Eccedentasiast (A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction)

Seventeen

Mycroft Holmes was a born leader. That much was obvious. Although he lacked in certain areas such as empathy or any sort of understanding of feelings he made up for it with a calming firmness and determination which alone motivated his agents to fight for him however staring at the three people through his laptop screen he felt decidedly uneasy. Two scientists who weren't combat cleared and a recovering alcoholic with little to no information surrounding her name.

         Sherlock sat opposite Mycroft, throwing a rubber ball into the air, silently judging his eldest brother as he debriefed the field team. He cleared his throat. "One of our operatives caught sight of Ms Adler in Moscow. You'll be heading there to apprehend her. She's holed up in an abandoned factory on the outskirts of the city. I'm sending a ground team. Try not to make this mission as much of a disaster as a previous one. We want to avoid any casualties." The words were cutting and cold as he glared at the three young adults. Sherlock walked round to the laptop. "Don't mind Mycroft, he's just pissy because he hasn't had his morning tea." Mycroft glared. True he hadn't had enough time to have his usual cuppa but that was not the reason he was more disgruntled than normal. After the killing of Munro he was regretting his decision to send the three of them out there with no protection. Sherlock had vouched for them but so far they were more trouble than they were worth. He watched with indifferent curiosity as his brother conversed with the people on the other side of the screen. Watched as Sherlock noticed the little discrepancies that told the real truth. How Agent Ross stood close to Agent Hayes, a protective stance. How Elizabeth wouldn't make eye contact with anyone on her team. Or how Ms Fitzgerald's gaze kept straying towards Hayes, eyes flickering between the young woman and the screen, fearful almost. Mycroft watched with scorn as his brother clenched his fists tightly, pushing them down onto the table. His blood supply was cut off abruptly and his already pale hands became pale as ghosts.

Somehow he had never been able to understand Sherlock's ability to bond with the other people he met. They were so terribly dull. Of course he knew that his brother was by no accounts society's norm but he also wasn't as distant as Mycroft was. It seemed that Sherlock was constantly stuck between two worlds.

    "I have every faith you will do a good job. Hayes, Ross, take care of each other. May I have a moment alone with Fitzgerald ?" They exchanged a look before walking out of the room, disappearing on the screen. Mycroft had every intention of staying into the room, inquisitive to find out what his brother had to say to this particular goldfish. Sherlock stood up straight from where he had previously been curled over the desk. He shot his brother a look of such pure loathing that Mycroft took the hint and swept out of the room. Only when Mycroft closed the door behind him did Sherlock look down at the screen and slump in his seat. Lucy looked confused, ice blue eyes staring at him in curiosity. "Everything ok Holmes ?" He looked up, furrowing his brows. Did she really think he wouldn't find out ? That Mycroft didn't already know ? "You said you'd stopped." He said quietly, staring into the distance. She crossed her arms, pushing a stray tendril of black hair from her eyes. The anthracite colouring had long since disappeared, leaving behind short, raven coloured hair that seemed to have a mind of its own. Distractions. Sherlock snapped back to attention to hear Lucy's reply. "Stopped what ?" He glared at the screen, at her eyes that bore into his with a cool intensity. Snap out of it. "Don't play the fool Fitzgerald. You know exactly what I'm talking about." She sighed, rubbing a hand over her forehead. "If this is about the champagne it was a one time thing, I'm not going back to seven a day. I don't think my liver could take it." The words were close to the truth but a telling smile played at her lips. Sherlock dropped his hands onto the table with a resounding thud which caused her to jump. "Don't joke about things like this. It's not funny. One drink can cause you to relapse all over again. If you won't listen to me then what about the facts." He sat on his haunches, pointing the features out with a pen swiftly.