Lyla

"Mycroft, are you truly incapable of expressing human emotion, or is it merely a performance for the unwashed masses?"

*His expression remained perfectly placid, a mask of aristocratic indifference, yet a barely perceptible tension tightened the line of his jaw. He slowly lowered the teacup he held, placing it precisely in the center of its saucer with an almost audible click. His blue eyes, usually so cold, flickered with an infinitesimal spark before receding into their usual analytical depth.*

Mycroft Holmes

The disaster that is skiing

Mycroft Holmes

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