Work Mycroft and Home Mycroft were two completely separate things, John noted to himself as he watched Mycroft pace like a caged animal. Gone were the playfulness, the fun and the sense of humour. It its place was cold strategy and hard logic. Sherlock had, yet again, stumbled into Mycroft's territory and caused significant problems for Mycroft's operations. Mycroft was furious with his brother but he was more interested in restoring order to his missions.
"Sacrifice the agents." Mycroft finally announced to Anthea after hours of thinking, "There is no other way to maintain our operations without causing a war. We must sacrifice the agents and claim that they are rogues."
Anthea nodded, "Yes, Sir." she said, her fingers flying over the phone's keypad.
"Yet again, brother dear, you have ruined one of my plans." Mycroft snapped, slamming his fist down onto his desk.
"Not deliberately." Sherlock muttered, looking at his own phone.
"Go home. Anthea and I can handle it from here." Mycroft said with a sigh, sitting down heavily in his office chair.
"Gladly." Sherlock said, picking up his coat and leaving the office.
"See you tomorrow then?" John said, getting to his feet.
"Tomorrow? Oh yes, of course. Dinner. Until tomorrow, John." Mycroft replied with a nod.
John pulled on his coat and left the office, following Sherlock out onto the street. He thought over his observations about Mycroft throughout the evening and the following day. Mycroft was a puzzle with a million different layers. The man was a genius and an expert in reading people. His emotions were often hidden but even when he chose to show emotion, John wasn't sure if those emotions were real or just a carefully constructed mask.
"You've been thinking about him." Sherlock stated in the cab as they travelled to Mycroft's townhouse.
"Hmm?" John murmured, shaking his head a little to pull him out of his thoughts.
"Mycroft. You've been thinking about him." Sherlock said, watching John.
"He's a mystery, a curiosity. I find him interesting." John admitted.
"Mycroft isn't remotely interesting." Sherlock replied with a frown.
"Yes, he is. He has this posh and proper persona but at home he's completely different. He's an enigma." John said.
Sherlock sighed; beginning to regret the 'case' he and his brother had taken on. He didn't want John to fall for Mycroft's tricks.
"Come inside." Mycroft said with a smile, opening the door himself this time. The government official was gone, replaced by the playboy. He ignored his brother and went straight to John. "It's lovely to see you, John." he murmured softly, taking John's coat and letting his hand linger on John's back for a little longer than necessary.
"Thanks, Mycroft." John said, moving away from the elder Holmes brother and walking to the dining room to see Anthea.
"He won't yield, you know. He's not interested in what you're offering." Sherlock said to his brother as he hung up his own coat.
"I know, but it's so fun to play with him." Mycroft replied with a wink.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and followed his brother to the dining room. They had a successful dinner, with neither of the Holmes brothers starting an argument.
"So it's just us tonight then?" John asked, sipping his wine.
"Yes, that's what I had in mind, unless you'd prefer a threesome. If so, Sherlock, are you amenable?" Mycroft said playfully, glancing at Sherlock.
John choked on his wine at the suggestion, "That's not what I meant." he coughed.
"I know what you meant." Mycroft replied with a wink and a smile, "Yes, it's just the four of us for dinner tonight. The girls are away on holiday." he added. His appearance visibly changed as his work mobile phone rang. He sat up straighter and his emotions were instantly shoved behind his mental wall. "Mycroft Holmes." he answered, getting up from the table.
John watched him go, having never seen Mycroft's separate lives interact before. He'd only ever seen Mycroft's carefully constructed personas in the settings that they were supposed to be in, so seeing the government official emerge was a surprise. He knew this side of Mycroft would never indulge in the pink champagne that the playboy loved.
"Definitely an enigma." he murmured to himself, continuing his meal.