On a late September Friday evening, Mycroft was working late as usual. After Sherlock's jump, he'd spent at least 70 hours per week at the office. Mycroft had everyone convinced that he was bereft at the loss of the last member of his immediate family and had chosen to console himself with work. He even had Anthea worried about him, and if he was the Ice King, she was the Ice Princess.
Tonight, he wasn't working on treaties or diplomacy or trying to figure out which foolish British TV show his American colleagues would become enamoured with next. Tonight, he was working on something more personal
A phone vibrated with an incoming text. This wasn't Mycroft's top-of-the-line Blackberry, but a prepaid phone he'd bought to contact one person: Sherlock.
The yellow house is empty. – S
Good. Sending painters over now. – M
He'd waited a month for this news and the chance to text Sherlock again. Communicating while he was on assignment was too risky. They only spoke when he'd finished one assignment and was ready for the next, and they'd developed a code in case either of their phones was discovered. The text from Sherlock meant that he had just eliminated Moriarty's agents in Ho Chi Minh City. Mycroft sent a few quick texts, dispatching agents to fetch Sherlock at the rendezvous point and scuttle him off to Beijing. With each city, the criminals got more dangerous and more powerful, and Sherlock would take them out one by one until the threats to John, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade were all neutralized.
How is he? – S
Busy. Fishing's picked up. – M
Caught anything? – S
Only the minnow. – M
Right. Has he had any dates? – S
No. – M
Working? – S
Too much. I'm looking after him for you. – M
Do I detect a trace of sentiment? I thought that was a defect found in the losing side. – S
Without you, what more do I have to lose? – M
At least 10 kg. – S
Mycroft scowled and put his phone away. Sherlock never ceased to delight in the fact that he'd inherited the Holmes metabolism while Mycroft took after their mother, who always said that she gained a pound after every bite of chocolate. Despite the 8000 miles separating them, Mycroft could swear he heard Sherlock laughing.