Shows [Reverse Harem x Reader]

Sixty

The silence that follows your outburst is heavy enough to crush a lesser man, but Mycroft Holmes merely blinks.

It is a slow, reptilian movement, his heavy eyelids lowering and raising with an air of profound disappointment.

Irenaeus Adler, however, throws his head back and laughs.

"Delightful," Iren says, wiping a tear from his eye. He stands up, brushing invisible dust from his impeccable suit.

"You see, Mr. Holmes? That is the fire your brother is too cold to appreciate. You would do well to remember that caged birds eventually learn to bite."

Mycroft does not look at Iren. His gaze remains fixed on you, heavy and immovable as a mountain.

"Mr. Adler. I suggest you depart before I am forced to have my driver summon a constable, there are several outstanding warrants in the continent that could easily be expedited to British soil."

The said man stands up with a smile still on his face.

Iren knows when a game has reached a stalemate.

He turns to you, taking your hand and pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles, ignoring Mycroft's bristling posture."New York," Iren whispers, low enough that only you can hear. "The offer stands. Don't wait until you shatter, darling."

With a final, mocking bow to the British government, Irenaeus Adler sweeps out of the room, leaving a heavy tension in his wake.

Mycroft sighs, a long, wheezing exhalation that seems to require significant effort. He gestures toward the door with a gloved hand.

"The carriage, if you please, unless you intend to scandalize the establishment further with talk of nudity."

The interior of Mycroft's carriage is stiflingly luxurious, upholstered in plush velvet and smelling of old leather and pipe tobacco.

Mycroft takes up a significant portion of the bench opposite you, his large, corpulent frame settling into the cushions with the inertia of a planetary body.

He places his hands on the silver handle of his cane, his grey eyes, lighter than Sherlock's, and far more detached, dissecting you.

'Get over yourself,'" Mycroft repeats your words, tasting them like a sour wine. "A rather crude colloquialism. Not entirely fitting for a woman of your education, nor for one who claims to be the stabilizing influence in my brother's chaotic existence.

"You straighten your spine, deciding that if you have already broken character, you might as well commit to the new role."

"I was under a great deal of stress, Mycroft," you say, dropping the formal titles.

"And I do not appreciate being stalked, even by the government."

"It is not stalking when one is observing a national security risk," Mycroft rumbles in  lethargic voice.

"Mr. Adler is a known agitator and a blackmailer. Finding my brother's. fiancée in a clandestine meeting with him raises questions. Questions that require answers, not teenage petulance."

He leans forward slightly, the wood of the carriage creaking under the shift in weight.

"So, explain yourself. You approached me months ago, claiming to have tamed Sherlock, claiming a secret engagement to protect his reputation and focus his mind."

You try not to roll your eyes and scoff as he continues.

"I allowed it because his drug use has decreased, and his case solving rate has increased since your tenure began. But if you are merely a double agent for Adler..."