The soft fabric of the cashmere sweater clung to the delicate outline of his frame. He was silhouetted against the window by the ship's running lights. Greg stood awkwardly in the doorway, watching.

"There's no need to be quite so alarmed, Detective. My brother is, as usual, quite mistaken. Matters of the heart are not his area of expertise." He paused. "Neither is anything to do with sex."

"There's a difference between the two?" Greg tried to imagine having sex with someone he felt nothing for. He took a step inside the cabin and closed the door.

"In my experience. Or lack thereof."

"Oh." Greg blushed. "Never had a relationship then?"

"No, not really. Plenty of sex though. As I know you are wondering." Even though he couldn't see them, Greg knew the bright blue eyes were staring at him. "Do sit down."

Mycroft moved away from the window and collapsed elegantly onto the nearest comfortable chair, his long legs stretched out , arms resting on the sides of the chair. Open. Inviting. His hair was sticking up at the back. Greg fought the urge to smooth it down.

"So...the dead bloke...I'm going to have to let control know. We'll have to increase your security. They'll get some more officers for when we dock in Italy." Greg took the seat opposite.

"Are you hungry? I'm hungry. Shall we get something to eat?" This was change of direction Greg had not seen coming.

"You? You're hungry?" He smiled. The smile was returned. "So what do you fancy then...er to eat that is?" Smooth Greg, very smooth.

"Honestly? A rare steak, chips, garlic bread and sherry trifle. And how about some champagne?" he was reaching for the cabin phone.

"What are we celebrating?"

"That life is mercifully short. What do you want Gregory?...To eat that is." Hmm Cheeky!

"Er...yeah...Steak sounds good. I like Medium." Greg looked on whilst Mycroft phoned through to the steward's office. The tall man sounded different. Almost cheerful as he ordered the steaks and what sounded like the most expensive bottle of champagne on the boat.

"They say it will be fifteen minutes. What would you like to do for fifteen minutes?" The phone was back in its cradle and Mycroft was still lounging in his seat. Relaxed. Greg leaned forwards. He supposed it was now or never.

"What happened to you? You got shot, even a plod like me can see that, but how? And why? And what happened then? And who is Rupert?"

"Damn. I was really hoping you wouldn't ask. You must have been a very good policeman. I was shot carrying out my duty. That, I'm afraid, is all I can tell you about the how and the why. What happened then? I was rushed to hospital, operated on, unconscious for a week. When I woke up, I realised I wasn't as important as I thought I was. Yes they had missed me. Yes there were things they needed me to do. But the world had not ceased its revolution of the sun. It had continued. Sherlock had been looked after. I realised I was expendable. That all lives end. Mine included. There seemed little point after that."

"Little point in what?"

"In anything. I tried to continue of course. But my appetite for life and everything in it seemed to have gone. I decided it would be best if I were to fade away."

"Literally fade away? I don't understand. Surely you have family other than Sherlock? Boyfriends? Old lovers? Members of your staff? Someone to miss you."

"No one. Which brings us to Rupert. He was quite beautiful. Sherlock's violin tutor. Rupert was a child prodigy. So very gifted. He was three years older than me. I wanted him the moment I saw him. I was 14. In some ways I was very advanced. In others still a child. And as my brother is so fond of saying I was a somewhat large boy. Fat. I never thought for a moment Rupert would return my affections. But that didn't make me want him less. So I did what I do best. I manipulated the situation to get what I wanted. I managed to get Rupert alone after a garden party, I plied him with alcohol and then asked him to have sex with me. He laughed. I think that hurt the most. I knew he would laugh of course, but it was the confirmation of it. I told him if he didn't have sex with me I would tell my parents he had been stealing from them. My trump card. So he agreed. We were in my room, I honestly thought I had locked the door. He had been looking at me with a measure of disgust until I removed my underpants. Then his whole demeanour changed. He was, what I believe is colloquially called a size queen and I am apparently very well endowed. Well, then he was begging me to have sex with him. Begging me to fill him. Which I did. Repeatedly. Until Sherlock barged in on us. He saw everything. I don't know if he truly understood or not, but the end result was him running downstairs and announcing loudly to our parents and their remaining guests that me and his violin tutor were in my bed with no clothes on. Rupert was dismissed the same day. I was punished. Quite severely. My father sent me to a military training facility for three months. After he had thrashed me and told me I was a disgusting, fat little deviant who would come to bad end having amounted to nothing. It backfired on him of course, he'd sent me to a place in the middle of nowhere filled with bored, fit young men in uniforms, I had sex with at least thirty two of them, hardly the best way of curing me. When I came back I had grown six inches upwards, lost all my fat and replaced it with muscle. He was scared of me. But I suppose he was right. In the end I will be nothing." Mycroft paused and the silence was a little strained.

"Bloody hell!" Greg knew it sounded stupid, but really what else was there to say? There was a knock at the door.

"Steward Service!" Greg stood, one hand hovering above the gun on his belt, and answered the door. A neatly built young man with glittering eyes pushed a cart containing their dinner into the cabin. "Would you like me to open the Champagne Sir?" He smiled a toothy grin.

"No thank you." Mycroft had stood and popped a twenty pound note into the Steward's top pocket.

"Thank you sir! Enjoy your meal." The Steward's Irish accent lilted as he closed the door behind him.

"I'm just going to check this." Greg looked under the white cloth covering the cart. "Never trusted waiters since I saw Diamonds Are Forever." It all seemed to be in order. Mycroft opened the champagne with a well practiced ease and poured two glasses. He held one up with a smile that made Greg's groin throb and then turned his attention to the large plate of steak and chips.