"Mycroft Holmes."
Mycroft answered the phone with a slightly impatient tone. He had been heading out of the office when his phone rang, and after the day he'd had, he really wasn't in the mood for more diplomatic strife.
"Mr Holmes." The voice at the other end of the phone responded considerably more calmly than Mycroft himself felt, "It's Doctor Riley, from Sunnyville Rehab Facility."
Mycroft's heart sank, and he dropped back into his oversized chair reluctantly, rubbing his hand across his face.
"What has my brother done now, Doctor?" he asked, he hoped politely enough, but he suspected his usual exasperation with his brother's antics was apparent.
"Well, sir," Doctor Riley began, his voice a little more timid in light of Mr Holmes' obvious mood, " I am afraid he attempted a kind of escape last night. Don't worry though, it was detected before he managed to get outside the facility's grounds, but you did ask that I inform you if such a situation were to arise?" Doctor Riley left the question open, feeling suddenly uncertain of whether the call to his patient's brother was really well-advised.
Mycroft let out a long sigh before answering.
"Did he cause any harm or distress to himself or any other person this time?"
The hesitation in the doctor's response was momentary but clear.
"Is my brother himself OK?" Mycroft tried a different approach, being, of course, more concerned with his brother's safety and well-being than that of the facility's employees whom he had paid more than adequately to deal with him.
"Mr Holmes is fine." The response was swift and spoken with confidence. Truth then.
"Good. Good." Mycroft nodded unseen. As long as Sherlock was OK.
"Thank you for calling, Doctor Riley."
Mycroft dropped his phone back onto the desk and dropped his head into his hands, praying that Sherlock would wake up to himself sometime soon.