Mycroft had been awake since six-thirty. After his parents had basically forced him to retire at an inordinately early time, he had had enough sleep, even if he had lain awake for some time, especially in light of the fact that his brother and sister-in-law were apparently enjoying their still newlywed status. It wasn't that they were particularly loud once they retired to Sherlock's bedroom, but well, there was only a wall separating the two rooms.
Mycroft couldn't help feeling a little jealous that he too was not enjoying the delights of his woman's company that night as had been his original plan, thwarted by his chauffeur's thoughtless actions in imbibing too much at the local pub.
The older Holmes brother dressed and headed downstairs to the sitting room. Seeing that the fire was out, he added wood and rekindled it, then sat in the armchair, allowing the fire to warm him. His fingers dangled over the edge of the chair and touched something lacy. Lifting it up, he saw it to be a woman's bra, obviously belonging to his sister-in-law. Apparently Sherlock and Molly had been indulging in a little fun before they headed for the bedroom, he thought wryly.
His first impulse was to drop the bra, but he changed his mind and pocketed it instead. Better that he hold onto the evidence of his brother and sister-in-law's nocturnal activities, rather than potentially scandalise his parents about possible carryings-on in a place other than the bedroom. He found it a little scandalous himself, although obviously it had been merely the pre-cursor to said activities, judging by the slight sounds that had come from Sherlock's bedroom. At the same time, he was also inwardly glad that his brother had so evidently thrown himself into married life with such enthusiasm after so many years of solitude. He rather regretted the way he had tried to spare his brother potential heartache by stating that caring was not an advantage. In Sherlock's case, he had been completely in error.
Mycroft pondered those rather callous words for himself now as he looked at his phone and re-read the text he had received after he had gone upstairs to bed. It read, It's very disappointing to be in a luxury suite alone on Christmas Day.
Nobody had been aware of the reason he wanted to get back to London on the evening of Christmas Day. He had booked his favourite luxury suite at the Ritz for three days, planning on taking a few days off to be with his favourite lady, Elizabeth.
When the chauffeur had texted him to say apologetically that he was in no fit state to return to London on Christmas evening, Mycroft's first instinct had been to fire the man immediately and throw his phone down in a tantrum. But his stiff upper lip had prevailed as it always did, and he had merely accepted the invitation to stay overnight at his parent's house.
Why had he not just taken a taxi home and left the limo for Sherlock? He was paying for a damned suite that he wasn't able to use, and he was a ninety minute drive from the woman he cared about.
Mycroft had never been one to overtly express emotion. Unlike Sherlock, whose very nature was an emotional one that had been artificially repressed due to the traumatic events of his childhood, Mycroft simply didn't feel anything very strongly. He was the epitome of the classic English gentleman, stiff upper lip and all. He'd had several affairs over the years, even a rather unexpected one-night-stand with a colleague following a celebration over successfully completing an important job for the royal family which had resulted in his subsequent promotion to bigger things, and laid a path to his current influential position. Those past affairs had been of a perfunctory nature, more an outlet to satisfy his natural urges, rather than to nurture an emotional attachment.
With Lady Elizabeth Smallwood, it was different. He had been seeing her now for almost a year, since shortly after her husband committed suicide, and she had furnished him with her private number. They worked together and had common interests. Both of them had enjoyed their infrequent sexual encounters, but lately he had been wanting to spend more time with her.
Mycroft stared sightlessly at the flames, not noticing the crackle and pop as the wood settled lower in the grate. What did he want, exactly? He had told his mother he was too old to think about getting married, but was that really the case? Did he love Elizabeth?
Mycroft decided it was time he set his genius mind to work on the problem. He didn't think of his brain as a mind palace, the way Sherlock did, but he was intellectually superior to his younger brother. Surely his superior brain could figure this conundrum out once and for all?
Mycroft thought about his relationship with the widow, and how it differed from his previous relationships. With his other women, their assignations had been on a short notice basis. He called them, they arranged a meeting, and a mutually satisfying time was had by both. No commitment, no promises or false words of love. There were many lonely women out there who just craved occasional companionship and he had felt the same. With Elizabeth though, he planned things in advance.
Elizabeth never demanded he spend time with her, yet she was always accommodating to his wishes. They spent time together outside of work, comfortable in each other's presence. She had visited his house on several occasions to watch classic films with him. No other woman had ever frequented his residence, let alone shared his interest in old films. Yes, it was comfortable, being with her.
Mycroft pondered further. He had booked the Ritz suite for three days, thinking of it as a Christmas present to himself and knowing he would need a getaway after spending time with his family. He had asked Lady Smallwood to join him, thinking it would be significantly preferable to spend the time with her, rather than by himself. As always, she had complied to his wishes, agreeing to meet him late on Christmas Day so they could spend a mutually satisfying night together in the rich opulence of the famous hotel. They had been there on several occasions together. He had never brought any of his other paramours to the Ritz. Elizabeth required more refined accommodations, in his mind.
The older Holmes brother picked up the photo with the image of himself and Elizabeth and looked at it. He was still puzzling things out in his mind when he heard his parents come downstairs. The elder Holmeses were aware that he had been seeing Elizabeth. He had told his mother so, just to get her off his back with her constant plaguing of him to marry. He had downplayed the relationship however, not wanting his mother to have any unrealistic expectations.
"Good morning, Mycroft," said Mummy Holmes, entering the sitting room and kissing his cheek. "Did you sleep well?" She was wearing the jumper Sherlock and Molly had given her the previous evening.
"I slept well, Mummy," he responded in his usual polite manner. "What are you up to?"
Mrs. Holmes beamed at him. "Your father and I are headed out to the shops. We're going to have a nice breakfast at the local café."
"And undoubtedly you are hoping some of your friends will see you there," remarked her son knowingly, with a pointed look at her attire.
"There is that," she agreed, with a smirk. "There's plenty of food leftover from last night. Feel free to eat whatever you want. Your father and I will never get through it all. We'll make up some turkey sandwiches for you to take home later too." She noticed the photo in Mycroft's hands. "I do think you need to seriously consider your future with your lady friend. You do look rather happy together." she raised an eyebrow and looked at him hopefully. "Perhaps you should make an honest woman of her."
Mycroft groaned and ran a hand through his thinning hair. "Don't push me, Mummy. I have things to think about."
"I'm sure you'll make the right decision," said his mother confidently, giving him another kiss on the cheek. "We'll see you later."
"Listen to your mother," was William Holmes' only comment before they left.
Mycroft plodded to the kitchen, made himself a coffee and piled a plate with leftovers which he heated up in the microwave. He texted his chauffeur, requesting a pickup after lunch, and the chauffeur responded, confirming a one o'clock arrival. He was contentedly eating, looking at the picture of himself and Elizabeth which he had propped upright on the table, when he heard Sherlock come downstairs.
Within a few minutes his brother came into the kitchen, looking a little flustered. Mycroft knew immediately what Sherlock had been doing.
"Where are Mummy and Daddy?" Sherlock asked tentatively, and Mycroft almost laughed. It was so obvious his brother was concerned that they might have found that lacy bra.
"Mummy wanted to show off her new jumper in public, so she and Daddy went out for breakfast a little while ago," he explained.
"Oh," responded Sherlock, looking uncertainly at Mycroft, who decided to put his brother out of his misery.
He calmly pulled the bra out of his pocket and held it up, asking dryly, "Looking for something?"
Sherlock snatched the bra with a little sigh of relief. Seeming to recover himself, now that the item had been successfully returned to his possession, he said with a smirk, "Thanks. At least two people in this house got lucky last night - more than once actually," and Mycroft flushed with colour at his brother's words. He was tempted to tell his brother he was perfectly aware of Sherlock's sexual activity during one of those occasions, but that was a little too much information to impart, even for him, so he kept silent. In any case, he rather thought Sherlock would probably not be concerned about being overheard by his brother. Molly would be the one to feel embarrassed, and Mycroft truly respected her to the point he would not wish her any discomfort.
Of course, she had actually been rather forthright about what she and Sherlock had been up to, on the day they had returned from their honeymoon, but that was almost certainly Sherlock wanting his wife to confirm he was no longer a virgin. Mycroft had even commended Molly on being a good, loyal wife after she had been so surprisingly candid about their sexual activity.
Happily oblivious to his brother's inner thoughts, Sherlock gave Mycroft an altogether too cheery wave and returned upstairs. Mycroft thought resentfully that he would have been the one "getting lucky" the previous night, if not for his blasted buffoon of a chauffeur.
His brother had looked so smug and Mycroft envied him, he couldn't help it. Sure, he had teased Sherlock endlessly about his resolve to wait for the wedding night to consummate his relationship with Molly, but secretly, he felt jealousy at the obvious joy they found in one another. Why couldn't he have that too?
Suddenly it struck him. Why couldn't he have that too? Mycroft looked again at the framed photograph. Lady Elizabeth did give him this warm feeling whenever he saw her, and he had been very piqued at being unable to go to her the previous evening. Was that love? That feeling of being happier when you were with someone than when you were apart?
By Sherlock and Molly's standards, it was obviously true. They radiated warmth in each other's presence, glowed with an inner light that was evident to everyone around them. They were a team, inseparable and devoted to one another.
It was kind of the way he felt when he was with his lady - better. They were better together. He looked forward to spending time with her, inside and outside of work. And it struck him all at once. He, Mycroft Holmes, loved Lady Elizabeth Smallwood. He loved her. Suddenly, he realised he had to be with her at all costs. To hell with waiting for the chauffeur to come for them after lunch. He was going to take a taxi to London, find his lady at the Ritz and show her how much he cared.
Mycroft called the local taxi service for immediate pickup, then sent a text to Lady Smallwood. Hang tight and don't leave. I am taking a taxi back to London and leaving the limo for my brother. I have urgent business to discuss with you. I should be there by one.
Her response came almost immediately. Very well, Mycroft. I hope you had a good Christmas with your family.
Sherlock and Molly entered the kitchen as Mycroft sent another text back, smiling to himself. It would have been better if you had been here. Maybe next year.
He looked up at his brother and sister-in-law. Molly looked a little flustered, he noted, probably the bra thing.
"Don't worry about the bra," he said, in a kindly manner. He was quite fond of his sister-in-law, after all. "I made sure I kept it safe for you so my parents wouldn't see it."
Molly looked surprised, but gave him a rather shy smile. "Thank you, Mycroft."
Looking at Sherlock, Mycroft said, "The limo will be here at one. Enjoy it with my compliments. Call it a belated Christmas present. The driver can take you home, and then you can send him on his way. I'll contact him when I require his services again. I need to take a taxi back to London immediately, urgent business to attend to."
The honk of the taxi's horn alerted Mycroft to the fact that it had arrived. He picked up his precious photo, threw on his coat and said, "Say goodbye to Mummy and Daddy for me. Tell them I'll speak to them soon - oh, and tell Mummy, tell her thank you."
With that, he was out the door, into the taxi and making his way back to London to see his lady, his Elizabeth, the woman he loved.
Author's note: I know this isn't a Sherlolly chapter, and I had planned to end the story before this, but dang it all, I'm a romantic, and I like to develop the stories of my peripheral characters along with Sherlock and Molly. I think Mycroft deserves a chance at happiness, and who better than Lady Elizabeth Smallwood, an intelligent colleague who showed interest in him during the last season.
Of course, I can't finish with a Mycroft chapter, so I need to write more...
Please read and review. What do you think about Mycroft getting a heart and losing it to Lady Smallwood? I have seen stories where he is paired with Anthea, but I think he has far more in common with the more comparably aged Elizabeth, so she is my choice as a fitting partner for his intellect. My only regret is that this pairing pretty much shuts the door on him having children, as Lady Smallwood is obviously past child-bearing age. Oh well, Sherlock and Molly will just have to make up for it!