring about caring. Imagine his discovery that caring is not a burden.