He was fishing for information, that much was obvious. the man asked very general questions that anyone could answer, but a person’s immediate reaction would be to give a much more intimate answer that pertained to their life. That was how psychics worked. They were charlatans and liars, fooling poor people into thinking they had some higher power. Mycroft was unimpressed with them as a whole. He could often talk circles around them and their clients with a mere glance in their direction.
So when a psychic rightly guess- Mycroft refused to believe it was anything else, only Sherlock could do things almost as well as he did- he had started, and asked her to elaborate. She had simply smiled and walked away, saying that she simply saw what not all other people did.
He hired her the next day, and she was a brilliant assistant.
Mycroft set the book aside as he sat at his desk, unable to properly concentrate on the words on the page. He rubbed his temples, headache setting in further at the agitating motion that was only meant to sooth. He’d had a constant headache for the last three days- since the incident with the texts where Greg had left him.
Or had he left Greg?
Either way, Mycroft only frowned at his desk, and then his phone. It wasn’t the first time he contemplated calling to apologize, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. His head gave another painful throb.
It seemed that either way, he would only end up with a headache and unable to finish his book.
When Mycroft said that they were having tea, he thought perhaps he should have warned Greg that it would be with the Queen. Instead, Greg came in tired from work and Mycroft simply straightened him up and smoothed him down before leading him into the next room where the Queen was smiling. She waved as they entered, and Greg was gobsmacked. Mycroft smiled slyly, introducing the two of them like he would have introduced Greg to his mother.
Clouds were an interesting topic to discuss while being held at gunpoint, but that’s exactly the topic Mycroft stayed on as he looked unwavering into the muzzle of Moran’s pistol. It was to distract and confuse. It had worked for almost an hour, and when the team reached him to apprehend Moran, the man had been practically begging to be taken away. Mycroft rather did like psychological games.
Mycroft did not like lying. He liked being as honest as possible. He would withhold parts of the truth, but he wouldn’t outright lie. There were some people to whom he did not lie at all, one of them being Greg. So when Greg suggested- Mycroft reminded himself that it had only been the paranoia speaking- that Mycroft was using him, lying to him, cheating on him… Mycroft had shut down. He didn’t know how to process that. He refused to even try, and just caved in to whatever Greg was saying. It had become a lie in itself, one that Mycroft would regret for a long time to come.