Colors of the Heart

Mycroft's Goldfish

(The picture has nothing to do with the timeline, I just thought it was cute)

The clattering of hurried footsteps filled the stairwell of 221B as Mycroft made his way to his brother's flat, his thoughts in disarray for the first time in a while.

Mycroft wasn't particularly good at managing acquaintances, but some things just had to be dealt with. A few, like reprimanding his brother, were easy and thoughtless, but this new situation with Lestrade...

He stopped abruptly on the landing in front of the door to Sherlock's flat. Hesitantly, the government official grabbed the doorknob, hoping against hope that the consulting detective would be out on a case, although from the sounds emulating from the flat (clanking dishes and the news), that probably wasn't the case.

"Don't just skulk outside, Mitochondria," Sherlock said curtly, and Mycroft felt an even mix of barely repressed panic and irritation surge through his body. Nevertheless, he wasn't the type of person to give up on anything, no matter how ridiculous.

"If you call me that one more time, rest assured I will put you back on a plane for exile." The government official retorted, striding into the room and shooting his brother a murderous glance.

The younger Holmes stretched and put down the hefty tome he had been reading with a decisive thunk. "To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit?" he drawled.

Mycroft, twirling his umbrella while perched on the edge of John's usual chair, rolled his eyes. "First, stop flipping off every security camera you find and breaking into government buildings, and secondly-" he paused, unconciously tightening his grip on the handle of his umbrella while searching for a well-phrased request.

"And?" Sherlock prompted, already reaching to pick back up the book he had thrown to the side.

"I would like to have access to all of the color research you have done in the last month, if you don't mind." Mycroft said tactfully, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.

The consulting detective raised an eyebrow. "Is this professional or personal?"

Mycroft hesitated for a moment before replying. "Both, on some level, but that's definitely irrelevant."

A smug grin spread across Sherlock's face like when a toddler has stolen the last cookie and not been caught. "A goldfish? Mycroft, you really are going soft."

The older Holmes stiffened in his chair, and wrinkled his nose in disdain. "No, certainly not. It is simply a matter of personal intrigue."

Sherlock, who was already pawing through a mass of papers on the foot of the settee, snorted. "You're a horrible liar." He turned around and dumped a deluge of documents into Mycroft's lap. "Here, look through these for a minute. I need to find my box."

Surprised at Sherlock's compliance, the politician began to shuffle through the endless mass of notes.

Experiment 061: Determining recessive alleles as a relation to colorblindness
Conclusion: Not enough support for theory.

Experiment 105: Colorblindness has been triggered by exposure to a certain chemical.
Conclusion: Certain mixes of Co2 and uranium can briefly alter the amounts of color seen by the greyscale community.

"Have you been able to get any of this tested by the Royal Chemist's Society?" Mycroft queried, raising his voice to be heard over the telly and Sherlock crashing around in his bedroom still in pursuit of his box.

"No, they're too dull to recognize potential." Sherlock reappeared carrying a very scratched black chest and plunked it down at the foot of his chair. His voice slightly muffled, the detective began his explanation while rummaging inside the chest.