Mycroft Holmes thought of himself as a master manipulator. Or at least, a fledgling one, to make an amendment to this fact. Nonetheless, he was still miles ahead of his peers in this specific domain (not that it was anything to be proud of, considering the imbecility - was that a word? Well it should be - of the vast majority of them).
However, the fledgling master did not care about that, not at all. His peers had no hope of ever being role models for him, and certainly not in the field of manipulation. No, his role model, his target, the milestone by which he judged his advancement was in a league of its own. A genius in their own right, they were a force to reckon, especially because of their devious scheme.
And yet, they weren't the one most people thought of when he described his role model, Mycroft though with a dash of fondness as he gazed at his mother.
Surprising, wasn't it? Most plebeians (both teachers and alumni) automatically assumed that his role model would be his father. And once upon a time, Mycroft had agreed with them too! After all, who wouldn't want to be like the genius renowned in a specific set of professional circles? One whose eccentricity and lack of sociability was widely known and accepted due to his tremendous intelligence?
Mycroft certainly didn't disagree with those methods, but his father had simply been surpassed by someone far better in his mind: his mother.
Indeed, she was the real power in the house. She ruled it with an iron fist in a velvet glove, in such a way that its inhabitants found themselves agreeing to her rules, while still believing them to have been their own ideas. Mycroft himself had been such a victim - no, victim had an underlying sense of criminality - or rather under the influence of this behaviour for a long time, before he even realized its presence.
And that fascinated him.
The effortless way in which she'd arranged the various room to be in such a way that all three of them would unwittingly interrupt each others' activities at the most opportune moments for her; the numerous concessions she seemingly fought over in order to make them believe that they had thwarted her, even though she had them exactly where she wished them to be; the masterful manner in which she fooled everyone - themselves included, loath as he was to admit it - into thinking that she was the least intelligent person in the room, no matter who she spoke to…
Mycroft could not believe it had taken him that long to open his eyes to the truth. Nonetheless, he had found the worthiest role model and had made his choice.
"Mother, I will study Political Sciences in University," he announced without preamble.
Her sly smile told him that he had once again played right into her hands, and that he had unwittingly done whatever she had predicted of him. But it didn't matter anymore, he mused as he kept his ever present awe of her in firm check. Two could play this game, now that he was aware of its existence.
One day, he would surpass her. He would become… The British Government.
Hey! Sorry for the delay in getting this one out, I've been trying to write it for a while, and ran into a block somewhere around the first mention of Mycroft's mother.
What did you think about Mycroft's POV, btw? Should I do it again with other characters? Was it alright? And we finally see where Mycroft's ambition came from :)
Next chapter, we'll be back to Mummy Holmes' point of view, so don't worry :D
Leave a review if you've got time~
