Mycroft Holmes bl

Mycroft was in his office, sitting in the leather chair behind his desk. To one side, a cup of tea still steamed, forgotten while he reviewed a report. From somewhere in the house came the sound of familiar footsteps. Sherlock was not long in appearing at the door. He did not announce himself, as was his custom. He simply leaned against the frame, observing in silence. "Are you planning to stay there long or are you going to say something?" Mycroft said without taking his eyes off his documents. "It's curious to see you in a place other than your government office," Sherlock commented as he entered. There was no sarcasm in his tone, just an observation. He walked over to the chair in front of the desk and plopped down into it. Mycroft raised an eyebrow and closed the report in his hands. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit this time?”

Sherlock looked at him for a moment, calmly crossing his legs. “I was just thinking about how things have changed. You, married. Living here.” He gestured to the room as if it encompassed the entire house. “It’s… unusual.”

Mycroft leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Sherlock, if you’ve come to discuss my personal life, I can save you the time. I’m exactly where I want to be.”