Sherlock didn't even look up from his sprawled position on the sofa as his least favourite brother walked into his room and sat in the armchair opposite him.
Mycroft didn't seem to mind his attitude, since he had been on the recipient side of it for the better part of 20 years. However, there as a subtle difference in his attitude today. Instead of the slight disdain and exasperation he always reserved for visiting his younger brother, he carried a serious expression on his face. Which, Sherlock, of course noticed.
"Has the British government just gone bankrupt, Mycroft? Well done." Sherlock mocked.
Mycroft didn't dignify that with a reply. Instead, he just looked long and hard at his brother, who had apparently just come off a high not so long ago. And judging by the mental state he was in, it wouldn't be long until he gets on another, with a larger dose. Until one day he finds the precise amount that finally breaks him.
For a moment, just a fleeting moment, Mycroft's expressions went soft, and he muttered something just that side of inaudible, sounding suspiciously like a silent apology.
"I'm sorry, Sherlock."
That finally seemed to have startled Sherlock out of his reverie, as he looked up at his brother in mild surprise, only to find that the stoic and expressionless mask has once again gone back over his brother's face. Shame, he mentally noted the disappointment of missing his chance at catching Mycroft out on emotional weakness.
Mycroft, having gone back to his business-is-business manner, took out a slightly worn photograph from his breast-pocket, and slid it across the clustered coffee table with a solemn expression on his face, as if he was sending out an official invitation.
"John asked me to give you this."
Upon hearing that name, the younger Holmes gave a most dramatic response, by turning the whole of his body into the back of the sofa, and pulling his silk night-shirt tightly around himself, in a great imitation of a spoilt child throwing a tantrum. Then, pointing his whole arm in the general direction of the door, he yelled, "Out!"
"He is deploying to Afghanistan within three days." The older Holmes carried on mercilessly. "He said he will wait for you until the last minute."
"OUT, Mycroft!"
Finishing his mission and not really in the mood of being insulted by his brother, Mycroft stood up from the armchair opposite the sofa, well aware of who its usual occupant was.
"Think about it Sherlock, this might well be your last chance." He droned in the way he knew Sherlock always hated, then, pausing at the doorway, he added the last straw. " After all, it is Afghanistan. John might not come back."
A Union Jack pillow followed Mycroft out onto the staircase, as he left the doorway to 221B Baker Street with a triumphant smile on his face.
Once again, mission accomplished.