@governmentofficial fobwatched!verse
Irving Lungbarrow watched the others like a hawk. He watched them silently, taking notes of their behaviour like an ethologist studying the surrounding wildlife. In many ways, as chief whip, he did feel like an ethologist sometimes. Perhaps he should have gone down that route back in University. It would have been a lot less stressful. He harrumphed, and he fingered his notes lazily.
"You're not missing much," He commented as he felt Mycroft sneak into the room and sit down beside him. "Except that Lord Blackwell has been asleep for the past ten minutes and nobody has even commented on it. Or perhaps they don't even care any more."
He nodded in the direction to the left, where Lord Blackwell sat dozing, his arms folded across his chest and a drool escaping his lips. "Oh, congratulations, by the way. On your brother not being dead."
Irving had a suspicious feeling that Sherlock wasn't dead during the whole case with James Moriarty. He had met Sherlock briefly once, he thought he was very rude and demanded a tenner of him for a taxi to get to an important case. Irving obliged, intrigued by the man despite his nature, but he was pretty sure that Sherlock spent the tenner on drugs money rather than a taxi. But something told Irving despite the whole scandal, Sherlock wasn't a fool that the criminal overlord made him out to be to the general public.
He put the paperwork down, and brought out his fob watch that was forever damaged since that accident, tracing his fingers over the unusual circular patterns. It was a habit to bring it out of his pocket. It felt reassuring to have it, like it was almost part of him in some way.
