He sat at the counter, waiting to be served. It was ridiculously busy today and the bar was filled to the brim with people he neither knew nor wanted to know.
"Whiskey.", he repeated to the barman and sighed.
He couldn't be bothered to demand it immediately, use his authoritative voice and all that. No, he was looking for a quiet, relaxing evening and if a fairly handsome bloke just happened to drop on his lap he wouldn't complain either.
But no. There only seemed to be couples tonight and the few remaining singles did nothing to just slightly pique his interest.
Mycroft finally paid for his mediocre whiskey and caressed the cool surface of the glass.
"You look lonely, honey. How about you get me one of these as well?", asked an obese and appallingly dressed man who had suddenly appeared next to him. Mycroft scanned him with a scrutinising look.
Has been single for some time; unemployed; didn't care much about his appearance; compulsive nose-picker; caught gonorrhoea a month ago, untreated.
Mycroft raised an eyebrow and looked at his chubby face.
"No, thank you."
"Oh, playing hard to get, are we?"
"We aren't playing anything.", Mycroft said with a slightly raised voice. The stranger smirked and got up from his seat. He took a step closer to Mycroft and leaned in to whisper:
"I like my men feisty."
"Sorry, not interested. Over there, the skinny one." Mycroft pointed at someone across the room. "He is just as desperately looking for someone as you are. Tell him about your gonorrhoea though. Wouldn't want that to spread any further, do we?", Mycroft mocked him.
The man took a step back and frowned.
"You think you are so special, don't you? You think you are better than me."
"I was merely declining your offer. I'm sorry if that upsets you that much. Now, could you please go somewhere else or at least be quiet? I was looking for some peace and harmony tonight and your sheer presence is having a very different effect."
"Swanky ponce.", the man said and left angrily.
Very clever of that man to insult someone because of their sexuality when he is in fact gay themselves, Mycroft thought but didn't say a word when the barman raised an eyebrow.
"Hard day?", the barman enquired.
"Something like that.", Mycroft offered and stared at his drink.
He had got back from Serbia earlier that day. Nasty business with the Serbian government and a certain secretary of state. Mycroft had been asked to come and play mediator. All very dull and pre-school-worthy. On the plane back, he and Anthea went over some protocols and once back on British soil, he was stuck in a three-hour meeting with the Prime Minister. His responsibilities were expanding far too quickly. Mediator, advisor, the occasional legwork still and most of the time stuck behind his desk.
Life had been better, but it had been worse as well. A comforting thought.
What was it that Edward Fitzgerald had written in the early 19th century? 'This too shall pass.' And indeed, it would. Mycroft smiled at his suddenly empty glass and looked for the barman to place an order for another.
Out of nowhere, there was a commotion at the entrance. Mycroft reflexively turned his head and saw a lad literally tumble into the crowded bar.