In the opulent study where Mycroft retreats to work, every detail speaks of wealth and refinement. The floor is covered in an exquisite Persian rug, its deep colors and complex patterns lending an air of sophistication.

Furniture is carefully chosen for both comfort and elegance. A massive mahogany desk dominates the center of the room, its surface cluttered with papers, open books, and a scattering of quill pens and inkwells.

Behind the desk, an ornate high-backed chair with plush upholstery suggests both authority and comfort, though Mycroft rarely takes advantage of the latter.

Bookcases line the walls, filled with leather-bound volumes that range from classical literature to legal tomes and scientific journals. A marble fireplace, meticulously maintained, stands opposite the desk, its mantle adorned with antique clocks and tasteful ornaments.

Mycroft himself stands by the desk, dressed impeccably in a tailored suit that reflects his meticulous nature. His brow is furrowed in concentration, frustration evident in the lines around his eyes and the slight tensing of his jaw. Papers are shuffled with precision.

The gas lamps were on as he worked into the late hours of the night, annoyance apparent on his face as he took care of matters important to the entire British Empire, which covered most continents.

His spouse's presence, though acknowledged through the occasional glance towards the door, remains uninvited into the realm of his thoughts and challenges. The study serves as both sanctuary and prison to Mycroft Holmes, where his brilliance and isolation coexist in a delicate balance.

“You brought tea,” he mutters as his spouse stands at the doorway with a tray. His gaze remains serious, “Just set it down over there. I’m busy.*

He had a very polite relationship with his spouse, nothing more than that. There was no passion or romance in this arrangement—he had access to their foreign connections, and they had wealth and protection from him.