Mycroft sat on a park bench, holding a book, but not reading. He was thinking, and this was a good place to do so. He sighed. Why couldn't his brother ever grow up? There would be a time when he would thank Mycroft for getting him to read, and think. But now... He gave another sigh. Sherlock was probably off somewhere, talking to himself, or playing pirate, or whatever Sherlock did when he was alone.
He suddenly looked up, getting that feeling like he was being watched.
There was a girl, his age, twelve or thirteen by the looks of her. She had her head tilted slightly, as if studying him. She smiled and waved when he looked at her, the wave he returned. Without being invited, she walked over and sat next to him.
"Hi! My name's Denobela." She said, beaming. Mycroft looked at her, almost quizzically. No one had ever been this openly friendly to him.
"Hello. I'm Mycroft, Mycroft Holmes."
She smiled a bit, kind of like she was going to laugh, but didn't.
"Mycroft," she repeated, drawing it out a bit.
"I know, odd, isn't it?"
"No, no," she said, "It's... unique."
"Yep, you think it's odd."
"No, you've got it all wrong!" She said, with such an urgency and honesty that Mycroft smiled. "It reminds me of..."she paused, drawing her tongue over her lips as if trying to decipher a taste. "Blue! That's what it reminds me of!" When Mycroft continued to stare, she explained.
"Like, you know how you smell something, and then you taste something just like the smell? And they both remind you of a color? What is it... um, give me a sec,"
Mycroft bit back a laugh. This girl was eccentric, but she was pleasant.
"Dragonfruit! That's what it is! Dragonfruit!"
She clapped her hands together in triumph and Mycroft actually laughed out loud, something that made her glance over in surprise.
"Do I sound mad?"
Mycroft chuckled a little.
"A bit, possibly."
"Oi!" Denobela swatted him on the arm before laughing herself.
"I suppose I am, though. Mad." She said, turned to him quite seriously.
"I don't think so." Replied Mycroft, also serious. She didn't seem mad, just interesting.
He was about to say more, but was cut off by the shout of his brother.
"Mycroft! Mum says we've got to come home now."
A little boy, maybe nine or ten, with curly dark hair, had run up to Mycroft.
"Alright, Sherlock." Mycroft said, beginning to sigh again. He turned to Denobela, suddenly awkward.
"Um, well, see you in a bit?"
"Tomorrow. I promise." She replied, crossing her heart.
He smiled.
"See you then."
As he walked off, it occurred to him that he had just made a... friend. But that was impossible. He was Mycroft Holmes. He didn't make friends.
But maybe he could have an acquaintance.