Invisible; Mycroft Holmes
Once an agent for the US, you are now settled into your new, more mundane, life, thanks to Jim Moriarty.
Nobody will ever know what you once did, or at least you thought so.
When someone from your past appears, the life you built threatens fall apart as your lies begin to unravel.
Warnings: Way too many Metal Gear Solid references, Y/N is also referred to as Hound, Rose, and Meryl (code name), violence, mention of murder of sibling, communication issues (it gets resolved), attempted murder, alcohol mentions, poorly written politics, not proofread.
London was… interesting.
Initially, you had hated the city and your life here. It was too… normal. Too mundane. Your life for the last ten years – give or take – had been all assignments, constant violence, and unnecessary death. Going from that to daily coffees from the coffee shop outside of your workplace with idle chatter with your co-workers was… well, let’s just say that it took some adjusting. Still, you persevered; this was what you wanted, after all. You hadn’t paid such a large amount of money to fake your death just on a whim. No, you needed a fresh start. You needed stability and a life where you weren’t constantly sneaking around a battlefield.
You had expected your new life to remain mundane. The coffee shop visits brought a certain peace with them, but that peace didn’t scratch the itch that you needed. You were used to drama. Used to crime and secrets. It was something that you craved, after living that way for so long. That craving was why you were so quick to accept to help Sherlock Holmes and his partner in (solving) crime. And you were glad that you had done so, considering that was how you met your current partner.
Mycroft Holmes was an interesting man. A man full of secrets but also a lot of power. However, he wasn’t like the usual government workers that you were used to. Mycroft Holmes was different. He wasn’t power hungry, didn’t use unnecessary violence to get what he wanted, and he cared, even if he didn’t show it.
He cared about his family. he cared about the country. His brother’s friends were somewhere on the list of people he cared about – not that he would ever admit that – as were his co-workers. Mycroft Holmes cared about those around him. He cared about you.
Perhaps that was why you fell for him.
After dealing with corrupt government agencies for so long and witnessing their destruction first hand, Mr. Holmes was like a breath of fresh air. Despite his uncaring and cold façade, you could read him like a book. It was something that he hated about you at first, or maybe it was because that fact was what drew him to you. That was all in the past now, though. Mycroft Holmes – your partner of one year – had moved on from pushing you away and instead didn’t like you being far from him.
“Ah, Mr. Holmes!” Another suited man called Mycroft over with a wave of his hand. “Long time no see, and who is this lovely little thing?”
You took a deep breath; the unnamed man’s ridiculously expensive – and quite frankly awful – aftershave overwhelming your senses as you did so. You forced a smile, holding out your hand in greeting.
“I’m Y/N, it’s a pleasure to meet you,”
The man introduced himself as Gerald, someone in a high-up government position somewhere you hadn’t cared enough to remember, before turning to Mycroft.
You knew that Mycroft hated small talk. Had this not been a mandatory event for people in his line of work, he wouldn’t have even bothered to come. He was debating not showing up and feigning illness, but you had forced him to go with the promise of tagging along if it was what he needed.
The conversation was boring by your standards – talks about economic struggles and the impact of some war that was going on – so you instead favoured to glance around the room, effectively tuning out the conversation.
It was a grand ballroom, as to be expected for a government facility. The walls were immaculately painted with a cream colour, clearly repainted often, and the marble-looking flooring likely cost more than your whole apartment building. The food-filled tables were covered with cloth, as were the drink tables. It oozed richness and power, everything that you had wanted to avoid.
The people were no better, of course. Power-hungry men in personally tailored suits with fake smiles and manipulative words. Well, most of them. Someone was out of place here… and you recognised him immediately.
“Are you all right?” Mycroft’s hushed voice asked you. The man had clearly left, likely without a goodbye to yourself. “You’re tense. Your body is rigid and-“
You giggled, running your hand across his suit jacket to calm yourself. “You don’t need to deduce me, Mycroft. I’m fine. I just don’t do well in social settings, that’s all.”
Mycroft nodded. He knew you were lying, of course, but this wasn’t the time nor place to discuss such a matter. He only had to be here for another hour before he was free to leave, and you could both go to that 24-hour bookshop café that you loved so much.
By the third time, it was starting to get annoying.
The man who had noticed previously had not taken his eyes off you for even a second. He walked around, holding conversation, but you knew he was watching you. You knew him too well, even after the time apart. Your partner was good at tracking his targets, even while performing other tasks. He was sly, an expert at undercover missions. He was a fox.
Glancing up at Mycroft revealed that your weird behaviour hadn’t gone unnoticed. He was looking down at you with a concerned gaze and a raised eyebrow. Even the forced smile you gave him – one that most fell for – did nothing to throw him off. You were saved, however, by a female co-worker approaching you both. Using the sudden distraction to your advantaged, you greeted the familiar woman with a smile and nod, before excusing yourself to the bathroom.
It was obvious that you needed air, Mycroft knew that much. His suspicions were only confirmed when you headed to the door rather than the ladies. Lady Smallwood’s words went unheard by Mycroft as his eyes followed your tense frame as you exited the building, followed by a man he did not recognise.
“And I feel-“ the woman’s words fell of deaf ears as Mycroft Holmes wordlessly left the conversation to follow you outside, grabbing his umbrella on the way out… just in case.
It didn’t take long for Mycroft to find you, or rather, find the man who had followed you. He saw him disappear down an alleyway beside the building and then heard your voice asking why are you here?
So, you know this man, Mycroft was quick to deduce as he stood near the alley, eavesdropping.
“Long time no see, Hound,” the unnamed man’s voice was steady, as though he had rehearsed this conversation.
“Don’t call me that. That isn’t me, not anymore.” Came your cold reply. “Hound died alongside me. Killed in action. I am not Hound.”
“Yes, you are.” Mycroft could hear the man’s dress shoes click against the gravel as he wandered further into the alleyway.
“No, I’m not. I left the life behind years ago. You can be Fox, all you want, but I am not Hound.”
“We are partners, Hound, whether you like it or not. We swore that to each other when we started working together. Every assignment, every ‘trip’, everything. We are Fox and Hound, we swore it. So, imagine my surprise when I hear that my partner was killed on a simple in-and-out assignment. That wasn’t your style. You are good at your job; you wouldn’t die in something as easy at that.”
Mycroft heard you take a deep breath, gravel crunching beneath your shoes as you spun to face this Fox.
“We are not Fox and Hound. Not anymore. You can be Fox if you want, but I am not Hound. I didn’t want that for myself, I never did. I was freshly eighteen when they recruited me. I had no idea what I was getting into.” You snapped. “I like my life now. That is my future. I’m not Hound. I’m Y/N. Just Y/N.”
Fox paused for a moment, and Mycroft could only assume he was watching you. Studying you.
“Your life is fake. Everything about you is fake. Your name, your past work, your relations. And let me guess, your relationship with that man, is that fake too? All for your new life? For your future?”
Mycroft’s eyebrows furrowed. Fox, whoever he was, was clearly referring to him.
“Leave him out of this, I’m serious.” Your voice was stone cold and Mycroft heard your footsteps – ones he would recognise anywhere – approaching. “Don’t talk to me. You don’t know me, not anymore.” You said as you continued walking,
“What would Emma think?” Your footsteps stopped abruptly at the name. “You swore to avenge her. I know you, Hound. I know who you are.”
A shaky inhale was your response before Fox continued to speak.
“You’re not this Y/N person. You’re Hound. Meryl, if you want a real name. The U.S agent who saved the world.”
You hesitated for a moment, before you gave one final response.
“No, I’m not,”
Mycroft heard your footsteps begin once more and hurried back inside.
You didn’t know that Mycroft had overheard your argument. Mycroft was good at hiding things from you when he wanted to, even if that wasn’t often. But it was necessary. Not only was a government party not the place for him to question you, but he also had a plan. And as he sat in front of his laptop that night, Mycroft Holmes, for the first time in a while, hesitated.
He didn’t know what he would find when he searched the database. Was he going to find that you were some war criminal or something? He wasn’t sure. Mycroft Holmes was never one to leave questions unanswered, though, so he searched, opening the first file that he saw.
TOP SECRET
U.S Government Agency: Snake:
Agent Name: Meryl Silverburgh
Code Name: Hound
Assignments: 112 (Classified)
Details: Often works with partner, Fox. Chemistry undeniable. Efficient workers. Top workers, deploy when necessary.
The document went on, spanning hundreds of pages, but Mycroft saw one thing that caught his attention as he recalled your words about how Hound had died alongside you.
Update, 2019: Hound did not return from mission. Classed as K.I.A, despite no body being found. High risk to retrieve. No need to retrieve.
So, it was true.
You – the girl he knew as Y/N – were a U.S secret agent, Meryl, who faked her death.
The knock on the door to your apartment was one you recognised with ease, and one which, despite your earlier issues, brought a smile to your face. You love Mycroft, even if the two of you were never entirely open and honest about your affections for each other.
“Mycroft, hi,” you smiled up at him, one which dropped upon seeing the solemn look on his face. “Are you… okay?”
Mycroft’s eyes remained on the wall beside your head, never meeting your eyes.
“Can I come in?” He asked. “I need to talk to you.”
You paused, hand tightly gripping the wood of the door. “Uh, sure. Come in.”
Mycroft nods, gaze still avoiding yours as you let him into your apartment. Something that once felt natural now felt strained, as though Mycroft Holmes was a million miles away from you, despite it being merely an arm’s reach,
“Do you want a drink?” You asked awkwardly, gesturing towards the kettle.
Mycroft didn’t answer your question, instead favouring to ask his own. “That man, Fox. Was what he said true? Was what I read true?” For the first time since he arrived, Mycroft’s eyes met yours, just in time to see them widen. “Was everything a lie? Are you really a government agent?” His voice was strained, the hesitance evident in his eyes.
You froze, your hand that was previously raised to point at the kettle fell to your side, shaking. “Mycroft…” You pause, balling your hands into fists as you shoved them in your pockets. He’d realise you were shaking if you didn’t. “I’m sorry.” You couldn’t explain, you know that. Even if you tried, what could you say? He had access to your files, everything – at least most of your life – was on them. There wasn’t much you could say that he wouldn’t already know. “I’m so sorry.”
Mycroft nodded, wordlessly turning to exit your apartment, perhaps for the last time. You knew there was no point stopping him or even trying to. What you did was wrong, you know that. In fact, you weren’t even sure if you would forgive yourself.
The door remained closed, despite the long time you spent staring at it. Mycroft wasn’t going to return, that much was obvious, and you couldn’t blame him. Rather than chasing after him, you simply reached for your phone, pulling out the piece of paper that you had found in your pocket once you returned and dialling the digits that were scrawled on it.
“Fine, you win.” You spoke the moment you heard someone answer. You knew who it was anyway. “What’s the mission?”
Mycroft Holmes prided himself on his intelligence. He could read people well and knew when they were being untruthful… or so he thought. You… God how could deceive him so well? He knew that love was a dangerous disadvantage – he recalled telling Sherlock that numerous times – but he never believed that he would fall victim to it.
Your entire relationship was fake. You didn’t love him. You were simply using him to secure your future, at least, that was what he got from Fox’s words. That was what he believed to be truth, one which was only solidified by your refusal to explain.
Mycroft heard the crack rather than felt it. The pen in his hand that he was using to try and fill in some paperwork broke from the strength of his grip, ink rushing down his palm as he cursed quietly.
Never had he expected himself to be one overwhelmed by emotions. He had never expected to be betrayed, least of all by you. Who were you? And there was one question that was unanswered, despite him reading through every document on the system: who was Emma?
Government parties were boring. They always had been, yet Mycroft forced himself to attend. Well, more like his mother forced him to get out of the house once she realised the state he was in during her visit. Besides, she had always wanted to attend such a lavish party, so taking her as his plus-one helped him cease her begging. It felt wrong… not having you as his plus-one.
“Mr. Holmes, we meet again!” The man from the previous party – before everything went to shit, for lack of a better word – greeted him. “Is Y/N not here today?”
Mycroft felt his body tense at the mention of your name, and he silently shook his head, grateful that his mother guided the conversation by introducing herself. Usually, Mycroft hated how much she could talk, but right now, it was the only thing keeping him sane. The waiting was awful.
Mycroft paid no attention to the conversation happening in front of him as he looked around the room, eyes focusing on the spot where you had stood with him a week prior before exiting. His gaze then drifted to the door, seeing a woman with red hair enter the building, alongside a man with grey hair.
Mycroft quietly scoffed to – and at - himself as he looked at the woman; she looked like you. Wait. No, she was you. Despite the red hair and green eyes, this woman was you. There was no doubt about it. The way she carried herself, the – albeit fake – smile, and her posture; this was you… and the man was Fox.
Before he could begin to wonder what you were doing here, Mycroft’s focus was broken by his phone vibrating in his pocket. Now, he was never one to have his phone on anything but silent, but he was waiting… Waiting for a very important message.
2 New Messages: Sherlock
If you smiled at one more person, you thought you might scream.
Undercover work was something you thought that you had left behind long ago, but it was like you never left. Your fake identity fell from your lips with ease and the way you were able to extract information from the partygoers hadn’t changed much. This had been your job for so many years and it was hard not to slip back into it.
Despite your focus on the task at hand, it was hard not to notice Mycroft. An unfamiliar pain filled you as you watched him rapidly type of his phone. It was abnormal for him to even use the thing unless he had to, but he looked relieved at whoever was messaging him. It hurt… How could he move on so quickly?
“Focus, Hound,” the man beside you muttered into your ear, as he lightly grasped your waist. “We have a job to do.”
You spared one final look at Mycroft before turning your attention to your fake boyfriend for the night, leaning into his touch with great effort.
“Don’t call me that,”
Fox chuckled, pulling away to grab a glass from the tray in front of him, handing one to you before picking up his own. To any onlookers, you simply looked like a very powerful couple. Fox – or Alan as you were currently calling him – wore a well-fitted black suit while you – Rose as of right now – wore a very elegant silver dress that was, quite frankly, the last thing you wanted to wear right now.
‘Alan’ raised the champagne glass to you, encouraging you to do the same.
“To us,” he smiled. “And to our engagement.” You clinked your glass against his in a toast, the ring on your finger something that you had forgotten about.
“To us,” you forced yourself to sound happy, leaning into his chest.
Your ‘toast’ caught the attention of a pair of onlookers, a couple, by no doubt. And as they approached, you spared one final glance at Mycroft who was already looking at you.
“They are cute, aren’t they?” Mrs Holmes’ voice was slightly slurred from the excessive amount of champagne she was drinking. “Reminds me of when your father and I were younger. Say, Mycroft, when are you going to bring Y/N over again? I do miss her.”
Mycroft turned with a sigh. “What are you talking about, Mother?”
Mrs Holmes pointed towards four people, all with happy smiles on their faces as they conversed. An older couple – ones he recognised but did not know the names of – and a red-head and grey-haired couple; you and Fox. The arm that he had wrapped around your waist sparked a weird feeling inside Mycroft chest, one that he wasn’t willing to name. The feeling only worsened when he saw you look up at Fox with a smile while adjusting his messy hair.
While he wasn’t willing to name it, Sherlock would have been more than happy to call his brother out on his jealousy. In fact, he would have teased him relentlessly once he saw Mycroft striding towards you, abandoning their mother who was left to engage in mindless – and boring - chatter with Mycroft’s assistant. Alas, Sherlock was not here, so Mycroft didn’t have to worry about the endless teasing.
“Yes, we have been together for quite a while now,” Mycroft heard Fox’s confident voice as he approached. “About seven years now, I believe.”
You took a sip from your glass before replying. “Yes, something like! We relocated just outside of London six months ago. We felt it would be a good place to settle down once we were engaged.”
Six months ago, Mycroft thought to himself. Ironic considering six months ago you were visiting his parents’ home with him.
“It is a wonderful place to live!” The older woman spoke. “We live in London due to the nature of David’s work, but I do enjoy living here. There’s never a dull moment.”
The woman’s husband, David, glanced over his shoulder to spot Mycroft.
“Speaking of work, this is Mycroft Holmes. A co-worker of sorts.” He introduced, stepping aside to allow Mycroft to enter to conversation. “Mycroft this is Alan and Rose! They recently relocated to London following their engagement.”
You took a deep breath before glancing up at Mycroft, willing yourself to maintain your composure, especially with all eyes currently on you.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holmes,” your voice was steady, but your heartrate was anything but as you held out your hand for him to shake. If he was confused, Mycroft did not show it as he took your hand in his own and gave it a formal shake. “My fiancée and I are currently in search of the prime minister. Have you seen him? Alan has something very important he needs to discuss.”
Your words were the first giveaway that something was wrong. Mycroft knew that your backstory was fake – he knew that you knew that too – but asking him for the PM’s location? Something was dreadfully wrong. Your eye contact with Mycroft remained, even as ‘Alan’ spoke.
“Yes, it is terribly important, Mr. Holmes. Cannot wait, sadly! Any ideas?”
Mycroft forced his eyes from you, instead landing on Alan.
“I believe he is upstairs, accompanied by an Iranian minister,”
You nodded in appreciation, shooting a look to Fox which did not go unnoticed by Mycroft before excusing yourselves from the conversation.
The remaining trio watched as Rose and Alan quickly wandered upstairs before returning to their own conversations.
“Lovely couple, aren’t they, Mr. Holmes?”
It was quiet. Way too quiet considering the PM was supposed to be up here conversing with a minister. The prime minister was never known to be quiet, especially not when talking to people from foreign countries, so it was strange.
You glanced up at the blinking red light of the camera that stalked the hall, debating whether to shoot it or not. You decided against it, since it would only be more damning for you and Fox in the long run. At least if you were able to save the PM, it would serve as evidence of your support if required.
Fox silently nodded at you then a slightly ajar door. There were hushed whispers from inside, two men’s voices. Your hand reached beneath the fabric of your dress, pulling out a tranquiliser gun. You returned the nod, following Fox’s lead as you entered the room.
In front of you, the supposed Iranian minister – a killer for hire, as you knew from the briefing given to you by Fox – hovered over the prime minister, knife in hand. His guards were nowhere in sight, either having been dismissed by the PM or killed by the other man. Neither of the two were aware of your presence which meant you had an easy shot. The quiet pew of the tranquiliser gun echoed throughout the room as you fired the shot into the assassin, watching him drop instantaneously, landing atop of the prime minister whose eyes widened.
A breath of relief left Fox’s lips as he pulled out a device, beginning to contact the security team assigned to you both for this mission.
You approached the PM with a reassuring smile, pulling the other man’s limp body from him.
“He’s not dead,” you explained as you cuffed the man’s hands. “Just asleep. Tranquiliser.” Were your words as you sheathed the gun back into the holster beneath your dress.
The brunette man in front of you nodded, muttering a quiet thank you as you helped him to his feet with inquiries about how he was feeling. Once you were certain that he was fine – and ensuring that the culprit was safely escorted from the premises – you excused both yourself and previous partner, desperate the leave the building.
Following Fox was nothing new, especially into alleyways; they were, after all, good hiding spots, especially for finding intel.
It was a weird sense of deja-vu. 7 days ago, you were stood in his current position, watching him request your return. Now, you stood where he had, your back to the outside world, yet you were not the one asking.
“We did good,” Fox says. “We always did, Hound. Emma would be proud.”
Your body tensed at her name.
“Don’t bring my sister into this,” you murmured, barely loud enough for him to hear. “She was innocent. She didn’t deserve to die for what I did.” A shaky inhale. “It should have been me. I was the one who messed up the mission. She was just a kid, and they punished her for my mistake.”
“It made you a better soldier,”
“It made me want to die. My little sister was killed just to punish me, and you wonder why I don’t want to return.”
Fox nodded. “I understand, Meryl.”
You shook your head. “No, you don’t.”
You watched as Fox took a deep breath, clearly trying to think of a reply. He knew you were right. He would never understand, no matter how hard he tried to.
“I won’t return,” your voice was strong as you spoke. “I like my life here. I like my day-to-day, even if it gets boring. I like my co-workers, my friends… I love them, all of them. Even if I mess up sometimes, they forgive me. The lives of people and the world aren’t in my hands. If I make a mistake, people don’t die… usually. Living here… it’s what I want. I love it. And I know people may not forgive me for lying, but… I still love them. I want to help them, and that’s why I agreed to help today. Mycroft may never forgive me for lying to him, but at least I saved him a bunch of work and stress by preventing his boss from being assassinated.”
You swallowed, eyes wide as you watched your past partner begin to chuckle.
“I never knew you could be so soppy, Meryl.” He continued chuckling. “I suppose I should call you Y/N now, though. Emma did always like calling you that.”
You smiled at the mention of your sister’s favourite name for you. “It was my way of keeping her memory alive. She gave me that name when we played pretend as kids. I’ll never forgive them for what they did to her.”
Fox returned your smile, approaching you. You watched him with curious eyes as he glanced behind you with a smile, patting your shoulder twice before muttering just quiet enough for you to hear. “Maybe not all hope is lost.” He said before walking past you. “Mr. Holmes.”
“Alan,” the familiarity of Mycroft’s voice had you spinning on your heels, revealing Mycroft stood less than a meter away, Fox facing him. “Or whatever your name is.”
“Classified, I’m afraid. Though, I’m sure you could find out quite easily.” Fox said with a nod. “If you ever want to return, they’ll always take you back. I’ll always take you back. We were partners, that doesn’t just disappear.”
You nodded, a simple thank you leaving your lips as you watched Fox leave, likely not for the last time, but hopefully the next time it will be more casually rather than work-related.
You and Mycroft stood in silence for a few minutes, unsure at what to say. You had resided yourself to the fact that he hated you – understandably so, in your head – and prepared to apologise and say your final goodbye when he spoke.
“Can we talk?”
You looked at him as though he had spoken some alien language. Confusion overtook you at the realisation that he wanted to hear you out.
“Only if I can get out of this outfit. The wig is making me itch.”
A car ride back to Mycroft’s home and one shower later was all you needed to feel better. Now that the itchiness of the wig had disappeared and you were in the comfort of some of Mycroft’s more casual clothes, you felt at ease, especially with the warm mug in your hands.
The pair of you sat in silence for a while, processing everything that had happened as you sipped the warm liquid. The fire crackled beside you both as you faced each other, the expensive leather of the couch providing a comfort you never believed to be possible.
He didn’t rush you; there was no point. Mycroft knew you well enough by now to know that you would speak when you were ready, rushing that would not help.
Neither of you knew how long you sat there, only that the warmth of the fire did not match the warmth that you felt being in one another’s presence again. A week, while not much to most people, was a long time to be apart from the person you loved, even if you believed that they did not love you back.
“It’s true.” Were your first words. “My job. Well, I mean… obviously it’s true, you literally saw me working.” Your words were rushed as you struggled to explain. He was patient, something you forgot he had the ability to be sometimes. “I obviously can’t tell you everything. You can read a lot, I know that, but that isn’t everything. Somethings, I can’t tell you.”
Mycroft nodded in understanding but remained silent, allowing you to continue.
“Emma isn’t in there. They knew better than to document that.” Your voice was shaky. “I made a mistake once, during a mission. I got caught, had to be saved. The company didn’t like that… and because I failed them and made them waste resources, they… killed her. My punishment, I suppose.”
Tears slipped from your eyes as you spoke. Emma, despite always being in your mind, was rarely spoken about. You tried not to think about what happened to her and instead focused on the positives. Talking about what happened made you feel weak. So weak that you weren’t sure that you could continue. You blamed yourself, that much was obvious. You paused, shaky breaths being the only sound that you could hear.
Mycroft’s hand grasped your own, giving it a reassuring squeeze, and that was all the strength you needed.
“She used to call me Y/N, when we played pretend as kids. Our parents were never around and when they were, it was never good. When I was eighteen, I was promised safety for us both, so I agreed. I wanted nothing more than to protect Emma, but in the end, I couldn’t even do that.”
The leather of the sofa creaked as Mycroft shuffled towards you.
“It’s not your fault,” his voice was quiet and earnest. “You did what you could with the information you were given. What happened to her is not your fault.” He reached out the grab a tissue from his pocket, gently dabbing at your tears. “I don’t like that you lied to me, but I understand why you did it.” Mycroft took a deep breath as he placed the tissue on the table in front of the sofa. “Admittedly, I didn’t know what to believe; I even contacted Sherlock to do his ‘detective work’.”
You laughed. “I thought you didn’t like feeling like his client?”
Mycroft shook his head with a scoff. “Not at all. He made me sit on the ‘client chair’ and interrogated me.” The corner of his lips lifted as her heard you laugh at the image. “But I trust you. I…” Mycroft paused, gaze turning to the fireplace as he swallowed, taking a deep breath. “I love you, even if you are frustrating sometimes.”
Your free hand reached out the turn Mycroft to face you.
“I love you too,” you whispered, leaning forward to press your lips to his in a light kiss. “And I promise you that I’ll never lie to you again.”
A smile crawled onto his lips as he cleared his throat.
“Good, because if I have to work with Sherlock and John again, I think I may just give up. Honestly, they were so-“
Mycroft’s rant about his brother and his friend went mostly unheard by you and you pressed yourself against Mycroft’s chest, feeling him freeze for a moment before wrapping his arms around you and continuing his rant.
