Mycroft watched on in horror, as the two rather large, rather stern looking men pushed his well-chosen, and well placed items, unceremoniously out of the way. He had done his best to bamboozle the two goldfish, as he had made his way into his office that morning. Using words that had more than two syllables in, in hopes that the pair of delivery men would turn tail and leave. Yet it had appeared that they were deaf to his protests. Only taking orders from the woman that was watching over the proceedings. His office being turned upside down as a rather large, old oak desk was carefully moved into the room.
"Just over there. No. No. A little more to the left, please. Just push the chairs and coffee table out of the way. There........perfect." (Y/n) said cheerily, as the men began to remove the carefully placed padding that had been wrapped around the large table.
"Couldn't you just get an office of own? Surely, they could............"
"Oh, I could have had an office of my own. I was offered a much larger and better appointed room than this. But where would be the fun in that? I'm here to work with you, Holmes. To help you grow and improve. So, its better that I am right here with you. That way, I can keep an eye on you. Now, be a dear and go and ask Monica to get us, and the two gentlemen here, some tea, will you. This is a thirsty job." (Y/n) informed the older Holmes brother. Dismissing him with a wave of her hand.
"Monica? Who is Monica?" Mycroft enquired. His brows furrowing, as (Y/n) turned to look at him. The disbelief in her gaze, more than a little obvious.
"Monica, Mycroft, is your or should I say, our, assistant. The brown haired, bespeckled young lady that sits at the desk as you make your way through the other doors. She has been working for you for six months, and you still don't know her name? Why am I not surprised? You never did know how to treat a lady." (Y/n) told him, shaking her head, as she made her way over to the door. Opening it and poking her head out into the outer office.
"Monica dear............." (Y/n) began. The younger woman smiling, as she looked up from the paperwork on her desk.
"Yes, Miss (Y/l/n)?"
"Could you be a darling and bring us all some tea. And perhaps a little something sweet to nibble on. I'm sure that Trevor and Barry here would enjoy some biscuits. And the crumblier they are, the better." (Y/n) continued. Her smile growing broader, as the assistant nodded happily and got to her feet. Making her way to the outer doors of the office and disappearing into the halls of power.
"There we are. Now, why don't you boys take a seat. I'm sure Monica won't be long. Then we can all have some elevenses." (Y/n) informed the two delivery men, who gratefully took a seat in Mycroft's two best leather Chesterfields.
"And Mycroft, will you please put that infernal umbrella down. You have been standing there for at least an hour with it in your hands. You are beginning to look like a rather strange garden gnome." His nemesis continued, as she turned her attention back to him. Mycroft suddenly realising that she was right. That he had indeed just been standing there and watching, with his black umbrella gripped in his hands for not some inconsiderable time. The older Holmes, moving to push the umbrella in its stand. Doing his best to ignore the chuckles from the two other men in the room.
Mycroft had suspected that things were going to be bad. But not for one moment had he thought it would be this bad. He was a man that liked his peace and quiet. A man that like order and routine. A man that had a place for everything, and everything was in its place. And it was now obvious that (Y/n) remembered that. That she knew that all this. All this chaos and disruption. Having Trevor and Barry sat in his Chesterfields, with their boots up on his rather expensive coffee table. Would, despite the fact that he wasn't showing it, be driving him crazy. The thought of crumbs from the very crumbly biscuits that she had asked for, making his teeth grind.
He had sat in his large chair in front of the roaring fire in his living room, the night before. A generously sized brandy in his hand, as he stared into the flames. Unable to stop himself from thinking about the woman that had come back into his life after all these years. He was sure that even though many decades had past since he had last looked upon her face, (Y/n) barely looked any older. That she had aged just like the French brandy that was whirling around in the glass. Everything about her getting better with age.
Mycroft had even dug around in some of his old belongings. Finally finding a now very tattered looking shoe box that (Y/n) had decorated for him. A box that he had kept all his old photographs in. The sight of himself as young man. Of (Y/n) smiling broadly back at him from the tiny photobooth pictures that they had had taken one day at Piccadilly Circus. Making him smile himself. One photo showing him with (Y/n)'s long hair draped over his head. Another of the pair pulling funny faces. Yet another of them with their arms wrapped around one another. And the final one. The final one was of them kissing. Mycroft remembering how happy he had been that day. How he had laughed and felt so free, as they made their way around London. How his life had been so different with her in it. How he had begun to believe that there was more to life than just expectation. And being a Holmes...............
"Ah, Monica. There you are. Come in. Come in." (Y/n) said. Her voice shaking Mycroft from his thoughts as a polite knock came to the door, followed by a young woman's head around the slowly opening ingress. The assistant giving Mycroft a respectful nod, as she made her way into the office. Trevor and Barry moving their feet from the coffee table, so that the tea tray could be placed on it.
"Shall I be mother?" (Y/n) asked, as she picked up the teapot and poured the tea into the China teacups. Handing Trevor and Barry their drinks, before offering them the biscuits.
"Milk no sugar." (Y/n) commented, as she placed Mycroft's cup in his hands.
"I presume that you are still on that infernal diet of yours." (Y/n) added, before making her way back over to the tea tray and taking a seat on the coffee table. Mycroft's nemesis, picking up a biscuit and allowing the crumbles to fall onto the thick rug. The older Holmes getting a terrible sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, as he realised that (Y/n) was most definitely not going to go easy on him now that she was back in his life.