Disdain and Shattered Crystal

The dark chocolate, fleur de lys motif sported a crude, neon-yellow smiley-face. Its eyeless stare made Ruby feel uncomfortable as she studied the back wall of 221B, though this reaction had more to do with the bullet holes pocketing the jagged rips of its smile, not the magnificent clash of colours. It was her favourite part of the flat; the sophisticated wallpaper with its garish paint best reflected (in her opinion) the confusing personality of Sherlock Holmes. He was a well-dressed, educated, noble and eloquent man – like the wallpaper. However, he was also eccentric, brash, anti-social and rude – like the spray paint. For those who enjoyed the vibrant marriage of old-fashioned with impatient modern, such as John, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and even Mycroft she supposed; there was enough to be admired which allowed for the more gaudy traits to be ignored.

Ruby's gaze lowered to her hands which idly twitched atop her thighs, trying to remember a time when she'd felt this… tired. It wasn't a lack of sleep or her constant worrying which was responsible for the tiredness which saturated every pore of her body. It was the case, testing the limits of her mental, emotional and spiritual strengths. A small voice in the back of her head worried that if Leo Shannon wasn't caught soon, some well-deserved rest wouldn't equate to a full recovery.

'I don't understand.' John's voice cut through the silence, shaking his head firmly while looking up from his precariously balanced laptop. 'I didn't upload this picture so how, exactly, was it published on my blog?' John demanded, his eyes glaring at Sherlock who sat aloofly in his armchair, ignoring John's question completely. 'Oh that's just… brilliant. When the question doesn't suit Sherlock Holmes, he's far too important to entertain it, especially when he has to account for his actions!' John's chest heaved slightly when he finished his rant, his eyes glaring murderously at his flatmate. 'D'you know how many times this picture's been shared, Mary?' He clicked on what Ruby could only presume was the scandalous image and exhaled sharply at the shares presented. 'Almost ten thousand times! How is that even possible? It only went up two hours ago!'

'Oh, just take it down then if it's causing you so much bother!' Mary said disapprovingly, her frown conveying how she perceived this as a painfully obvious solution.

'I would, but the way he hacked my account means I can't access my blog!' John flicked the laptop angrily, wincing in pain as his finger connected harshly with the metal screen.

'He changed the password?' Mary asked with raised eyebrows, her gaze returning to Sherlock and doing her best to hide a smile.

'Must have done… Oh for God's sake, he's gone into that bloody mind palace of his, probably won't be back for a couple of hours. Lord knows how many times the internet will have shared it by then, and my reputation as a serious blogger goes down the drain. Not that he cares.' John gestured violently in Sherlock's direction but true to his analysis, Sherlock didn't move, or make any sign that he'd seen or heard John's admonishments.

'Does he do that often?' Mary asked after an awkward thirty seconds of silence, her fingers drumming on the back of John's armchair as she watched Sherlock intently. The way her head tilted gave the bizarre impression that she was fighting the urge to prod him awake.

'Only when he doesn't want to interact with us lesser beings.' John spat, shutting his laptop with a snap and turning his attention to Ruby. 'Don't suppose I could get an explanation from you? Or is it just every other day that you two decide to have a good old snog and post the evidence on my blog?' He said reproachfully.

'John!' Mary chastised before crossing the room and settling on the couch directly beneath the yellow smiley face, her mouth lifting in a pitying smile. Regardless of John's harsh questions, Ruby was in no mood to defend herself, especially with Sherlock in the room. 'So… what did your boss say again?' Mary asked in a vain attempt to lighten the atmosphere, her eyes glancing at John who was staring moodily into space.

'Lestrade's sending a car to take me to Scotland Yard for a debriefing with regards to the motivation behind abandoning my safe-house and uploading such a… shameful image.' Ruby stated glumly, not caring that she'd shared "top-secret police information" with a woman she'd met some twenty minutes earlier.

'I don't know about shameful, you two looked like you were having a right good time.' Mary said with a wolfish grin, though it quickly faded when she noted the joint look of bewilderment on John and Ruby's faces. 'Something I'm missing?' She asked uncertainly.

'Oh, you have no idea.' John shook his head incredulously, glancing from Ruby, then to Sherlock and allowing a small chuckle to escape his lips.

'The car should be here soon.' Ruby muttered, swallowing the urge to throw John the dirtiest look she could muster. 'And John? I don't know why Sherlock used your blog as a platform for that picture, I wasn't informed about any of this I just…' Ruby sighed and nibbled on her lower lip, wondering how every aspect of this case seemed to warp into something grotesque. After glancing uncertainly at Sherlock, she rose from her chair and sat beside Mary, both of her hands coiling into fists on her lap. Unbeknownst to Ruby, Mary glared at John, jerking her head in Ruby's direction, wordlessly demanding John to do or say something which might comfort her. Feeling self-conscious beneath the imperious gaze of his girlfriend, John cleared his throat loudly before rising from his chair and marching across the short room, stopping behind the coffee table. His left hand tapped restlessly against his thigh as he mulled over what he might say – and was pleasantly surprised when he thought of something half-way decent.

'Look, Ruby. You did something that you, me and everyone Sherlock holds dear is guilty of.'

'And what might that be?' She asked quietly.

'You trusted him.' John said with a slight shrug. 'Regardless of how eccentric his demands are, we're always willing to help. But sometimes… sometimes we forget to push back and demand an explanation before leaping to his aid, especially when it comes to him laying his "clever" plans.' John glanced over his shoulder but Sherlock was still plugged into the dark recesses of his mind. With regards to the privacy of this conversation, he might as well have been in another country. 'Ruby, don't worry about the stupid picture and I'm not going to ask why or how it came to exist – just take care of yourself. I'll have an explanation out of Sherlock even if I have to forcefully drag it from that disparaging mouth of his, so you just focus on keeping yourself safe, alright?' John said with an attempt at a smile, though his curling lips presented an expression which had more in common with a grimace.

'Thanks John.' Ruby said sincerely. John's head turned and looked out of the window, taking note of the car slowing outside of 221B.

'I think that's Lestrade with your lift.' John said, nodding towards the window.

'I guess I'll be off then.' Ruby slowly got to her feet, not looking forward to Lestrade's probing questions in the slightest. 'Mary, lovely to meet you and I hope to see you again under less… trying conditions.' Ruby said with a brave attempt at smiling.

'Oh, life's not interesting without a few speed bumps. Besides, it's like John said; you just focus on taking care of yourself.' Mary said with a reassuring smile which stretched a little too eagerly over her face. To Ruby's surprise, the blonde leapt to her feet and gave her a reassuring hug, one which Ruby found herself needing more than she'd anticipated. The lump in her throat was quickly swallowed and she cast her eyes downwards to conceal signs of the tell-tale moisture, blinking the unwanted tears away before straightening upwards. 'Are you okay?' Mary asked, her eyebrows creasing in concern.

'Fine, just tired.' Ruby said with a shrug

'I'm sure we'll be seeing you again before long. Give Lestrade my best.' John added, though he wasn't looking at Ruby, his gaze was fixed on Sherlock's unmoving form. Stifling a sigh, Ruby moved towards the exit, stuffing her red hair beneath her hood as she idled by the door, eyes flicking to Sherlock's comatose frame.

'Tell him where I've gone when he exits his mind palace, I'm sure he'll have another extravagant plan he'll want to act out immediately.' Ruby said bitterly, pursing her lips for a moment before quickly leaving the living room of 221B. Taking the stairs two at a time, Ruby had to focus her energies on stopping her fast walk from morphing into a 100 metre dash Usain Bolt would have been proud of. Ten seconds later, the front door slammed shut behind her and she bundled herself into the awaiting car. Ruby felt something beyond relief when the car moved away from the pavement and left Bakerstreet far behind. Relaxing somewhat in her seat, she glanced around the plush interior of the car, wondering why Lestrade hadn't sent an ordinary patrol car instead of this luxurious sedan. She also didn't recognise the attractive woman sitting on the far side of the car, the light from her phone casting an eerie glow on her delicate features.

'Um, do I know you? I haven't seen you from the station.' Ruby asked quizzically.

'Station? Oh, no. I don't work there.' The lady said with an apologetic smile before returning her gaze to the mobile, her eyes brushed with a generous amount of eye shadow.

'Then, who are you exactly?' Ruby asked bluntly, a small knot beginning to form in her intestines.

'I'm… Anthea.' This time the woman's gaze didn't leave her phone at all.

'Anthea, where are we going?' Ruby asked casually, sitting a little straighter and focusing her complete attention on the woman.

'Hmmm, yes. He did say to call him after we'd picked you up.' Anthea muttered mysteriously, dialling a number and lifting the phone to her ear.

Perhaps it was the gnawing sensation in her gut, the coolness of her female companion or that her luck had turned sour during the course of this case, but Ruby had the unnerving feeling that she was… trapped. She conducted a quick check of her surroundings; the doors were locked and from what she could see, there was no manual way to reverse the locking mechanism. The tinted glass appeared tough but if she kicked it, there was no reason for it to remain intact. However, she'd have to wait until the car stopped at a set of traffic lights before smashing the window and making her escape.

Just as the car began to slow down, the lady calling herself Anthea extended her arm cross the car's interior to hand Ruby the phone. Anthea's eyebrows rose when she did not accept the mobile. 'It's for you.' She said with a condescending smile.

'Thanks.' Ruby sharply took the phone and cautiously raised it to her ear. Doing her best to keep her voice steady, she addressed the mysterious caller.

'Hello?'

'Ah, Detective Smith. I hope I find you well?' Mycroft's sneering drawl poured out of the speaker, forcing Ruby's blood to pound from rage instead of fear. Was all of this Mycroft's doing? Casually kidnapping her to have this little… chat?

'I've felt better.' Ruby replied stiffly, trying her best to keep her hands from shaking. 'Might I inquire as to the motivation behind my current circumstances?' Her eyebrows rose at her unusual display of eloquence, especially under such savage pressure.

'You're on the way to a favourite haunt of mine where no prying eyes can see. I hope you don't mind, I've been meaning to speak with you for some time and I'm afraid this simply cannot wait.' The illusion of choice was laughable; Ruby could deny Mycroft his "invitation", though her current situation already roared her acceptance. They both knew she was meeting him whether she liked it or not.

'You've prevented me from attending an important meeting in Scotland Yard. The Detective Inspector will be wondering where I am.' Despite being true, her gut told her that this feeble excuse would not deter the elder Holmes.

'Detective Inspector Lestrade has been informed of the amendment to your schedule; I can personally guarantee that you won't be missed. I expect to see you very soon.' And without further ado, the call ended, leaving Ruby chewing her bottom lip and doing her best to stem her violent thoughts in order to best prepare for what was bound to be a taxing confrontation. A sudden idea graced her mind and she gripped the mobile in her hand tightly, afraid that Anthea expected its immediate return.

'D'you mind if I use this for a moment? I've been without a phone for a while.' Ruby asked with a winning smile.

'Go ahead.' Anthea replied with a shrug, pulling another mobile from her pocket and resuming her texting. Closing her eyes for a moment, Ruby recalled the number she needed and after tapping out a small message, sent off a short text which read:

I won't be in for dinner; you know how troublesome older brothers can be. RS

Some twenty minutes later, the car came to a complete halt and the automatic locks clicked off. With an impatient clearing of Anthea's throat, Ruby left the vehicle and gazed up at the handsome building before her, a golden plaque declaring that it was The Diogenes Club. Ruby had read enough of John's blog to know what delights awaited her inside; a place where members paid to ignore one another. As she approached the front door, a ludicrous image of her and Mycroft conducting a conversation through mimes flashed before her eyes, and the chuckle which escaped her mouth startled her. Calming her nervous giggles with a few deep breaths, she pulled open the door and stepped inside.

The handsome decoration continued after entering through the gilded doors, and doing her best to retain the smothering quiet, Ruby set off down the corridor, looking for someone to guide her to where Mycroft might be. After tip-toeing past many rooms filled with politicians and important cabinet members, Ruby discovered a door some twenty paces later which looked promising. She knocked smartly on the expensive wood and was rewarded with Mycroft's voice greeting her with luke-warm enthusiasm.

'Enter.'

The door swung inwards and a fine-looking reading room was revealed. Daylight streamed through finely latticed windows set atop oak shelves bursting with austere-looking books, containing riveting subjects such as law and business. Respectable chandeliers hung from the four corners of the room and two magnificently upholstered desk chairs faced one another at the centre of the handsome chamber, each seat accompanied with its own glass table and lampshade, though only one supported a crystal decanter filled with a deep, amber liquid. Ruby found herself disappointed that there was no chess-set between the two chairs, the entire arrangement seemed to demand a battle of the minds such as in the Xmen prequel, where such a confrontation had taken place between a young Dr Xavier and Magneto. As her gaze found Mycroft (who was replacing a book at the back of the room), she was filled with warm gratitude that the elder Holmes would never play chess with her. Ruby preferred to avoid being slaughtered in a game if she could help it.

'Please, have a seat.' Mycroft said with a simpering smile which suited his features ill, indicating the chair she should take with his right hand. It still sported the brilliant gold band on the fourth finger and Ruby made a mental note to ask Sherlock about its origins, her mind producing a passing fancy of a secret wife in Cornwall. Mycroft was wearing another finely crafted three-piece suit, today's was a black pinstripe number which formed the armour around a crisp white blouse complimented by a crimson tie nestled at the base of his throat.

'Are you planning on retaining me for some time?' Ruby asked, failing to keep the sharpness from her tone.

'There is no ulterior motive; I am merely offering a simple creature comfort. Perhaps you would prefer one which is a little stronger…?' He indicated the crystal decanter and Ruby sighed before nodding in defeat, hoping a strong drink would help calm her frayed nerves. Mycroft poured her a generous portion and set the glass on her table. As she squirmed to get comfortable in the armchair, she was hit with the disappointing reality that the seat was nowhere near as comfortable as it looked. 'Quite a trying case you find yourself involved with, Lady Smith.' Mycroft commented in a deceptively off-hand manner.

'Ruby, please.' She corrected automatically, not liking the gleam in Mycroft's beady little eyes.

'My apologies, I failed to recall your abhorrence for such traditional titles.' The sly smile which tugged at his lips contradicted this statement and Ruby's stomach back-flipped when his eyes flicked over her hunched frame. It wasn't comforting to know that he could deduce more from her appearance than Sherlock Holmes himself.

'I'll forgive you, we all make mistakes.' Ruby muttered while examining the craftsmanship of the crystal glass intently. Idling beside his chair for a moment, Mycroft sighed before returning to the back of the room where he picked something up from the nearest antique table. 'Am I here because you want information on Sherlock? If so, you've picked the wrong friend, I'm too loyal to be a snitch.' Ruby warned, frowning when Mycroft chuckled at her statement.

'Strange isn't it? A friendship with my fickle brother isn't what one would label as fair or relaxing and yet, he's attracted so many brave strays to his flock.' Mycroft returned to his seat and perched a folder on his lap. 'It must be difficult for you, all things considered.'

'Why would it be difficult for me? If you've researched my history to the degree Sherlock claims you have; then you already know about my sister and her… differences.' Ruby cleared her throat, angrily swallowing to prevent the formation of an emotional lump in her gullet.

'Ah yes, your… younger sibling. I must admit I find myself pleased to be in the company of someone who understands the burden of being eldest, the responsibilities, the constant worry and the disgraceful lack of gratitude.' Mycroft's fingers tapped against the surface of the folder, frowning at the green cardboard before flipping it open and scanning over its contents. 'A textbook psychopath, according to her psychiatrist's notes… a conclusion I find myself readily disagreeing with.' A smug smile tugged at his lips as he continued to read, his eyes failing to notice Ruby's flabbergasted expression. When Sherlock had mentioned Mycroft's research, she hadn't expected him to have her sister's file sitting on his lap! 'However, this is hardly a new circumstance; I rarely find the conclusions of these "mind" doctors enlightening. That being said, Diane possessed some rather alarming traits which hardly conveyed the best of British conduct. One can imagine how such a trying sister could instil a particularly rigid sense of patience in her elder sister, one which I imagine has allowed for this friendship you have with my brother to… blossom.' Mycroft sneered, glancing at Ruby and raising his eyebrows questioningly. Ruby exhaled slowly; painfully aware that said patience was being tested.

'I wouldn't say I'm patient. Forgiving, yes, but not patient.' Ruby resisted the urge to gnaw on the side of her thumb. 'I yell too much and commit too many anger-fuelled acts to have that characteristic applied to my personality.' She unfolded her arms and took a large gulp of the cognac, barely blinking as the liquid burnt its way down her throat. Mycroft clearly didn't invest in cheap liquor, but why should she be surprised? The chair she was sitting in probably cost two grand alone.

'Everyone's patience has their breaking-point and Sherlock is always pushing the limits of those he finds himself sharing oxygen with. Your reaction was understandable, but further proof that you are just an ordinary… human.' He raised his own glass in an odd sort of salute and delicately sipped the beverage, swirling the crystal delicately after swallowing. It was strange, having a person use your own species against you in order to impose a platform of power and superiority. Then again, if Ruby was to make a list of the characteristics required to belong to the human race, Mycroft Holmes would certainly have more in common with a roughly-hewn boulder.

'Are you referring to my table-flipping episode?' Ruby asked bluntly.

'One of the more memorable occasions, though I cannot say you weren't provoked. Sherlock has found himself in increasingly foul form of late…'

'Is that the reason for this kidnapping? You think I can explain his behaviour?' Ruby snapped.

'Explain it? No, I do not possibly believe anyone apart from Sherlock can fully divulge his skittish motivations. However, I have confidence that the dip in his intellectual prowess hasn't escaped your attention, if nothing else.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' Ruby growled; the languid manner in which Mycroft was conducting this conversation grating against her nerves.

'My apologies, you are in quite a delicate state caused by the grand increase of pressures which the balm of a serial killer provides. I am merely concerned for my brother's well-being and due to the extremes of his bizarre methods; I believe I have every right to play the role of worried older-brother. This case seems to be the un-doing of him and it is my quest to halt his unravelling early on to prevent any major catastrophe.' Mycroft lowered his glass and plucked one single sheet from the folder, a disapproving frown pulling at his brows. 'Despite your current predicament, I was hoping you could shed a little light on this particular blunder which is as un-Sherlock as anything I've ever encountered.' He flipped the page around and instead of text meeting Ruby's gaze, an expensive print-out of Billy's photography skills was revealed.

It was the first time she'd seen the picture and the expensive camera had captured the scandalous moment in extraordinary high-quality. The image was a full-length shot, showing their height difference and clashing outfits. Sherlock's popped coat collar and sharp profile produced a handsome depiction of the consulting detective, and Ruby was staggered to see a flush of colour painting his high cheekbones. The vibrant colour of Ruby's messy hair tore all attention away from the baggy tracksuit she wore and focused the viewer's eye on the scene of passion. Her hands tugged eagerly on the lapels of Sherlock's coat and Billy had captured the split second where their lips had pressed firmly against one another. Ruby suddenly understood Mary's naive comment back in Bakerstreet of how they appeared to be enjoying themselves – Sherlock didn't look disgusted or bored. In fact, with his eyes closed and his hand caressing her neck, the exact opposite of a sexual assault had been captured. This perspective was terrifying; the picture created the harrowing façade of two young lovers sharing a private embrace, and perhaps most unnerving of all; it didn't look staged.

'Imagine my surprise when experts confirmed there was no evidence to support the logical premise that it had been digitally altered.' Mycroft's stony tone ripped Ruby's attention from the photograph and dragged her back to reality. His countenance was enough to chill the rosiness of confused pleasure which the picture had elicited and the disapproving manner in which Mycroft replaced the photo kicked Ruby's heart into a higher gear. A familiar flush warmed her cheeks and she grimaced when she felt the heat radiating from her skin; only in a parallel universe would Mycroft fail to notice such an obvious admission of embarrassment.

Mycroft's snake-like eyes flicked up from the folder and regarded her with unconcealed dislike. The muscles in Ruby's legs sprung to attention and the adrenaline coursing through her veins was instructing her to run as fast as she could, out of the Diogenes Club, out of London, hell, even out of the ruddy country. She could find a place where she'd be safe, a place where Mycroft's power could not reach her.

After calming the intermittent tremors in the quaking muscles of her legs, she focused on holding the gaze of the man in front of her. Regardless of his accomplishments, or his intellect, Mycroft Homes was still as human as she was. It was time for her to grow up and calm down her panicked thoughts. She wasn't going to shy away from the consequences of her actions. However, Mycroft wasn't the man she owed an explanation to; that man was currently sitting in Scotland Yard wondering what the hell had caused his youngest detective to become so mentally unstable.

'I don't see how that photo is any of your business.' Ruby said candidly, taking another swig from her glass of cognac and sitting a little straighter.

'Not any of my business?' Mycroft rolled his eyes and slowly exhaled a disapproving sigh. 'Is this your way of stressing that my worry is in vain, or perhaps your defensive manner is hinting at how my brother is his usual vibrant self and living life to the full?' His eyebrows rose in contempt and Ruby's gaze dropped to the floor. 'Hmmm, I thought not. With concerns to the character of Sherlock Holmes, it would be a mistake to don the rose-tinted glasses of optimism, wouldn't you agree?'

'The man is in his thirties; don't you think it would be healthier if you took a less obsessive approach to monitoring his life?' Ruby hissed; her dislike for Mycroft barely concealed as she openly glared at him.

'Obsessive? You believe I embody this role of paternal figure out of self-righteous arrogance? Let me make myself perfectly clear when I state that it is duty and duty alone which commands me to watch over my brother.' Mycroft leaned forwards, perching his elbows on his thighs and resting his chin atop his clasped hands. 'Your disapproval clouds your judgement, Ruby. You haven't seen Sherlock in all of his floundering glory, you think him cruel now; you've seen nothing. Parents are only so useful where gifted children are concerned; I was the only one who imposed boundaries, who could teach him what others couldn't. That role did not dissolve with age.'

'It should have.' Ruby whispered, relaxing in her chair and finishing off her cognac. The expensive alcohol was lending her some liquid courage, or the stress of being courted by a serial killer had guided her to a place where she simply didn't care anymore.

'Oh?' Mycroft asked, resisting the urge to roll his eyes once more. 'Perhaps this is jealousy; the female form does exhibit this emotion with such dexterous improvisation.'

'Jealousy?' Ruby's jaw slackened at the accusation.

'Well, it's hardly a secret that you harbour feelings of overwhelming sentiment for my brother.'

'What? I don't –'

'Come now, even if we were to ignore the extraordinary obviousness of your elevated heart-rate, your flushed cheeks, dilated pupils and the complete lack of illustrative gestures to support your claim that these feelings are of a platonic dimension, your behaviour in that photograph has given you away.' Mycroft's lips lifted in a cold smile. 'Where is your rambling defence now?' He challenged smugly. The initial terror which Mycroft's words inspired fell away and Ruby chuckled when she realised that the elder Holmes had accidently given her the perfect ammunition to turn the conversation around.

'So that's your angle.' Ruby said with a triumphant smile, her lightened tone wiping the smirk from his face. 'You're right. I do have feelings for your brother. Strong ones too.' Ruby felt like she'd slipped into a dream, was she really having this discussion with Mycroft?

'Hardly a revelation.'

'No, but your terror is.'

'My… terror?' Mycroft asked incredulously.

'It's like you said Mycroft, you have a duty to your brother's welfare; hence why you're heavily invested in his activities.'

'Some elaboration on this meandering train of thought would be marvellous.'

'No problem. When I first met Sherlock, I didn't think it was possible that there could be anyone else like him in the entire world. Imagine how surprised I was when he told me about you! But it made sense; a set of genius brothers, embroiled in sibling rivalry but quietly trying to find the friend they so desperately needed in the other.'

'Gracious, you entertain some romantic notions.' Mycroft sneered.

'It doesn't matter if you think them "romantic", don't you see? The relationship you have with your brother is… it's toxic! He hates you, because of the way you treat him but now I understand why… It's quite obvious and I'm annoyed I didn't see it before.' Ruby leant forward and kept her eyes fixed on Mycroft. 'You moulded him when he was younger as you were the only colossal figure in his life which could have any impact; a father figure, someone to be feared, admired, an ideal to strive towards.'

'Heavens, should I be reclining on a sofa and telling you exact details of our childhood? I hadn't realised I'd made an appointment with a psychologist, especially one as underqualified as you.'

'Was it really so terrible?' Ruby scoffed.

'You have no idea of what we had to go through as children. Some of our parents' most important decisions were made in a sentimental vein; why else would we be so opposed to conducting ourselves in an opposite fashion if only to avoid further suffering?' The last part of the sentence was spoken softly, as if Mycroft didn't fully realise he was still speaking aloud.

'Suffering? I don't see how you could employ that adjective to describe your upbringing, Mycroft.' Ruby was pushing him, trying to see how much information Mycroft was willing to part with in this strange little encounter. Any titbits he released would be a carefully calculated ploy; it was rare for someone as intelligent as Mycroft to speak without thinking through the range of consequences which could meet his words.

'No? You wouldn't agree that being home-schooled in an isolated location meets the criteria necessary to employ the adjective "suffering"? Then allow me to speak plainly; such was our confinement that I believed Sherlock to be an idiot because of our lack of interaction with the surrounding world. You can imagine our distress when we met other children…' Though no facial muscles shifted, Mycroft's countenance contracted into a truly frightening expression. 'If, at some point in the future, the urge to declare this information to the public overwhelms you, I will personally make sure your career is destroyed intimately, in every way you secretly fear.' He relaxed into his chair, the murderous gleam in his eyes fading to docile amusement. 'Do I make myself clear?'

'I'm not a moron. I know exactly who I'm dealing with and the creative range of consequences you have in store for those who betray you.' Ruby mumbled; trying to process the startling information Mycroft had just shared. Home-schooling and isolation was enough to drive any set of brothers mad, but the Holmes boys? No wonder Sherlock never alluded to his parents or his childhood, they reminded him of a time where he had to put up with Mycroft in such claustrophobic circumstances, surely the effect on his personality would have been catastrophic.

'Hmmm, brave of you to be pursuing such a delicate subject matter. Despite knowing who I am and what I know, you still prod your interfering nose into my personal upbringing, final proof of your possession of the ungainly traits that make a stubborn detective.'

'John told me that you believe bravery is a kinder word for stupidity.' Ruby said quietly.

'You disagree?'

'I don't really have an opinion on the subject; I just prefer to be insulted outright instead of through veiled layers. I'd appreciate if you kept that in mind for the rest of our conversation.' Mycroft chuckled darkly and shifted in his seat, crossing one leg over the other.

'You are aware I am not overly fond of you.' Mycroft said blandly, tilting his head as he observed the red-head.

'And I'm certain you know how the feeling is mutual.' Ruby replied evenly.

'From that small morsel of information I gave you with regards to Sherlock's upbringing, I can tell you're blaming me for his anti-social behaviour, believing that if he'd been an only child or had been blessed with a less pragmatic idol, he would be a different man – one perhaps, capable of love.'

'I'll be intrigued to hear your defence on the subject.' Ruby folded her arms and did her best to ignore the urge to fidget.

'I know Sherlock Holmes better than anyone else in the world, both in time spent with him and in understanding his extraordinary character in a way which is beyond the average person.'

'You see, that's where you're wrong. You don't know Sherlock better. John, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, heck even me, we're all proof that you don't understand Sherlock to the extent you claim. He loves us, and yes, his affection might be demonstrated in strange and warped ways, but that doesn't mean the sentiment doesn't exist. And you know what? It's because of you that he experiences guilt and shame for feeling what is only natural!' Ruby's voice was rising, and colour flooded her cheeks once again.

'You clearly have a romanticised view of the man; it is the only explanation for why your feelings haven't taken the many hints –'

'SHUT. UP.' Ruby roared, her voice echoing around the handsome room and possibly around the entire club due to the silent aspect of the house.

'I beg your pardon?' Mycroft said in a dangerously quiet voice, his face looking scandalised.

'You heard me.' Ruby growled.

'Your stubbornness is clouding your judgement, I feel it is my duty to inform you that your feelings for Sherlock can never hope to be realised. He simply doesn't tick that way and you can interpret his actions as you wish, but I will not allow for my brother to be constantly courted by someone which to him, is nothing more than a goldfish–'

SMASH!

Ruby didn't remember getting to her feet, nor did she recall taking the crystal glass and hurling it at the far corner of the room where it shattered in spectacular fashion. Her fists shook with anger as she pointed a finger in Mycroft's direction, her rage making it hard to speak.

'How… how dare you!' Ruby snarled, slowly straightening and brushing her hair from her face. Mycroft watched her warily, as if she were a caged animal showing signs of learning how to escape.

'I think it would be best if you left. Try to find some scrap of dignity when you close the door behind you. Or perhaps you would prefer if I called for security…?' He asked and the satisfied gleam in his eyes left Ruby in no doubt that such a scene would give him nothing but pleasure.

'I don't think I could stand your presence for another moment and supress the delicious urge to hit you.' Ruby said bitterly before she stalked towards the door, her rage cooling as she prepared to exit the room. 'Oh, and Mycroft?' She said sweetly, turning with her hand on the door knob. 'If you truly believe that Sherlock thinks of me as a "goldfish", then why would you bother bringing me here, presenting me with this photo and telling me in no uncertain terms, that such a relationship was impossible? If that were true, you wouldn't give it a moment of your time. Your worry over his changing behaviour is directly linked to your anxiety that perhaps he's considering something which you have deterred him from for years. I think it's about time you stop meddling in the background and leave Sherlock to make his own decisions. Wouldn't you agree?' With a devilish smile and a wink, she pulled open the door, not bothering to close it behind her. She knew the feelings of elation and triumph would quickly fade; she had to get out of this backward, traditional frat house before she collapsed on a finely upholstered chair from sheer exhaustion.

She quickly flagged down a taxi outside, and it was with a tired nod that she asked the cabbie to take her to Bakerstreet, and if he would be so kind to wake her once they'd arrived.

Hello my lovely readers! Apologies for posting this some five days later, some events happened in the previous week which completely halted my writing, events which were outside of my control! So, here's the chapter, I hope you enjoyed it, I'm an absolute wreck from writing it, Mycroft is such a challenging character! Hopefully I did his character justice he's become one of my favourites after season three so he has…

Secondly, I am overwhelmed by the response to my previous chapter, 42 reviews, FORTY-TWO! Thank you thank you thank you; that was my highest reviewed chapter of all time. WOO GO TEAM! And with concerns to the new title of the story, as you can see up above, you the public voted for "Escapades In Red". I like it, and I think it is truer to the core element of this story.

Thirdly, I've passed the landmark of 400 favourites and 500 followers, meaning that for every person who follows the story, there's an 80% possibility that they'll favourite it too. Hey look, maths was useful! Agh, seriously though, that's ridiculously flattering and I appreciate your support so much, you have no idea!

So to celebrate, I have a list of specials for you to choose from:

Sherlock's mind palace when he was ignoring everyone in Baker Street at the beginning of this chapter.

Ruby's dream when she falls asleep in the taxi at the end of this chapter.

John and Mary discussing the scandalous picture and Mary asking questions about Ruby and Sherlock's relationship after Ruby leaves 221B and is kidnapped by Mycroft.

Choose wisely!