I am not lonely [Mystrade]

CHAPTER 154 : Following up

It was the third time this week that Mycroft was urged to Downing Street and it was only Tuesday afternoon. Since the resignation of the Prime Minister and the inability of his party to agree on someone to replace him, the country was running on its crises' time's institutions, a system that even if it did the job on the main aspects wasn't used that often and was more than perfectible.
Of course, the auburn couldn't exactly complain as he was the one to directly blame for Bowling's resignation but even then, he was still wondering why he was always the one called, even when it would have been clear to everyone, even to his own son, that he wasn't at all qualified to sort the things out.
The news of the PM's involvement had reached the Parliament only hours after the politician had been forced to withdraw, the elder Holmes making sure to leak it himself to some opposition's MPs largely known for their leadership within the Labour party. That day's debate had opened on a very heated up speech from Jodie Pond, Labour's leader.
That the opposition was to cheer on that speech was no surprise to anyone, but that nearly half of the Conservative benches clapped to was something of a shock even to the auburn. Of course what Bowling had done was appealing and wasn't in the normal uses of the party, but the Conservatives were known to stick up together and to see them that divided was some sort of revolution that was also explaining why, more than a week after the PM's resignation they were still unable to find him a replacement.
Anyone considered too close to him had been black-listed but the remaining prominent head were seen by the militants as to liberals. A few people from the shadow were now trying to take the lead but less than six months before the general elections, Bowling's departure was putting the party in a very sensitive position, the Labour not far from them and the Lib-Dems more than ever able to play their card.

Mycroft was, as ever, a privileged witness of all that, not taking part in any way despite multiple request from either parts and for once he had to admit that he was finding that game pretty interesting, quite curious about the outcome of the storm he had helped to declare.
For the first time in his long career, he was even starting to consider casting a vote, a first for him, slowly letting Greg convince him that having an opinion wouldn't make him less effective in his job or less able to serve whatever government he was to serve as, as the yarder had put it, he "despised them all however and still served them for the last 30 years". After all, what was happening felt just like a game and the official was eager to take part in.
"Is there anything I can do or have you just called me because I'm the first in your contact list ?" he outburst with a smirk as he entered the PM's office, now occupied by three desks and huge stacks of papers and boxes.
"Very funny Mycroft ..." a voiced answered from behind a pile of paper.
"For you Alfred, it's Mr Holmes" the official retorted, calming down." What's the issue ?"
"Her Majesty wants an update about the situation down here, but she wants it by no one else but you." Alfred indicated, finally emerging from the papers.
"How charming from her ..." the politician chuckled.
"I thought you'd like an update for yourself before passing it on." the other middle-aged man finished as he was shaking the hand Mycroft was offering him.
The two of them met in college some 30 years ago and had followed pretty much the same career but the very different background they came from had led them to two different destiny. As the politician had followed in his father's step, Alfred Bell had paid to a very high price his working-class family, having to melt his way through the hierarchy, far from the recognition his old friend had since his debut. Even then, the two men had stick together through time, Alfred counting as one of the very few friends of the elder Holmes even through the worst time.
The man was, as always, dressed in a black suit and red tie – a uniform he had started to wore on the day his father died when he was still in college, a way for him to pay an homage to his socialist old man – but unlike most of the days, his shirt was looking pretty scrambled and his hair showed a lack of gomina, revealing to Mycroft's expert eyes the very little sleep he might had had these last few days.