Work Text:
Mycroft’s room. Leather gloves on the table opposite the bed.
Sherlock’s room. Cufflinks in the corner of the windowsill.
Morning light slips through the curtains. Within the quiet space, only the ticking of the second hand flows.
Through the slightly raised blinds, morning light carries in the sound of people outside.
Mycroft heads to the bathroom.
Sherlock sits up in bed, yawns, and stretches.
Ready for work, Mycroft taps the table once with his fingertips and leaves the room.
Sherlock throws a gown over his loungewear, glances at the cufflinks, and leaves.
Mycroft’s office. Beside the documents, a thin coil of steam from a teacup.
Sherlock’s flat. Three cubes of sugar drop into a mug.
Mycroft exhales softly, looking at the growing stack of paperwork.
Sherlock turns his back on the client and covers his ears.
Sweet cake. Fragrant tea.
Mendelssohn, Violin Concerto in E minor, Op. 64.
Diogenes Club. In his designated chair, quietly turning the pages of a newspaper.
Speedy’s Café. Explaining the case to John while eating fries.
The black car carrying Mycroft pauses at the signal, then moves on.
Sherlock, hands in his pockets, runs up the stairs to the flat.
Before turning off the light, Mycroft lets his gaze rest on the leather gloves, then lies down.
After the light goes out, Sherlock lies on his side, facing the cufflinks by the window, and closes his eyes.