After a quick drive in the car; one that didn't at all feel quick to Mycroft, not with Mummy and Daddy Holmes along for the ride, Mycroft and his parents had arrived at the theatre. Mycroft had just taken his seat in between his parents, when he began to wonder what had been going through his mind at the time of his promising to take them to Les Mis in the first place. He offered brief nods whilst his parents spoke to him before the lights went down, though his mind was somewhere else entirely. Why indeed? he wondered, refraining from sighing in aggravation.
In no short time, so it seemed, the lights went out. Mycroft, at first, could not have been happier, because with the lights out, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes stopped questioning him about how he and Sherlock were doing, and the anecdotes came to a close. His vague feeling of glee was, however, rather short-lived. This was due to the unfortunate fact that the show began.
For about a half a minute, Les Mis was actually alright. Mummy and Daddy Holmes seemed to be enjoying themselves, though Mummy Holmes was continually glancing over at Mycroft to assure herself that he was content. Thus, Mycroft forced himself to don the expression of one who is most intrigued, or at least entertaining. The show was somewhat insufferable, and if Mrs. Holmes's glee was any indicator, Mycroft was a much better actor than those in the show. She seemed to think he was enjoying himself, when it was quite the opposite.
Of course, to a mind such as the one Mycroft Holmes had, the show was most predictable and dull. By the time the one character noticed the young lady-Was her name Collette?-Mycroft had already dozed off nearly ten times. It occurred to him that it was not quite right that only one Holmes brother would have to suffer through this tedious torture. This was when he removed his cell phone. Though he was going to make a phone call, he did not make any attempt to leave so as to avoid disturbing the rest of the audience. Why perform any unnecessary legwork?
He dialed the number, holding the phone to his ear and ignoring the looks from his parents. The phone, unfortunately, was ringing louder than anyone would have liked. Someone in the row in front of him, a waitress with twin daughters and three cats, turned to yell at him. "This is a theatre, take the phone outside!" She hissed in a sort of whispered yell.
Mycroft glared at her. "Shut up, I'm the government!" He replied, though his yell was only half as whispered as hers. His parents' expressions at this remark were a mixture of bafflement and scolding, and he only hoped they didn't mention to Sherlock that he had referred to himself as the government. Sherlock would never that one go.
Speaking of Sherlock, he finally picked up the phone. And, after exchanged words which resulted in Sherlock denying the suggestion to switch spots with him at intermission, Mycroft felt he finally understood the emotions of disappointment and, quite frankly, fear. Would he really have to put up with over another hour of this?
Sighing heavily, Mycroft replaced his phone in his pocket. The Holmes parents glanced at him, brows knitted in confusion. They obviously hadn't paid any attention to his conversation, they had been wrapped up in a particularly insufferable music number. 'Work,' Mycroft mouthed at them as an explanation. Mummy and Daddy Holmes nodded in understanding, then turned their attention back to the dreadful show.
Mycroft was considering his options of how to sneak out without being noticed by either of his parents, when it reached intermission and the lights came up. He sighed in relief, but the parents didn't seem to notice. The two of them turned to Mycroft, almost simultaneously. "What do you think so far?" Mummy Holmes enquired with a bright smile.
With a forced smile Mycroft replied, "Wonderful."
Daddy Holmes nodded his consent. "I agree," He said, rather contentedly. This was followed with a vaguely longing sigh. "I only wish Sherlock could have joined us. He would have liked it, don't you think?"
On the inside, Mycroft was laughing. Sherlock would have hated it even more than Mycroft did, as it required sitting still. Which, of course, Mycroft thought was the only perk. But Sherlock would have been itching to leave even before Mycroft was. Still, it was regrettable that Sherlock would not swap places with him.
"Yes, a shame." Mycroft agreed. Then, a thought occurred to him. Why should he be the only one to suffer? If he had to, then surely there must be some way for him to assure himself that his brother dear must suffer as well? Perhaps that was petty, but of course it was also logical. "Perhaps you could talk him into taking you to another, exceedingly long performance?" Mycroft suggested, smiling. Though it was in reality a sort of secretive smile, his parents took it as glad. "You know, I recall Sherlock complaining that he hadn't any plans for next weekend. I'm sure you could convince him to come along to something."
So it was agreed that Mummy and Daddy Holmes would inquire as to Sherlock's weekend plans. Mycroft felt a little better knowing his baby brother would have to suffer, until the lights went back down and the show resumed. It was all one song after another, which Mycroft predicted that Mummy would be singing after the performance would be over. At one point, Mycroft couldn't help but smack his palm onto his forehead.
Mummy Holmes leaned over. "That whole scene makes me think of that Rich Brooke nonsense too, but you're being impolite, dear." She whispered softly.
Mycroft looked up through parted fingers to see what she was referring to, to see one of the characters jumping from a bridge. Mycroft frowned, smacking his palm against his face once again. "Manners," Whispered Mummy Holmes a little more strictly.
Mycroft nodded. "My apologies." He stated flatly, lifting his head.
Approximately fifteen minutes later, Mycroft leaned over to Mr. Holmes. "How much longer now?" he asked, in the most polite voice he could muster.
"How should I know, I've not seen this before, you know." Answered Mr. Holmes with a smile, turning back to the show.
Mycroft sighed, audibly this time. The man seated next to the waitress from before turned and shushed him. "Morons," Mycroft murmured to himself, though he thought that he had been more inaudible this time. The man turned around again, asking something about whether Mycroft had some sort of problem. "I have many, though I'm sure none of them are as significant as someone talking during Les Mis." He answered, and Mummy Holmes elbowed him.
The waitress turned around again. "Would you please be quiet?" She snapped.
Again, Mycroft sighed. "Or what, will you start a revolution? Let's hope this one is a bit more successful."
A girl in the row behind him gasped. "That hurt." She breathed. Mycroft was aware of the fact that she wore a Les Mis shirt, and a hat akin to the one his brother wore in the pictures that the papers published.
The man from before, who clearly found the waitress attractive, glowered. "If you don't like the show, then leave."
"Oh sod off." Mycroft said dryly. It was Daddy Holmes's turn to elbow him, and hiss in his ear to behave himself. "It wasn't me, it was the mundane man with five birds. Correct him." Snapped Mycroft.
Quite unexpectedly, a piece of popcorn hit him in the back of the head. Mycroft's expression went from one of annoyance, to that of one who was, as the girl behind him would put it, 1230000% done. "I am leaving. Mum, father." He said, rising and stalking off. Those in the rows near him applauded lightly. "Oh, shut up!"