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7. Your muse has been burgled
It was one of the few weekends Quentin had managed to catch a car home without his brother's intervention or knowledge - something he was quite proud of, if he was to be perfectly honest with himself. There wasn't much that his brother didn't know.
When the cab rolled up to Mycroft's house though, it just looked strange. Quentin couldn't pinpoint what was wrong, but something was off about the residence. He handed the cabbie a couple of bills and stepped out of the car, pulling his satchel out from behind him before walking up to the front door.
The front door that had been kicked in before being shoved back into place hastily to maintain the illusion of normalcy. Oh.
"Mycroft?" Quentin called as he carefully pushed the door aside, taking in the destruction that was the living room. "Are you home?" He pulled out his phone and began dialing his brother's cell, not sure if the responding ring would be inside the house or not. Had he been home when they'd entered? Was he tied up somewhere? His logic was flying out the window and he was not happy about it.
He listened intently, waiting to see if he would hear something. "Damn it Myc, answer..."
