From Domina Temporis: Being the British government

Mr Mycroft Holmes leaned back in his polished leather office chair. He neatly filed the few papers on his desk into the their respective, incoming and outgoing, folders. Running the British Government was really rather simple if one approached it logically and remembered all the facts. Mycroft thanked his lucky stars that he was blessed with a brain that functioned like an internal filing system. He popped the facts into their respective pigeonholes and cross-referenced them both alphabetically and chronologically in his memory banks.

"Easy as eating pie," Mycroft mused. "And, if more people thought like me, it would be even easier."

A clerk interrupted his reverie, clearly hurried; sweat beading on his brow with worry lines creasing his forehead. "Tensions are rising in the Far East, sir," he bleated while handing Mycroft a letter. "I hearsay talk of retaliatory tariffs on the tea."

"Thank you, Mr Evans. I'll take care of things. You may go."

~ooo~

A half hour passed in relative peace. Mycroft finished his perusal of the news in the twenty or so papers he followed every day. He liked to stay on top of current events.

"Sir," another breathless messenger didn't even bother to apologise for his poor manners in not knocking on his office door first. "There's a fight broke out in parliament. The politicians seem to have stalled in their budget negotiations. I'm afraid a few fist fights might be imminent based on the clamour!"

"Thank you, Mr , I'll take care of things," Mycroft nodded to the poor young man who seemed on the brink of a nervous breakdown.

~ooo~

The British government official who for all practical purposes, was the government, made a few calls.

"Sir, sir!" the junior attorney stopped himself and stepped back from the imposing figure at the desk. He gave his senior boss a respectful moment while he composed himself and straightened his tie. "Ah-hem," Mycroft looked up and nodded. "I have personally just been down to investigate riots that broke out in Trafalgar Square. Hundreds of angry people threatening to destroy the statues in London."

"Mm. Thank you for that information. You may leave your findings with me. I'll take care of things."

~ooo~

The situations took Mycroft nearly the rest of the day to sort out. As evening approached, he sighed with satisfaction. It was a big job but he was glad he was equipped with the necessary tools to manage everything that came his direction. As he tidied up the reports on his desk, he noticed one slim folder that he hadn't managed to read yet today. It was a blue binder from the Minister of Health who'd left it for his perusal last night.

"There are reports of a spreading influenza virus across multiple European countries and across the ocean in the Americas. The virus appears to be more virulent than usual and some doctors are reporting severe symptoms and concern for a higher mortality."

Mycroft read the words with interest and studied the graphs and reports from around the world. "Hm?" He would need to get his best health officials on the job to ensure do a deeper dive into the situation and ensure the hospitals were stocked. This might take a few more days but he'd manage.

~ooo~

Mycroft was just leaving his office when the pageboy suddenly ran up to him. "Sir, an urgent telegraph from a Dr John Watson."

Mycroft read the brief words. "Come at once. Urgent situation in _. Sherlock missing."

He frowned. His brother was the one wildcard that could never be fully pigeonholed and predicted. This would require an in person visit to the place in question. A queasy sensation, which Mycroft was not accustomed to, erupted in his stomach. He was not in control in this situation and he did not know exactly how to manage things. Mycroft suddenly lost his appetite as he wrapped his coat tighter around his shoulders and lumbered into a carriage per Watson's directions.

A/N: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental