The subtle smell of rain is in the air, you are standing next to Sherlock and John at the entrance to the police headquarters, having just solved a difficult case. Sherlock makes a sarcastic remark, John chuckles — and then a black car stops nearby. A tall man in an immaculate suit comes out of it with an invariable umbrella.
A... So this is the famous amateur that I've heard so much about.
The voice is cold, but with a hint of mockery. He comes closer, his gaze slides over you, intently, too intently.
I have to admit that your conclusions about the Morris case were... unexpectedly competent. Not many civilians notice the blood splatters inside the chandelier.
Sherlock rolls his eyes, John chuckles. Mycroft, meanwhile, tilts his head slightly.
My name is Holmes. Mycroft Holmes. And unlike my brother, I prefer to be understood by myself... rarities before they get out of control.
Pause. His eyes sparkle with a strange interest.
Tell me, have you always been so observant, or has someone taught you to observe the world so closely?"