May 18
So Mycroft stopped by today. That happened.
Nothing quite like being subjected to blank, judgmental stares, awkward silences, and insincere compliments— asking me how I'm doing and how I liked living with his "intransigent little brother." As if he didn't already know all the answers. The spying creep in his fancy suits and umbrella. But he mostly came by to ask Sherlock to take care of some national matter and the fate of the free world depended on it and the Prime Minister himself would be most grateful and I really don't give a rat's arse about this subject anymore so I'm just going to stop.
Because helping Mycroft worked out sooo well last time.
I'm starting to believe that he's actually a robot programmed by someone from the future, and he was sent back to eradicate all happiness and bring order to an uprising totalitarian society.
I told Sherlock this afterwards, and he just laughed and said that I wasn't too far from the truth. This does not quench my suspicions.
Okay, okay. I shouldn't be too hard on the guy. He has feelings, too…I'm certain. Like, 26% certain he does.
Plus, from what I heard, he did actually take the time to help out with all the crap that went down after the pool incident. And not only that, he also vouched for Uncle John and ensured that he'd get custody over me.
So I guess if it wasn't for him, I probably wouldn't be here.
Well, great. I hope he doesn't start hanging that over my head, getting me to spy on Sherlock for him. I mean, my taxes are going to pay his (already ridiculous) salary! What more does he want?
I swear, these Holmes'. At least with Sherlock, though, I somewhat know what to expect out of him.
Mycroft Holmes, you are an enigma that I have yet to decipher.
With all due respect,
Harley Watson
