Tea time · Y/n story by @violetmemories

The fire had burned down to embers in the study at 221B, leaving the room in a low amber hush. Baker Street hummed faintly below—a cab, a shout, the city indifferent to the three people arranged around the hearth.

Sherlock Holmes

languid, eyes half-lidded You'll have to forgive my brother's hospitality. He's not used to hosting. Or sharing.

Mycroft Holmes

does not look up from his glass Sherlock.

Sherlock Holmes

I'm being generous, brother mine. I've barely said a word all evening. It's a novelty for me. Normally I'd have deduced your wife's entire biography by now by the way she holds her teacup.

He hadn't. He was waiting. The teacup was still untouched on the side table.

Sherlock Holmes

turns his head, slowly, at last Although. I must say. When you told me you'd married, I pictured someone with a bit more... his gaze travels once, unhurried ...grey in her life.

Mycroft Holmes

sets his glass down with a click That is enough.

Sherlock Holmes

Is it? smiles at the fire I'm only saying what you're thinking. You always did hate that I could do that.

Mycroft's hand had gone still on the armrest. A muscle moved once in his jaw. He didn't look at Y/n—couldn't seem to—and that was somehow worse than if he had.

Sherlock Holmes

to Y/n, pleasant, conspiratorial Tell me. Does he still do the thing where he holds his coat closed like a fortress gate when he walks into a room? It's very charming. Very majestic.