Mycroft had always been adverse to change and struggled settling more than the people around him. This move wasn't any different. His central-London flat with open plan kitchen, a large office and impressive ensuite bedroom simply weren't home. Nor was the new research facility.
It was big and Anthea texted him is was shiny, but that was hardly a quality Mycroft appreciated. He always seemed to forget how young Anthea really was, only in her late twenties she had not yet lost her appreciation for the small things. Neither had most the people he knew, but Anthea could still be overly exciting about something as simple as a newly decorated office. Mycroft would just be glad and deposit himself in the chair, wondering how he could make this home.
Meeting Greg Lestrade might make things a little easier this time, Mycroft mused as he studied his desk. The decoration of this house seemed out-landish and didn't fit at all with what was expected in central London establishments. High ceilings and spacious rooms didn't have a place in this overcrowded city, but someone had had the luxury when they'd built this. And it seemed the department enjoyed that luxury too.
Mycroft's research grant was indeed significant. Not only St. Bart's had devoted a considerable amount of funds to him, he had also gotten funds from several European organisations and if he was a proud man he would mention the significant interest he had received from NASA. He had declined it, loyal to the Eurasian space effort over the American attempt.
He wondered off-handed-ly what the Yard looked like. He knew the Yard had several labs; it was focused on a more practical approach to exploration of science, but that would not make the facility any less grand. The grandeur was something he could certainly get used to. Perhaps he was already used to it: he grew up in a mansion and attended an old, prestigious university before going into well-funded research. Research that took place in simple, new buildings filled with white boards and massive computers.
Mycroft decided he liked his office, it had a library feel to it. He could store books here, he could perhaps even trust his colleagues enough, this department was small and only the specialised students came in here. Students worthy of his undivided attention.
A flurry of sounds in the hallway disrupted him from his contemplation. He looked up at his door as a young, tall man with a head full of curly hair stumbled through. With a hand gesture that would have been conceived as threatening had his limbs not been extremely stringy, he closed the door.
"Sherlock," Mycroft greeted him with a cold voice. If anyone could make this place more like home, Sherlock would be the one. The older brother didn't necessarily think this was a good thing.
"Mycroft, I thought I'd come check out your office," the tall man said as he flopped down on a chair facing Mycroft's desk.
"Always a pleasure, Sherlock. I am certain Mummy will be happy to hear you are willing to talk to me again," Mycroft was not in the mood for his younger brother right now. He was trying to get accustomed to his new environment. That involved one-to-one attention to the room, he could calculate people in once he was used to the place. Not that he was sensitive, he added as an afterthought.
"How are you settling in?" Sherlock asked, fidgeting in his chair. Mycroft sometimes wondered how this boy could be an academic, studying something mostly theoretical. He would be honest if he said he was surprised he had even made it through his Masters, he hadn't expected his younger sibling to be able to focus on one thing for long enough to write a thousand word essay on it, let alone a 25,000 word dissertation. Now the boy was researching for his PhD, and Mycroft wasn't sure whether he should be glad that he would be seeing more of his little brother in person or whether he should run for the hills.
"The people have been most accommodating," Mycroft vaguely as he glared at the boy, "And you?"
"I have yet to meet my supervisor, but I went by the administration building and the woman who works there made me tea," Sherlock answered, letting his gaze take in the whole room. He was juvenile, hung back in the chair like he was planning to take a nap, his hands dangling towards the floor. He was relaxed, Mycroft noted with surprise.
"I have heard she's very lovely," Mycroft said, contemplating the least obtrusive way to get Sherlock out of his office.
Sherlock choose not to answer and opted instead to jump out of his chair and approach the ceiling-high, but still empty bookcases. "I didn't get an office."
"You're a student."
"And you're powerful," Sherlock turned back to his older brother with one eyebrow pulled up to his hairline.
"I'll have you know I occupy a minor position as a new research lecturer at this university, Sherlock," Mycroft huffed dismissingly.
"And yet they moved this entire department into a different building for your convenience," Sherlock retorted.
Mycroft raised his eyebrows, "That is merely rumour, little brother. And where did you pick that up?"
Sherlock choose not to answer, he instead turned back to the bookcases and sulked silently, because he didn't get a rise out of his big brother.
"Are you asking for my help, Sherlock?" Mycroft, being older, always knew how to get a reaction out of him. He had gotten him to quit his questionable habits and make his experimenting official, he would certainly upset Sherlock enough to get him to leave his office voluntarily.
"No, I have no need for you," Sherlock hissed back.
"And yet you are willing to exploit me for my contacts."
"I got my grant because I am studying a field of astrophysics that is actual and current, an ever-changing field with many theories and this university trusts that I have got the right one. I could change the way astronomy is taught. I am not stuck in some dusty field of theoretics," Sherlock all but jumped at Mycroft. As soon as he had finished, he stepped back, his cold façade of carelessness slipping back into place almost instantly.
Mycroft wore a smug smile, one that was curiously stuck between condescending and endeared. His little brother just wanted to make a change, to matter and he recognised the sentiment. Sherlock hadn't affected their parent's lives, who can continued living as though they only had one son. The oldest son, who was full of promise. Sherlock hadn't mattered to their parents and would now do anything to make them notice him, albeit too late. Mycroft just wanted to matter to anyone but their parents and the fame he had gained as a researcher hadn't given him that.
Mycroft scolded himself internally for letting his sentiment get in the way of his goal.
"If you would be so kind to leave me so I can explore this building, I would be most pleased," Mycroft hinted at the door. With a huff, Sherlock turned and made his exit.
Having to work with his brother was going to be a challenge.
