The American Fire that Melted the Ice Man (Mycroft Holmes x OC - BBC Sherlock)

Chapter 15: More... or Less... than Meets the Eye

(Chapter Song: "Not Alone" by Red)

Mycroft was in the middle of meeting when his phone rang. He glanced at the number and ignored the call. Then his phone chimed, notifying him of an incoming text.

It's urgent. Call me. -GL

Mycroft sighed. What had his brother gotten into now? "Excuse me, gentlemen, but I need to make a phone call." He stepped out of the room and dialed the number. "Detective Lestrade, what has my brother gotten himself into this time?"

"It's not your brother."

"Well then—I've told you before, I cannot use my minor position in the government to provide any assistance to your investigations outside the normal purview of—"

"It's Sophia, you idiot."

Every muscle in Mycroft's body tensed, he thought his heart might have stopped, and his breath was caught in his throat. "Wh-what—is—is she—"

"She's fine—well, she's not fine, but—she's not injured."

Mycroft exhaled. "Then what?" His tone revealed his annoyance. If Sophia wasn't injured, what would make Lestrade insist it was urgent?

"Without going into specifics of the case... Sophia was trying to decrypt some files that we were hoping would give us information we needed. We were under the gun, quite literally, as there were lives at stake. We ran out of time. Someone died. She blames herself. But, Mycroft, it was a near impossible feat—and we don't even know if the phone has the information, we would have needed on it. Downey, her supervisor, tried talking to her. I tried talking to her. It became obvious that she wasn't going to listen to reason because she bit Downey's head off. We all know how out of character that is for her. He sent her home to sleep it off. I—I just thought you should know."

Mycroft's whole demeanor changed. "Yes, quite so. Thank you—Greg—for calling me."

"Yeah well, I figured you might be the only one who can convince her that we can't win every time. She can't beat herself up. It wasn't her fault."

"Of course it wasn't. Yes, well, I'll let you go now. Thank you. Bye."

"Bye."

He tapped another few buttons on his phone and placed it to his ear. After a moment, he spoke. "Anthea, reschedule all my meetings for the rest of the day. An urgent matter has come up that I need to take care of."

*****

Mycroft quietly entered their expansive London home. "Sophia?" he called out gently, not wanting to startle her.

Listening carefully, he heard a sound he was fairly certain was the wine cabinet and followed his instincts, headed for the kitchen.

"Sophia?" he called out again.

"In here," she weakly responded.

He stepped in and saw her leaned over the kitchen counter, the unopened bottle of wine he'd heard her retrieving sat unopened in front of her on the counter. She rarely drank, and it was just one more sign, to go along with her posture, that signaled she was still in the middle of her mixed-up state.

He watched her breathing for a moment, her back slightly rising and falling as she attempted to take in deep breaths.

"Lestrade called me," he whispered.

"I'm sorry he bothered you. I'll be fine."

"No—no I don't think you will. Not at this rate."

She exhaled a deep breath, her body deflating. Slowly and carefully he approached, talking as he did. "You and I are more alike than I ever considered, you know?"