Brothers Two - Permanent
Mycroft sat alone in his darkened office at the Diogenes Club.
Most of the people that frequented the club had learned over the last two years that their main founding member enjoyed his quiet most especially on certain subject. Certain subjects could get one thrown out of the club, let alone out of the country. It hadn’t been proven yet, but someone had messed around the subject of Sherlock Holmes too much and never returned from a ‘vacation’ in South America. Mycroft knew they never would prove it and the person in question would never return. Mycroft had made sure, completely sure.
Things had been hard between the governments he had been dealing with and his constant guilt over his little brother. He didn’t like to admit it, but he knew that most people felt it was partially his fault, if not completely, especially John Watson. The good doctor wasn’t well, and he didn’t think well of Mycroft, if he ever had.
He was merely sorting papers at the moment, going over reports and things when his phone rang. He picked it up, loathing every second that had to be taken away from his stacks of work. The call was coming in from Anthea, he could only imagine why, at this late of an hour, she would be contacting him.
“What is it?” said Mycroft sighing. “Don’t tell me that the high chancellor is already starting to doubt the proposition of the president?”
“It’s not about that, sir.” said Anthea carefully. “This is about something else.”
“I don’t want to talk about NATO or the United Nations at the moment.” mumbled Mycroft paying more attention to his computer screen than the phone in his hand. “Tell them I’ll get back to them next week.”
“Not that either, Mr. Holmes.” said Anthea sighing. “This has nothing to do with your current projects.”
Mycroft looked up from the computer frowning.
“Then what does it have to do with, Anthea?” said Mycroft. “I don’t have time for tedious conversations, and I certainly don’t have time for games.”
“This isn’t a game, sir.” said Anthea. “Sherlock Holmes has been spotted in Germany, on a CCTV camera. Your operatives are wondering what you want to do about it?”
Mycroft froze completely, a deep frown creasing his face.
“I never suspected that you would get in on the joke, and so late, it seems.” said Mycroft cuttingly. “It’s not funny, Anthea, and it never will be.”
“I’m not joking.” said Anthea. “I’m having the footage sent to your computer as we speak. I wouldn’t joke or lie about this to you . . . I know . . . I know how you’ve been over it.”
“You have no idea what it’s been like dealing with it, so don’t profess that you do.” snapped Mycroft. “This had better not be . . .”
“It’s not a hoax, look at the footage, Mycroft.” said Anthea snapping back. “I’ll wait for you to tell me what it is you want to do about it.”
And with that she hung up.