As soon as Sherlock and Samantha got back home, Sherlock threw himself onto the couch, delving deep into his mind palace without another word. Knowing Sherlock, he wouldn't need her for a while. Samantha descended to 221C and dressed for bed. Several hours later, Samantha was rudely awakened by shouting upstairs. Blocking the noise with her best earphones didn't work, so half-asleep, she sat up, shoved her feet into slippers, and trudged up the stairs to the source of the noise. Samantha registered Sherlock's voice as well as a stranger's as she got closer. Opening the door, she blinked at the sudden light. "Can you keep it down? I'm trying to sleep." As her eyes began to adjust, she felt a bit underdressed; both men were looking impeccable in suits, and she wore sweats with ratty hair. Both men were standing facing each other like they were trying to intimidate each other. They broke apart; Sherlock slammed down on the couch while the stranger turned to assess Samantha. His probing gaze was just as strong as Sherlock's.
"Really, Sherlock? An American? I thought you had better taste than that." His voice dripped condescension.
Samantha leaned against the door as Sherlock replied, "My choice of interns doesn't concern you, Mycroft. None of this does." His voice was cold and hard, much calmer than before.
"I beg to differ." Mycroft turned to Samantha. "I'll be leaving soon, don't you worry, my dear." His smile was icy and it didn't reach his eyes. He turned back to where Sherlock was scowling on the couch. "You haven't changed after your return, except when it comes to her. Textbook. Did you really think no one would notice? I would keep your heart better hidden, if I were you." Mycroft strode past Samantha out of 221B.
Sherlock got up and headed for his bedroom door, ignoring Samantha, who headed back downstairs, unsure of what she just witnessed. As soon as she left, Sherlock sighed. He had to move on.
The next day, Samantha got up at her normal time and grabbed a towel and some clothes, but dropped everything as she found Sherlock sitting at her table lost in thought. He looked up. "Forget what you heard."
Samantha began to pick up her clothes. "Don't worry; I don't remember much from last night, and what I do remember doesn't make much sense. Why would your brother care if you're neglecting some woman?"
Sherlock started. "How did you know he was my brother? Your powers of observation are improving."
"You were acting like the younger brother being told out by his older brother. Plus, I didn't think anyone else could be as blunt and snarky as you."
Sherlock waved a hand. "It doesn't matter. Shower and get dressed; I know the identity of the second victim." Samantha hurried to do as he said.
