Missing scene fic
Title: Mycroft at Les Mis
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Word Count: 310 (not including song lyrics)
Notes: Sherlock: Just my parents.
John: Your parents?
Sherlock: In town for a few days.
John: YOUR parents?
Sherlock: Mycroft promised to take them to a matinee of Les Mis. Tried to talk me into doing it.
“Everybody raise a glass/Raise it up the master's arse/Everybody raise a glass to the Master of the House!”
Mycroft pressed his fingers against his forehead and stifled a moan. This was truly a new low. The audience were laughing and whooping, not adding at all to the non-existent decorum of the situation. He slid his glance to his right, where the lights from the stage were beaming on his parents’ upturned, rapt faces. At any rate they seemed to be enjoying the raucous cacophony, had been throughout. Already his mum had squeezed his arm multiple times, cooing “Oooh Mikey, isn’t it grand!” or some other such platitude. And his father had actually been singing along! Damn Sherlock. Surely he could have taken up Mycroft's very generous offer to perform this interminable duty. After all, what else had he to do? Lie on his couch all day? Mycroft was the one who had, shall we say, better things to do. Such as balance the world's economy, restore peace in distant lands; stir up unrest in others, if he were to be honest?
Ah well, surely this couldn’t go on for much longer. He stole a look at his watch. Oh, good heavens, still more than halfway left to go, plus intermission. Intermission! His face brightened. Shepherding his parents through the lobby throng would be arduous but a drink? Yes, yes, a substandard watered-down scotch would be just the thing.
As the song and singer crashed to the end, again his mother pulled on his arm with excitement. "Aren't they a laugh! Oh, I do like this!" Ah, well. A few hours to make them happy, surely he could withstand this, and worse, which was no doubt what was yet to come. Schooling his features into as pleasant a smile as he could muster, he patted her hand, settled back in his seat, and turned his mental attention to calculating the potential deleveraging of the shadow banking crisis in China.
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Word Count: 310 (not including song lyrics)
Notes: Sherlock: Just my parents.
John: Your parents?
Sherlock: In town for a few days.
John: YOUR parents?
Sherlock: Mycroft promised to take them to a matinee of Les Mis. Tried to talk me into doing it.
“Everybody raise a glass/Raise it up the master's arse/Everybody raise a glass to the Master of the House!”
Mycroft pressed his fingers against his forehead and stifled a moan. This was truly a new low. The audience were laughing and whooping, not adding at all to the non-existent decorum of the situation. He slid his glance to his right, where the lights from the stage were beaming on his parents’ upturned, rapt faces. At any rate they seemed to be enjoying the raucous cacophony, had been throughout. Already his mum had squeezed his arm multiple times, cooing “Oooh Mikey, isn’t it grand!” or some other such platitude. And his father had actually been singing along! Damn Sherlock. Surely he could have taken up Mycroft's very generous offer to perform this interminable duty. After all, what else had he to do? Lie on his couch all day? Mycroft was the one who had, shall we say, better things to do. Such as balance the world's economy, restore peace in distant lands; stir up unrest in others, if he were to be honest?
Ah well, surely this couldn’t go on for much longer. He stole a look at his watch. Oh, good heavens, still more than halfway left to go, plus intermission. Intermission! His face brightened. Shepherding his parents through the lobby throng would be arduous but a drink? Yes, yes, a substandard watered-down scotch would be just the thing.
As the song and singer crashed to the end, again his mother pulled on his arm with excitement. "Aren't they a laugh! Oh, I do like this!" Ah, well. A few hours to make them happy, surely he could withstand this, and worse, which was no doubt what was yet to come. Schooling his features into as pleasant a smile as he could muster, he patted her hand, settled back in his seat, and turned his mental attention to calculating the potential deleveraging of the shadow banking crisis in China.