Mycroft, on the other end of the emotional spectrum, is feeling better than he has since before he arrived in Baedal.

The overwhelming effects of receiving his Answer had taken the better part of a week to completely dissipate, but he'd awoken earlier with a clear head and a newly-found sense of steadiness and certainty that, on some levels, surpassed even what he'd known in London. He's been pleased to find that as the day has gone by, this mindset hasn't wavered, and the early evening finds him relaxed and in a pleasant mood.

He's thankful for Alan's hour warning (if only everyone would do that), and when Mycroft opens the door, there's a confident calm about him that says he's perfectly aware he hasn't got a hair out of place. This feeling is a familiar one, though it's one he's happy to return to after a few days that largely consisted of not bothering with himself.

The polar contrast this creates against Alan's palpable malaise, however, is very nearly awkward.

“Mr. Shore,” Mycroft says quietly, stepping back to let him in, eyes flicking over him and picking out the details of his day, his week.