"Unfortunately, I am thoroughly entrenched in time."

Mycroft reads and memorizes each detail—every last graph, word, number, and punctuation mark. Basic information like this is invaluable, and there's no telling when he'll be able to access it again. Therein lies the joy of an eidetic memory.

He refocuses on the woman, though he's once again put off by something—what is it? It feels like an itch in his brain, under his skull—an itch behind his eyes, what is he looking at—

"As for previous moments," Mycroft forces himself to say as casually as possible, "I was mostly a family man."