Mycroft has taken a turn for the obsessive since Eurus left. He constantly worries over his brother and his own actions. Now he meets with the new counselor for the first time.
Sherlock emerged from the counselor's office with a tear-stained face and a glass of water. Mycroft judged (by the glazed eyes of the counselor) that only trivial progress toward improving or understanding Sherlock's psyche had taken place. This did not come as a surprise to Mycroft considering the last two counselors were also unable to reach any breakthroughs.
Seeing his brother standing there vulnerable and upset twisted Mycroft into terrible knots. Sherlock was not being counseled under these circumstances, he was being dissected. No one could ever understand Sherlock more than Mycroft himself. The two are of almost identical nature and nurture. Although different in many aspects they deem vital, they are very similar in what separates them from others.
"Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, I think it would be best if I meet with Mycroft now while Sherlock stays here with you. Does that sound okay?" Such calmness radiated from the counselor. Her words were dulcified too sweetly to engender a negative response. The Holmes all nodded slightly and shuffled around. Mycroft stood up unsteadily with his notebook in hand and waited for his brother to leave the doorway.
Sherlock took several steps toward his brother and briefly looked up to make eye contact.
"Brother mine…" Sherlock mumbled as he walked past his brother. He then meandered to his mother's side and leaned against her with an expression of defeat. She gently placed one arm around her son and held him a bit closer.
Mr. Holmes loudly sipped on a cup of mediocre, room temperature coffee that he had poured from the lobby more than an hour ago. He then deliberately arranged his cup on the corner, the very center of the corner but not touching any of the sides, of the table in front of him. After completing this task, he rose suddenly, as if broken free from a curse, and held out his arm to rest his hand on Mycroft's shoulder.
"Son," Mr. Holmes said with a questioning tone. Mycroft swiveled to face his father.
"Father," Mycroft responded with his characteristically deadpan and formulaic way with words.
"Be polite to Ms. Holland," whispered Mr. Holmes with the same quiet aggression used on young children misbehaving in a church.
"Of course, Father." Mycroft spoke with a superficial sweetness and then turned to the counselor, Ms. Holland, and grinned widely. Ms. Holland smiled back with a slight anxiety leaking from her countenance.
Mr. Holmes raised an eyebrow and shot a disbelieving glance at his wife, but decided not to pursue the subject further. He watched uneasily as his son entered the counselor's office.
"How do you feel today?" Ms. Holland scribbled some initial notes on her clipboard, noting the seemingly stiff family dynamics presented previously and the notebook that Mycroft was clutching in his lap.
"Fine," Mycroft chirped matter-of-factly with a bouncing nod. Ms. Holland nodded back reassuringly.
"What do you have there?" she asked while gesturing to his notebook.
"I brought this to share my notes with you, to receive your professional feedback." Mycroft held up the notebook in one hand and then returned it to his lap. He flipped the pages to a certain place.
"Ah, what kind of notes?" Ms. Holland spoke with genuine interest. His mother had not mentioned any note-taking behaviors.
"They are mainly on my brother... or, what I think might be beneficial." Mycroft spoke slowly and looked away nervously from Ms. Holland. He had become very protective of his brother, but speaking about this fact made him feel vulnerable for some reason. Shouldn't protecting others make one strong? Mycroft certainly did not feel strong right now.
"Things beneficial to what?" She tilted her head in confusion.
"To my brother's…" he looked around uncomfortably for a moment before thinking of an appropriate word. "...recovery." His heart began to quicken its pace.
"Well, I think it's very nice of you. You seem like a caring big brother." Ms. Holland smiled and wrote a lot more words on her clipboard.
Mycroft smiled back awkwardly with a forced expression. He did not like being referred to as 'nice' or 'caring' for he never intended to be nice or caring to Sherlock (or to anyone for that matter). He was simply trying to be correct. He wrote these notes because he knew that he should and no other reason seemed adequate. If he did not attempt to help his brother, his brother may never truly be helped.
