He trudged up the stairs to his flat. He made more than enough money to afford a quite decent house… but he saw little point. He might have a love of upper class things, but he rarely partook in his joy. He couldn't deny that it was of little importance to have an exuberant house filled with expensive trinkets when he was barely ever there. He did allow himself to wear expensive suits, however. He'd always had a love of fashionable attire, and couldn't say no to a nice three-piece suit. Even if he looked a little out of place around his colleagues, he didn't care. It was the one concession to the life he'd prefer to be leading that he allowed himself.

His phone had no new messages from Sherlock. He called his number, but there was no response. Panic stabbed him in the gut, and he called again. Mycroft told himself that he had people at work to let him know if Sherlock had been acting up or was in trouble, so it couldn't be as bad as he feared. He released the breath he was holding when he heard the grumble on the other line that was his brother.

"Go away Mycroft."
"Hello to you too, brother."
"I mean it."
"Sherlock… I am only calling to check in with you."
"I know, and I don't want you to. Just leave me alone."
"But you're my brother, I can't do that."

Mycroft sighed. He wished Sherlock enjoyed having him around. But he couldn't let his brother know that he was the only thing keeping him going right now… that would put just too much pressure on the boy's shoulders. He didn't cope with pressure or burden very well. And Mycroft knew exactly what it was like to be shovelled burden unwillingly and feel compelled to just deal with it.

"You're not helping anything, Mycroft. And I don't need you anymore. I have Lestrade now. He lets me help with cases. Sure, I wish he would just take my word for it, but no matter. I have a purpose."
"As happy as I am for you with that, dear brother, I know that the kind detective will not permit you to help him while you are high."
"I know that!" Sherlock spat back into the phone loudly, causing Mycroft to flinch.
"Sherlock…"
"I'm clean! I AM trying, you know."

Mycroft suddenly connected Sherlock's jittery voice and extra attitude with withdrawal. He was honestly impressed. And, a little upset with himself. But he shook his head and returned to focusing on Sherlock.

"I am proud of you, Sherlock."
"Now, will you leave me alone?"
"I promised I would always watch over you, you know."
"I don't care, I don't want you. You're pointless. Let me just live my life!" Sherlock growled, and Mycroft exhaled in hurt. He knew his brother was just being particularly nasty because of withdrawal, but it didn't stop it hurting.
"I trust you to try turn your life around now that you have Lestrade to occupy yourself, but I won't stop worrying over you."
"Fine. As long as you stop interfering."

Sherlock hung up, and Mycroft took a deep breath. He tried to get a grip of his emotions, but the exhaustion won out and a tear ran down his cheek. It was getting more and more difficult to face the fact that Sherlock wanted nothing to do with him. He knew he should be happy that his brother was trying, but he couldn't. Not when it stripped him of the only reason he had to keep going with his pointless life. He just couldn't feel happy about anything. And he worried that Sherlock wasn't doing it right and would relapse… hard.

Mycroft curled up in bed. He normally had trouble sleeping, but after working for so long and so hard over the past few days with little sleep, he was glad that the darkness descended over him quickly. He dreamed of his first meeting with Sherlock's new 'friend', Lestrade of Scotland Yard.

Mycroft stood stiff and intimidating as usual, despite the deep attraction he was hit with the moment the man stepped out of the car. He was only a couple years older than Mycroft, but with dazzling silver hair. Mycroft squashed the thoughts creeping into his head. They were inappropriate. The man was engaged, Sherlock's friend or even potential saviour, and Mycroft knew he was unattractive and worthless as a companion.

Mycroft could tell instantly that the detective had a kind heart, and so hadn't expected to almost be hit for bribery. Well, it could have had something to do with the less-than-favourable information he'd prattled off. It didn't matter really, since he'd gotten the confirmation that he needed that Lestrade could be trusted with his brother. He was a good man, and possibly exactly what Sherlock needed.

When Mycroft woke, he let himself stay in bed for a while longer to reminisce over the dream. He did feel grateful that he had someone else to take care of Sherlock, even if he was a little hurt that he himself wasn't enough for his little brother. He grabbed his phone, in case of messages from Sherlock. There was nothing. He sighed and let himself lie in a little longer.

He didn't have work today, since he'd completed his task so quickly. But he knew that he'd probably go in later on anyway. He couldn't face being alone with nothing to do in his empty flat. He desperately needed to keep himself distracted. It was the only thing getting him by day to day to escape the feelings and unwelcome thoughts he was having. He of course couldn't seek help for it, or tell anyone … that would ruin his job, and even though he hated doing it… it was the only life he'd known and couldn't bear to think of doing anything else. Just the idea of such a change in his life made him sick to the stomach. No… he'd just wither it out at his job, for Sherlock.

He got up, showered, dressed in his usual attire - even if he wasn't going into work, he still wanted to wear his suit. He liked it, it made him feel comfortable. Like he was important and had a purpose. In actuality he was important - he was in charge of a lot of people, and despite working under some seriously powerful people, he had a lot of power already in his own right. He usually just took it for granted and focused on not having total control of everything. And Mycroft really did like control. He always had. If he wasn't in control of something, it made him feel anxious. Mostly because when it was out of his control, it would always end up going wrong somehow.

Just as he was eating some fruit and oats for breakfast, his phone rang. Work. There was apparently a new crisis and they needed his expertise immediately. No matter, it wasn't like he was going to do anything important with himself on his day off. So Mycroft finished his oats, took his keys, wallet, ID, phone, and umbrella, and left for work.

It was gruelling. Some of his predictions had not gone to plan, and now was faced with an especially delicate and difficult situation. Even though it wasn't really his fault, he still felt guilty about it. He couldn't understand what had gone wrong… but he tried to focus on just cleaning up the situation as best he could. He made very strong recommendations to his superiors to not use freelancers anymore. It just seemed like they were too much of a risk, and things like this happened. In short: it was a disaster. He really didn't want to be shipped off to Georgia, and luckily, he was able to send people below him to do it instead with his instructions.

He couldn't shake the weight of the knowledge that people had died. Telling himself that he wasn't directly responsible, that things just happened and by all rights, it shouldn't have gone down like this, didn't assuage his guilt. His depressed mind liked to just grab at what it could to make him feel worse. And this particular incident had made that dark voice in his head especially powerful and convincing.

"Sir?"
Mycroft looked up from his desk. He hadn't realised he'd lost himself in his thoughts.
"Yes?"
"Sir, the Lady Smallwood has given orders for you to accompany the team in Georgia immediately."
"Why?"
"I don't know sir. She insisted you prepare yourself now. Thank you."

Mycroft watched the young lady leave his office. He frowned. He thought he got out of the situation. But he couldn't deny orders. He wanted to at least know how long he'd be gone… and so called Lady Smallwood. She had been a valuable ally to him at work, and took a liking to him early on.

"I'm sorry Mycroft, but I need the best out there."
"I hardly think I fit that description." Mycroft said, despite his ego enjoying the stroke.
"You are. And while I can, and have, ordered you to do so, I would prefer to ask this of you and you accept."
"Then why did you not simply ask before sending the message via an assistant?"
"Would you have agreed? Considering you sent a team in your stead already?"

"Very well, I concede. May I ask how long I will be away?"
"Until the job is done, Mycroft."
"And which part of the operation is my job, in particular?"
"We have reports that a member of A.G.R.A survived. You need to locate and retrieve them."
"Is that all? I am permitted to leave once that is complete, and leave instructions to the agents remaining to smooth over this political nightmare?"
"Yes, but may I ask why you are so eager to remain here?"
"I am not one for legwork. I have made that clear numerous times."
"You have, yes, but this time you are particularly hesitant."
"… I have suspicions that my brother will be needing my assistance soon. I cannot abandon him in times of need."
"We have talked about your brother, Mycroft. You are authorised to utilise our resources to keep a watch over him and protect him in return for your undivided attention and commitment."
"Yes. I will be as quick as possible. Thank you." Mycroft stated, knowing he'd lost any standing he had. He hung up the call and collected his things.