LIGHT THE MATCH

[diogenesis]

Who: Mycroft Holmes and ~*you*~
What: An attempt to learn about the City in the most casual way possible.
Where: The Library of Blessed St. Brian
When: Veerdi, Kavadry 3rd
Notes: This is an open post! I have certain things I want to accomplish here, planting certain seeds and so forth, but anyone should feel free to come and poke the antisocial bear.
Warnings: Spoilers for Sherlock S2E3: The Reichenbach Fall.

It has been a long three days.

When Mycroft had first appeared in the small, tiled waiting room at the Inn, his first theory had been that he was dying. Perhaps I'm already dead, he'd thought.

Even now, having had hours of solitude to think it all over, he can't rule it out—there is no absolute way to disprove the existence of an afterlife—but his memories of the moments before he'd arrived here are so clear, and he feels certain he wasn't ill or in the process of being attacked. Surely, there would have been a moment just before unconsciousness, even the smallest moment, that would have allowed him to notice a twinge of pain, a blur of movement, the feeling of disorientation, the sound of a gun going off.

But all he knows is that he blinked, and he was elsewhere.

His chair from the Diogenes Club had taken the journey with him, making the fiasco even more mysterious. Mycroft hadn't even been near the club at the time; he'd been in 10 Downing Street. He can't deny the fact that having something familiar nearby has helped, in a small way, to soothe the burn of such a sudden transition, but in the end it is a single sandbag in the face of a hurricane. Not only has Mycroft been torn away from decades of work in a job only he could do, but his brother, Sherlock, is relying on him for resources and protection more than ever after being forced to fake his own death by the late James Moriarty. Mycroft's level of worry is unspeakable. None of his usual centering techniques have helped to focus his mind. He's beginning to fray at the edges.

This is why, despite the fact that it seems dangerous to go outside what with the City's residents capable of breaking the laws of physics and performing magic (not to mention the place being some version of a police state), Mycroft is at the University's library today. Three days trapped in his own mind was too long (felt the warning signs start to creep in, too much like Sherlock, can't afford that now, have to be alert now). The order of the day is fresh air and fresh knowledge. He needs to learn more about this place, whether it's all in his mind or not.

After all, if he is in a coma, he could be here for quite a long time.

Comments

[diogenesis]

Mycroft slowly raises one eyebrow at Heller's inquiry.

The man's voice is quiet and has a pleasant quality, its tone considered (with just a touch of amusement). It sounds at home in the library—unlike the voices of most of these other strangers, the ones Mycroft's ears are constantly telling him should not be here / silence I need silence / too much too many.

Heller's expression, too, draws Mycroft in, and combined with the curious text on the table and their previous interaction, he's moved to respond in favor of Heller's proposal. There's no need for things to be hurried, though, and there is always room for caution.

Mycroft's face remains in a pleasant mask, but wit and challenge wind their way into his words as he speaks. Their presence isn't overstated, but Heller will hear it if he listens.

"I should think that depends upon the indulgence."

[alan_shore]

Alan listens. That could be a secret, were he to trouble with its concealment. Even when he doesn't care about the substance of what's being said, there's the matter of how. Words are dear to him--he'll never not care about them.

In short, no, the nuances of tone and inflection don't escape him (that what someone else might describe as a challenge sounds to him like an invitation, well, that's language--or Alan--for you). He blinks--once, as though pleasantly surprised.

"Would you say 'presumptuous'?" he asks, meeting the other man's eyes, lingering a bit on the final word.

[diogenesis]

Something akin to satisfaction shows in Mycroft's face, layered with other things like curiosity, approval, amusement, and (if you're looking for it) playfulness. The emotion comes through mostly around the eyes, and the effect isn't overly warm, but it's a couple degrees above what most people will ever see from him.

"I can tell you that your assumption regarding my identity is correct, Mr. Shore," he says, then gives a hint of a smirk.

"Presumptuous, indeed."