mymadmanwithabox - Mystrade. The day that Mycroft forgot his umbrella at home.

Mycroft was not having a good day. Firstly the Russian Prime Minister had decided to start the day by threatening nuclear war if demands were not met. That had taken four hours to sort out. It didn't help that Putin had decided to do this at midday in Sakhalin. Unfortunately for Mycroft Sakhalin is one of the furthest parts of Russia and has a ten hour difference to the United Kingdom. Which meant Mycroft had delightfully been called out of bed at two in the morning. Normally it wouldn't matter to him but of course that had all changed. Apparently normal people go to bed on time and don't go the entire night without sleep. Just because they can.

If only that was the least of his problems. At around six in the morning he had finally gotten over the Russian problem when a mere twenty minutes later he was trying to deal with something David Cameron and Nick Clegg had done that had already managed to cause another crisis that Mycroft had to cover up. By the time he had sorted all that out and gotten through his obligated paperwork it was one in the afternoon. It was safe to say it was not a good day. He was tired, a weird occurrence for him, and he was only half way through the day.

At about one thirty Mycroft decided it was time he ate. Today felt like sushi and it annoyingly had to be a specific restaurant too. Two weeks ago Gregory had taken him to a little place located on Knightsbridge. Against his will of course. Surprisingly the food had been absolutely delectable. As Mycroft had later found out there was only two restaurants of the kind within Central London and both, unfortunately, located on Knightsbridge. Making sure his papers were correctly stored he rose from his desk and reached out to grab his umbrella handle from the usual place. However his hand met thin air. He tried again. Nothing. Glancing down Mycroft froze. His umbrella wasn't there. It was always there. Considering he had barely left the office since he arrived it couldn't be left anywhere around town. Like the car or one of the conference rooms. That left only one place. Home.

Mycroft gulped. He couldn't remember a day he had left the house without his umbrella. He took it everywhere with him. Business meetings, interrogations, visits to Mummy. He even took it to weddings. Although Mycroft loathed sentiment he had become rather attached to his umbrella. It was almost like a third leg to him. Always constant. However at that moment in time it was at home. Reaching into his pocket he produced his mobile and dialled the number of the only person he could think of to help.

It took a long time for the phone to answer. Mycroft counted the rings almost out of habit until he heard the familiar voice echoing in his ear. "Hello?"

"Gregory!"

"Mycroft? What's wrong?" Gregory worryingly asked. "You never ring during the day."

"Gregory, this is a matter of great importance," he replied sternly. "The welfare of the British nation rests on the answer to this question. Do you understand?"

There was a brief pause from the other end of the phone. Knowing Gregory he was attempting some move in order to appear discrete. Mycroft would have smiled if it wasn't for his dilemma. "Yes but Jesus, Mycroft. What is going on?"

"Did I leave my umbrella at home?" Mycroft asked. Making sure to punctuate each word so none got lost over the phone.

For a long time there was nothing. No breathing pattern, no signs of footsteps. It was almost like the microphone of the mobile had been muffled. This did not help Mycroft calm down. He was getting somewhat more anxious than before. It had been over a minute's worth of silence and Mycroft still heard no reply from Gregory. Perhaps he was looking for it. Though there was no need. It was always placed in the umbrella stand, gifted to himself by the former French President, located by the front door. By the time Gregory finally return Mycroft swore he heard the man actually trying to cover up a laugh. "You did, yes." Mycroft let out a sigh of relief. "Did you really ring me up because you forgot your umbrella this morning?"

"Was that not obvious?" Mycroft asked, trying to gain some composure.

"Well yes, just a bit. You don't need it though. It's not raining."

Mycroft paused. He really didn't care about the weather conditions. Due to his predicament he was refusing to leave the office too. Luckily for him he had Anthea for that. He had quickly managed to send her a memo to arrange food to be delivered to the office. There was no way he could leave his office without his umbrella. "That is not the point, Gregory. The point is one lacks possession of one's umbrella and one requires it urgently. You are not at work today, correct?"

"Correct, I am not at work," Gregory replied hesitantly. "Let me guess, you want me to bring you your umbrella?"

A relaxed smile crept onto Mycroft's face. "If you would be so kind."

"Fine but you owe me."

"Yes, yes, so be it. Just bring me my umbrella please," Mycroft sighed. "Immediately."

"Right, I'll leave now," Gregory replied. Mycroft couldn't see him but he swore the man had rolled his eyes. "See you in a bit, Mycroft. Bye."

"Goobye, Gregory," he replied before ending the call and placing his phone on the table. Hopefully Gregory would hurry. He couldn't go without his umbrella. He needed it. Desperately.

Mycroft Holmes didn't allow himself to pick up apparently normal, and ordinary, human characteristics such as nervous ticks or a certain way of walking to work. Nothing like that. What he did have however was his umbrella. His security. Like a child would keep a toy or blanket Mycroft kept his umbrella. It was a silly concept he had started but he believed the thing provided him with a sense of security and sentiment. The umbrella, although it did not look like it, was a few decades old. Once belonging to his father. Out of all the things inherited after his father's passing the only things he insisted on having was a family photograph, before all the hassle has started, and his father's umbrella.

From an early age Mycroft could remember that umbrella. The wooden handle held tightly within his father's hand. The way it made a sound when his father walked. The way he had stolen it from his father to search for a missing Sherlock who had gone missing within the grounds during a downpour. That night when he had sat with his brother under the umbrella until morning, cradling within his arms so he did not lose him in the night. In any way. He remembered the smell the wood was give when his father had it polished. The umbrella had always been present. His birth, although he had only seen it within photographs. His first day of school. Sherlock's birth. When he had been beaten within an inch of his life. The many holidays up to Scotland. Ascot. Sherlock's first day of school. Recitals. School events. Trips to the opera. His mother's funeral.

So is he was allowed to be sentimental about anything it was this. This umbrella was it. The thing had been in his life from the start and it was almost like family to him. It was an heirloom. He could never replace it. It would break him. Irrational, he knew, but his umbrella was important to him. Without it he would be alone. With no constant reminder of his past. Sherlock would tease him about it but it didn't matter. Considering Mycroft knew exactly whose skull was resting on the mantle of 221B he knew Sherlock had no right to tease him about sentiment. Everybody has something of importance they cling to, he reassured himself. It is only a logical move.

That was why he couldn't handle his umbrella being somewhere other than his person. So when Gregory finally did turn up to the office, umbrella in hand, Mycroft had welcomed him with open arms and thanked him with a kiss. Gregory had chuckled and made a joke which Mycroft had granted a smile in reply. One day he would tell Gregory the story of the umbrella and it's history. Of how it had started his life. How it had seen him through the good times, the bad times, and the extremely traumatic times, and how hopefully it would see him into the future throughout his life with Gregory.

Mycroft Holmes was not having a good day but now, reunited with his umbrella and his lover in his arms, it looked a whole lot better.

I haven't proof read this really. I'm made uploading before I go to bed so I don't forget.

Hope you liked it. I should also mention that Mummy and Mycroft's actual mother are different people. Seeing as I mentioned both.