Mycroft Holmes watched with an indifferent mask as his baby brother walked away from crime scene of the disturbed cabbie. The small soldier that had recently taken position as Sherlock's flatmate, paused in following the consulting detective to gauge Mycroft warily.
"So when you say you're concerned about him, you actually are concerned?"
"Yes, of course." He studied the middle aged man with a renewed interest. It had been clear to him the moment John Watson had accepted to be Sherlock's flatmate, and then, not only tolerating Sherlock's living habits, but thriving upon being an accomplice to his brother's antics.
What truly caught Mycroft's attention now though, was that Watson wasn't just going along with Sherlock's chases and mysteries because of his desire for adrenaline and longing for the battlefield, but actually had his brother's interests in mind.
What did it say about the man, that he would kill for a person whom he had just met?
"I mean, it actually is a childish feud?"
"He's always been so resentful. You can imagine Christmas dinners."
The man grinned slightly with an amused shake of his head, before he dutifully jogged to catch up to the younger Holmes.
"Sir," his companion called his attention, "shall we go?"
"Interesting, that soldier fellow," he decided to comment aloud, because the thoughts whirling in his head were too profound to keep completely quiet.
The two were laughing now, despite the seriousness of their scenery, walking almost elbow to elbow. It had been a long time since Mycroft had seen his brother laugh like that, so openly with another person. He watched them with what would have been fondness if it had been anyone else doing the observing.
"He could be the making of my brother…"
Mycroft knew his brother to be sentimental, and knew well enough that Sherlock wasn't the sociopath that he claimed to be. Rather, the younger Holmes was a young man who had learned at an early age to defend himself against the cruelty of normal society. That defense tended to be displayed by an appearance of indifference and a life that held no room for valuable connections. The elder Holmes himself didn't need those types of relationships that others did, for he didn't value the emotional component it, However, Sherlock, despite his objections to the idea, was emotional, and Mycroft knew that on some level his brother did need something more than what he was living with.
It had always been worrisome that Sherlock had been trying to distract himself with anything except that which might actually prove permanently useful - companionship.
But then a slightly distressful thought entered Mycroft's mind. "Or make him worse than ever."
After all, though Mycroft had always wanted his brother to find someone who could calm his maddening and whirling mind, he hadn't actually thought of the person that might be able to catch Sherlock's interest to be that sort of companion. Was it actually wise to allow an addict to adrenaline and danger to influence his brother further? To encourage such behavior? To aid in his mad chases?
Still, he pushed the worry aside for now. He'd keep a careful watch on the two...on Sherlock Holmes and his Dr. Watson.