Mycroft and the Librarian

"acquainted with Vitruvius"

(With a thanks to 'cormorant' aka Lesley for the idea!)

"Good-bye, brother Mycroft and thanks again for dinner!" Mary said as she gave her brother-in-law a kiss on the check and followed her husband out the door.

Mycroft smiled as the door slowly shut behind them. They were quite a pair! And so happy together. They seemed to know what the other one was thinking just by looking at each other. Half the time they finished each other's sentences. Sherlock loved her more than he ever thought his brother could love another person. And Mary, she was as much in love with him as he was her.

He walked to the window and looked at them on the street below. Mary suddenly threw back her head, perhaps in laughter. She then climbed into the cab that had pulled up in front of them. Sherlock bundled the rug around her legs, then climbed into the cab next to her. Mary gave a wave through the back window, and they were off.

Mycroft walked back to his favorite chair in front of the fire. He had long ago given up hope of finding someone, but since his brother had met Mary and fallen so totally in love with her, maybe there was still hope for him.

Mary looked out the back window and gave a wave up to Mycroft's window above. She couldn't tell if he was looking down at them or not, so she didn't know if he saw her wave or not. Wait! The curtain moved a touch. He had seen her wave. She sat back in the seat and leaned against her husband.

"Do you think he's lonely?" she asked him suddenly.

"Mycroft? I don't know. I used to think I wasn't lonely, but now, looking back on my life before I met you..." It wasn't really an answer, but she understood. She always did understand him.

"Has he ever wanted to meet someone? Does he ever try to?"

"Russell, no! I will not have you playing matchmaker with my brother and one of your esteemed colleagues. "

"Holmes! I would never even think of it!" came her wounded reply.

Two days later Mary was having lunch with an old friend and classmate, Jessica Parker at Jessica's flat in London. Jessica, it was rumored around Oxford, was a witch and could cast any kind of spell you wanted.

"Now, Jessie," Mary began, "Are you sure this will work?"

"My granny swore by it. And she was married seven times!"

"But this is my brother-in-law. Oh, and my husband said I wasn't to play matchmaker."

"All this spell will do is find his true love and make them meet each other somehow. Once they meet, it's up to them. Heck, remember Julia, the girl who drank the cheap brandy? I used this spell on her, she found her dream man, but instead of saying hello to him as any normal person would, she ran off in the other direction screaming 'It worked, Jessie! It worked.' So of course they didn't get off to a good start, and I think she's been chasing him around town ever since."

"I've also tried it on people without them knowing it," Jessie continued.

"What?" Mary asked in surprise.

"Yes, I tried it on you once. I didn't realize you had already met your true love, your Mr. Holmes. It sort of caused things to go off kilter. Remember that time that half the men in Oxford gave you strange gifts? The dozen roses? The basket of apples? Those boxes and boxes of chocolate? That jar of honey? I think I figured out who sent everything except the jar of honey. "

"That was this spell?" Mary asked in surprise. "Oh, the honey was from Homes. That's the only one I figured out."

"Honey? From Holmes?" Jessica was clearly puzzled.

"He keeps bees," Mary said by way of explanation.

"A beekeeper," Jessica thought. "A beekeeper? What does she see in a beekeeper? Still, she looks happier and more relaxed than while at school... Really has become quiet lovely... The conjugal side of things must be pretty good. Hmmmm. Maybe I'll go find me a beekeeper. If a beekeeper can do all that for bookworm Mary, think what one can do for me."

"So what's first on the list?" Mary asked, oblivious to Jessica's thoughts. "An apple ripe with seed? Don't they all have seeds?"

The next day Mycroft woke with Great Expectations. With a puzzled look, he put the book on his nightstand. "Dickens?" he thought. "I was reading Dickens last night?" He sat up in bed and began going over all the reports, briefings, debriefings, and miscellaneous things he went through in a typical day.

"The Report from the Jones Boys is due today," he thought. "No, that was moved to next spring. But I'm supposed to meet with Mr. Brodeur about those net repairs. Wait, he was delayed a day leaving Canada so he won't be here until tomorrow. Lord Stanley rescheduled that appoint to discuss his lost punch bowl -- how exactly does one lose a punch bowl, I wonder -- until next Wednesday. So that means... I'm free today! I have a Holiday!"

It was a wondrous feeling for Mycroft, who was a very busy man. Like his brother, he rarely took a vacation, and even when he did, work ended up following him.

With that thought in mind, he leapt from bed excited about having a day 'off,' so to speak, and in a hurry to get it underway before something came up and the day ceased to be free. But then the thought hit him: what exactly would he do?

He pondered calling Sherlock and asking what he did in his free time, but since meeting, and then marrying, Mary, Sherlock's activities had changed somewhat and now involved picnics with Mary and walks in the park with Mary and things in general with Mary. Mycroft strongly doubted that Sherlock would be willing to lend him his pretty wife for a walk in the park under any circumstance. Besides, he wasn't really fond of that walking thing that much, and with Sherlock and Mary, one usually had to go in disguise.

Perhaps to a museum? Ah, but the British Museum was a bit too far away. What about that little history museum down the street? It had just opened a new exhibit, according to the paper. Mycroft quickly consulted it and decided that no, "Gone With The Girdle" just wasn't the type of exhibit he was interested in.

What did he do when he was younger and had free time? Well, besides the general mischief that he and Sherlock got into (he still remembered that time they hypnotized the chickens, buried them up their necks, and got the lawn mower out -- chicken soup, chicken gumbo, grilled chicken, fried chicken, chicken biscuits, and chicken pot pie followed for breakfast, lunch and dinner for a week!), there was the library. Ah, yes, the library! He would go to the library. He glanced out the window. Perfect! It was raining, so no one would question him spending the day in the library, either.

Approximately twenty-seven minutes later, Mycroft was walking outside his rooms, across the street from his club, the Diogenes Club. As it was raining, he took his brand new umbrella. Well, technically it wasn't brand new -- his mum had given it to him on his twelfth birthday -- but he decided only to use it on holiday, and today was his first day of holiday that it had rained. As he was struggling to open the 'brollie (it had gotten a bit stuck over the years), he wasn't watching what he was doing, and ended up bumping into the somewhat young lady walking in front of him (who was herself not paying attention as she was reading a rather thin book), causing her to spill her rather large package onto the wet sidewalk. Unfortunately, her package contained her lunch, but fortunately (at least in hindsight for the somewhat young lady) it wasn't a particularly very good lunch.

"I'm sorry!" Mycroft exclaimed as he stooped to pick up her fallen, and now extremely damp, package. "Are you all right?"

"I'm sorry!" said the somewhat young lady as she stooped to pick up her fallen, and now extremely soaked, package. "Are you all right?"

"Why, yes I am," they answered each other's question.

"Terribly sorry," Mycroft began, "I was fiddling with the umbrella..."

"So sorry," the lady began, "I was reading this book..."

"At least let me take you across the street to my club," Mycroft continued, "and get you some hot tea, and perhaps dry off your package."

"Thanks over so much, but I can't take advantage of your generosity."

"Please, please do," Mycroft gallantly insisted as they stepped across the street and inside the club. He guided the lady into the Strangers' room and asked the doorman, who had followed them in (Mycroft was an excellent tipper and looked if he might could use his assistance, the doorman thought), to see if he could help dry her package and get them some hot tea. He also managed to get the prized seats in the room, the ones next to the fireplace so they could enjoy their tea and dry off at the same time. As all this was happening, the vague thought of "There goes another holiday," passed through Mycroft's mind, but was quickly displaced by the thought off "She's rather lovely, and not nearly as young as Mary. People won't be asking if she's my granddaughter like they do Sherlock." At this point, Mycroft sat back and actually looked at the somewhat young lady he had just escorted into his club for tea.

She was somewhat young, in her early to mid thirties. She wasn't wearing a ring, which usually meant that a lady wasn't married, but then Mary always wore her wedding ring on her right hand. She had dark hair, lightly streaked with gray that was pinned up into a pristine bun. She wore spectacles like Mary. Hers were attached to a delicate gold chain that hung around her neck leading Mycroft to suppose she was farsighted and needed the spectacles only for reading -- the activity she was engaged in when he 'met' her a few minutes earlier. He found himself wondering exactly how her green-gold eyes looked when not viewed through the spectacles. And distinctly unlike Mary ("Really," Mycroft thought, "Why do I keep comparing her to Mary?") she had a proper figure -- well padded. And she was wearing a proper wool skirt and sensible shoes.

The doorman approached the table. "I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes, but I believe this package is unsalvageable."

"Oh, dear," the lady said. "At least I still have the Iliad."

"I'm sorry," said Mycroft apologetically to the lady. Turning to the doorman, he said, "Thanks for your assistance," and handed him a generous tip. Looking back at lady holding the Iliad to her chest, Mycroft asked, "May I ask what was in the package?"

"It was only my lunch," replied the lady. "By the way, Mr. Holmes, my name is Miss Bond."

Mycroft smiled. She was even observant. And perhaps more importantly, she was a 'Miss,' and generally speaking a 'Miss' meant there wasn't a 'Mr.' around, although there was the case of his sister-in-law, Miss Mary Russell.

"Please Miss Bond, allow me to treat you to lunch at this little café down the street with an excellent crème brûlée. Or we can dine here at my club, if you prefer. Or do you have other errands you need to run?" Mycroft remembered at the last moment that although he had a holiday, she might not.

"Well," Miss Bond began in a hesitant manner, "I was heading towards the library."

"Indeed!" Mycroft exclaimed. "As was I!"

"Really?" asked Miss Bond a bit surprised. "Do you visit the library frequently?"

"No," Mycroft confessed. "I rarely have the time. Today, all my appointments were canceled, so I thought I would spend the day doing something I enjoyed in my youth -- visiting the library." Mycroft refrained from mentioning several of the other incidents from his youth that he enjoyed. He didn't think Miss Bond would appreciate the humour of the chickens.

"Oh, well, that explains it." Miss Bond said. "I am the librarian. I don't recall seeing you visit, so I thought I might need new glasses. Today is also a free day for me. I had thought I would visit the library and see it from the perspective of the visitor. I had thought of going in disguise, but that seemed a bit silly."

"Really? Do you frequently go places in disguise?" Mycroft asked with a tad of trepidation.

"No. I always thought it would be amusing, but it would be rather a lot of work."

"Where would you like to lunch?" Mycroft asked with an immense sense of relief.

The day wore on. Mycroft and Miss Bond took luncheon together at a secluded but excellent café on Duke Street, visited the library for a brief time, and then went to several museums. They had tea at an unknown but excellent teashop on Bedford Avenue. They viewed some of the more touristy sites of London. They also dined together at another at an intimate but again excellent restaurant on Albemarle Street, before Mycroft deposited Miss Bond on the doorstep of her flat at 112 Piccadilly.

"I had a lovely time," said Miss Bond.

"As did I," Mycroft said. "May I call you again and perhaps take you out to luncheon or dinner again?"

By this time, they had known each other forever. Mycroft appreciated the fact that Miss Bond had a sense of humour and that she appreciated fine food and wine. Miss Bond appreciated the fact that Mycroft didn't object to her sense of humour and the fact he knew all the best restaurants and -- most importantly -- could always get a table at them.

"But of course!" Miss Bond answered. "But one thing, Mr. Holmes. There's something I'd like to know about you before we meet again."

"Yes?" asked Mycroft apprehensively.

"What's your given name?"

Mycroft was rather relieved. He was afraid she was going to ask something about his brother. Or even worse -- something about faeries in the park. "My name is Mycoft, Mycroft Holmes. May I ask what your full name is?"

"It's Bond. Jane S. Bond," was the reply.