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[knifely]

( texts / action / leave prompts if you feel like it. shipping and smut a-ok. )

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a post-mission interval //

[prepotent]

Sit down.

[ Mycroft attempts to say it kindly, seeing as Louis looks dead on his feet right in front of his desk. This mission has been the toughest one so far, yet just like his predecessor, Louis and his team surpassed all expectations, going further and beyond the call of duty to finish the task assigned to them in the Queen's name.

Mycroft himself feels nothing but a quiet, fond awe buried behind bureaucratic praise. Louis Moriarty is everything like his brothers, yet absolutely nothing like them at all — and he is both curious and mesmerized.

He stands and goes around the corner of his desk, briefly touching Louis' arm. ]

I have it on good authority that the couch in this office is very comfortable.

[knifely]

[ he's running on far too much adrenaline, maybe an almost lethal dose of caffeine, and frankly, not enough sleep. but the target has been eliminated, the documents recovered, all evidence recovered and disposed of as necessary and

this is pretty much official, this is one of the worst ops of louis's entire life.

but bureaucracy is bureaucracy, and louis is nothing if not thorough (all three of the moriarty brothers are-- or were, thankfully) which is why he's standing in front of mycroft's desk, staring vaguely into space as he's dead on his feet.

he's supposed to be giving a report of some sort. there are papers on mycroft's desk in louis's neat handwriting, so that part is done, but the touch to his arm is what jerks louis out of his exhausted stupor, and it's only because he knows that he's in mycroft holmes's office that louis hasn't instinctively reached for the knife hidden in his suit.

stabbing the english government would be terrible, no one wants that.

so louis blinks once, twice, before he looks up at mycroft, less dazed than he was a moment ago, although he makes no movement to shake mycroft's hand off from where it's still placed on his arm. ]

Sorry, sir, I-- [ a pause, and louis looks sheepish. an instruction is an instruction, though, so it's a moment before louis caves, nods. ] Alright.

[ mycroft is right. the couch is very comfortable, and professionalism is the only thing that is stopping louis from faceplanting into it instead of sitting properly on the edge of the seat. ]

You wanted to see me?

[prepotent]

[ The word adorable flashes before Mycroft's eyes at the sight of a dazed Moriarty brother, but he tamps that down as quickly as it comes.

Mycroft herds him to the couch, the hand on Louis' arm shifting to his back as he all but pushes Louis to the comfortable cushions. All very appropriate motions that indicate delicate care for the person involved — except that Mycroft is his superior all the ways that include their livelihood, that Mycroft doesn't deign to touch others too much outside of necessary, gentlemanly conducts.

Louis sits and Mycroft follows — to a point. Instead of next to him, Mycroft sits on the low coffee table, facing Louis, watching him with a sharp, assessing gaze. ]

You did very well in this mission, Louis. Your plan went according to plan for the most part.

[ Every other excruciating detail is filed in the report, and Mycroft doesn't plan on bringing them up because he's received the results he wanted. However, there's something he needs to address.

He has the eyes of a Holmes, after all, and he notices everything. ]

You haven't been sleeping well. It has yet to affect your missions, but the chance is there when there shouldn't be any.

[knifely]

[ it's barely there, but mycroft definitely has the eyes of a holmes, so he'll absolutely notice the way the rise of louis's cheekbones are tinged with just the slightest hint of pink at the compliment, the words of approval, the pleased smile that tugs at the edges of louis's lips for just a split second before his expression shifts back into something more neutral.

busted.

to be fair, louis wasnt quite expecting to get away with it either, not when there's exhaustion in his bones and being examined by mycroft feels like he's being put under a microscope, the way mycroft is able to pinpoint with accurate precision what's going on, an important skill when mycroft is technically something more like a handler. or a supervisor. something like that. ]

In all honesty, sir, the stress from this entire operation has made it very difficult to feel rested. I assure you it won't affect my next assignment.

[ he's wound far too tightly, evident in his posture, the tightness of his shoulders underneath his suit jacket even when louis looks straight ahead at mycroft perched on the coffee table in front of him, the frown that follows because louis is only just now realising that it's odd when he can look at mycroft straight in the eye - he's more used to having to either look down towards or, more commonly, look up at mycroft, for whatever reason, official or private. ]