Mycroft fought to keep what would surely be a smirk off his face. His little brother had finally declared for plain Molly Hooper. It satisfied him a great deal, not least because Molly Hooper was the direct opposite of that bane-of-his-existance Irene Adler. And he wagered Molly would win if ever the two women fought.
Now he could finally eliminate the notorious dominatrix and spy, and not be worried Sherlock would lay waste to his carefully crafted plans.
The only impediment he could think of ... Mummy. Mummy would not be happy her baby boy had settled down.
Mycroft stared at her, unblinking. Blinking meant hesitation. Blinking meant you talked, which with this woman meant you babbled. Babbling meant you lost the argument, no matter how carefully crafted your reason was. And if she started crying, you were utterly undone.
"Mi-" she began, and Mycroft could see the floor underneath her begin to crack.
He slightly canted his head to one side.
She shifted from one foot to another. "I don't know this Molly Hooper!" she exclaimed as if she was the only consideration to her little boy's heart.
Most of the Grey Men lived in fear of him, Mycroft knew. He had a reputation as a remorseless man who took ruthless revenge at the slightest excuse. The others knew him as a living calculator. But if he was such a man, he trained to be one in his mother's house.
Mycroft stepped forward, and began the war on his little but never boring brother's behalf.