Mycroft Holmes was at his desk where he did important things. Important decisions were made. Important phone calls. Meetings. Very, very important. He was sipping his tea. He was at his computer. He was supposed to be composing an email, but he found himself distracted. This was ill-timed. The email needed to be sent before he left for the day, but he couldn't manage to concentrate long enough to complete the task. Perhaps he was getting old. He hadn't considered this. Age. It was creeping up on him. In Italy, he had felt youthful exuberance. In Italy, he had been calmly serene. A fortnight had lapsed since his return, & now he felt a dull ache. Where this ache was located he couldn't say, but if pressed, he might claim it to be spread throughout his entire person.
Was this what aging felt like? Is this how his mum felt? Yet, in truth, he wasn't that old. What could be the cause of it? How was it to be explained?
He sighed heavily & finished up the email. Done.
He began to head home, but thought better of it. Perhaps he could pop in on Sherlock & Molly. Yes, he'd do just that.
Molly had moved into 221B Baker Street. It seemed the logical course of action to take. She spent so much time there, why was she paying rent?
"Sherlock, I need my hairbrush. Have you seen it?"
The detective was at the kitchen table peering through his microscope. Molly noted to suggest he move his kitchen lab to John's old room. This was ridiculous.
"Molly, why on earth would you suggest that I know where your hairbrush is?"
"Oh, I dunno. Because you notice everything."
He smiled. "It's on top of your dresser in the bedroom where you left it last evening after I pulled you away from it to hurry you into bed."
"That's right! Thanks, Sherlock," and she pecked his cheek.
He smiled. As he was working, he thought about Molly. They read together, they cooked together (he even rather enjoyed the activity), they laughed, watched crap telly, talked with Mrs. Hudson, & copulated regularly. Yes. This was pleasant.
Molly took her leave of the flat to get to work, & he leaned back in his chair. He disliked her working the night shift, but dismissed the idea of telling her as much. Molly loved her job, & when a case took him to the morgue at night, it had been pleasant to see her there.
His mind wandered a touch...something happening more frequently, which gave him pause. He disliked it. Nevertheless, his mind took him to Mycroft & Mary's suggestion. Not much had been done in that area. He had had two cases in as many weeks since their return, he helped Molly move, & was busy enjoying domestic felicity with her. Busy, busy time. He thought perhaps he should give Mary a ring. He was ready to move forward now, work being the only thing that might impede such motion, but he had no case on at present.
He heard Mrs. Hudson answer the front door. He heard a male voice. Mycroft. How timely.