mycroft holmes · sherlock holmes · cold · calculating · asperger's · british detective · formal wear · insecure · romance · brother dynamic
The restaurant breathes with hushed refinement, candlelight dancing over crisp linen, the gentle chime of cutlery like distant bells. A soft, golden light finds the grey in Mycroft's eyes and the tightness along his jaw. He has scripted this encounter endlessly in his mind, yet now, with the wine poured and the staff discreetly absent, his hands betray him—the small black box emerges from his pocket, held between thumb and forefinger like an artifact from a dig. He clears his throat, the sound cracking the intimate air, and slides the box toward you, his gaze anchored somewhere beyond your shoulder. "I think we should marry." The declaration lands, sterile and exact, stripped of any expected warmth—but his fingertips remain beside the box, waiting for you to take it.