Disclaimer: I own neither Highlander nor Sherlock BBC. I would note, though, that nobody owns Sherlock Holmes (or Mycroft Holmes) anymore. Yay for aging out of copyright!
A/N: This doesn't have a plot, per se, it's just a (hopefully fun) bit of character interaction.
An Equal, or Something Like, part 2
Mycroft held a brief forlorn hope that Sherlock hadn't noticed him through the glass window of the restaurant. It lasted only an instant. He knew that glint in his little brother's eye.
For a moment longer, he hoped that perhaps Sherlock were in the middle of chasing down some plebeian criminal and thus unwilling to think on anything else, not even attempting to embarrass Mycroft.
That hope, too, withered a quick death.
A turn swirled that dramatic coat of his and quick strides took him to the door of the restaurant and brushing past the maitre d'. Doctor Watson trailed only slightly behind, minus his cane, so they likely were in the middle of a case, but not too urgent to prevent a quick stop.
"Should we order another setting?" Methos asked. "I hope you don't mind, but I believe my name should be Dr. Benjamin Adams for as long as your brother is here."
It was not at all surprising that the immortal he was currently conversing with had noticed his momentary distraction, identified the cause, and had a plan in place. It made sense. Mycroft wasn't sure if Sherlock knew about Immortals or not. His brother had not been called upon to investigate the results of any immortal challenges, nor had he come to rant at Mycroft regarding the hidden population having discovered them by some other means, so Mycroft was inclined to think Sherlock was not aware of them at this point. But he wasn't absolutely certain and time could always change the situation.
Benjamin Adams was an innocuous identity that could lead a detective on a merry chase through historical documents without going anywhere significant. Plus, Dr. Adams could converse with Dr. Watson on the current state of the medical field while Mycroft dealt with Sherlock.
"Certainly." He signaled a waiter to bring two additional settings, and thus allowing the maitre d' to relax regarding the rude entrance, as well as informing his assistant that his migrating weekly fraternal check up appointment could be shifted to take place here and now.
And then Sherlock was here.
"A social meeting, Mycroft? Have you finally found someone to bribe to be your friend?"
Perhaps as much as a minute had passed since Mycroft had first seen him outside the window. His appointments with Sherlock did tend to be sudden, and, whenever Sherlock could arrange it, maximally intrusive. And Sherlock had, of course, identified the exact thing that made his meetings with Methos so unusual.
Mycroft didn't have friends. He didn't have the time and he didn't have the inclination to have friends. It was much more productive to have minions and much more interesting to do work. When he needed a break, he went to the Diogenes Club and sat in silent company. Except that Methos was not a minion and he was interesting. It made their meetings unnerving though, because meeting with Methos was the only time he had social interactions without set goals.
It made him nervous in a way that meetings with kings and dictators never did.
He ignored the feeling and assumed it would eventually go away.
"Sherlock, it is lovely to see you as always. And Dr. Watson, I see you are doing well. Allow me to introduce Dr. Benjamin Adams."
Mycroft always graciously introduced his brother to who ever he was with when Sherlock barged into his meetings. It was a sign of love as much as it was of power and control. There was no meeting so important that Mycroft would not welcome Sherlock's disruptive presence and there was no meeting that he didn't have sufficient control over to compensate for that disruption. The words were the same as they would have been, regardless of who he had been with, but Mycroft found himself slightly awkward with the realization that he actually didn't mind Sherlock meeting Methos or the reverse.
He didn't mind Methos knowing him. Knowing that he had a weakness, a loose-canon of a brother whom he still loved. Mycroft knew hundreds of people in his professional capacity but very few in a personal manner and those were generally born of necessity. But he didn't mind Methos knowing. And now he rather thought he understood why Methos himself, who hid so completely from the society of his own kind that most considered him nothing more than a myth, should choose to allow Mycroft to know him. Such knowledge could be a vulnerability, yes, but it was only as vulnerable or as guarded as the other person was potentially antagonistic or vulnerable himself.
Methos wasn't active enough to be antagonistic and was anything but vulnerable.
"Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson. It's a pleasure to meet you both." Methos rose to shake their hands, or at least shake Dr. Watson's hand. Sherlock had given him one thorough look over and then turned decidedly towards Mycroft who frowned at the rudeness, but otherwise let it pass.
"A doctor? Decided to get a sidekick of your own? Is Hera jealous? Hey!"
That last bit at least was in reaction to Dr. Watson kicking him in the ankle. Mycroft smirked. He knew better than to refer to his minions as minions. Sherlock still needed to work on his tact and refrain from referring to his sidekick as a sidekick.
Methos watched with some amusement, too, but didn't comment other than to ask Dr. Watson if he had read the latest edition of the British Medical Journal and what he thought of the cancer research coming out of Denmark.
"Dr. Adams is a friend. Not a 'sidekick.' This is," Mycroft pointed out, "a social meeting, just as you said."
Sherlock glared at him suspiciously. "You don't socialize without ulterior motives."
"Neither of us have friends, and yet here we are."
"Hmm." The glare did not lessen, rather it sharpened. "You've never been jealous of my having John, although you should be. I doubt your doctor is a crack shot like my doctor is. But now you have a friend. And one who is a doctor, or at least enough of a doctor to discuss medical matters with John. You are hiding something from me."
Well, yes, Mycroft was obviously hiding something from Sherlock but his little brother wasn't quite up to analyzing Mycroft the way he did other people. Mycroft had grown up with his sharp-eyed little brother, after all.
Sherlock grabbed a pastry and pouted as he ate it.
They sat together in silence, listening to the two doctors discuss the medical profession and pretending not to eye each other covertly.
Mycroft could learn more about his brother by simply seeing him than he ever could from anything Sherlock willingly told him. His little brother seemed to be doing well. He was healthy and happy, though the tea service here was as close as he'd had to a real meal in twenty hours. At least he'd slept for a few hours last night and had slept regularly for the last week.
God bless the good Dr. Watson for that.
"You genuinely respect him."
Mycroft remained silent.
"And you're not at all worried about me deducing him. He's hiding something from me, too. He's a doctor but he's not Doctor Benjamin Adams. At least, that's not the name on his passport."
"Have you developed an interest in investigating people in my social sphere? I certainly have a few cases that could use your assistance."
Sherlock snarled at that like he was a teenager again.
Mycroft smirked.
"No. But I will deduce him later. Come, Watson, we can't waste our time here. The game's afoot." And with another swirl of his overly dramatic coat, Sherlock departed trailed by an apologetic Dr. Watson. His departure was as abrupt as his arrival.
Mycroft and Methos watched through the window as Sherlock and Watson raced off.
"I do apologize for my brother's rudeness."
"Mycroft, your brother is a delight." Methos took a sip of his tea. "And you think so, too."
"Yes," Mycroft admitted. It was an admission he didn't think he'd ever made to anyone before. "I do. I like difficult people."
"And difficult situations. And difficult problems."
"True." Mycroft's job was all about difficult people and situations and problems. He loved dealing with it all. He wouldn't be nearly so good at it if he didn't. Most people who knew who and what he really was in the government were either jealous of the amount of power or pitying of the amount of work and both types were idiots. The work was a pleasure and the power only existed by using the lightest of touches.
Some would say that he had power by knowing Methos, by knowing this most deadly and experienced of immortals and by being his friend.
That power was real, and he rather thought it now extended somewhat in protection of his brother. But it only existed in Mycroft never attempting to use it, or even ever relying on it.
Methos had the same power with him. Mycroft… liked, for lack of a better term, the other man. Which meant that in his own way he looked out for him, but Methos knew better than to attempt any direct manipulation.
And so they came together once a month to play this most subtle game of manipulation that was friendship for people like them. It was a pleasure that he wanted to last.
"And you are a very difficult person."
Methos was startled into a laugh. "Yes, I am." He grinned at Mycroft.
Mycroft was not the type of person who grinned. He really wasn't. But his own smile was just as genuine and delighted.
