The blood had finally dried as you unlocked the door to your beach front cottage. Mycroft was supposed to be in London all weekend so did not need to know that your latest mission had resulted in some minor injuries. At least that was the plan, and all well laid plans usually go to waste. None of the lights in the front of the cottage had been on as you approached, however, upon unlocking the front door and pushing it open you found yourself being bathe in the glow of kitchen light. Mycroft appeared in the doorway and was quickly joined by John and Sherlock, all of whom had heard the door opening.
“What are you doing here?’, “Are you hurt?”, “What is he doing in my house?”, “Who did this?”, “We’ve never been introduced, I’m John Watson’
A symphony of voices and questions filled the air. Mycroft was looking at you with an air of concern whilst you shot Sherlock a look of annoyance, John merely looked overwhelmed as Sherlock smiled smugly. Mycroft reached out and touched the dried blood that covered your collar bone whilst his eyes searched for the source, hoping it wasn’t yours. You quickly pulled away and pushed through the men to make your way to kitchen where you kept your extensive first aid kit, Mycroft never cooked so there was no danger of him finding your extensive medical kit. The men followed you, Sherlock made himself comfortable at the small breakfast bar whilst John fluttered close by and Mycroft lingered in the doorway. The kit looked as if it belonged in the back of an ambulance, not hidden in a kitchen. Quickly you located painkillers, antiseptic and steri-stripes, only for John to take the latter two out of your hands and began to clean up the visible blood, and attaching stripes if he found any gashes. Mycroft had pulled out his phone and was speaking in angry whispers to the poor soul who was on the other end of the line. His face betrayed his true emotions whilst his voice reminded almost neutral, playing it off as if he was only worried in the compromised mission. Sherlock had not spoken but watched you with a knowing eye, the sort of look that made you want to punch him, repeatedly. Once John had completed patching you up Sherlock stood and announced that they were leaving. No further explanation was offered as he swept out of the room with John following, leaving you and Mycroft alone in the kitchen.
“You weren’t supposed to be here. Why didn’t you tell me your plans had changed?” a defensive tone rang through your voice.
“It was Sherlock’s suggestion, something about me working too much. Are you saying you wouldn’t have come if you knew I’d be here.”
“Of course, I would have gone somewhere else, I …you…I’m your best agent I couldn’t have you thinking that I was incompetent could I.”
“Are you saying it’s nothing to do with what I said? I meant every word of it, you have no idea how long it took me the courage to say that. I value you and not just as an agent.”
You dropped your gaze as he spoke, reflecting on the words he had spoken in the previous weeks. Words of admiration, talk of a relationship, hints of some sense of longevity. You and Mycroft didn’t always see eye to eye but you admired him, and often found yourself attracted to him despite his cold attitude. You had been toying with his words for some time and decided it was time to make the plunge. Without saying anything you walked over to Mycroft and placed a long, tender kiss on his lips. Before he could react, you grabbed the coat you always kept on the bannister and slipped out of the house.