Concern sits unpleasantly in Mycroft’s gut. His brother’s location has been unknown for far too long. Heaven knows what trouble Sherlock has gotten himself into. The CCTV failed to produce any visuals on him. The people sent to search viable areas yielded no success. His known associates hadn’t seen him. The tracking and surveillance reports held no information. It was completely unacceptable. As much as Mycroft knew that the young man could be stubbornly invisible when he didn’t want to be found, the worry still plagued him.
He shuffles the files beneath the ones needed for his work and in a move of undesirable sentiment, keeps a hand pressed onto them in a silent promise to himself and Sherlock: a promise to bring his brother home.
