A/N: Mycroft was soooo hard to write! I went for a rather, well, unusual approach on his character. I'm not too sure I'm happy with it, but he took control of the story without much input from me :-/
Disclaimer: As much as I enjoy the characters, they are not mine. BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle get the credit there.
Mycroft Holmes knew John Watson would be a help to Sherlock, but he never guessed that the doctor would insist on helping him too when he got the chance.
It was a rainy day and Mycroft kidnapped John to get information about his brother. He hadn't mentioned his achy jaw to the doctor and was surprised when John went into "doctor mode".
"You've got a toothache haven't you?"
"How did yo-?"
"I'm a doctor, and I notice when my flatmate's brother talks strangely to avoid inflicting pressure on his upper teeth. I don't suppose you'll call a dentist yourself, so I'll do that."
John's tone of voice surprised the elder Holmes. Nobody bossed Mycroft around. Yet this short, innocent looking veteran and physician was glaring at him ferociously. Instead of calling some security on the man, he simply huffed and allowed John to dial Doctor Millar's number.
Dentist offices horrified Mycroft. They smelled of minty toothpaste and fear. One had no dignity whatsoever while in a dentist's chair. Mycroft's deepest fear equated to losing his dignity, so his anxiety increased quickly as he filled out reams of paper work and waited. John came to the office with him, much to his surprise.
After a short wait the perky blonde assistant summoned Mycroft to the office. Leaning heavily on his umbrella, he walked like a sheep to the slaughter. His complexion even matched the white of wool. Slowly, the government official entered the tortuous little room and sat in the chair.
"Ah, another Holmes," the dentist noted as he entered. "I see the resemblance. I'm Doctor Millar, what can I do for you?"
Mycroft wondered about the resemblance bit, but approved of the attempt at friendliness.
"I seem to be experiencing intense discomfort on the upper right portion of my mouth."
"Well, if you don't mind me taking a look, I can get rid of the pain for you."
Mycroft did mind, but the discomfort restrained him from refusing. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth.
"Just three simple cavities sir, it'll be around three and a half hours. Would you like to watch a movie while we work?"
Mycroft nearly scoffed aloud before noticing a movie based on J.R.R. Tolkien's book The Hobbit, his favorite childhood story. Watching Bilbo, he couldn't help but notice several similarities between the irked hobbit and the doctor sitting in the waiting area.
The movie ended and he sat in silence as they finally finished the filling. Unfortunately for Mycroft, the laughing gas got to his head and he swaggered out of the office and into the waiting room while singing a song from the movie loudly.
"Chip the glasses and crack the plates! Oh hullo John, are you a hobbit? I believe I ought to go home now."
John stifled a chuckle as he lead the British government to his car. To his credit, he never told a soul about Mycroft's reaction to the nitrous oxide. He simply allowed the man to bellow and laugh while clinging to the soldier's arm. After twenty minutes of this, Mycroft shook off the last of his delirium, thanked John profusely and strolled to his ride.
Anthea lounged in the car beside her recovered employer and on request from Mycroft ordered a strawberry milkshake to be waiting when he arrived home.
A/N: (sorry about 2 in one "chapter"). I realize that laughing gas doesn't exactly effect people like I wrote above, but Mycroft isn't your average gentleman, so I deemed it acceptable.