Look what the cat dragged in
The shadow covered figure entered the cheap flat after a hard day saving the world and protecting her majesty's interests. As the tall, ginger haired, average built man entered the room he heard a sound that time had made into a memory long forgotten. A sound that was like, well not like music, music was too commonplace for what this sound was, but more like angel song to his ears. A sound so rare, that he stood for a moment to cherish it.
It was the sound of his younger brother laughing with pure undiluted mirth.
For many this would not have been so very rare but this man was Mycroft Holmes and the younger brother, Sherlock Holmes, a mere boy who had only just been able to give up a toxic mix of cocaine and morphine and who had suffered due to their loss like no man ever should. To hear his brother laugh so brought a sense of relief at how far Sherlock had come, but at the same time a sense of fear.
The latter was to become the overriding emotion when he saw a tall, frail, dark haired person -barely a man- slip out of the front room, quickly shutting the door and quietly fidget while staring at his feet, wringing those too thin hands together.
If the odd behaviour was not enough to concern Mycroft, Sherlock's next statement was. Slowly hesitantly he managed to stutter out, "I'm … I can explain the…" Sherlock pointed back to the door "I… well … can explain it."
Mycroft caught the look of guilt spread across his brother's face which brought a feeling of terror to his heart. Therefore the British Government did what he always did if he was unable to manipula- sorry - persuade a situation to his advantage. He pulled his shoulders back and squared up to the challenge face forward and pushed past his brother into the room.
When Mycroft burst into the room, he was expecting many things but not for what he found in reality. Instead of various hypodermic needles, broken beakers full of different acids or even a camel (that had happened before when Sherlock was much younger - a practical joke apparently - but that's a story for another time), Mycroft was instead faced with a very heavily pregnant tortoise-shell cat lounging in a box padded with red towels with a bowl of water and some chicken placed within reach.
The stunned politician slowly turned round to see Sherlock still fidgeting just by the door. Looking down at his feet, the figure in the door muttered "I found her and she was cold and hungry. I couldn't leave her so I sort of brought her here. I know I shouldn't have but…". He trailed off still staring at the floor.
Slowly the mighty cogs in the mind of the most intelligent man in the world began to once again kick in. He processed the cat, the sense of relief and also a strange sense of pride for his brother's compassion as Sherlock had always, even from when he was a child, been labelled a heartless creature. Mycroft had always known this to be false but now he had evidence to support this view.
He felt a smile form and saw the surprise on Sherlock's face as it became clear that he had evidentially been worrying about his reaction. Then Mycroft sighed and looking at the cat said "Well I'd better go and get some cat food then hadn't I?"
At this Sherlock gave Mycroft a warm smile and replied "Yes and a bowl. I had to use your china. I hope you don't mind?"
A/N I'm pretty sure you can guess Mycroft's reaction to that. Please review. I want to know whether it was good or so awful I should never write fanfiction again. Thank you.
