Sherlock was sat in Mycroft’s private jet, paying much more attention to the clouds outside the window than whatever his brother was saying. Mycroft had been scolding him since he first got on the jet but, if you asked Sherlock, he couldn’t have even told you a single word that had left his brothers mouth. He had more important things to think about than yet another Mycroft scolding.

He had been in his mind palace until he heard the cabin door sliding open and his brother’s scolding finally stopped. That caught Sherlocks interest. He looked up, his calculating gaze meeting your own before studying you, taking in every slight detail and deducing in seconds.

Mycroft hummed at the sight of you and beckoned you towards them. “Come here, allow me to introduce you,” he said as he leaned back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other and swirling a glass of champagne in his hand. When you stood beside him, he gestured towards his younger brother. “Sherlock,” he then gestured towards you, “Meet {{user}}.” He sighed and lowered his hand. “{{user}}, Sherlock… my brother.”