@paialovespie is doing a Mystrade event for May that has the theme art and a little idea came up and now I’m trying to write it out. The version of this morning is already different from the version yesterday but I want to take my time and do it as best I can. (Even though I know nothing about art/drawing and I haven’t written anything new in months, I’m going to make this happen.)
“What in the world? Mycroft, did a bomb explode here or something?” Greg carefully walked into his friend’s room, letting out a whispered curse when he knocked over a stack of books. He’d never seen Mycroft’s room look this bad and his eyes had a difficult time deciding what to look at first. The stacks and stacks of books? The trash can filled with crumpled up papers? Greg’s heart cracked when he looked closer and saw that it was all artwork started but clearly not finished. He noticed a lot of red spots and lines but couldn’t really figure out anything else because it had all been smeared, crumbled up or ripped into pieces.
“Of course I am in here! Where else would I be at 11 PM?”
“Out partying like us normal blokes?” Greg answered, grinning when Mycroft’s face appeared from behind a huge pile of books and folders on his desk.
“I don’t have time to party, Lestrade.” Mycroft spit out the word party as if it was a jinx and Greg grinned even more. Mycroft muttered to himself before ripping out a page of his sketchbook and throwing it across his room.
“Okay, what is going on? It’s like a dump in here!” Greg gestured around himself, looking for someplace to sit but not finding one spot. It was a far cry from the usual clean, calm space Mycroft craved. Clearly, something big was happening.
“This is a disaster.” Mycroft muttered, slapping his sketchbook on the desk before him, the glass filled with pens and pencils rattling.
“Yeah, I can see that.” Greg commented, waving a hello when Mycroft looked up at him, surprised to see him.
“You just talked to me, Myc! How long have you been sitting there?” Greg asked, suddenly worried. Mycroft waved a hand, flexing his fingers and Greg shuddered when he heard the joints crack.
“Not important!” Mycroft mumbled, stretching his back before rubbing at his eyes and looking down at his desk with an angry glare.
“What was he thinking? Love in an abstract form, using only color. Idiot!”
@chained-to-the-mirror @morgendaemmerung89 @lavenderandvanilla @27dragons @beltainefaerie @merindab
