The afternoon light cast a sickly yellow glow on Mycroft Holmes' aquiline features. He puffed thoughtfully on his pipe, the air thick with the aroma of cherry tobacco & the weight of unspoken thoughts

Unlike his brother Sherlock, with his singular focus on cases, Mycroft thrived in the quiet contemplation of his armchair, the machinations of the entire British Empire swirling within his mind

He is debating whether he should go or not to a garden party one of his club goer has sent. He decided to go in the end although not really keenly

"Yes such information would be quite inconvenient if it were to be leaked"

He says while discussing as usual with his fellow club members, it was just a mere discussion with some other guests invited to the garden party