Outside Train Station [Jim&Mycroft]

[Mycroft Holmes]

Mycroft's face contorted briefly into an expression of extreme distaste as he surveyed the grey shrunken shape of the train station. Obviously, his new driver could not give directions. This was meant to be Baker Street. It was most decidedly not. Stabbing his umbrella into the pavement more viciously than usual, he stopped on the pavement opposite the cringing concrete structure. He felt out of place, but that was hardly a new feeling. He had felt out of place for the majority of his life. The best way to combat it was to make others feel more out of place than he.

Unfortunately, there were hundreds of them, swarming out of the station like ants out of a hill, scrabbling through other people and on their way. So very...tedious. Mountains of information to deduce, but he honestly did not care. These were not individuals, they were creatures herded towards the centre of London in packs. He would not affiliate with them. Right hand still leaning on his umbrella, he extracted his slim black phone with care and tapped out a text message. The car would come and pick him up. Now. They could trace the location of his phone, after all.

He stepped back sharply as an approaching figure nearly jarred his elbow. The suit was perfectly clean. Although one look at the weather assured him it would be unlikely to stay that way. Mycroft turned sharply as his eyes picked out a face he thought he recognised, and once the mental match was made, his attention abruptly diverted. Not least because some small, scrubby child had chosen that moment to stumble into his knee. Caught off-balance, he staggered briefly, umbrella slipping on the pavement and down towards the curb.

[Jim Jimmetty Jim Jim Jim M]

Jim swooped in, catching the umbrella and offering his hands out to stop Mycroft falling, should the need arise. He turned around, grinning as charmingly as he could. His grin wavered ever so slightly when he saw who the figure was. He should of known - it was the right umbrella after all. He kept his face fixed in the false expression, uncertain as to whether Mycroft had realised who exactly had just saved his "prize possession." If he hadn't been recognised then it would be a good excuse to explore the mind of his enemy's brother.

An intriguing mind, he knew already. Smarter at deducting, so they said. Smarter at nearly everything - but not so inclined to get up at use the skills he had. Apparently he worked for the government; a boring job, one Moriarty would of hated. Sitting in on meetings and stopping wars and such. Jim spent much of his day causing wars - minor wars, amoungst the people, rather than the countries. Someone who could possibly stop him was an interesting idea - one he welcome, gladly. He'd just have to up his game. It would keep him interested.

[Mycroft Holmes]

Recovering his balance, conscious of his now empty right hand, Mycroft straightened up, inhaling as he recovered his dignity. Falling was not dignified. It was messy, inconvenient and painful. It was not Mycroft. His mouth twitched into a slight smile of gratitude, although he was perfectly aware who he faced. Mycroft's work was, in a nutshell, to know everything. Sherlock had been of some use in this particular matter, as much as he knew his brother would hate that idea. He did get so terribly possessive of people.

"Thank you." Mycroft's tone displayed some small effort to sound grateful. It was also haughty, as he sought what dignity he might have lost. Infernal child...He fumed.

Knowing what he knew, while not being known himself, suddenly appeared rather convenient. There was no doubt that this was Moriarty. The criminal mastermind, or consulting criminal to the dregs of London society. The man responsible for endangering his brother's life repeatedly, and generally inconveniencing Mycroft himself as a result. It was so messy trying to get people after Sherlock with all the problems in...not that they mattered.

In short, this man was somewhat irritating. But direct conflict was simply not Mycroft's style, and there he had a feeling they shared common ground. Far better to be thought ignorant and gather some useful reconnaissance. It reminded him of his early assignments, before he ducked into a desk job and buried himself.

"Mycroft Holmes." He extended a hand, in a gesture of polite and ignorant greeting. Although he was rather more interested in getting his umbrella back, for the moment he would have to make do with finding out more about the man who was making his promise to his father rather difficult to keep. Watching over Sherlock was hard enough at the best of times; this man would have to be disposed of. Mycroft had no time for games.

[Jim Jimmetty Jim Jim Jim M]

Jim spun the umbrella round his wrist, taking Mycroft's extended hand warmly in the other. "Jim," he said, matter-of-factly, smiling politely. As far as he could tell he had not yet been recognised, so staying and chatting was a definite possibility. He presumed that Mycroft would attempt to leave as soon as his umbrella was returned, and also would refuse to go without it. As long as it was in Jim's possession he controlled when the conversation finished. He liked being in control, especially over someone so clever and powerful. He tried to suppress a grin.

"So," he said, taking his hand back, "you don't seem like the kind to catch a train. Why are you waiting here?" He leaned casually against the wall next to Mycroft, watching the dull people flow like water around them. Jim loved crowds, in general. They gave you a place to hide, people to stand out from and things to observe, all in one go. He spent half his life in crowds, hiding in the obvious.

[Mycroft Holmes]

Mycroft did not miss the temporary appropriation of his umbrella. It made him seethe on the inside. His umbrella was his defence against nature itself, his prop for conversations, his own particular sort of weapon. His right hand felt empty without it. He had nothing to lean on. In short, it was infuriating. He could not leave without it, and he could not demand it back without seeming suspicious. How irksome. He had no doubt Jim, or Moriarty as he was more infamously known, was seeking to control the conversation.

It was what he was attempting to do as well, after all. And he was determined to succeed. With or without his umbrella. The handshake might seem friendly, but that was no doubt another aspect of the man's façade. The casual gesture of flicking the umbrella spoke volumes to Mycroft, and drew his attention, for the moment, from the specific umbrella and agitation to the more disconnected absorption of information. He would at least get information from this. Then, sometime in the future, Moriarty would pay.

The slight implications of suppressed grin reminded Mycroft to keep his face blank. Moriarty might have control over how long he was kept standing here on this grubby excuse for a pavement, but Mycroft was determined that he would have control over the information. All of it. Any that he gave out, and every scrap that he deduced from what the criminal said.

Mycroft did not move as Jim leant against the wall, somehow their combined egos in a small space being enough warning to passers-by to swerve around them. The people might be herds, but they at least had an idea of what to avoid. As they continued to do so, Mycroft saw fit to completely ignore them. Their data was superfluous and irrelevant. It was gleaning information from Moriarty, the umbrella snatcher, that was his aim. At the question, he raised an eyebrow slightly, although he had to agree. An expensive suit and silk tie, not to mention every other aspect of his attire, was not, he would have thought, overly common on the underground.

He was literally above such things. ((Could not resist. Very sorry.))

Mycroft's lie flowed easily, as it was a slight variation of the truth. And he would see to it that it never happened again. His driver would suffer for this. "A slight navigational error." His tone was lofty and he made no effort to try and correct it. There was very little point. "My instructions were not wholly reliable. They shall be remedied shortly." Might as well get rid of any ludicrous potential ideas of him alone and vulnerable. Mycroft was never alone. He was everywhere. But it would save time. To distract from his reply, he asked his own question. "And are you catching a train?"

[Jim Jimmetty Jim Jim Jim M]

Jim turned his head to look at his current companion, smiling, "Yup. In about..." he checked his watch, giving him enough time to decide how long he wanted to talk for, "an hour and a half. Going home, yah see." He pushed the umbrella open, pushing yet some more public further out of his way, before closing it again with a slight snap. "It's a nice umbrella this. Made especially?" He knew the answer already, but he needed to get Mycroft talking somehow.

It was a clash of power and control. They both wanted to control the conversation, because they were both that kind of person. As much as Jim was sure Sherlock wouldn't admit it, he and his brother were very similar.

Jim shoved he free hand in his pocket, starting to whistle slightly. He rocked on the heels of his feet. These efforts to make Mycroft more relaxed had little chance of working, but they were worth trying anyway.

[Mycroft Holmes]

Mycroft did not believe him for even one second. An hour and a half. How long did he expect him to stand here and talk? Mycroft would not play his ludicrous and puerile games. He had better things to do. For the moment, he would co-operate. Out of choice, naturally. He still had information to gather. Then he would take his leave. This was a battle that he would win. He would have control, he would have information and he would have his umbrella. In that order.

And after that, he would finish this petty little war. Sherlock might find it entertaining, and as preferable as it was to see his brother actually doing something rather than moping listlessly and wrecking his health-which was one thing Mycroft could not control- it was irritating. Moriarty was irritating.

Mycroft allowed his disbelief to show on his face, if to a lesser extent, in the slight smirk at the corners of his mouth, or the eyebrow still poised partway up his forehead. "Quite the wait you have ahead of you." He remarked, not allowing his gaze to switch to the umbrella until it opened.

His indignation grew. His umbrella was not a toy. Why did the man feel so compelled to mess around with it?! It was not delicate, that would be rather impractical, but that was beside the point. It was his umbrella. That was the point. At Jim's words, he simply nodded. Safer to nod than to let his irritation suffuse his vocal cords. Besides, it was true. Mycroft was individual and so his possessions were particular to him. He abhorred the monotony of synonymous, bland and tedious items, worn by the masses. But he would not let Jim see his anger, that lurked at the back of his eyes, or in the slight lines at the corners.

If Jim wanted to talk, he would not oblige him. He might control the length of the conversation, but Mycroft could, and was determined to control the transfer of information. That was one of the reasons why he was responsible for Freedom of Information in the government. He readjusted his mask of perpetual boredom as the other man began to whistle. Perhaps it would have set him at ease, had he not found whistling incredibly annoying. Silence was infinitely preferable. And lounging against a wall with hands in pockets was another thing that Mycroft would not do.

Pockets were for small items, for money, phones, wallets. They were not for screwing up one's fists and bending the seams. His right hand was clenched around thin air, so accustomed to holding onto the base of his umbrella.

He retrieved his phone from his pocket again, checked the screen briefly and returned it. After all, he was waiting. Not that he expected a reply from the driver. It wasn't his job to reply, it was his job to carry out orders. Not text back that he was about to and then get round to doing it. Mycroft's word was law. On occasion, literally.

[Jim Jimmetty Jim Jim Jim M]

Jim smiled, but it wasn't genuine. This conversation was getting nowhere fast, and he really couldn't wait around all day. He had places to go, people to kill! Mycroft, while certainly being more interesting than the people swarming around them, was not the most important thing he could be focusing his attentions on. He decided to try again.

"Present? From your wife or something?" He knew all too well that Mycroft was unattached - he too had far more pressing matters, but he needed some way of starting up a conversation. This was his last try before he started just irritating Mycroft in the hope of information. Irritating people was something he was good at, and he presumed Mycroft, like his brother, was easy to annoy.

He ran his hand over the handle of the umbrella, noticing all the notches and grooves. It really was finely made, its hand moulded perfect to it's owners hand, any problems in the carving having been worn out by years of use.

[Mycroft Holmes]

At the forced smile, Mycroft waited in a state of boredom and aggravation for the questions to continue. He was not used to people continuing conversations when he chose to use his dismissive nod. It was meant to end discussions. Why else would he use it? What other purpose could it possibly serve?! How irritating. He could understand why Sherlock despised him. If he despised him. People were meant to despise their enemies.

Sherlock managed to despise him perfectly well. Mycroft abruptly ceased that train of thought. This was not the time. Now he had more important things to focus on. Namely, Moriarty the Umbrella Snatcher. If he was as anywhere near as easily bored as Sherlock, it was surely only a matter of time before he gave up and went to wreck havoc on some minuscule and unimportant area of society. It could be considered selfish, but Mycroft did not care.

It wasn't his job to care for others. It was his job to protect the nation from the rack and ruin it would doubtless fall prey to if political overlords had no one to direct them. Perish the thought.

"No." The statement was cold, clipped short by a reluctance to speak. He had no interest in romantic attachment. His sole interests lay in facts. They were unwavering, dependable and solid. Real. Tangible. Other humans were fickle, boring and excessively emotional. Rational thought was everything. Emotions, superfluous.

Mycroft watched in silence as the man observed his umbrella. How unfortunate. He had no doubt that it had it's own data, and plenty of it. Inconvenient. Any information about him was inconvenient. Not that it mattered particularly. But if the villain was going to get information about him, he would do the same. It was war, after all. "Long journey home, is it? Work in the city can get very tedious..."

[Jim Jimmetty Jim Jim Jim M]

Jim winced on the inside at the coldness of that one word. It positively yelled at him to give back the umbrella and go away. But he wouldn't; he had control of this conversation, and he would determine when it ended. He smiled, pondering how much to tell Mycroft about his plans for the weekend. He looked down at his feet, swinging the umbrella back and forth, "Well, actually I have a longer journey after that. Going back home to see my da for the weekend."

He paused for a moment, thinking about his home life... he went back at least twice a year - his dad did like to see him, after all. It was strange returning, everyone in his neighborhood still knew him as the small kid without a mother. They still treated him like a young kid too, giving him free sweets and such. He didn't complain too much, it was nice to get away from the responsibilities of being an adult every once in a while.

"So...if it's not a present you have good taste in umbrellas, sir."

[Mycroft Holmes]

The frozen words clearly weren't working. Mycroft had to admit, this nemesis of Sherlock's was rather persistent. Shame that he also happened to be irritating. Still his umbrella kept him locked in the conversation. He would not leave without it. That would mean accepting defeat, and allowing his belongings to be manhandled and stolen from him. A ridiculous notion.

He surveyed the man again through steely eyes, wondering if he was telling the truth. He might well be. Such information would be at his fingertips the moment he returned to his office. Which reminded him, he would have to get the umbrella back by the time the car arrived. The damn fool of a driver might get ideas. That was the last thing he needed.

"Families, so demanding." The words retained the frosty undertone, in a further attempt to disengage from conversation, or secure the return of his umbrella. It was true. Families were surprisingly high-maintenance. In Sherlock's case, infuriatingly so. He refused to co-operate. Perhaps it was the age gap, perhaps it was Mycroft's superior attitude, but something between them would not go away. Maybe it was simply not their natures. The Holmes family must be notoriously dysfunctional, Mycroft mused, for two brothers to be enemies rather than friends. When he called them enemies, that didn't mean he wasn't going to protect his brother. It simply meant that he was the only enemy Sherlock was permitted to have.

Something Moriarty should be made aware of. Very soon.

Mycroft inclined his head slightly at the compliment, although he doubted it's sincerity. And the 'sir' seemed strangely polite for a villain trying to murder his brother, or keep him locked in a childish war. "You simply have to know where to look." He replied, his received pronunciation seeming to lengthen to a drawl.

[Jim Jimmetty Jim Jim Jim M]

"Oh, yes? And where do you buy your umbrellas, Mr...er, Holmes, was it?"

He drummed his fingers on the wall behind him, tapping out a tune he'd heard earlier today. The melody wasn't amazing, but he was rather fond of the lyrics. He checked his watch again, there was a tube in fifteen minutes if he wanted it. That would get him for the bus coming in half an hour, for the flight leaving in two hours. But was he finished here? This opportunity would only happen once, and surely there was more information to be gained? It was true that Mycroft was letting little go, but he had to talk at some point, didn't he?

Then again, his car, or whomever he was waiting for, would arrive soon. The rumours spread about an alliance between the two would no doubt be bad for Mycroft's business, but Jim's clients wouldn't approve either. There'd be talk about Jim selling out their intentions to the government. That wasn't to say that he wouldn't - if the price was right he'd happily sell out his customers, but he'd certainly do it more discreetly.

All of this considered, he decided he'd have one last stab at some information, then give back the umbrella. Though he had half a mind to steal it.

[Mycroft Holmes]

Noticing the tapping, which seemed to have some melodious implication- not that Mycroft was particularly aware of music in general; to him it was simply a distraction from the other more important matters that he focused his efforts on - Mycroft observed in silence for a few moments. Music had it's place, perhaps alongside more cultural and leisurely activities such as the theatre and reading. Such things occupied his mind briefly, a welcome break from the chaos of government. Not very often, but on occasion. Mycroft was not entirely a machine, after all.

His mind changed to the question at hand, and he kept his expression neutral. Neutral bordering on cold and unrelenting. Frozen will. Locking in a battle of wills he was growing increasingly irritated with. Where was that car?! He resolved that as a superior, it was now no longer his job to find out information, but to process it. Therefore, there was no need for him to stay any longer. If what Moriarty had said was true, he could have him tracked to his home, and then he would have the advantage.

Mycroft enjoyed having the advantage. The sense of power, authority that it brought with it complimented his not insubstantial ego perfectly. If by perfectly, it was meant that it inflated his ego to even more dramatic proportions. He was aware of this, but then, he reasoned, he had many things to feel smug about. "I trust you don't really expect me to give away that information to every man on the street?" He raised an eyebrow, face still cold. He nodded, wondering whether Moriarty had really forgotten his name or was simply feigning forgetfulness.

It seemed unlikely he would rise to the rank of consulting criminal without an exemplary recollection of facts. Therefore, Mycroft presumed he was feigning it. Not surprising in a way. Many eccentric or gifted people had to feign normality to avoid inconvenience. Or simply avoid human interaction. His eyes flickered briefly to the umbrella before returning to Jim's face, watching for any clue to his inner thoughts. He wondered how much longer the man would keep him here. Maybe it amused him. Maybe he genuinely had nothing better to do. Either way, he was ready to leave. The sooner he left, the sooner he could summon intelligence on 'Jim' and end the troublesome game the man was drawing Sherlock into.

[Jim Jimmetty Jim Jim Jim M]

"Well that is disappointing...I've been looking for a good umbrella." He checked his watch again, deciding that he might as well give it up. He'd get more information about the Holmes family from Molly than he would ever get from Mycroft. It was frustrating, but just something he'd have to live with.

He pushed himself away from the wall using his shoulders in one fluid motion. He turned to face Mycroft, letting himself smile politely, "Well, it was nice to meet you, Mr Mycroft Holmes. Perhaps we'll meet again." He held the umbrella infront of him like a sword, the handle pointed at Mycroft. He still felt like stealing it, but that was just out of habit. He had no need of it any more.

[Mycroft Holmes]

As the other man gave indications of being about to leave, Mycroft delighted, for all of one millisecond, at the prospect of his umbrella's return. He really shouldn't be as reliant on it... He let the faint suggestion of a smirk creep into the lines around the corners of his mouth at his...half-victory.

A few commands back in his office, and it might be a whole-hearted victory. If it wasn't for a piddling little inconvenience called the Police service. Proof and all that. Irksome in the extreme.

Mycroft grasped the handle, his hand sliding back into it's familiar position around the smooth wood. A flick of his wrist and it returned to it's former position, perpendicular to the floor, leaning casually on it. A smile formed on his face as he met Jim's gaze.

"Indeed." Without any further farewells, he strode a few paces past Jim and ducked into the dark car that had just pulled around the corner.

Glancing back out of the window briefly, he focused on Jim again. They would meet again. He would ensure it. He leant back in the black leather seats and sharply ordered his driver to take him home. Then to promptly get out of his sight. Permanently.