SHERLOCK 2010: A Friendly Discussion (1/1)
title: A Friendly Discussion
author: infraredphaeton
rating: PG
Summary: Sherlock would like to make something clear to his brother- John Watson is his friend. Poaching is not allowed. Mycroft would like to make sure that Sherlock is eating enough and dressing for the weather.
A/N: Sherlock is a lot harder to write than Mycroft.
The first sign that something was not well in the land of Sherlock, at least in Mycroft’s (an acknowledged expert in the matter) opinion, was when his brother suddenly turned up at his office. Voluntarily.
On a soggy Wednesday morning, at twenty past ten in the morning, Mycroft was in the middle of signing a dozen SAS teams over to a cooperative program in Antartica, and debating a cup of tea. Just as his assistant- currently going by Johanna, having tired of Anthea last week- set down the tea (quite milky, no sugar) and a selection of Marks and Spencers biscuits, Mycroft’s morning was interrupted by the hurricane of dark curls and great coat.
“Mycroft!” Sherlock announced, slamming his door open. Mycroft smiled politely and offered him the seat across from him.
“Another cup, please, Johanna. And bring in the pot. I suspect we’ll be here a while, and Sherlock has yet to eat or drink anything today.” Mycroft said mildly, “Sit down, Sherlock, and tell big brother what’s wrong.”
“You! You are what is wrong!” Sherlock fumed. Colour was high in his cheeks, and he’d obviously been in a hurry to get here- he wasn’t wearing his scarf, and the mud on his shoes was only found outside the tube station next to the government building. Sherlock had been in to much of a hurry to stop and take a taxi, instead going the direct route using the tube. Interesting.
“And I will not sit down!” Sherlock added, glaring not just at Mycroft, but at his entire office.
Sherlock looked unreal in the bland surroundings of the room. Pale beige walls and navy blue carpet, an L-shaped wooden desk with a computer on one side. Unassuming and boring- there was nothing to draw the eye, save a print of a Vermeer next to the window. Unless one knew who and what was inside, it would be easy to dismiss Mycroft’s office as that of one belonging to somebody with a ‘minor position in the British government’. Perhaps a tax clerk.
“Honestly, Sherlock. Don’t act like a child. Sit. Have some tea. You look simply parched. Air your grievances. Surely, I have nothing more important to do.”
Sherlock fell dramatically into the cheap office chair opposite Mycroft.
“Do you still drink your tea with five sugars and a slice of lemon?”
“No.” Sherlock said grumpily.
“Am I to guess, then?”
“Milk. No sugar.”
Mycroft doctored his brother’s tea, and put it in front of him. “Have a biscuit. You aren’t eating enough.”
“Unlike you.” Sherlock said, but took a chocolate tea cake anyway.
“Now, what brings you to my office?”
“You. You are trying to steal John. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” Sherlock glared at his brother, who took a sip of tea.
“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand you.”
“You keep taking him away. For hours. And then John returns with another story about my ‘insane brother’ and the way you kidnap him to have afternoon tea!”
“Ah. I think I understand.”
“Surely you have your own...John...to focus on!” Sherlock continued, throwing his hands in the air, “You have hundreds of faceless government minions! This John, is my John. Understood?
“Quite.”
“I need him to be available at all times! He cannot be off drinking tea with you in a multi-story car park when I need him to be off chasing criminals with me!”
“Understandably.”
“It is unacceptable, Mycroft. I spent a lot of time looking for a person who has the right qualities to be my... colleague. You must simply accept this, and find someone else!”
“To be my colleague?”
“Yes! No! Look, just, leave John alone!” Sherlock sat back and crossed his arms.
“Is that all?” Mycroft asked mildly, and Sherlock stood up.
“Yes. That is all.” He strode for the exit.
“Sherlock?”
“What is it now?” Sherlock asked nastily, pausing in front of the door.
“It’s raining. There’s a scarf on the coat stand. Do take it. I would hate for you to get sick.”
Sherlock angrily grabbed the scarf- a dark blue wool affair Mycroft had been given at Christmas.
He then exited in a dramatic flare of coat.
“Johanna?”
“Yes, Mr. Holmes?”
“Do tell Dr. Watson I will be unable to meet him for lunch today. Tell him my brother is being a child... again... and I shall have to postpone the discussion of Sherlock’s formative years. Send him something nice as an apology, would you?”
“Absolutely, sir.”
author: infraredphaeton
rating: PG
Summary: Sherlock would like to make something clear to his brother- John Watson is his friend. Poaching is not allowed. Mycroft would like to make sure that Sherlock is eating enough and dressing for the weather.
A/N: Sherlock is a lot harder to write than Mycroft.
The first sign that something was not well in the land of Sherlock, at least in Mycroft’s (an acknowledged expert in the matter) opinion, was when his brother suddenly turned up at his office. Voluntarily.
On a soggy Wednesday morning, at twenty past ten in the morning, Mycroft was in the middle of signing a dozen SAS teams over to a cooperative program in Antartica, and debating a cup of tea. Just as his assistant- currently going by Johanna, having tired of Anthea last week- set down the tea (quite milky, no sugar) and a selection of Marks and Spencers biscuits, Mycroft’s morning was interrupted by the hurricane of dark curls and great coat.
“Mycroft!” Sherlock announced, slamming his door open. Mycroft smiled politely and offered him the seat across from him.
“Another cup, please, Johanna. And bring in the pot. I suspect we’ll be here a while, and Sherlock has yet to eat or drink anything today.” Mycroft said mildly, “Sit down, Sherlock, and tell big brother what’s wrong.”
“You! You are what is wrong!” Sherlock fumed. Colour was high in his cheeks, and he’d obviously been in a hurry to get here- he wasn’t wearing his scarf, and the mud on his shoes was only found outside the tube station next to the government building. Sherlock had been in to much of a hurry to stop and take a taxi, instead going the direct route using the tube. Interesting.
“And I will not sit down!” Sherlock added, glaring not just at Mycroft, but at his entire office.
Sherlock looked unreal in the bland surroundings of the room. Pale beige walls and navy blue carpet, an L-shaped wooden desk with a computer on one side. Unassuming and boring- there was nothing to draw the eye, save a print of a Vermeer next to the window. Unless one knew who and what was inside, it would be easy to dismiss Mycroft’s office as that of one belonging to somebody with a ‘minor position in the British government’. Perhaps a tax clerk.
“Honestly, Sherlock. Don’t act like a child. Sit. Have some tea. You look simply parched. Air your grievances. Surely, I have nothing more important to do.”
Sherlock fell dramatically into the cheap office chair opposite Mycroft.
“Do you still drink your tea with five sugars and a slice of lemon?”
“No.” Sherlock said grumpily.
“Am I to guess, then?”
“Milk. No sugar.”
Mycroft doctored his brother’s tea, and put it in front of him. “Have a biscuit. You aren’t eating enough.”
“Unlike you.” Sherlock said, but took a chocolate tea cake anyway.
“Now, what brings you to my office?”
“You. You are trying to steal John. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” Sherlock glared at his brother, who took a sip of tea.
“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand you.”
“You keep taking him away. For hours. And then John returns with another story about my ‘insane brother’ and the way you kidnap him to have afternoon tea!”
“Ah. I think I understand.”
“Surely you have your own...John...to focus on!” Sherlock continued, throwing his hands in the air, “You have hundreds of faceless government minions! This John, is my John. Understood?
“Quite.”
“I need him to be available at all times! He cannot be off drinking tea with you in a multi-story car park when I need him to be off chasing criminals with me!”
“Understandably.”
“It is unacceptable, Mycroft. I spent a lot of time looking for a person who has the right qualities to be my... colleague. You must simply accept this, and find someone else!”
“To be my colleague?”
“Yes! No! Look, just, leave John alone!” Sherlock sat back and crossed his arms.
“Is that all?” Mycroft asked mildly, and Sherlock stood up.
“Yes. That is all.” He strode for the exit.
“Sherlock?”
“What is it now?” Sherlock asked nastily, pausing in front of the door.
“It’s raining. There’s a scarf on the coat stand. Do take it. I would hate for you to get sick.”
Sherlock angrily grabbed the scarf- a dark blue wool affair Mycroft had been given at Christmas.
He then exited in a dramatic flare of coat.
“Johanna?”
“Yes, Mr. Holmes?”
“Do tell Dr. Watson I will be unable to meet him for lunch today. Tell him my brother is being a child... again... and I shall have to postpone the discussion of Sherlock’s formative years. Send him something nice as an apology, would you?”
“Absolutely, sir.”