Once Sherlock had managed to pick Mycroft's elaborate locks, the smell that embraced him made him expect something…..unusual. More unusual that everyday, that he found was more than just unusual.
Mycroft was sitting calmly on the sofa. He seemed fine, no sign of injury, no sign of fear or panic. As calm and expressionless as ever. It was the man sitting next to him who caused Sherlock's insides to flutter. Charles Augustus Magnussen. The only specific individual he really hated. Apart from his brother, of course. Jim Moriarty? Just a man capable of almost being a friend, not actually one. If Moriarty was the spider at the center of the web, Charles Augustus Magnussen was the wall it failed to climb. The most cruel, shrewd, cunning homo sapien Sherlock had ever known. Sherlock truly despised him.
Despite having a gun to his head, Mycroft casually leaned back against the sofa.
"Ah, I see that you are already acquainted with our unexpected guest. Do have a seat, Sherlock, I daresay your legs will get tired from standing during the duration of our conversation. Tea?"
Sherlock took off his coat and cautiously sat on the sofa opposite. He gave no sign of acknowledging Mycroft's monologue, he only kept his eyes fixed on Magnussen. He intern, had his eyes fixed on Sherlock.
Mycroft began, "Now, as our love birds have found love at first sight," he paused as he saw the unflinching eyes fixed at each other showing no sign of change, "so does my office and our cousins across the pond."