A/N: I'm happy to see you enjoy reading this almost as much as I enjoy writing this! Thank you, RedHatMeg, for your suggestion to have Mycroft take a break!
He knew he was walking into a trap the moment he stepped inside the room. Nevertheless, there was no way back. Charles Edwin was present, along with Lady Smallwood and, of course Anthea. "Is the country still at peace?" he inquired, eyebrows raised.
"No, no, everything's alright," Sir Edwin reassured him. "We were merely discussing the upcoming Global Security Conference. We need to have appropriate representatives, considering the impact that this conference can have on our internal security issues and international matters."
"You've got to be kidding me!" Mycroft exclaimed, cottoning on to the plan. "Those conferences are nothing but a smokescreen. Matters of true importance are resolved in a different manner, as you well know."
"Nevertheless," Lady Smallwood countered, "It's important to show our faces. We have put together a list of candidates," she shoved a paper into his face, "and we merely need your approval."
The name at the top of the list read "Mycroft Holmes."
Charles Edwin smiled wryly, and waved a hand defensively. "Don't blame me, this was the ladies' idea. I will be taking over most of your local responsibilities, so that you can concentrate on your duties as a representative."
The British Government continued perusing the list, noting that Lady Smallwood and Anthea were included. The head of their surveillance team, a pleasant young man by the name of Brian, and Alicia's new PA, a middle-aged woman named Cheryl, would be joining them. "We have tried to minimize the amount of random noise and wanton stupidity you will have to put up with, Sir," Anthea spoke up, nodding at the list.
Internally, Mycroft had to agree with her. His chosen companions were preferable to most of the usual goldfish he had to deal with. "I don't really have a choice, do I?" he sighed.
"Best do as the ladies say," Charles whispered conspirationally. "They can be quite convincing."
He stood up to leave, adding, "We'll be in touch regarding my temporary responsibilities. Oh, and do take care of yourself, Mycroft, you can use a break just like the rest of us."
The younger man was left a bit confused, but some part of him appreciated the sentiment. Sir Edwin, while not quite a friend (did Mycroft even have any?) was a valuable ally, who had provided assistance in the fiasco with Magnussen, altering records so Sherlock could go free. Mycroft owed him for that. And he had agreed to play along with the Sherrinford plan, lying to the governor about the Holmes's whereabouts.
After Mycroft was rescued from Sherrinford, Charles had not only been helpful in dealing with the fallout, but he has become somewhat solicitous of Mycroft, inquiring whether he was alright, and urging him to consider taking a break. Perhaps, Mycroft mused, he wasn't as alone as he thought. It was more a matter of knowing how to notice, but some people did care.
He became somewhat uneasy as he glanced at the determined expressions of the two women in the room. They had something up their sleeves, and he wasn't sure he was going to like it.
"We are in the midst of drawing up a timetable," Anthea remarked casually. "We will stay a duration of two weeks, and there are only a limited amount of meetings that require our attendance."
To Mycroft's horror, the ladies removed several travel magazines from the drawer. "What to you think of a weekend in Athens, Sir? Or would you prefer Delphi? There are so many historical sites, it's hard to chose. And of course we need some good old-fashioned leisure time at the beaches, there's Myrtos Beach, and we can do Santorini-"
"This is starting to sound suspiciously like holiday planning, instead of a work conference."
"And what's wrong with that? Don't we all deserve a little break from the daily grind?" Lady Smallwood looked him in the eye. "Especially you, Mycroft. I have never seen you take some time for yourself, or do anything for yourself, for that matter. Our country will not fall, your family will be fine by themselves, and we will honestly enjoy your company. No, no, don't try to squirm your way out of this. I don't want to resort to other techniques to convince you."
Mycroft was well aware, that between the three co-conspirators, they would find ways to prevent him fromy access to his work, regardless of his agreement. So the so-called most dangerous man you will ever meet capitulated to the most dangerous women he had ever met.
Mycroft was actually beginning to relax as he finished packing. He preferred to handle his own clothes as opposed to the housekeeper, he was a bit obsessive about his apparel, or OCD as his brother labeled him. Truthfully, they both had some obsessive behaviors, and flung the diagnosis at each other as a taunt pretty often.
Thinking about his brother brought a swell of hurt into his consciousness. No matter what had happened between them, he missed the contact they used to have, no matter how fraught with tension.
His phone chimed, and he grew apprehensive as he recognized the specific ringtone. He opened it with trembling fingers.
"Need to see you -SH"
"What do you need? -MH"
He typed the reply in dismay, wondering what his brother was up to. And if he could stand to brush him off again.
"You- SH"
As Mycroft pondered the reply, he received another text.
"Please- SH"
The single word tore at his heart. His brother never, ever, used that word when asking something from him. This was the equivalent of Sherlock pleading on hands and knees. Or he might just be manipulating his older brother, but Mycroft didn't care. If his brother needed him, he would be there. He had promised, after all.
"9:00 tonight, my house -MH"
Mycroft was sitting on the sofa in the basement when his little brother found him. He had no doubt that Sherlock had gone through the rest of the house before he came down, always a bit too curious for his own good.
His expression somber, Mycroft silently motioned for Sherlock to sit down on the sofa beside him. He was aware that they needed to talk, but some things were easier when shown. He selected a VCR and made to put it in.
"You've lost weight," Sherlock blurted suddenly.
"That's a first- to hear you say that, I mean," the older brother replied sardonically.
The younger man scrutinized his brother intensely, a troubled look on his face. Mycroft even detected a hint of concern in his voice.
"You haven't been exercising, and it's not a new diet. You look tired and pale, but you're not stressed or worried. You eat more when you're stressed or worried, or upset."
The detective paused, the gears in his mind spinning madly.
"You eat less when you're... sad, or mourning," he said in a very quiet tone.
"Is there something you feel you've lost, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked, a bit bewildered, definite concern in his voice. His little brother had definitely changed Mycroft mused, and he wished it hadn't been so difficult to watch.
"Perhaps something I only thought I had," Mycroft responded in the same tone. "Or something I lost a very long time ago," he added, suddenly feeling his throat close off.
Without a word, he turned on the video player. The two brothers glued their eyes to the screen, as it began to play a very familiar scene of a family on the beach.
The family was waving goodbye, and the scene cut away, only to suddenly spring back to life. A pigtailed little girl was running towards the small group, waving something in her hand. "Sherlock, Sherlock, look what I found!" she screamed happily.
Sherlock turned astounded eyes to his brother. "Uncut version," Mycroft explained quietly. "Locked up where even you couldn't find it." He smiles grimly.
The girl showed off a mollusk shell. "Oh, Eurus, where did you wander off again to? You need to stay nearby, you know," Mummy scolded.
"I was," the girl answered innocently, blinking her eyes.
"She would do that a lot, wander off and nobody could find her. We gave up trying to look, and just waited for her to come back," the older brother murmured, and the younger one nodded in understanding.
They watched as the two youngest whispered to each other conspirationally, and then suddenly began throwing handfuls of sand at the oldest boy. "We're gonna take you down, you evil Captain Croft!" the younger one hollered.
"No rest for the wicked, Crafty Croft!" the three-year-old girl yelled, throwing her handful with vigour.
The older boy covered his face with his hands, and pretended to collapse on the sandy floor. The two tykes began jumping all over him. "We've got the Crafty Croft!" they chanted, giggles. The fallen boy lay on his back, his hands still covering his face, when he suddenly reached out and grabbed the two little terrors. He sat up, still holdIing on, and screamed, "Got you!"
The three of them dissolved into shrieks of laughter, the oldest one never letting go of the two treasures understand his arms. The screen turned off.
Mycroft was the first one to speak, "This is what we used to be."
"What are we now?" Sherlock asked after a pause, somewhat forlornly.
"I wish I knew," Mycroft sighed. "I wish I knew."