Intolerable. There was no other way to describe things, other than, intolerable. No other way to describe the last few weeks. No other way to describe his office. Yet the powers that be, had made it more than obvious that they were happy with what (Y/n) was doing. With all that had been done since she had assumed her new role. So, despite his importance to the British Government. Being that he was the British Government. Mycroft knew that any complaint about his nemesis, would fall on deaf ears.

From the day that (Y/n) had had her desk moved into his office, it had been obvious to the older Holmes that even after all these years, she had not forgiven him for his cruelty that night. Not forgiven him for telling her that he didn't care. That he had never cared. That there could never be anything real between them. Mycroft finally realising that that had been the moment that he had become, as Moriarty so liked to describe him, the Iceman. His heart freezing over as she had rushed, in tears, from his apartment. As he watched the only woman, he knew he would ever truly love, leave his life. His world getting a little darker, as the door had slammed behind her.

Even though Mycroft prided himself on his self-control. He had found himself doing a lot of soul searching when he would return to his own home of an evening. He had found himself neglecting his visits to the Diogenes Club. Choosing instead to spend his evenings in front of the fire. Smiling as he looked through the old photos of (Y/n) and himself. Wiping away the odd tear that came to his eye, as he read the secret letters that she had sent to him when they had been apart. Her every word filled with love for him. With hope for the future. Mycroft sure that his letters in reply had been filled with similar love and hope. A love and hope that he had dashed on the rocks. Yet he didn't feel as though he could say anything. Didn't think that she would listen even if he did try and say something. That she would do nothing more than scoff, if he attempted to...........to apologise.

"Mister Holmes.............Miss (Y/l/n) has someone with her. She didn't want to............" Monica called out, as Mycroft made his way through the outer door, and then to his office. The older Holmes not taking the slightest notice of his assistant, as he threw the door open. His eyes growing wide as he saw (Y/n) smiling, as she spoke to three familiar looking men.

"Why didn't you tell me that (Y/n) was here?" Sherlock demanded to know. As he turned to look at his older brother. Mycroft closing the office door, before placing his umbrella in the stand and making his way over to his desk.

"I didn't think I needed to. I didn't think that it was any of your concern." Came Mycroft's curt reply. As he placed his copy of The Times newspaper on top of his desk, and took a seat.

Deep down, he knew that Sherlock would be delighted, in his own way of course, to meet (Y/n) again. Once during the summer holidays, Mycroft had taken (Y/n) to meet his family. His younger brother seeming to take an instant liking to the beautiful girl that Mycroft had introduced as his "friend". Mycroft often believing that (Y/n) and Sherlock had spent more time together that summer, than they had. His nemesis the only person that he knew of, that had described Sherlock as sweet. Mycroft recalling how Sherlock had been angry at him, when he had found out that he would never get to see (Y/n) again.

"See! I told you, Sherlock. I knew that that was the only answer that you were going to get out of him. I am just thankful that you, the good doctor here, and the delightful Inspector Lestrade, came to call. As I said, I had tried to ask about you. But all he would do was mumble under his breath, then leave the room. I have been finding that the years have not made him any less insufferable." (Y/n) informed Sherlock. John and Greg chuckling under their breath. The doctor and detective not used to anyone giving the older Holmes a dressing down.

"Now, I would love to join you and John here, for tea at Baker Street. I can't wait to hear all about what my favourite Holmes has been up to. And for the tour of New Scotland Yard. But I am afraid, that for now, I will have to leave you all with Mister Grumpy over there. I have an appointment with the Prime Minister. And even though I would rather stay here with you. The PM can be a little insistent. He's been the same since I first met him at Cambridge." (Y/n) continued, as she rose from her seat, and made her way around the desk to get to Sherlock. Mycroft's eyes leaving his paper, as he heard mention of (Y/n) seeing the Prime Minister without him. Greg and John's eyes growing wide, as the younger Holmes freely embraced (Y/n). An actual smile creeping onto his lips, as gave him a small peck on the cheek then made for the door. The smile leaving Sherlock's lips, as he turned his attention to his brother.

"Well, now you know that she is back in my life........What are you all doing here?" Mycroft enquired, matter of factly, as he turned his attention back to his paper. Ignoring the look from his brother.

"We are here, because you called us all." Sherlock replied indignantly. Neither Holmes in the mood for the other. Mycroft suddenly remembering that he had asked the men to come to his office to discuss a case.

"Are we missing something here? I mean, (Y/n) seems like a really nice lady. But I have never seen you happily hug anyone since I've known you Sherlock. So, there must be more to this than................" John began. The doctor feeling that he and Greg were out of the loop. That there was something more between the two Holmes boys and (Y/n), than was apparent.

"The ring my brother wears on his finger was given to him by (Y/n) when they were at university. Believe it or not, she loved him, and........she loved me too until he ruined everything. Until he sent her away, and I never got to see her again." Sherlock interjected curtly. John and Greg taken aback by the sentiment in Sherlock's voice. By the sadness and anger in the usually emotionless consulting detective's tone. Their eyes turning to look at Mycroft. Who for once, seemed to be letting his own well hid, well controlled emotions, bubble to the surface, as he got to his feet and glared at Sherlock.