Studying the monitor screens which were showing two pairs of people entering from opposite sides of the building and about to meet each other in the anteroom outside his office, Mycroft Holmes abruptly asked his assistant Anthea standing by the desk, "Are we recording this?"
Anthea gave her employer an extremely disbelieving look, which would've be the same incredulous expression if the man secretly in charge of the entire British government had just suggested they dress up in bunny costumes and hop around in the room. Of course they were recording! Why would Mycroft think otherwise—
Oh.
In her usual cool tone, Anthea inquired, "You're going to send a copy to your mother, aren't you?"
Not bothering to glance over at his assistant, Mycroft just nodded while still watching the screens, to then add, "It'll also have the earlier part with Sherlock agreeing to be polite…well, as polite as he ever gets…when his introduction to the New Council was arranged. Even considering Mummy's familiarity with his usual rude behavior, seeing today's expected results for herself will hopefully prevent a testy maternal phone call for me when Sherlock goes whining to her afterwards."
"Yes, sir," said a very deadpan Anthea.
Two hundred and twenty-eight seconds later, Mycroft opened his office door at exactly the right moment to see his brother go flying through the air to collide with his back against the anteroom's far wall across from the door.
Stepping out from his office while Sherlock slid down the wall to then dazedly sprawl onto the carpet, Mycroft addressed him in the older sibling's most composed manner, "Good morning, Sherlock. I see you've just met the New Council's own high-functioning sociopath."
Now, that was an interesting reaction. Not the one from Rupert Giles, who only looked irritated, but rather Faith Lehane's sardonic acceptance of this discourteous description of her personality. A wary John Watson, edging around the young woman who'd just backhanded his flatmate's jaw, however seemed to be a trifle appalled on the way to check on Sherlock.
Kneeling down to feel a familiar face with his physician's fingers during the short time Sherlock would allow himself to be touched during the consulting detective's momentary stupor, John still managed to reprove Mycroft, "Excuse me! Even if your own brother once described himself to be this, it's damned offensive to refer to someone else as that!"
"Hey, thanks anyway, fella, but Mr. H here described me to a tee," Faith cheerfully told the guy on his knees giving her a very dubious look which only made her continue.
"No, honest! In between the knife fights and shower fun in prison, I did some light readin', mostly the thickest headshrinker books there was. Got to say, learnin' I had one extreme antisocial attitude and no sign whatever of a conscience explained lotsa things for me."
Rupert Giles cleared his throat. "You do have a conscience, Faith, deep down within yourself." He had to mull that over for a moment, before adding, "Deep, deep, deep down."
"Aw, stop, Rupes, yer embarrassin' me," Faith sniggered while Mr. Giles only rolled his eyes in mild annoyance.
John was distracted from gaping at this odd banter between that mature man and the sexy girl who'd needed just one swift clout to knock Sherlock entirely off his feet when a gasp of pain came from this same man on the floor already coming to his senses.
Not needing to perform another prod with a finger to confirm his discovery, John instead crossly told Sherlock already beginning to push away the doctor's hand, "Don't try to talk, you bloody idiot. At the very least, you've got a minor closed mandible fracture even if your teeth still look to be aligned. Just nod if you feel numb at your chin or anywhere else."
"I—Urrrgh!" began Sherlock, who'd just groaned loudly before promptly clamping shut his mouth after disobeying John's order not to speak.
"Told you," John informed Sherlock without any trace of sympathy in his tone. "You'll need to have your jaw X-rayed. After that, there's the likelihood of it being wired shut for about two months and living on pureed or blended food taken through a straw during all that time it'll take to heal."
"Dear me," Mycroft murmured. "Sherlock unable to say a single word to anyone for so long! However shall we survive without recourse to his incessant pontificating at every opportunity?"
If looks could kill, Mycroft Holmes would've soon been lying upon an autopsy table after being sliced open and then rudely poked and pried by a medical examiner to see if he indeed possessed a heart. Sherlock's icy glare sent towards his brother then switched to where Faith was smirking at him from across the room. At that point, the younger man's expression became decidedly homicidal.
Faith didn't give a shit. "Lissen, asshole, I asked ya nicely to fuckin' well quit it, that stupid party trick of yours. Maybe other people ya meet for the first time always get so impressed they cream their panties over havin' ya reel off a whole buncha facts 'bout 'em plucked outta thin air, or they just stay polite. Me, I don't do polite. One warnin's all I ever give to anybody, but nah, yer so wrapped up in yerself that the great Sherlock Holmes ignored it."
Struggling up onto his feet with John's assistance, Sherlock haughtily looked down his nose at the unconcerned smaller woman. About to attempt speaking again, Sherlock obviously changed his mind at remembering how much it hurt the last time he'd tried it. He began to reach for his phone, only to freeze at Faith suddenly pointing a rigid finger at him.
"Don't ya dare, dumbass! If yer thinkin' 'bout textin' me a nasty-gram, just keep in mind I got no problem with breakin' both yer thumbs like I just did with yer jaw."
"She would," calmly contributed Rupert Giles. He shrugged at being the abrupt focus of attention by the three other men in the anteroom after saying that.
"Faith's made great strides in bringing her temper under control. However, once you get on her bad side, it's best to stay away until she cools down." An acerbic eyebrow was cocked towards John and Sherlock. "What, it never occurred to either of you that sooner or later there'd be an encounter with someone who'd refuse to put up with what they considered to be complete silliness?"
Mycroft silently reminded himself that his nickname of 'The Iceman' was known and feared worldwide. It wouldn't do at all for people to hear about a time when this master manipulator burst out laughing at the top of his lungs at seeing his little brother's oversized ego be punctured like a skewered weather balloon.
Under the guise of John taking him to the nearest hospital for medical attention, Sherlock made a fairly dignified retreat from Mycroft's anteroom. As previously mentioned to Anthea, Mummy would very soon get an explicit earful from her youngest son, but his assistant had undoubtedly already sent their mother the camera record detailing the entire event.
Game, set, and match, Sherlock.
Mycroft warmly escorted Director Giles and Ms. Lehane into his office. The impending negotiations with the New Council representatives over the bureaucratic boundaries between the Slayers and Watchers and the government concerning supernatural conflicts was off to a definitely fine start.