edge_of_forever | And keep your jokes to yourself

There were only very few people in the world who had seen Mycroft Holmes without a tie. He only took off his jacket in extreme circumstances, but his tie, in a double Windsor knot, was a set feature. Come winter, come summer, in England or Dubai; Mycroft would always wear it.

He had only taken it off now because he didn’t want it covered in flour. It had taken him long enough to get the wardrobe to provide him with one of acceptable quality and he took great care of it.

It took him some time, and great patience, but eventually he managed to gather all the ingredients the recipe mentioned – though he did find himself needing to make some adaptations to the original, as the food replicator only seemed compliant up to a point. But he managed to gather them without swearing and that was saying something.

Now, to business; cake.

It was his brother who was the master of ingredients – be it of a chemical kind – and who, through years and years of practical experience in measuring, compounding and mixing, had perfected the science. Mycroft had never quite bothered to put scientific knowledge to practice – let alone engaging in any attempt at cooking or baking. And though he did understand the basic purpose of a whisk (no genius required there), he had never before held one in his hand.

He felt quite ridiculous – and he was not even wearing an apron – but in quite good spirits. He didn’t feel particularly useful as such, and baking a cake could hardly cure the mental tedium from which he suffered, but it was something.

((Yup. You’re reading it right. It’s not a figment of your imagination, or a door to another dimension. Find him at any point, either gathering ingredients, baking a cake, or somewhere in between, coming to terms with the fact that he’s actually doing something.

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"OooOOOooh, really?" And then, the lightbulb appears. "CAN I HELP?"

Cracking the eggs and stirring the batter and pouring in the milk and YES, YES, YES, licking the whisk and the bowl!

Sometimes (not often) Mycroft wished he was as socially indifferent as his brother, who only ever acted sociably when it suited his direct purpose. But Mycroft always held a sense of decorum, the belief that it was useful to display social aptitude, if not for today, then certainly for the long run. Had he not held such a view, he would have told her in simple words to leave him alone.

“I’m not sure how much you’d be able to do. There’s nothing I can think of that you can help with.” Was it wistful to think that it was enough to get her to leave?

"Oh."

A look of colossal disappointment.

"Welp, okay."

For a moment, it seems like she's going to shuffle off. Then, there's the sound of her dragging a stool over to the counter. She clambers up onto it and sits, watching him, looking like the only thing she's missing is a bag of popcorn.

"Guess I'll just keep you company, then. So you didn't answer my question. Do you like Dazzler?"

Mycroft didn't trust her defeated look and rolled his eyes when she took a stool, screeching it along the floor. She came to sit close by and Mycroft wondred if he had forgotten how to deal with a child. (Of course Sherlock had not been an ordinary child)

Anyway, he wasn't going to be her entertainment. Instead, he put a bowl in front of her. "Mix this, would you?" He sighed. "I don't know Dazzler."

Edited 2013-04-18 15:04 (UTC)

"YES!" He'd decided she could help after all. She grabs the whisk and starts stirring, a little clumsily.

"So, Dazzler is this singer we have in America and she's a mutant like me and her power is LIGHT SHOWS! So she does all these light shows at her concerts and it fits in with the songs and it's soooooooo pretty! AND she wears rollerskates! That was her song I was singing when I came in."

There's a pause while she picks up on the fact that Dazzler really probably isn't Mycroft's thing. He probably likes Beethoven and Mozart and Elvis and all that old stuff.

"Do you have any cool double-oh-seven stories?!"

"I have to disappoint you," Mycroft replied politely. "I'm not a spy."

Molly looks at him and nods knowingly; shrewdly, even.

"I understand completely." She does something with her eye that might be an attempt at a wink.

If it meant she kept quiet, he would gladly take on the role of Bond. "Good."

"Soooo 'Mycroft Holmes'," she says, playing it really cool, "what kind of cake are you making?"

"Chocolate and caramel, if all goes well," Mycroft answered, ignoring whatever went on in the girl's mind. There was moderate silence; it would do.

"Coooool. So, do you have mutants where you're from?"

She's still dutifully stirring, though her arm's getting tired.

"We don't," Mycroft said and then - apparently - surrendered. "How does it work, mutants and humans living side by side, in your world?"

"Yep. Well... sorta. Mutants starting showing up a long time ago but then there was like this big explosion of us and we started happening more often. One hundred years ago there was practically no mutants but now there's a whole bunch of us. But regular humans got scared because some mutant powers are really scary. And I think maybe some of them are jealous, too. I was a little jealous before I found out I was a mutant but I still really liked mutants. I even had a poster of Wolverine and Doop in my bedroom! And then..." She hesitates. "A bunch of stuff happened and I ended up meeting Wolverine!"

She doesn't add that she met him and almost immediately punched him in the gut and knocked him five hundred yards because she wants Mycroft to like her and think she's proper and stuff.

"But anyway I was just curious because it's strange to think of a world without mutants. Sad, kinda."

"And what do you... do? Or did. I believe the ship somehow mutes certain abilities," Mycroft continued casually.

"...yeah, it does. It's kind of a bummer. But Logan says if I keep practicing I can get regular strong. My power is super-strength," she adds. "I'm like the Hulk only I don't get all green and defensive."

"A useful skill to have," Mycroft didn't mind admitting.

"Yeah, it is."

There's no more lumps in the batter, so she rests the whisk across the top (she really wants to lick it but it's not really proper) and looks back at him, suddenly thinking of something.

"Hey! You know, if you ever need me..." There's a long pause and she waits for him to look over, then mouths for a mission, wide-eyed, "I'll totally use my super-strength for you. I was a superhero back home. Do you guys have superheroes at least?"

Well, Mycroft was wise enough not to decline her offer. On a ship such as this, these things could be quite useful (even if said strength is possessed by a tiresome little girl). "No, but then, we don't have super-villains either."

"Oh."

Well, that was actually a pretty good point.

"Really? You guys don't have any super-people? Who protects you from aliens and monsters and ancient curses and stuff?"

"There aren't any, in my world," Mycroft admitted. "Only humans and simple laws of physics."

Whoa.

No wonder he's so boring.

It's not even really his fault.

"I bet you're super glad you're here, now."

"Do I look thrilled?" Mycroft deadpanned (it was impossible not to).

"I dunno," she says, frowning at him. "Your smile is kinda the same as your other faces."

"I am not," Mycroft provided.

"Oh," she says, deflated.

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the_iceman - 2013-04-20 10:19 (UTC) - Expand