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

Chapter 9: Tragedy

Mycroft practically fell into his chair behind his desk in his office at work. With a deep sigh he pulled his phone out of his coat pocket and tapped to dial a number.

After a moment, she answered, "Good morning, handsome."

He hummed, her cheer was contagious, despite his weariness. "Good morning, beautiful."

"Did you know that I've earned a nickname from Lestrade?"

"Oh? What's that?"

"Miracle Worker. Though I'm as of yet unsure if it's because of my work here at Scotland Yard, or the fact that I've melted the Ice Man's heart."

A gentle chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Or perhaps both. Both could be considered equally miraculous. I'm sorry to disturb you at work. Do you have a moment?"

"Always for you."

Her answer caused him to smile again, then his face fell as he recalled the reason he had rung her. "I just finished up a meeting that unfortunately has created another meeting that must take place tonight. I'm afraid I'm going to have to cancel on our plans for the evening. I'm very sorry."

"It's alright."

"But it's not. I hate having to cancel on you for work."

"But work is important, and you try your very best to not have to cancel when we've made plans—but I'm not foolish enough to have thought it would never happen. It's alright, Mycroft. It was just dinner."

"It's never just dinner when it's with you."

"You're too sweet to me," she said with a sigh.

"Hmm, well, you're too good to me," he replied.

"I'm going to remind you of that in a few years when all the newness of being stuck with me wears off and you grow tired and weary of me."

"Never going to happen," he said, matter-of-factly.

"Why don't you text me when you finish up? If it's not too late, we can talk on the phone tonight. Otherwise, we'll chat tomorrow."

"Thank you for being so understanding."

"You're welcome. Love you."

"I love you, too. Bye."

*****

Mycroft had moved into preparations for his next meeting, Anthea having pulled several files for him—he was an hour in when his phone rang. He glanced at the number and frowned. Daniel Cartwright. Why was Sophia's brother calling him—he glanced at his watch—at 6am?

"Hello, Daniel?" Mycroft asked in greeting.

"Mycroft, hello," the man answered, and Mycroft could already tell something was wrong.

He stood from his desk and went towards the window. "Daniel, is something the matter?"

He heard the other man clear his throat before speaking. "Something's happened, and I can't bring myself to call my sister. I—I was hoping you—it's... it's my dad. Mycroft, my mom found my father dead this morning when she woke up. He's—he's gone."

Mycroft's eyes squeezed shut and one hand reached out to lean against the window and hold himself up as the air left his lungs. "Daniel, I—I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, um... thank you. Do you—could you tell Sophia? I know you're a busy man, and—"

Mycroft was already slipping some things into his briefcase. "I'll leave immediately to go to Scotland Yard and speak to her. I'll be sure she's on a plane as soon as possible to get there."