Hey hey! Another chapter :3 I hope you like it! Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine and mine alone (:
Roughly nine months after Martin moved in, he met Mycroft Holmes. The elder Holmes brother carried himself with such resolute power and dignity that it frightened Martin.
"Is Sherlock in?" He drawled, leaning on an umbrella and watching Martin with clear intelligent eyes.
"N-no sir." Martin stammered, face flushing with embarrassment at his stutter.
"Good." Martin gulped. "Captain Crieff, isn't it?"
"Y-yes." Martin told him, trying to inject some authority into his voice and failing miserably.
"How long have you known my brother?"
"I... Oh... Um about nine months I think." He dithered, feeling exposed and flustered in his presence.
"Yes, and you haven't left yet? Curious..."
"H-he's given me no reason to leave." Martin hesitated before speaking again. "D-do people normally leave him?" He asked quietly, looking up at the taller man in front of him.
"He usually... Unnerves them." Mycroft stated for him. "The head in the fridge normally puts people off." He swung his umbrella up to inspect the tip for a moment.
"I... I find him okay." Martin squeaked, drawing himself up to his full height.
"Curious." Mycroft mused for a few moments and then swung the umbrella down to lean on again.
"What is?"
"Your... Partnership with my younger brother." Mycroft stated idly.
"W-what are you implying because you're wrong we're not a couple I'm not gay it doesn't make me gay because I live with a man and haven't had a girlfriend in four... Four years." His voice dropped on the last few words and he flushed, uncomfortably aware that he'd babbled and said too much again.
"I was implying nothing of the sort." Mycroft fixed him with a steady look. "Merely curious."
"W-what about?" Martin worried his lower lip with his teeth, still flushed a pale pink colour that clashed with his hair.
"Sherlock doesn't have friends; I'm sure I don't need to tell you why. But here you are, nine months after first meeting him with no desire to run away, it seems."
"H-he's not that bad." Martin squirms a little under the mans intense gaze. Mycroft Holmes has the kind of eyes that bored into a persons very soul. Although not bright, like his younger brothers, they were a curious blue that was almost black, and unnerved Martin. He found his mind drifting to Sherlock's eye colour, and how much nicer it was. Mycroft was speaking again, and Martin dragged his thoughts from Sherlock.
"I'm- I'm sorry to interrupt sir, but why exactly are you here?" The pilot rushed out, standing with hands behind his back and shoulders squared.
"Interested party is all." Mycroft gave him a strange smile and leant on his umbrella as he prepared to leave. "Felt I had to meet the man my brother speaks so highly of."
"Sherlock talks about me?" Martin felt his eyes widen slightly.
"Oh yes." Mycroft tilted his head. "But I must go, simply cannot spare time with idle gossip, not with the Russian nuclear meeting coming up... Not that you need to know anything about that."
"But... Sherlock..." Martin felt a little dazed.
"Goodbye, captain Crieff. I will be seeing you again." Martin nodded and watched him go, before sinking into an armchair.
Sherlock returned that evening to paperwork scattered all over the table, and Martin sat in the epicentre of the sheets, deep in thought. He picked his way around the stacks, sniffing disdainfully.
"What are you doing?"
"Accounts for MJN, Carolyn asked me to." He didn't look up, scribbling a few notes down and stacking the monthly invoices from 2008 together. He stretched out and yawned, staring at the invoice from 2011 in his lap. Sherlock was still staring at him. "Do you want something, Sherlock?"
"My brother was here." The consulting detective positively growled.
"Mhm..." Martin replied, a pen in his mouth as he read through another sheet of paper.
"Why?" Sherlocks voice dropped again and he gave another growl.
"No reason specifically. Wanted to see me apparently." Pen in hand, Martin finished another round of calculations.
"You?" Sherlock sniffed disdainfully.
"Said you talk about me." Martins voice was light but he didn't look up.
"Oh." Martin felt a little proud that he'd rendered Sherlock speechless, and took the opportunity gladly.
"If you're not doing anything could you help me out?" He stacked another pile.
"Busy." Sherlock snapped and swept into the kitchen. Martin sighed and resumed his paperwork, scrawling a few notes on the cover sheet and a few more calculations. Within the hour he had finished, stacking all the paper back together and filing it again.
"Sherlock?" The other man didn't move from his position at his microscope. "Sherlock are you eating tonight?" Sherlock looked up, exhausted rings under his eyes.
"Should I?"
"It's been three days, you're nearly thinner than me." Martin meant it as a joke, but his voice was a little harsher than it should have been.
"Right, yes okay. I'll eat. I'll order in Chinese." Martin nods and sits at the table opposite him.
"I would have cooked, you only had to ask."
"Oh, no its okay." Sherlock looks up from his microscope. "What's the number?"
"It's written here..." He hands him the menu and watches him carefully, before shaking himself out of his daydream and standing. "I will cook one of these days." Martin said to no one in particular.
"Are you good?" Sherlock looked up with interest, hair sticking up at odd angles. "Because I'll give you my card and you can buy the ingredients on it."
"I'm not bad. Better than Arthur and 'surprising rice'." He told him with a small laugh. "If you'd like me to I will."
"I've never been able to cook, I envy those who can. It would be nice to see if you can cook." Sherlock smiled at him and went back to looking at his specimen. Martin nodded, a little dazed.
"Of... Of course." He walked from the room, heading for his own room and the sanctuary there. He was at the door, intent on staying there until the food arrived when Sherlock shouted from behind him.
"By the way... Did you ask my brother about the diet?"
"What? No, of course not."
"Pity."
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