Mycroft Holmes

"—Yes yes, of course, I know it's in here..." He'd been rifling through their day bag for long enough to indicate otherwise. Granted, in doing so he'd dislodged its other useful items from their assigned places and thus made the task more complicated and frenzied than needed, but the bag itself was not so large as to have space for the bottle to travel much within. It was there, it had to be; he and Mycroft were far too fair-skinned and genetically depilated to survive this summer day outdoors without it.

It wasn't there.

It was bound to happen eventually, of course. Jasper, like Mycroft, was only human. Things happened. Distractions occurred and small items ended up left behind. Still, that didn't change the small spark of irritation he felt as he watched the other pull things out of the bag and (temporarily, presumably) leave them scattered to the side. The lack of order was just as much a problem as the inconvenience, though the inconvenience would undoubtedly grow to become the bigger issue once they were both dealing with the unwanted effects of the sun.

A fleeting glare was sent in Jasper's direction in response to his attempt at a joke, though Mycroft quickly got the expression under control and managed to banish it.

"Within walking distance? No. Within driving distance, yes, if we had an hour to spare, which we do not. Not unless we want to be late."

And being late would, of course, be completely unacceptable.

Is that what he thought? What an impression he must have of him. Though Will hasn’t given him much reason for anything else. Worse, he is probably right. He would enjoy seeing Mycroft swept up in some destruction, for nothing less than seeing that irking pretentiousness wiped away. There was amusement in that only Will has enough sense not to say so. For all extensive purposes, he couldn’t be blatantly counting on his downfall.

“Actively seeking? Never.” He says, “A bystander or onlooker? Far more accurate. My energy is better spent elsewhere. I don’t want to ruin you.” Just mildly provoke. His brow raises, wondering if Mycroft was planting a suggestion or making a genuine warning. He only makes a mental note to meet his sister very soon. He would find out for himself.

Once the car was safely parked and after quickly using the mirrors to fix the few minor flaws in his appearance that had developed over the duration of the drive, Mycroft joined Will by the side of the cliff. It was certainly quite the view. He'd seen it before, of course, but that didn't mean he was incapable of appreciating it.

"Perhaps," Mycroft conceded. As long as they managed to get away with their impromptu trip with as few consequences as possible... Yes, he supposed it may be worth it. Only as a one off, though. This could not become a regular thing. Not without it being properly organised.

However, perhaps there was an opportunity for that. Sightseeing trips could be spun as being a good host, no? Mycroft was certain he could, if he put his mind to it, put forth an argument for minimal fuss and security. It could provide a small escape, even if it was not a perfect one in Will's eyes.

Once they returned to where they should be, perhaps he would see what he could do. Of course, that would depend entirely on how well their current trip went. If he never wanted to see Will again by the end of it, then a repeat performance would obviously be out of the question!

The glance toward his shoes did not go unnoticed. Yes, Mycroft knew they were hardly suitable. Their leather soles and perfectly polished uppers had not been made for the beach, whether sandy or, thank God, pebbled like the one before him. It was hardly as though he had been given the opportunity to change though, was it? Somebody had ambushed him.

"These estate halls tend to seem rather maze-like. I've found the gardens are a pleasant place to clear one's mind." Maybe that only spoke to his inexperience with this way of life, something Mycroft would certainly find laughable, but that didn't bother him. He had made no secret of his lack of experience, after all. He would learn. In the meantime, when he wasn't losing hours to poring over papers, he had found the flowers worth admiration.

"It's not terribly far," he assured as he began to lead the way. Maze-like as they may be, he did find himself beginning to make sense of the halls, and he was rather pleased with himself for it. Not that he would brag, of course, since that was not his way, but as much as he did not seem to connect with this way of life, it was his, and he liked the thought that he was coming into it.

Mycroft couldn't say that he would never do such a thing himself. He rarely did (the results typically weren't worth the silent seething they could cause), but there were situations where such methods were highly viable. Matthew wasn't him, though. He had to live with these people, therefore doing as little as possible to antagonise them (especially the those he was particularly fond of!) seemed unquestionably sensible.

"Some people might consider sending flowers anonymously first. That way, they know if there's a general openness to the idea of courting before they risk paying their heart bare."

It did occur to Mycroft that he was giving relationship advice - something he wasn't particularly qualified for, nor that he had much interest in. It was, at least, good cover. Certainly, it reduced the cold impression he was infamous for among the circles he frequented, which in turn made him less suspicious a character. Considering that, he supposed there was little reason to suddenly stop.

Cooking for someone was something Jasper had actually come to enjoy. Mycroft didn't dole out compliments willy-nilly, and so it was fulfilling when he managed to construct a dish to his preferences and earn himself one, especially considering it was a skill added to his repertoire quite recently. (He didn't always aim for praise, some days simply not having the mental energy to do more than keep things edible, but the satisfaction of someone enjoying something that he made was a significant motivator.) Tonight, his hands and body moved about the kitchen with tamed glee in anticipation of sharing a meal with his beloved after his time away; cheerful humming could be heard as he did so alongside the clanking of dishes, cutlery, and cabinet doors.

Of course, the decision also benefited Mycroft in terms of his unending professional life too. A roast dinner took quite a while to make, which left him more than enough time to make a few phone calls, respond to emails, and tidy up a few remaining loose ends.

Internal timer ticking away in the back of his mind, he slipped out of the study and returned to the kitchen around the time he estimated that Jasper would be making the final preparations. Unsurprisingly, Mycroft's instincts proved to be correct. He arrived just in time to see the other man place a glass of wine down on the table. Red was a given considering the meal, and though he hadn't seen the bottle's label, it felt safe to assume that Jasper's good taste was once again on display.

"You didn't have to go to so much effort," Mycroft said as he approached. "You know I would have been perfectly happy with something simple."

Domestic life was something that Jasper was still getting used to. At his old employ, where he'd also lived, he would do the unpacking, order the cooking, and oversee the tidying and decorating; it was the level of understanding, of control, that he was used to. Being equals with a partner was different, but in some ways the same. He had to remind himself here and there that Mycroft was not above him in status in such a way, but also that he couldn't simply impose his will upon Mycroft freely. (Such are the ways of a working partnership, of course.) In many ways, though different, they were both learning.

"Very well," he said, stopping a moment so their conversation could continue facing one another. "I understand if you'd like some time to yourself tonight, too—although I did miss you," he tacked on. Traveling could be so tiring, even in such comfort as Mycroft could afford; he was happy enough to have the man's presence sleeping beside him in bed again, if nothing else.

As Jasper started to walk, Mycroft stayed where he was. If the other man didn't pause, then he would follow, but, knowing him, he fully expected him to stop for a second first. As predicted, that was exactly what happened. That was good, of course. It would have seemed rather rude were he not follow to finish the conversation if Jasper hadn't stopped!

"I missed you too," Mycroft replied, words automatic but not dishonest. Now he had something to come home to, being away felt difficult for reasons more than a simple distaste for breaking his deeply ingrained habits. Being back again, with Jasper fussing over him, brought a sense of quiet peace that he hadn't quite found anywhere else before.

"I need some time to myself to make a few phone calls, but they can wait. I have time for you first, should you desire it."

Besides, if this was going to be his life, and if it would be more trouble than it was worth to get out of it, then maybe all there was to do was accept it and move on. No use for any of them to spend the rest of his life miserable. The home was beautiful, the grounds were stunning, and both staff and family alike seemed made of good people. He had no more desire to play pretend with his life than Mycroft did. He would simply have to make the best of it. Part of which included taking Mycroft on a walk around the grounds.

Which did all mean that he appreciated the compliment. It may not have been glowing, but it was appreciated nonetheless. "I appreciate that," he said, giving a small nod. It may have been only a small comfort, but any comfort was welcome. Matthew was certainly not the type to dismiss.

Well, no, Mycroft supposed he shouldn't be mean. A flower meadow was nice. It was not the type of place he tended to spend time, but he supposed he couldn't deny that the visual of such a thing was rather pleasant for a limited amount of time.

"That does sound very nice," he said anyway, as it was what he was supposed to do. If anything, It would give him extra information on the layout of the grounds. Did Mycroft think that knowledge was going to be particularly useful? No, he did not, but one never knew. While Mycroft didn't expect a flower meadow to suddenly become important, stranger things had happened in his line of work.

He motioned for Matthew to lead the way - in part because it was the expected behaviour from a polite guest, but also because, of course, he did not yet know the direction they needed to head in.

"Are you a fan of flowers, then?" Mycroft asked in addition. "There's a whole language around them, you know. It'd be unusual for you to be subjected to it nowadays, but I suppose you never know. Perhaps you could use it as a weapon in your arsenal to capture the attention of the Earl's daughters."

Well, one Mycroft hoped that Jasper would like, anyway. The logic was sound, especially considering that he wasn't officially expected to bring back a gift. Then again, though, it did seem to be one of those irritating little unwritten rules of relationships. Mycroft did his best to navigate such things (and nowadays, he thought he did a rather good job of it!) but he did so wish these things could be better defined sometimes.

Of course, he could just tell Jasper what the present was, but that rather defeated the point of bringing home a surprise, didn't it?

"It's in my suitcase. I'll need to unpack to get it." Plus, Mycroft was naturally keen to get everything back in its proper place. That was a trait he and Jasper shared, though they did disagree from time to time on where exactly that proper place was. Thankfully, that typically wasn't the case when it came the the sort of thing one would find in a small luggage bag. Worn clothes needed to go into the laundry basket, unworn clothes needed to be replaced in the correct drawers or have the creases from travel ironed out of them, and his laptop and other work equipment would be returned to his study, where they could subsequently be packed into their typical briefcase for tomorrow's day at work.

"She may follow me if I were not -careful," not that he would mind though he was fiercely protective of his duties, Elizabeth would have to learn sooner or later and Margaret would have some hand in that learning, after all he was not the first in line for his father's throne, nor was his father. However, she was still young and carefree and he would prefer to keep her in such insulation for at least a little longer. Besides, Mycroft had surely been joking in the first place.

The polite dismissal was not questioned and was met with a nod of understanding, whatever it was that was happening, if it didn't need his personal touch or intervention then he would take the opportunity to rest and enjoy thinking of other things besides matters of state, domestic and beyond. "I -trust you will," he said for Mycroft's reassurance that he would come and find him if needed.

His friend turned a little more pensive and Bertie observed him quietly, glad in some way he was not being encouraged or at least as much as one could encourage a king to leave without overstepping a mark in his own home. If anything it gave him more excuse to linger and check that Mycroft would eventually fall for his ploy of putting the food within reach and the smell making him aware of his hunger enough to at least pick at it.

So, it wasn't something personal to them. If it was being mentioned, though, it was presumably on the other man's mind. Was something happening that Mycroft was not aware of? It seemed unlikely, especially considering their friendship, but it wasn't impossible. He would have to ask about it. That could come later, though. Eventually, a opportunity would no doubt arise to subtly slip it into the conversation.

Confirmation of the lack of accusation came quickly, and Mycroft responded to it with a small smile of his own. This was followed by an understanding nod at the comment about the demanding nature of the world they both inhabited. Very few men, if any at all, knew that fact better than them. Still, it was what it was, and it was hardly like Mycroft would want to change it. His work demanded his entire life, but he thrived on that. It gave him a sense of purpose and constant activity that he very much doubted he'd find anywhere else.

"Yes, I think you'd find I had regular excuses to exclude myself from such things were that the case," Mycroft said with a small chuckle. "And I suspect you would not find me such good company without that shared connection either. We can be honest with each other; I am not somebody that most people actually want to spend time with."

That was quite alright, of course. Mycroft knew he wasn't exactly the friendly sort. To be quite honest, having always been quite the misanthrope, he wouldn't have it any other way.

Surprised that his hobby of feeding the pigeons came up directly, he paused in his walking and glanced back to Mycroft once again, it wasn't accusing but it was cautious, of course that was how Sherlock had discovered his red book, he'd told him as such.

"My garden wasn't safe for them," he said instead, "they would have fallen prey to the cats and the foxes. I reserved their feeding to public spaces, it did not then limit where it was I could indulge." Moriarty had on very rare occasion still utilized messenger pigeons but he did indeed enjoy the little birds, thinking them rather cute and pretty in their own way. Which made him all the more surprised and admittedly touched at the offer to be able to feed them while he was staying with Mycroft.

Still, feeding them? It was a quirky habit that he didn't see himself indulging in. However, it was relatively harmless. If Moriarty wanted to indulge, then why not allow him that little treat? If anything, it may promote the continuation of the good behaviour on display!

"You can feed them in the gardens if you would like. There might be some around who are interested, and I hardly think one or two feedings will cause a problem in the long term."

If the pigeons started hanging around and somebody decided their presence was an issue, well, that wasn't anything the gamekeeper couldn't quickly solve. After all, it was hardly like pigeons were an endangered species, was it?

"We can potentially set something up in London, too. Under supervision, of course."

Theo had to accept that the British had a longer history in espionage than his countrymen but he still smiled as he responded, respectfully, "Well, we did start off as a British colony, it makes sense we would have our systems based upon yours." He cracked a careful laugh, "why not copy from the best if you have the opportunity?" He was still mindful in the delivery of his words, it was a compliment but still a defence of his own country and his work. The CIA and military undoubtedly relied on international cooperation as such but the FBI being domestic was quite inwardly focused. "In any case I can always be glad that our countries have such a relationship, if it helps to protect democracy and the people of both our nations then prosperity is of course the right path to take."

Life experience did make a difference at least and Theo did not shy away from the comment, he had certainly lived and gone through much for being stubborn about continuing to live. Mycroft was correct in that it had served him well and the reveal that Mycroft had his own lived experience somehow brought some comfort to him that he was not in some way being judged, the paranoia subsiding a little at least. Though now he was of course curious about what Mycroft had endured on the field, he did of course think of the typical British Spy dramas in the back of his mind.

"Training offers a safety net that means mistakes can be made," Theo agreed, "out in the field a mistake can end your life, there's simply no room for them but not everyone is cut out for that world and training I believe separates the cream from the milk." He certainly thought so too anyway, he stayed on the field because he was good at it and because he knew it motivated his team to know he had their back both physically and otherwise. "I have seen agents thrust into high stakes decision making situations in training and pass with flying colours but people like you and I understand that does not translate to the field. I've seen those same trainees freeze up when faced with an unscripted, uncontrolled situation against someone who sees them as being in the way or a threat rather than someone learning their way."

For a brief moment, Mycroft had to consider exactly how much he wanted to say to Beneventi. On one hand, the information was obviously classified. On the other, considering that he wanted to keep the man on side, was it really wise to refuse to answer a man with a proclivity for paranoia? They seemed to have built up an element of trust with one another. It would be a shame to destroy that so soon.

He'd already decided that he would give a little information, but the internal debate was part of the performance too. Mycroft made sure it was clear that he was calculating how much could be revealed. This, he hoped, would give his answer an edge of reassurance. Beneventi was smart; he'd know there was more left unsaid. This way, he could at least have the reassurance that the obfuscation was nothing personal. After all, if Mycroft hadn't trusted him at all, then he wouldn't have given away any little clues hinting at anything at all, would he?

"I can't say if that's a good or bad thing, maybe I should test out what causes the rants and you can feed it back to me?" He only really half joked, he knew the longer he was on M's mind the better, if for nothing else for more missions or at least for keeping a sharp eye out of keeping his cover.

Edgar had to consider the offer of help from Mycroft, he knew it was most likely directed at his condition and his folded arms shifted a little. He wasn't sure there was anything Mycroft could actually do to help in the moment. But the quick clarification that followed earned him a little amused and careful chuckle as he brought up how he had helped him once before.

It had been entirely possible that Edgar may reject the offer of assistance. To be quite honest, Mycroft wouldn't have blamed him if he had - after all, were the shoe on the other foot, he couldn't gaurenteed that he would have agreed himself! Whatever the case, he was glad to be met with something other than outright rejection, and he swiftly nodded in response to the request.

"I can do that, yes," he confirmed. "I'll be right back."

In typical Mycroft fashion, he didn't waste time dawdling. The biggest delay occurred when he paused to consider which drink to bring Edgar but, in the end, it didn't matter, Mycroft electing to get him both a whiskey and a glass of water. As an adult who could make his own decisions, and a man with a questional past when it came to risk taking and drinking habits, giving an option of both seemed like the optimal solution. Personally, Mycroft thought the water was a good idea, but he couldn't deny that he saw the appeal in the stronger drink too, and while he knew that painkillers and alcohol shouldn't be combined, he was not foolish enough to think Edgar had never done such a thing in the past, nor was he in ocent of such an offence either.

Whatever the case, though, it was unlikely that Matthew would turn him away, at least not for that. It didn't matter now, anyway. Mycroft made an interesting point as he continued, one that Matthew certainly agreed with. He hummed softly, giving a small tilt of his head. "I see your point." He did want to fit in here, wanted to find a way to make sense of this life that he was being put into. "I confess, I never considered fitting in quite as much as I do now."

As it was, though, it seemed he was making a genuine attempt to learn the ropes of his new life. Considering how he appeared to be planning on making the most of his situation, that was for the best. A man could pretend to fit in, but would grow tiring to spend his life that way. Mycroft knew that more than most. There were multiple element of life that he was making a conscious decision not to partake in, telling himself that it was in the name of his career, while knowing deep down that it was because he didn't want to have to play pretend every moment of every day.

"For what it's worth, I think you're doing a reasonably good job of fitting in so far. All things considered, of course." Mycroft complimented. That was simply what one was expected to do in such a conversation, no?

"Yes, it all does look rather lovely," he then said in reference to the gardens, making a point of looking around again. It was nice. Mycroft liked it. Of course, he preferred his own family home's grounds, but who wasn't biased towards what was familiar to them?

"Oh yes," he confirmed for the sightseeing and interesting surroundings. Edgar actually enjoyed history after all and while he would no doubt be indulging in any and all things local and luxury where he went, he would enjoy some time to be able to examine some of the historic sites. "There's plenty to look at from a good few thousand years of history and the culture is a lot to learn about," he offered as another breadcrumb for him.

Edgar moved his hand from his chin and let it rest on the arm of his chair again, a subtle little gesture to suggest that there was nothing more to learn from his shirt sleeve at least.

That wasn't the audible quiet, of course. Hospitals were terrible for that. Mycroft was constantly being subjected to the beeping and hum of machines, the sound of footsteps passing by, and nurses nattering away to each other as they gossiped about their latest patients. The noise in terms of information, however, was reduced.

Of course, it was still there in the background - Mycroft was just noticing less of it, and what he did notice wasn't leading to a chain reaction that grew louder and louder. If it were a permanent turn of events, he'd be distraught at the loss of what he considered to be his main driver of worth. That wasn't the case, though. He'd been reliably informed that the slowness was only temporary, so for now, why not indulge in a little peace for once?

Still, despite that, Mycroft would like to solve a puzzle. He had never been good at letting questions go unanswered, especially when they'd been presented to him like a challenge.

"Mm, yes, I suppose that does sound ideal," Mycroft agreed. "I must admit that I am glad to not be going myself, though. It will be far too hot for my liking. As you may recall, I burn terribly easily."

It was a probably they'd come across a few times over the years. One hint of sunshine and Mycroft was in trouble.

Old Meme. Mycroft is shot with an arrow.

Arrows were expected on the battlefield, lethal, horrible things but it wasn't often though really should have been anticipated, that an arrow would be fired while simply walking the walls of Camelot with Mycroft.

He heard it before he saw it, the familiar and gut wrenching thunk of an arrow hitting a body. Arthur couldn't feel the arrow in him though, he'd been hit before and he'd always known about it. Which made his heart sink as if it wasn't him, then it could have only been Mycroft.

Arthur turned and made to catch Mycroft as best as he could, both to stop him from falling and potentially making the wound far worse and to get him to the cover the walls provided in case of another shot. He gently pressed a hand against Mycroft to keep him upright and behind the cover of the wall.

Mycroft could still die. It was difficult, but it was possible. Over the many years, he'd had a few close scrapes, accumulated knowledge giving him an unfair advantage which ultimately helped him to come out on top. Most of those moments had been high pressure and dramatic, though. This? This was embarrassing. if Mycroft was to die, he did not want it to happen at the hands of an unexpected arrow!

If it weren't for the initial shock of the assault, he'd have been muttering curses to himself about the audacity of the situation. As it was, though, Mycroft was silent as Arthur caught him and pulled him behind cover, momentarily deadweight before, a few seconds later, managing to regain control of himself.

As he motioned to his shoulder with an uncharacteristically shaky hand, the arrow still embedded in the flesh there, Mycroft also looked to it to assess the damage. It was hard for him to see it properly, but he was certain it didn't look good. Whether it would kill him remained to be seen. It didn't seem like irreparable damage, but wounds could so easily become infected, and the archer was still out there.

"Don't pull it out," Mycroft warned Arthur, his hand moving to grab the other man's wrist just in case he decided to ignore the instruction. "It's too risky here, and we don't have the correct tools." Nor did they have anybody suitable for the job. Mycroft wasn't going to be up to it himself - it would be too hard to position himself correctly, even without the lingering tremor still on display - and while Arthur was a man of many talents, arrow removal was not one of them.

He secured the drawer and held onto the key before standing. The idea of allowing Mycroft to pay set off paranoid alarm bells for him though and for a moment he hesitated where he stood and watched him. "There's no need, if anything the FBI has a business card for late night work and collaborative meeting spaces." He tried to suggest as an alternative, "I hear conversion charges can be pretty brutal too." An attempt to dissuade him further. "Thank you for the offer though."

"Well, I suppose this does count as a business dinner of sort," Mycroft replied, putting forth no further argument. If he were back at home, he would have attempted to insist on paying at least once more, following the socially expected back and forth of polite society. Here, though, he'd made his attempt, and considering how he was hungry, in another country, and talking with a man who was likely to start double guessing his motivations, there seemed little reason to continue that dance.

With his own coat over one arm for now, as well as his ever present umbrella in hand, Mycroft followed Beneventi. "Mm, the whole service industry in this country can be too friendly for our liking," he agreed. "it feels terribly false to us, and we tend to prefer to be left unbothered when we are attempting to eat."

Mycroft had always found business dinners - actual ones, where he was attempting to slip a deal of some sort into the discussion or dig up information - a nightmare in America. Just how was he supposed to have a proper conversion when the waiter insisted on constantly refilling his water and checking if he was okay? Honestly, considering the things people in such roles must overhear, it was a wonder there weren't more problems with leaks coming out of Washington and the other big cities!